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The Singeing of Chrispin Cherrybutt Part three (continued)

 
The
Singeing of Chrispin Cherrybutt

Part three
(2 of 2 ) – Our naughty Knight gets the bare bottom spanking he
deserves
Crispin
attempted to struggle free from the large Monk’s grip , but soon realised that beneath his
adversary’s all covering brown robe was a body of considerable
strength and steel like muscles, which even his fit young body could
not resist.
To
make matters worse, a second monk, who also proved to be a powerfully
built individual arrived and assisted the first on restraining the
helpless but struggling Crispin.
Together
they dragged the unhappy and protesting young knight over to a bench,
sat down and pulled their handsome captive over their knees.
While
the newly arrived monk, held Crispin’s legs, the senior monk pulled
up the youth’s black gown until the whole of his lower body, from his
firm, slim waist down was exposed. The monk looked down at the bottom
he had so recently, and lovingly anointed with healing oils and
chuckled “Well well my young valiant” he said “That pretty rump
of yours will soon burn worse that it did when you first arrived!”
“No
please good friar!” wailed Crispin “Please have mercy on me!”
“There
shall be no mercy or forgiveness for a sinner here!” snapped the
monk “you will be chastised as you deserve to be!” he paused “and
as penance for your pride and arrogance your punishment will be
appropriately enhanced ….. Brother Samuel, bring forth the fire
root!”
A
third monk appeared carrying a silver platter, upon with there was a
strange looking peeled vegetable root, and gingerly lifted a carrot
shaped segment between his thumb ad forefinger as he approached the
trio.
“Fire
root …?” stammered Crispin nervously
“The
fire root comes from the land of monsoons and smoking mountains to
the south, it earned it’s name because when it’s juices touch your
skin, it burns like the great lord’s hottest furnaces!” replied the
speaking monk. “as you will soon discover …!”
“Great
lord? …. furnaces?” gasped Crispin “who are you ….. what is
this order?”
“Insert
the root Brother!” said the monk, interrupting and ignoring
Crispin’s question “You will be anxious to be rid of it for it must
be burning your fingers!”

The
third monk stepped forward, and swiftly forced the segment of peeled
root he was holding between the raised cheeks of Crispin’s exposed
bottom, and up into his tight anus, which as an automatic protective
instinct, gripped tightly round it. As soon as the plug of fire root
touched his skin Crispin understood why it was so called, as a
burning sensation almost as intense as the dragon’s fiery breath
spread from the puckering pink portal lips of his rectum, to deep
with inside him. Tears brimmed in the young knights watering eyes and
he he cried out in genuine pain
The
monk’s laugh had a clear note of cruel delight to it, at the sound of
Crispin’s scream “the fire root will ensure that even your most
hidden and intimate parts will feel the force of your well deserved
punishment!”
With
that the laughing monk raised his large leathery and well calloused
hand high into the air and an d brought it down with a loud SMACK! On
Crispins, still sore and tender, recently scorched bottom. The first
smack was followed by a second, third, fourth and more, while the
second monk grasped his legs, and the third, having laid down his
silver platter joined his fellows and held Crispin’s head and scolders firmly in
place.
Crisip
had not been spanked over a knee since he he was a an infant, hence
this punishment was as humiliating to the proud young knight as it
was painful, and it was certainly extremely painful. 

 
His torment was
made worse by the fact he could not help tensing his anal muscles in
anticipation of each smack, which had the unfortunate effect of
crushing the feague of fire root gripped by the tender pink bud of
his anus and causing still more of the scalding Juice across the rim
of that most sensitive and vulnerable of orifices.

Crispin’s
burning rectum was now a ring of fire nestling between the two
stinging red orbs of his buttocks. 
 
The
monks took turns in punishing Crispin, who they had soon stripped
naked, as his cries and the repeated slapping of their hands on his
red and well fired behind.
Finally
the stopped but still held the struggling and weeping young knight
captive in their grasp. The older monk looked into Crispin’s tear
stained face, “We are not finished with you yet my young valiant!”
he grinned “You are now our prisoner and we will do with you as we
will!”
“Please!”
cried Crispin “You have punished me enough! Now set me free!!”
“Hah!”
laughed the Monk “there will be no freedom for you Sir knight, you
you will provide us with much entertainment and diversion in the
coming days and weeks!”
The
monks then dragged the miserable Crispin Cherrybutt down to the
catacombs beneath the monastery. 
 

When they reached a small door in
the wall, they opened it and pushed Crispin through sending him
tumbling bottom first down a flight of stone stairs, his well
spanked, scorched and fire root figged bottom hitting each step as he
bounced down, before landing with a THUD! On the hard dungeon floor.
As he landed he heard the door slamming behind him followed by the
sound of metal bolts slamming into place. He was now the monks’
prisoner.
As
Crispin lay on the floor his hands grasping hie well spanked and fire
root scorched behind, a sense of deep fear and desolated seeped
through him, as he wondered what entertainments and diversions the
brothers had in store for him, and what sort of devilish sect had he
stumbled upon.
Then
a voice spoke to him from the darkness “Who are you Sir Knight?”
it spoke with an unmistakably noble tone “Are you a prisoner too?
Have the Gods at last blessed me with a companion in this hellish
ordeal?”
In
mounting fear Crispin scoured inky blackness of the cell and could
just make out a dark shame in the corner. The shape moved, and he
knew he was not alone ……..
TO
BE CONTINUED
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The Singeing of Chrispin Cherrybutt (Part 3)

