Soccer Jock Humiliation

Soccer
Jock Humiliation

The coach’s methods were old
fashioned but very effective. He kept an especially embarrassing ping
pong paddle ready for swollen headed jocks like young Colton Fisher,
as he knew that the stinging humiliation of being publicly paddled,
over the knee like some kid, in front of his team mates, would stay with Colton long
after the fire in his tight little butt had faded.

However,
he planned to make sure that fire didn’t cool for quite some time,
certainly a lot longer than it would take for cell phone footage of
Colton’s embarrassing bare bottomed punishment the reach every jock
and Co-Ed on Campus. 

He
would not stop until Colton’s butt cheeks were glowing even redder
than the one’s on his face.
 _____________



It
this image inspires any of you to write the story around it, please
feel free to post it in the Comments section below

 

The Fantasy Art of Mark (Part 4 of 4)

 
Here
is the fourth selection of the work of the Spanking fantasy artist
Mark, who has kindly agreed to contribute
to this blog.

You
can view more of Mark’s work at the JockSpank Blog by CLICKING
HERE

The Fantasy Art of Mark (Part 3 of 4)

 
Here
is the third selection of the work of the Spanking fantasy artist
Mark, who has kindly agreed to contribute
to this blog.
There
is so much to enjoy in every picture Mark creates, from the sizzling
hot imagery to the cleverly chosen scenarios and wicked humour in the
text.
 

Click
on the Read More tab below to continue




You
can view more of Mark’s work at the JockSpank Blog by CLICKING HERE

The Fantasy Art of Mark (Part 2 of 4)

Here
is the second selection of the work of the Spanking fantasy artist
Mark, who has kindly agreed to contribute
to this blog.

Click
on the Read More tab below to continue

 

You
can view more of Mark’s work at the JockSpank Blog by CLICKING
HERE

Introducing the Fantasy Art of Mark

 
Introducing
the Fantasy Art of Mark
Sore
Bottom Guys is thrilled to announce that the outstanding Spanking
fantasy artist Mark, has agreed to become an occasional contributor
to this blog.
Many
of you may know Mark for his postings to JockSpank,
but for others, discovering Mark’s work will be an exciting new gem
to add to their fantasy treasure box.
Mark’s
work can be enjoyed not only for the unquestioned cleverness and
skill of the artistry, but also for the incredible eroticism and
wicked humour, all directed where it should be at the very deserving
bottoms of handsome hunks, jocks, dudes and assorted bad boys, often
with an added dose of humiliation for good measure.
By
Way of introducing Mark to Sore Bottomed Gus, over the next few days
I will be reposting examples of Mark’s sexy images, selected by the
artist himself. These have been previously posted to JockSpank, but
are delights which are more than worth rediscovering!!
The
first of these selections are below, I know you will love them.
In
future, Mark will contribute to both sites, and we hope that from
time to time he will create images especially for Sore Bottomed Guys.

Click
on the Read More tab below to continue

TO BE CONTINUED
You
can see more of Mark’s work at the JockSpank Blog by CLICKING HERE

The Singeing of Crispin Cherrybutt (Part Four – pt 1)