The
Singeing of Chrispin Cherrybutt
Part three (1 of 2)
– Crispin meets the Brothers
When
he first viewed the huge building, looking out of the darkness,
Chrispin had imagined he had come across a castle, however, as he
moved closer, he realised that it more closely resembled a religious
building , although the absence of any religious symbolism seemed
initially puzzling. He approached the large and heavy wooden door,
and felt a sense of foreboding which he attempted to dismiss by
reminding himself that he was a brave knight, who had only recently
fought a dragon, his mind proud mind quickly seeking to draw a veil
over his humiliating defeat, at the hands, or more aptly, the fiery
breath of that beast.
He
knocked on the door, and heard the rattle of his own knuckles on the
ancient timber echoing in the corridors within.
After
what seemed like an age, the door was opened by a cowled monk, who
silently gestured him to enter, and then follow him down a long dark
passageway, although he was a little unnerved by the monk’s mute
demeanour, his options were somewhat limited, and, as he kept
reminding himself he was a brave knight, for whom there was nothing
to fear in the dark chambers beyond.
The
then came upon two further monks, who stepped forward to greet him.
Although like the first monk, one of these two also remained silent,
a third, who appeared to the more senior, did speak, a deep gravelly
voice growling from within his face concealing cowel. “What brings
you to our door Sir Knight?” he asked “Very few travellers come
to this lonely place.”
“I
have travelled far, Good friar!” replied Crispin “I came on a
quest to slay a dragon!”
“The
dreadful fire breathing beast, which has been terrorising the land
these last decades?” asked the gravel voiced monk
Crispin
frowned, at the mention of the dragon’s fiery breath, and nodded.
Although, he was anxious to regale the monks with tales of his daring
do, the burning main in his rump was a more pressing priority,
especially as holy men, such as these, were often in possession of
balms and ointments, which might relieve his discomfort. “Sadly I
have suffered an injury.” he said “And I hope you could be of
assistance!”
Despite
his embarrassment at the location of his “injury” he turned and
showed his scorched bottom to the monks. The two, previously silent
Monks, murmured sympathetically, whilst the friar with the deep voice
first sucked air through his teeth before saying gently “My my, Sir
Knight, that must be giving you some distress, but fear not, we have
many remedies for burns and scalds sch as those, we will have that
handsome young rump of yours back to it’s painless white purity in no
time!”
Crispin
sighed with relief, that was the good news he was hoping for. “I
will be forever grateful to you good friars, if you can ease my
pain!” he said.
The
monks lead him into an inner chamber with a very elaborate but
somewhat Byzantine looking altar and a number of disturbing wall
paintings. Chrispin again, briefly pondered the lack of familiar
religious symbolism, but concluded that the gentle brothers must
belong to a sect with which he was not acquainted.
The
monks, assisted the young knight in removing his heavy armour, and
when he was naked asked him to lay, on is stomach, on a high table in
front of the strange altar.
The
speaking monk, looked down at Crispin’s rosy upturned bottom, and, as
if unable to resist temptation, raised his hand and gave Crispin’s
sore bottom a gentle slap. “That does look sore Sir Knight!” he
said
“OWCH!”
snapped Crispin, looking angrily over hios shoulder.
“I
do apologise Sir Knight!” came the reply, Crispin could not see the
monk’s face, but an intuition told him that deep under the folds of
his hood, the man was grinning.
That
fleeting thought vanished, as a second monk appeared carrying as
container of musk scented oil, and allowed a few drops to fall onto
Crispin’s bottom. The gravel voiced monk then proceeded to massage
the oil into the red and scorched skin. At first Crispin gasped at
the pain caused by the older man’s hands on his tender skin. 

 Then
slowly, as the monk continued to rub the oil into his flesh, he could
feel the burning sensation gradually fading. He realised that the
pain he had been living with for many hours was fading.
“What
is that wondrous balm?” he asked, the relief palpable in his voice
“This
oil is much prized for its mystical healing qualities and and
efficacy as a pain reliever Brother Samuel brought it back from his
travels in the northern lands, where it is greatly valued.” replied
the friar as he continued to almost lovingly massage the oil into
Crispin.
Later
that evening, one of the silent monks, ushered Crispin to a small bed
chamber off one of the passage way, where first he fed him with newly
baked bread, washed down with a flask of blood red wine. 
Then the
monk bathed the handsome young knight gently washing away the dust
and sweat from his long arduous journey and the residue of the oil
left from the earlier treatment.
Although
Crispin was not inclined to enjoy the touch of another mail, he
tolerated it for the relief it brought. When the Monk gently washed
his behind, it was not the agony it would have been an hour before.
The young knight’s bottom still stung and tingled, but it was no
longer the searing pain the dragon had left him with.
Finally,
the kindly monk, anointed the young Knight’s body with cologne, and
gently dressed him in the clean black robes of a postulate, before
bowing out and leaving him to sleep in the newly prepared bed.
However,
sleep was the last thing that Crispin intended to do. As he had bed
led through the passage ways earlier, Crispin had chanced to glance
into a number of the chambers as they had passed, and he had seen the
monastery’s glistening treasure. Golden bowls and ceremonial
goblets, gold and silver candle holders and incense burner’s
encrusted with gem stones.
Such
items would bring him wealth if sold, or melted down upon his return
to his home town, and that was exactly what Crispin planned. He might
not retun with the fame of a dragon killer but he would have the
compensation of being a rich man.
The
generous monks might have taken him in, treated his wounds, fed,
washed and clothed him, and given him a bed for the knight. However,
he felt no sense of gratitude to them, they owned the treasure he
lusted for, and he intended take it from them.
The
monk had spoken of the brothers travelling to far away lands, so, he
concluded, the monastery must have a stable, from which he could
steal a horse and escape with his booty, before the monks knew it had
gone.
In
the middle of the night Crispin slipped out of the tiny bedchamber
where the gentle monk had left him, and crept through the dark
passage way, carrying a sack he had fashioned from his blanket. He
did not have to search for long before he reached a room he had spied
earlier, and could the precious items glimmering in a beam of
moonlight shining through a small window.
The
young knight hurried about his work, grabbing at the gold items laid
out on a large wooden altar, and stuffing them into his rudimentary
sack. 

One particular item was a large golden goblet, which he held
up in the moonlight to get a better view. It was a magnificent object
of pure gold, with the stem encrusted with precious gem stones, which
had been lovingly crafted by some artisan goldsmith possessed of
incredible talent.
However
the greedy young knight did not see the beauty or artistry in the
object he held, he only saw it’s monetary value, and the wealth it
would bring to him when the gold was melted down and the glittering
stones sold on for jewellery.
“My
My, You are a naughty young rascal are you not Sir knight!” a
familiar deep voice boomed from the darkness behind him. Crispin was
briefly frozen by shock, he dropped the goblet, as a muscular,
sackcloth covered arm encircled his waist, and a large calloused hand
gripped the black cotton of his gown lifting it up to reveal the
knight’s long bare legs and, still pink, and tender buttocks. 

Then
before Chrispin could react the monk’s free hand descended with
considerable force onto that same vulnerable bottom, causing our
flawed but handsome hero to cry out in pain.
“Now
we will show you what happens to naughty young knights who try to rob
the poor!” boomed the angry friar, with a tone in his voice which
made very clear, Crispin would not enjoy what happened next.
TO
BE CONTINUED
More
of Singeing Crispin Cherrybutt will be posted tomorrow
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The New Gizmo

The New Gizmo
Another
Spanking machine idea
If
anyone feels inspired to suggest a caption, or even a storyline to
accompany this picture, please add it to the “Comment’s” section
below ..
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Notice to visitors

It
is an unfortunate fact that our society appears to be entering an age
where, despite the popular narrative, puritanism and calls for
censorship are again on the rise. We are seeing an increasing
resistance to both Free Speech and free expression, which will not
only impact on people who say and do things we don’t like, but also
on those things which we want to say and do, which other people do
not like.
There
is a growing belief within society that anything which might give
offence must be eliminated, even when it is hidden behind content
warnings.
In
such an environment, sites like this, which cater to tastes which a
lot of people might find offensive are increasingly at risk. It is
beginning to appear that the most imminent threat is fading, however,
realistically, the threat will never go away.
In
the circumstance I am actively exploring alternative locations which
may be less vulnerable to the pressure for censorship than Blogger,
however, in the meantime, I intend to carry on as normal, and hope to
make a further posting at the weekend.
That
said, in case the worst does come to pass, would readers please
bookmark the address of the new JockSpank site at
http://jock-spank.com/ where you
can find information about Sore Bottomed Guys should this blog
suddenly disappear.
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Important Notice

Please note that as a part of the harrassment campaign against the JockSpank blog, this Blog has also now been reported to Blogger for a possible terms of use violation.
Should anything happen to this blog and an announcement will be made at  
http://jock-spank.com/

For further information, please see the posting on the JockSpank blog here: https://jockspank.blogspot.com/2019/03/this-blog.html

NOTE

The harrassment and threats are continuing, the latest threat against the blog was received August 1st 2019 

Update
A further implied threat of “Revenge” can be seen in the Comments beneath the posting on August 18 2019

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The Singeing of Crispin Cherrybutt (Part Two)

Part
two: Crispin and the Kingdom of the Ants
Crispin
had managed to put as much distance as he could between himself and
the lair of that terrible fire breathing dragon which had so cruelly
flame toasted his handsome, but now very sore, young behind. However,
there was still a long way to go.
Even
by travelling day and night, there was a long arduous ride ahead for
Crispin to get back to his home town. Yet he was desperate to get
there as soon as possible, so that he could consult the apothecary,
in the hope that the wise old man could provide some cooling and
soothing cream or balm for his scorched bottom. His muscles were
tiring, and he was finding it increasingly difficult to to keep his
burning behind raised off the hard and sun ray heated leather saddle,
and he knew he could not manage to do so for much longer.
Frantic
to get home and to some relief, he angrily urged his horse to move
faster with a series of slaps, kicks and furious commands, yelled
directly into the poor beast’s ear.
They
now had to cross miles of open and parched desert, where the heat was
becoming unbearable and the heated saddle was now painful to touch
even without a singed bottom. Given the increasing discomfort,
Crispin was anxious to cross the desert and reach higher, cooler,
land as soon as possible.
“Faster,
you lazy brute!” he shouted kicking hard against the horse’s flank,
and slapping it hard on the neck “If you don’t more faster, I will
feed your carcass to the King’s hunting hounds when we get home!”
he cried.
The
young horse, had already developed a strong dislike for his cruel and
abusive young owner, long before they had embarked on the latest
journey, and it was becoming more and more irritated by the shouts
and blows which Crispin was inflicting upon it. The grumpy steed was
reluctant to move any faster in the exhausting heat, at least not
whilst carrying such an uncomfortable burden.
The
animal therefore concluded that the preferable solution would be to
eject the hated burden at the earliest opportunity. 

Crispin
was an experienced rider, but he was distracted by the burning pain
in his bottom, and was not expecting the hose to suddenly kick back
with its hind legs and violently buck it’s back, throwing it’s rider
up into the air, before galloping away, and leaving the young knight
plummeting, bottom first, towards the ground.

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As
luck would have it Crispin landed on a mound of earth which gave way
beneath his weight, cushioning his fall and causing his bottom to
slip into a dip beneath him. At first it seemed that he had
encountered his first bit of good luck that day as the crumbling
earth had softened what would otherwise have been a hard and painful
landing.
However,
then he realised that, rather than landing in a dip in the earth, his
bottom had actually broken through the roof of an ant dug chamber
beneath and he was effectively sitting in a hole in the earth. Then
it dawned on him what the structure he had landed in actually was.
To his horror he realised he had landed bare ass first into a fire
ant hill. The fire ants of that ancient land truly lived up to their
name, although tiny, their bite was ferocious and exuded a powerful
fire like venom causing a searing and throbbing pain which could last
for hours and sometimes, if you were really unlucky, for days.
Crispin
had been bitten by a fire ant once as a child, and he had no wish to
repeat the experience. He attempted to spring to his feet, but found
he could not, he was stuck with his bottom wedged into a tight hole
and thrust into an underground chamber of an ant hill.
For
a moment he hoped that perhaps the ant hill had been abandoned and
that he was in fact stuck in an empty ant hill. However, that hope
was swiftly proved wishful thinking as he felt the fist tickling
sensation of tiny insect feet on his dragon toasted skin.
He
knew what was coming before it came, and in a frantic panic he
struggled to free himself, pushing against the crumbling earth and
kicking his legs in the air. However, this merely resulted in
wedging him even more tightly into the hole which his landing had
created.
The
first ant bite was like a new sheet of flame burning his skin as if
the dragon was in the hole beneath him blowing its fiery breath
upwards at its chosen target. A second and third ant bit followed and
each had the same effect as the last one. Each fierce little insect
clamping its jaws into his his tender scorched skin and unleashing it
burning poison into the young knight’s already punished posterior.
Crispin’s
piercing screams of agony rang round the empty desert, but as his
mount had already vanished at full gallop over the horizon, their was
no sentient creature, save ants to hear them.
 