The
Singeing of Crispin Cherrybutt
(Part Four – pt 1)
As
his eyes began to become accustomed to the dark, Crispin finally
began to be able to see who
else
was sharing the dungeon with him. He could make out a handsome
muscular man, about eight or ten years older than himself, with a
face which was vaguely familiar. At first he struggled to recall
where he knew the man from.
Then
he remembered “Gallant Sir Tybalt!” he gasped, “Is it really
you?”
The
older man, raised his head, as if surprised “It is a long time
since I have heard my name spoken” he replied, “but, yes, it is
I!” his voice, was strong and deep, with the cadence of noble
birth, melding incongruously with the slight hesitance of one who
has not shared a conversation in quite some time.
I
recall, when you left to fight the dragon!” blurted Crispin, “I
was just a child then, I was with the crowd cheering you as you rode
from the city, and I recall how inspired I was by your bravery!” he
paused as he remembered, “When you did not return people feared
the dragon had …… cooked you with his fiery breath, and eaten
you!”
Tybalt
sighed “Ah!” he said “I would have suffered less if it had
eaten me!” he looked at Crispin with an expression of sorrowed
compassion “As I fear you will soon suffer also!”
W…what
do you mean?” asked Crispin, the quiver in his vice betraying any
attempt at appearing stoic and brave!”
These
man who pose as monks are in fact the Hellish creatures of an evil
Lord!” replied “This is no Holy order, they long ago lost their
faith and are now a dangerous cult, who worship a fearsome demon who
rules over the pit of torment!” he shuddered “They demonstrate
their devotion to the beast by inflicting the torments of Tartarus on
their captives ….. me ….. us!”
Crispin’s
mouth fell open in unconcealed shock, stunned by what he was hearing,
and increasingly nervous of what might lie in store for him!
Why
have you not escaped?” he asked
Believe
me, I have tried!” replied Tybalt, “But the monks keep me closely
guarded!” he paused and glanced around, as if checking they were
not overheard, before he continued in a hushed voice “You must keep
this secret!” he whispered “I am digging a tunnel, it is hidden
behind that boulder in the corner, but it is taking a long time, as
the stone is so hard. Perhaps now there are two of us, we will make
more progress!”
Before
Crispin could respond and express his eager willingness to join
Tybalt in digging his escape tunnel, the great wooden door to the
dungeon was flung open by a group of monks who entered, grabbing hold
of the two handsome knights and dragging them up the stairs.
Crispin
attempted to struggle free, but the monk’s were unexpectedly strong
and had superior numbers, so they held him firm. Meanwhile Tybalt,
perhaps weakened and disheartened by his years as a prisoner, seemed
resigned to his fate, and put up little resistance.
The
monks carried and dragged the protesting Crispin and the sad faces
but silent Tybalt into a large chamber with two drape covered altar
in the middle, on to which the two young men were forced to crawl,
before their wrists and ankles were tightly shackled with leather and
chains.
Tybalt
gave Crispin a doleful look, his voice quivered with compassion and
resignation “Be brave my friend!” he said “Your suffering will
be great, but it will end eventually”
Crispin
was not feeling at all brave, and his composure was not improved by
the older man’s ominous words.
Then
the situation got considerably worse, as one of the younger monks
stepped forward carrying a tray on which were two huge and erect
penises, both seemingly carved from what the wide eyed and fearful
Crispin instantly recognised as the dreaded fire root.
It
was only hours since his last encounter with this fearsome root, and
his anus was still painfully smarting, he prayed to whatever god was
listening that the huge objects before him would not be used for a
similar purpose. Sadly, it seemed that the only god listening was
the monstrous demon to whom the monks paid homage, and the miserable
expression in Tybalt’s handsome brown eyes, told Crispin that his
worst fears were about to be fulfilled.
Two
of the monks took hold of the carved phalluses, the younger of the
two flinching slightly as the scalding juices burnt his fingers. Then
each walked to the end of an altar, whilst chanting in an archaic
tongue.
Once
they stood behind each man they lifted the fire root penises up
before roughly inserting the first six inches of the intricately
carved objects into into the rectums of the two unhappy knights,
leaving a further four or so inches and the large scrotum shaped
appendage sticking out. 
 
With
the stoicism gained from long exposure to such outrages Tybalt merely
moaned slightly, however, the raw young Crispin for whom this was
agonisingly new yell, screamed and cried out obscenities as the
burning juices of the fire root soaked into his his most intimate and
tender areas.
Two
further monks, who’s presence, until that moment, had gone relatively
unnoticed by the handsome knights, and who were holding large wooden
paddle like objects, easily mistakable for ancient flatbread or pizza
shovels, also stepped forward.
The
two monks then brought down the wooden paddles, which they had been
holding high like flags, until they were inches from the base of the
fire root phalluses protruding from the knights behinds. Then they
swung them back and then forward hitting the base of the vegetable
scrotum with a loud whack, and forcing a further centime of the shaft
into the tight orifice.
Tybult
gasped and Crispin literally squealed with pain and shock as the huge
object was squeezed further inside him.
The
monks continued to whack their paddles against the replica organs as
if they were knocking a peg into a hole with a mallet.
The
force of the blows first split the phalluses, and then then began to
crush the large scrotum bulge at the end, sending sprays of scalding
fire root sap across the two knights. handsome and exposed buttocks.
Soon the carved stiffies had all but vanished, the main part having
been forced inside the unlucky victims, and the rest crushed in to
acid like liquid. Yet, still the Monk’s continued to paddle the
knights with their fire root soaked paddles, escalating the impact of
each blow with impact of the old dragon’s fiery breath.
Unable
to tolerate the pain Crispin began to shout, cursing and threatening
the monks with what he would do to them when he was free.
Take
care my friend!” urged Tybalt in alarm “take care lest the friars
punish you more severely” he attempted to whisper to the younger
man “they will take you to the hives, and, believe me Dear friend,
you never want to be taken to the hives!!
However,
Crispin ignored his compatriot’s warning and continued to snarl,
curse and should threats at the monks. Too late he realised the
danger he was placing himself in.
The
oldest monk, who appeared to be the leader, approached the alters a
cruel smile on his ugly and twisted lips, he took hold of a clump of
Crispin’s hair in his fist, lifted the young knight’s head up and
looked into his face.
Well,
well, you impudent young pup! He scoffed “You have not learned your
lesson yet!” he grinned in a way that sent a shiver down Crispin’s
back “You need serious chastisement my boy” the old monk growled
unkindly “and our little friends are well equipped for that!”
___________
TO
BE CONTINUED
I
hope to post more of part four on Tuesday

.