Finally,
after what seemed like an age, the brittle earth began to give way,
and by straining his every youthful muscle, was able to free himself.
He jumped up, and ran through the desert, the sun baked sand burning
the soles of his bare feet as he went. However, that pain was as
nothing next to the burning fire in his dragon scorched and ant
bitten bottom, which, for Chrispin was now at the very centre of a
world of pain.
The
fire in his rump had hardly eased at allwhen, many hours of painful
walking later, and as night began to fall, he reached the edge of the
desert.
He
trudge for another mile or so, and then realised he was totally lost,
unsure if he was even heading in the right direction. As the fear he
would never find his way home began to grip him, be became aware of a
light in the distance. 
 He walked towards that light, and as he
rounded a small hill he could see the silhouette of a large building,
standing out against the night sky. From the burning torch outside
the large wooden door, it was clear the building was occupied …
with humans. People who might be able to help him, people who may
have ointments, oils and balms which could extinguish the fire in his
behind.
As
he limped towards the building, his spirits began to lift in the hope
that he had found sanctuary and that his nightmare was finally over.
TO
BE CONTINUED
Posted on

The Singeing of Crispin Cherrybutt (Part One)

The
Singeing of Crispin Cherrybutt
 

Part
one: Our Hero’s Buns get Toasted
  
In
a time long ago, and in a land far away, there lived a handsome young
Knight. Fair of face and blessed with a fit and lithe young body, he
was, at first sight, everything a romantic novelist, or a teller of
noble tails would dream of. However, he may have possessed physical
beauty, but that was were his fairy fairy tail qualities ended. In
addition to dashing good looks, a Romantic Hero must have other many
virtues, such as nobility, integrity, honour, chivalry and kindness,
in all these areas, the young Knight was sorely lacking.
In
his own mind however, he was near perfect, all that was needed he
believed, was for others to know it too.
Not
only was Crispin Cherrybutt the handsomest knight in the land, he was
determined to prove himself to be the bravest, and he would do so by
slaying the fearsome dragon which had been terrorising the local
countryside.
Many
brave nights had tried before him without success, but arrogant young
Crispin was convinced that he would be the one to succeed where
others had failed. It was with this pride and the conviction of his
own superiority, that he had set out on his quest.
It
had been a long journey to reach the Dragon’s layer, but it would be
worth it, as he stood outside the entrance to the cave where the
terrible creature had made its nest, he paused to contemplate the
tributes and honours he would receive when he returned with the
dragon’s head on the end of a pike. He was also sure he would
receive a fortune in gold from the king and, in addition he it would
be his right to deflower all the loveliest maidens in the kingdom.
Other
knights had travelled to this same destination seeking honour and
also to rid the land of a terrible menace. However, such altruistic
considerations did not occur to Chrispin, he thought only of the
wealth, acclaim and sexual pleasuring which success would bring him.
Yes,
he thought, he would be a hero when he returned with such a trophy.
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However,
the wily old dragon had other plans for the proud young Knight,
rather than returning as a triumphant hero, once the beast had
finished with him he would slink home as a defeated boy, with a very
sore bottom.
As
soon as young Chrispin set foot in the Dragon, cave, the bravado,
which had powered his quest deserted him, and was replaced by
nervousness and by his inflated sense of self preservation. He
attempted to steel his courage by thinking of the wealth slaying the
beast would bring him, and all the eager wenches who would surrender
their virtue to him. However, try as he might, those prospects no
longer seemed quite so attractive when they depended upon confronting
a dragon. 
 

A
shiver ran down his spine as he recalled the tales he had heard of
dragons, who, it was said, not only ate young knights like him, but
cooked them alive first with their fiery breath. Beads of sweat
appeared on his forehead as he struggled to dismiss his fear. He
resolved that to explore just the first chamber of the cavern, and,
if he did not find the dragon there, he would leave and go home.
Crispin’s
nerves would be in an even worse state, and his decision to search
only the outer chamber appear even less shrewd, if he had looked
behind him-and seen the large scaly shape lurking in the shadows and
observing his every move.
The
elderly dragon had been aware of the handsome young knight’s arrival
since he had first ridden up to the entrance of the cave. He knew
what Crispin’s intentions were, as he was not the first to try,
however from long experience the dragon was adept at dispatching such
nuisances.
However,
the dragon was in an uncharacteristically amiable mood, he had
feasted well on a bullock he had taken from local farm, and did not
have any desire to eat man flesh at that time. However, he was
resolved to teach the young upstart a lesson he would not forget,
and, being a dragon, he was well equipped to do so!
Silently,
despite his size, the creature follwed the young knight as he
nervously ventured further into the cave, awaiting the opportune
moment to strike.
Moments
later, young Crispin Cherrybutt presented the waiting dragon with the
perfect opportunity, when he bent forward tp peer into one of the
smaller inner chambers of the cavern.
In
that far away land, following the examples set by those such as the
Greeks and the Spartans, the young warrior were all but naked beneath
their armour.

 Thus it was that the sight of Chrispin’s perfect,
shapely and hairless bare bottom thrust towards him, like a cannibal
banquet, as he bent, was a dizzyingly tempting target which no self
respecting dragon could resist.
The
old dragon did not resist temptation for one moment, and ceasing the
opportunity to teach the impertinent intruder the lesson he so dearly
deserved, he breathed in, and the opening his vast jaws in a blood
curdling roar, exhaled a stream of flame aimed directly at the
exposed seat of the arrogant young nuisance in front of him. Striking
right on the tight divide in the middle, and spreading across each
bare cheek. 

As
the flames hit his tender skin, Crispin let out an ear-splitting
shriek of agony, and leaped three feet into the aim clutching at his
toasted buns. The pain was like something he had never experience
before, and he instantly knew, without looking round what had caused
it.
He
spun round and saw what he had known would be there, and it was even
more fearsome than he could have imagined. The dragon stared back at
him, and its jaws twisted into what Crispin was convinced was a cruel
and sardonic grin of satisfaction.
Crispin
did not waste a moment, and with the terror enhancing his already
outstanding agility, he dodged past the dragon, and ran full pelt out
of the cave still clutching his dragon’s breath seared bottom.
The
dragon let out a second roar and shot out another fiery stream of
flame, which despite Crispin’s swift and greyhound attempt to avoid
it, succeeded in singeing Crispin’s fingers and the tops of the
insides of his thighs.
With
the speed of the athlete he was, Crispin ran out of the cave and over
to where he had tethered his steed.
The
dragon did not follow, he was too full of fattened bullock to run
after a healthy young buck, and anyway his intention had only been to
scare the impudent boy away, and leave hima token to remember him by.
Crispin
would certainly never forget the dragon and his well singed bottom
would keep the memory fresh for days to come. He had a two and a half
day ride home ahead on him, and he would feel every bump.
As
the tears of pain and humiliation rand down Crispin’s still
devastatingly handsome face and he strained every muscle in an
impossible attempt to keep his sore and well scorched bottom from
contacting with with the hard and sun heated saddle, he could not
have known that his painful adventures had only just begun.
_______________________
Notes:
i) Part one was inspired by regular reader Sammie.
ii)
This story is by way of an intermission, “The Shaman’s Revenge will
continue soon.
.
 
Posted on

The Shaman’s Revenge Part 10

The
Shaman’s Revenge Part 10
Jordan
lay on the cold basement floor, very miserable, very sore and unable
to get up or escape from the discovery he knew was coming. Within
moments discovery arrived.
“What
on ….?” a boomed voice echoed round the basement and briefly
distracted Jordan from his torment, he looked up and saw the ranger
entering the room, and knew instantly that his bad day was going to
get a lot worse. 
 
The
ranger, bare foot and bare chested, strode across the room and stood
looking down at Jordan with an expression of poorly concealed
amusement on his face “What are you doing boy? … how did you get
in here?” … he looked across to the open skylight window “Did
you break in?”
“I…
I .. “ stammered Jordan, keenly aware there was nothing he could
say which would not make his predicament worse.
“Do
I arrest you? …” mused the ranger with feigned seriousness “or
should I have a word with your Dad …?”
“Please
Officer … Sir … I can explain!” moaned Jordan, his mind
struggling for an explanation as to why he was lying naked on the
floor or the ranger’s basement which would both not incriminate him
or appear totally fanciful!
“Get
up off the floor!” ordered Officer Tartarus
“I
can’t!” wailed Jordan
“What
do mean you “can’t”?” snapped the Ranger
“I
…I … I just can’t!” relied the miserable Jordan
“Not
be stupid boy …get up!…. on your feet boy!!”
“I
can’t …. I’ve got a ……. a ……. bottle brush up my ass!”
moaned Jordan.
“W…What?”
shouted the Ranger, pretending he had no idea what had befallen
Jordan “Let me look?” he stepped forward and tool a close look at
Jordan’s bottom “By damn! You have!!” he frowned at Jordan “What
have you been doing boy?”
“Nothing!”
protested Jordan “It just flew up there!!!” As the words left his
mouth he knew nobody would believe them so he corrected himself “I
.. er … sat on it!!” at least that sounded slightly more
believable.
The
ranger raised a sceptical eyebrow “If you you .. uh .. say so kid!”
he folded his arms “You sure you ain’t been … experimenting …
like boys do!”
“No
I ‘ain’t … haven’t been experimenting … I am not a pervert!”
“Oh
yes??? …..Says the naked guy with a bottle brush up his ass!”
chortled the Ranger “why is it stopping you from standing up?”
“I
think it must be pressing on a nerve. When I try to stand up it jabs
into me!”
“Hmmm
… are you sure you are not just being a wimp because it feels
bad?…. try getting on your hands and knees.”
With
considerable difficulty Jordan managed to clamber on to his knees,
making grunts of discomfort every time the prickly plastic brush
jabbed his tight little passage.
“Now
try crawling across the floor!” 
 
In
increasing discomfort Jordan attempted to crawl as instructed,
letting out increasingly shrill squeaks of pain as he did so.

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The
ranger roared with laughter as he watched Jordan’s perfect, but much
punished bottom sway from side to side with the wire handle of the
brush protruding from between his cheeks. As if unable to resist, he
lent forward and flicked the handle with his forefinger, causing it
to vibrate inside Jordan’s rectum.
“YEEEOOWW!”
screamed Jordan as the a tingling and prickling sensation surged
through his body, feeling as if all the nerve ends in his bottom had
received an electric shock. “Don’t do that!!”
“Can
you squat?” asked Officer Tartarus
“You might find that easier!”
“Squat?”
“Yeah,
like doing squat thrusts in the gym!” replied the ranger “Here
let me help you!” He stepped forward, grabbed Jordan under the
armpits and pulled him up as the unhappy boy howled in discomfort.
Once
in a squatting position, Jordan realised the Ranger had been right
and that this position was a bit easier to bear, albeit it was still
very uncomfortable.
“That’s
better!” said the ranger “Now we need to get you to the hospital,
so they can remove that thing!”
“Are
you going to call an ambulance?” asked Jordan, cringing at the
thought of paramedics seeing him with a bottle brush up his behind
“Couldn’t a doctor come here instead?”
“No,
there is no need to waste valuable medical resources and time
ferrying a fit athlete a few hundred yards” snapped Officer
Tartarus “The hospital is just down the street!”
“b….but
how am I going to get there, I can’t walk!”
“You
can waddle!”
“I
can’t waddle!” snapped Jordan in horror
“Of
course you can, you’re a fit, athletic guy, it should be no problem,
….. and I am certainly not going carry you!”
“But
it’s miles to the hospital!”
“Garbage,
its a mile and half at most, it’s just a brisk walk ….. waddle ..
and we’ll be there in no time!”
Despairing
at the prospect of waddling a mile and a half with a bottle brush in
his backside, Jordan looked around the room as if seeking a means of
escape. Then he noticed something was missing …
“Where
are my clothes? … they were over there? …”
The
Ranger looked around casually and shrugged “I can’t see no clothes
boy!”
“I
need my clothes… they can’t have disappeared ..”
“You
dumb boys” laughed the Ranger “always losing something!” he
turned back to Jordan “I guess you’re just gonna’ have to go in
your birthday suit!!” with that he grabbed Jordan round the waist,
threw him over his shoulder and walked swiftly up the steps out of
the basement.
It
was, in fact almost two miles to the local hospital, and every yard
was a nightmare for Jordan as each waddled step caused the prickly
brush to jab into his sensitive anus and various internal nerves
sending tingling shock waves from his bottom through the rest of his
body. Although the bristles were only plastic, and were actually not
tearing flesh, he felt as if they were. Therefore, each wobbling step
was accompanied with a gasp or an angry yell of discomfort.
“Don’t
be such a baby Jordan!” laughed the Ranger, who was walking slowly
along beside the unfortunate young swimmer, and unable to fully hide
the pleasure he was taking from Jordan’s discomfort.
Jordan’s
discomfort was to increase and be combined with shame and
embarrassment as they got closer to the hospital where there were a
number of people walking in and out, all of whom stooped to stare,
point and laugh at the naked young man waddling down the street, like
a large pink and particularly handsome duck! He prayed that none of
them spotted the wire bottle brush handle sticking out of his naked
rectum.
Unfortunately
for Jordan, as soon as they reached the hospital, Officer Tartarus
wasted no time in making sure that everyone in earshot knew all about
the bottle brush. “We need some help here!” he bellowed
loudly “Jordan Draper here has gone and got a bottle brush stuck
right up his backside!” His voice grew louder “Don’t know
how he’s done it mind, but idiot boys do do the dumbest things!!”
“Not
so loud, please they will all hear!!” pleaded the humiliated young
athlete.
However,
the Ranger ignored Jordan’s pleas “He claims he weren’t
experimenting or anything!” he continued “but, ya’ know, how does
a dude get a prickly brush stuck deep up his lil’ white boy tush,
without doing something a bit weird?! ….. I’m Just saying!!”
The
woman at the reception desk, who Jordan, to his horror recognised as
a friend of his Mom’s, almost fell off her chair in an attempt to
stifle her laughter as she blurted out “I will page a Doctor
immediately Sir!” before hiding her mouth with her hand.
Moments
later, as if Jordan’s horrible day could not get any worse, a
familiar white gowned figure arrived on the scene, it was Dr Schultz,
the college doctor, who was filling in filling in for a colleague at
the hospital.
“Ah
Caleb … Officer Tartarus!” he said “I see young Jordan had got
himself into yet another pickle!”
“Hi
Doc!” laughed the Ranger, “he’s got himself skewered more like,
the dumb jock has stuffed a prickly bottle brush up his fanny!”
“I
didn’t stuff it up ….there!” protested Jordan
“How
did it get there then son?” asked the Doctor in a marginally
mocking tone.
“it
jut got there .. okay?!” snapped Jordan “Now just get the fucking
thing out!!”
“Mind
your tongue brat!” ordered the Ranger “That’s another thing I
need to talk to your Dad about later!!”
Jordan
did not have time to think about what the Ranger might tell his dad
as the loud shouting had attracted quite a crowd of observers, who
now mingled around the entrance lobby, laughing and pointing at the
metal handle protruding from between his butt cheeks. Worrying about
his Dad’s reaction would come later, all he cared about now was
getting the brush removed and finding somewhere to hide.
“Come
with me!” said the doctor, leading, the still waddling, Jordan to a
side room, followed by the Ranger, who, when passing the door, wedged
it open, enabling the assembled crowd to see in.
The
two strong older men easily lifted the young swimmer onto the raised
hospital bed and laid on his back with his legs in the air. 
 
While
the assembled cowed watched in chuckling fascination, the doctor set
to work trying to pull the brush out of Jordan’s rectum, as as the
unhappy jock squeaked and whimpered in discomfort and acute
embarrassment.
However,
despite repeated orders to relax, Jordan was so stressed and tense
that his sphincter muscles had involuntarily contracted so tightly
around the the brush it refused to budge.
“I
can’t move it!” complained the doctor, “The boy’s rectum is
gripping it like a vice!”
“Here
let me try!” said the ranger stepping forward and taking hold of
the end of the brush “I have a knack for these things!” So
focused was the doctor and others in Jordan’s humiliation that nobody
thought to inquire as to how Officer Tartarus had developed a “knack”
at extracting bottle bristles from the anuses of 19 year old male
athletes!.
Tartarus’s
technique was somewhat different to the doctor, and significantly
more uncomfortable for Jordan, first he started jiggling the wire
handle from side to side, and then he began to push and pull at the
brush, in an ‘in an out’ movement. Jordan could only gasp in horror
at the sensation this caused to him and as that sensation
intensified, Jordan was suddenly hit by the stark, cold reality that
his new neighbour the ranger was literally fucking him with a bottle
brush!
He
looked into the rangers eyes, and could see immediately that the man
knew exactly what he was doing, and that he was enjoying doing in.
However, as he stared, momentarily transfixed, by the intense
blackness of the man’s eyes, he sensed something else, something
deeper, darker, totally terrifying and not entirely human.
He
jerked back in horror, and spasm caused by the sudden movement
released the brush from the earlier grip, enabling the ranger to
remove it.
“Got
it!” said the Ranger holding up the, now somewhat crushed and
mangled brush!”
“Well
done!” said the doctor, “it is a good thing it was just plastic,
and not wire, otherwise it could have done internal damage, as it is
he will just be tender for a few days!
“Young
guys heal real quick!” laughed the ranger “that’s why you have to
keep spanking the young varmits!”
“however,
we had better make sure there is no infection!” mused the doctor,
he turned to a male nurse who had been standing watching the
entertainment. “The patient will need a double inoculation, please
prepare two syringes!”
The
Word “Syringes” shocked Jordan away from focusing on the unknown
horror he had seen in the Ranger’s eyes to the very real and
immediate terror of an injection.
“NOO!!”
Yelled Jordan “You are not jabbing me again!!”
“It’s
for your own good!” growled Tartarus as he stepped forward, grabbed
hold of Jordan, and flipped him over onto his front, with such ease
that it was as it the boys was weightless. “there you go Doc!” he
looked down at Jordan’s, now upturned, bottom “there’s your target
… and ain’t it a perty one!!” he laughted as he held the the
struggling and protesting Jordan 
 
The
doctor picked up one syringe, as the nurse filled a second one. “This
is a new antiseptic serum!” he said “It is very effective, but
there is one side effect, it will make your bottom very sensitive for
a couple of day … so I recommend you avoid horse back riding!”
“Don’t
worry Doc!” laughed the Ranger “I somehow doubt he’s gonna’ want
to go horseback riding for quite some time!!”
“No
please don’t!!” yelled Jordan “Give me a pill instead ….”
However,
before the words had left Jordan’s mouth., the doctor had Jabbed the
needle hard into his right butt cheek, followed seconds later by the
nurse who jabbed his the second needle into the left cheek!!!
“AAAAAAAAAAOOOOOWWW!
…. “YEEEAAAAAOOOCH!” Jordan’s yell echoed around the hospital
as now further pain was inflicted on his already very sore and tender
bottom.
The
ranger bent down and whispered quietly into Jordan’s ear, his hot
breath tickling the boys neck as he did so “You really have had a
bad day haven’t you kid? …….. it would be a real shame if it got
worse!!”
To Be Continued!!
Posted on

The Shaman’s Revenge (Part 9)

The
Shaman’s Revenge (Part 9)
Chase
Colby had just returned home after a very bad day, there had been a
lot of bad days recently, but that day had been one of the worst as
he had just lost the second job in three month. Chase’s boss. Will
Bryant, the Caretaker at Capsaicin College, had eventually tired of
the lazy young fool’s constant lateness and shoddy workmanship and
sacked him.
This
was a big problem for Chase as he needed the money. Due to his poor
credit rating he had needed to borrow money from a loan shark, and
the interest was very high, if he could repay the debt the lender was
likely to become very unpleasant.
More
significantly, on his scale of importance, Chase liked having money
in his pocked, it was a lot easier to ball chicks when a guy had
money.
Despite
his financial concerns, however, Chase had still spent part of the
cash he had left on beer and some high quality weed from a dealer he
knew. He figured that a drink and a smoke would take his mind off
his troubles.

As
soon as the handsome young wastrel got home, he stripped naked and
spent ten minutes under a shower, the hot soapy water providing a
welcome balm to his lithe and tanned, perfectly formed but tense and
aching body.
Finally
stepping out of the shower and drying himself, he padded, still
naked, into the studio bedroom of his tiny apartment, and turned on
his huge “Ghetto blaster” style portable radio, tuned to a
station which played his favourite heavy rock music 24/7, then opened
a first bottle of beer, which he swiftly downed and followed with a
second. 

He then threw himself face down on the bed and rolled
himself a joint from the marijuana he had purchased earlier that day.
After
a few puffs of the expensive weed, Chase began to feel mellow and
relaxed, he leaned over and turned up the music as high as it would
go, yelling “Yeah man!” as he did so.
Chase
planned to only play the music for an hour or so, since the incident
with the wasps, which he was superstitiously convinced the weird old
East European man upstairs had something to do with, he had made sure
the he did not make any noise after 10:30 at night, when he believed
the old man went to bed.
His
good behaviour motivated by fear rather than good neighbourliness,
Chase had intended to do the same that night. However, the drugs
which his pusher had sold him was a lot more powerful than usual,
and the effect was intensified by combining it with the strong beer
he had just drunk. As a result, within twenty minutes of lighting
the first joint, the unlucky young hunk had fallen fast asleep.
Chase
would be unconscious for the next eleven hours, although he did not
sleep peacefully, as his dreams were troubled by the same reoccurring
nightmare, in which he was running naked through an endless field of
corn, pursued by a swarm of giant and angry hornets, all intent on
stinging his bare behind.
Throughout
the long hours of hours of the night, the loud rock music continued
to blare out of the huge speakers wired to his ghetto blaster. The
noise was so loud, it smothered all other sounds, including his
elderly upstairs neighbour furiously hammering on the floor, and
threatening Chase with every agony that Hell had in store for him.
*************
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Whilst
Chase still slept, elsewhere in town, Jordan Draper had risen early,
and was up to no good. Before anyone else was awake he slipped out of
the house and hurried quietly across the road to the old McKinny
house, where the ranger was living, and he was intent on doing harm
in some way, although he had not yet decided what way.
After
the events of the last two days, it had become clear to Jordan that
having the ranger for a neighbour was really bad news for him, and
likely to get worse. He had to get rid of the ranger, or find some
way of stopping him from causing trouble.
Various
ideas went through his head, perhaps he could find evidence of bad
deeds on the rangers part, which Jordan could use to blackmail the
officer into leaving town. It seemed obvious that a guy who took
such obvious pleasure in spanking a guy, and sticking needles in his
ass, had to be some sort of pervert, maybe there would be some
evidence of perversion in the house, which Jordan could use.
Failing
that, if the hose “accidentally” caught fire, the ranger would
have to more, or even better, the ranger might be trapped inside the
house when it burnt down.
With
vengeance also on his mind, the thought of the ranger burning to
death …. slowly ….. was not an unattractive prospect to Jordan at
that moment!
Once
at the back of the old McKinny house, Jordan looked around for the
best way to get in, and noticed that a small skylight window in the
basement appeared to be unlocked. He pushed it with his foot and it
gave way. The window was unlocked, and it was just large enough for
him to squeeze through.
After
furtively glancing around to check that there was nobody watching,
Jordan climbed through the window and, with the agility of a young
fawn, jumped down to the floor below. The Mckinny basement was not
one of those which had been remodelled into a trendy residential
space, or underground games room, but instead it was the old style
storage space beneath the house, with a stained concrete floor,
exposed rafters and a single light bulb hanging on a wire from the
ceiling.
He
saw a light switch and turned on the single light, so as to be able
to better see where he was. As he did so, Jordan noticed an unlit
furnace and some cans of gasoline on one side of the room, these
would be useful if he did decide to burn down the house. However,
first he needed to find a way into the main living, and began
creeping towards a set of stone stairs leading to a doorway.
However,
it was at this point that things became surreal, as suddenly, there
was a sound like a rushing wind around his feet, and then, to his
amazement his feet left the floor, as if some strange force was
lifting him up and tipping him forward, but instead of falling
towards the floor, he began floating upwards towards the ceiling, as
if his body was defying gravity.
 
“What
the f….?” gasped Jordan, unable to fully comprehend what was
happening to him. He had once seen a show featuring a magician
seemingly levitating his assistant, but he was sure that was faked.
Whereas this was really happening. He reached out to grab at a
central pillar in an attempt to steady himself, but it was out of his
reach, and he just kept steadily rising like some weightless
astronaut.
If
that was not bizarre enough, suddenly first one shoe slipped off his
feet and fell to the floor followed by a second, then his jeans
became became strangely loose and began falling down his legs.
Jordan grabbed out to stop the jeans coming off totally, but it was
too late, as they had already slipped down his legs and joined the
shoes in a crumpled pile of blue denim on the floor.
Jordan
could not believe what was happening to him, this shit couldn’t be
for real, he must be asleep and dreaming.
What
happened next made his realise with 100% certainty that he was wide
awake. He was now naked from the waste down, and as he continued to
float upwards , his exposed bare bottom was getting closer and closer
to the glowing light bulb. Of course as the light bulb was behind
him, Jordan was unaware that he was gliding towards it, until the hot
glass sphere touched the tender skin between his butt cheeks.
“AAAAGHHH!”
screamed Jordan “That’s FUCKING HOT!!!” indeed the bulb was very
hot, and inexplicably seemed to be getting hotter and hotter as it
rubbed against Jordan’s most tender and sensitive area. Then as if
two large invisible hands had grasped each butt cheek, and spread
them open, so that the glowing light bulb slipped between them, and
was soon pressed against the puckering pink rim of his anus.
“YYYYEEEEEOOOOOOOOO”” screamed Jordan as the bulb continued to
heat up. “Someone help me!!”
Although,
it seemed much longer, Jordan’s anus was, in fact, only in contact
with the bulb for a matter of seconds, but it was long enough to
singe the tender skin.
Then,
as if whatever had lifted him up was weakening its grip, Jordan began
descending back towards floor. Then suddenly, inanimate objects
which had been lying about the basement, seem to come to life, and
fly towards him, swirling around his backside and legs in a spectacle
reminiscent of some clever cartoon animation. However, their purpose
seemed altogether less innocent than most cartoons.
First
a pair of hard soled old arm boots flew at Jordan as he still floated
down before the left boot delivered a massive kick to his uplifted
backside, sending him flying forward, and causing one of his socks to
fall off. The right boot then kicked Jordan’s other butt cheek,
causing his second sock to fall off and Jordan to let out a further
cry of pain.
Next,
an old garden rake flew at this him and began jabbing his bottom with
it’s sharp prongs. Sometimes it jabbed the butt cheeks and sometimes
it jabbed between. Now on the floor, Jordan, tried crawling out of
range of the needle like prongs, but the fork followed him, still
jabbing away.
In
some way that Jordan couldn’t quite understand, as he crawled, his
hooded sweat shirt, also fell off, leaving him naked.
However,
for all their bruising kicks and jabbing thrusts. The boots and the
garden fork were mere warm up acts compared to the next object
which was to assault the young athlete’s punished posterior.
Although smaller than the other items, who knew that a common plastic
bristled bottle brush could have such a devastating impact, if
inserted where it was about to thrust itself. 
 
First
the brush spun in circles, as if taking aim, then, with the
trajectory of a speeding bullet, it shot towards the unlucky young
athlete’s raised bottom, pushed between his buttocks, forcing open
the tight pink orifice between, and penetrating deep inside Jordan,
until every plastic bristle had vanished from view, and only the long
wire handle protruded from between the quivering cheeks.
Jordan,
a look of wide eyed shock on his face, opened his mouth to cry out,
but no sound came, and a silent scream echoed round the shabby
basement. He was like a frozen statue kneeling in an all fours “doggy
position” as the full enormity of the horror sunk in.
The
bristles of the bottle brush were only plastic, so they were not, in
reality, tearing his flesh, they just felt as if they were was.
However, it we not just the pain which further discomforted Jordan,
the bristles seemed to be pricking against every nerve end within in
his lower body, sending electric like pulses, similar to touching an
especially sensitive tooth, through his tense young body.
This
was causing sensations, he had never felt before, and never wished to
feel again. There are many straight men who derive secret pleasure
from anal penetration, but Jordan was not one of these men, for him
the sensation was nightmarish and incapacitating.
He
reached back, took hold of the wire handle and attempted to pull the
brush out if it’s new socket. However, the shock had caused his rear
passage to involuntarily tighten, with the result that the brush was
gripped firmly and would not budge.
A
flood or rational and and irrational thoughts washed back and forth
through his mind, he could understand very little of what had
happened within the last few frantic minutes, however the one stark
reality was that he needed to get this ghastly alien object removed
from his body, and for that, however embarrassing it might be, it
meant he had to find help.
He
attempted to stand up, but found he could not, as any attempt to
stand straight caused the bottle brush inside him to push against
nerves and muscle, causing an almost Sciatica like paralysis, which
kept him bent double. There was no way that he could either mount
the stairs, or climb back out the window, if he was stuck in this
position.
As
he lay on the floor, effectively immobilised, the full nightmare
reality of his predicament became clear, he was trapped, stark naked
in the basement of an officer of the law, who obviously wished him
ill and who’s home he had just broken into. And top top it all, he
had a bottle brush wedged up his ass.
With
mounting horror Jordan realised that he was, well and truly, and
indeed literally, fucked!
To
be continued ….