The Shaman’s Revenge – Part 11

Bobby
O’Rourke was doing his daily training, as a conscientious youth he
trained for at least two hours every day, whatever the weather.
Coach had told him that if he continued training he could be entered
for the state championships, after which the possibilities were
endless for a dedicated and ambitious young athlete like Bobby.
Bobby was determined to succeed, to represent his state and maybe
even his country, and make his family proud in the process.
Bobby’s
family were already proud of him, for it was not only at athletics
that he excelled, he had studied hard in class and had earned a
scholarship to the college, where hw was proving himself to be a star
pupil in many ways. It was widely believed that Bobby had a bight
future ahead of him.
Bobby
has already run for over ten miles when he reached a road junction
leading to Main Street. It was there that he noticed old Mrs Rush
with her walking cane, nervously hovering on the edge of the street,
apparently awaiting an opportunity to cross. 
 Bobby knew the elderly
lady, who was an acquaintance of his grandmother’s, had poor eyesight
so he rushed to her side, and after taking care not to alarm her, he
reassuringly took hold of her arm and kindly assisted her crossing,
whilst at the same time signalling to oncoming traffic to be patient
whilst Mrs Rush made her unsteady crossing.
Once
they were safely on the other side of the road, Bobby waved away the
old lady’s words of gratitude, wished her good day and continued on
his way .
It
was safe to say that, in Bobby O’Rourke you could not wish to find a
nineteen year old athlete who was less like Jordan Draper, except,
of course, in one regard, Like Jordan, Bobby was a very handsome
young man. (He would not have earned his place in Sore Bottomed Guys
were he not)
Remembering
he had to study for an examination, Bobby turned off the street and
cut through an alleyway behind some apartment buildings just in time
to hear the distant sound of breaking glass.
As
he ran down the alleyway, Bobby noticed two young boys running
towards him. He look little notice of them, until, as they passed
him, one of the boys tossed the soccer ball he was carrying towards
him and called out as he ran past “Here buddy!” he said “Look
after this”.
Taken
by surprise, Bobby instinctively caught the ball as it flew towards.
Bemused, he stopped running, and still holding the ball, turned to
watch the boys disappearing into the distance.
It
was then that a loud voice with a distinct East European accent rang
out behind him “I haff warmed you brats one hundred times not to
play your silly football games here!”
 
Bobby
turned to see an elderly gentleman with a bright red face glowering
at him furiously. “I beg your pardon Sir ….?!” he said
You
haff not my pardon you damn American vandal!
” roared the old
man “You haff broke my window with your silly ball ……I haff
warned you what would happen
” the elderly man was shaking with
fury as he spoke “You vill pay for this brat! And you vill not
like it!
Click on the READ MORE tab below to continue:

Excuse
me Sir!” replied Bobby trying as hard as he could to calm the old
man. “You are mistaken, I did not break any windows, I have only
just arrived…..!”
Do
not lie to me you vandal!
” the old man snarled “You think
I am a stupid old man, your guilt is before my eyes, you are holding
the silly ball in your hands! How dare you lie to me, you vil pay
twice …. ten fold, you vill pay for that!!”
Bobby
looked down and saw that he was still holding the ball which the
young boy had tossed to him “b…but …I..” he stammered
attempting to explain
GO!!
exploded the elderly and furious man “Get out of here, or you
will pay even more dearly!
Trained
to obey his elders and anxious not to upset the elderly gentleman,
who appeared close to a seizure, even more than he already was, Bobby
did as he was told, he put down the ball and looked at the old man
“Goodbye Sir!” he said “I hope you get your window fix….!”
GO!
snarled Goran, for it was he “Get out of here are you vill pay
even more than you already vill, your little brat bottom vill pay!!

Bobby
obeyed instantly, and ran off down the down the alley way, the old
man’s words still echoing in his head.
Bobby
was still thinking about the elderly gentleman’s threats to his
“little brat bottom” as he turned into the park, as a further
detour on his way home, until his attention was was caught by the a
plaintive meowing sound from above him. He looked up and saw a
kitten sitting on the branch of a tree he was passing. The poor
creature had obviously climbed up the tree, but was now stuck and
unable to get down.
Among
Bobby’s many admirable qualities, he was an animal lover, and it was
not in his nature to leave a helpless creature in distress.
Don’t
worry little Buddy!!” he called “I will come and get you!”
Without
a further thought, Bobby climbed up onto the first branch which was a
few feet below the kitten and began clambering along that branch in
order to get to a place where he could reach the kitten. 
 
It
was then that he heard a loud ripping noise, he looked back over
shoulder and saw, to his immense annoyance, that his tight running
shorts had snagged on a small branch a,d the whole of the seat had
been ripped away, exposing his bare white bottom to the world.
Fu
… Drat!” murmured Bobby stifling a cuss”how am I supposed to
get home like this?” he was the aware of an even more perplexing
problem, for some reason he could not move from the position he was
I. He could move his arms and kick his legs, but it was as if his
firm muscular young stomach was glued to the branch. This was all
very weird!
A
loud buzzing sound announced a most unwelcome arrival in the form of
a the biggest hornet Bobby had ever seem, which was heading straight
towards his exposed and upturned bottom like some form precision
guided missile. The hornet landed squarely in the centre of Bobby’s
vulnerable rump, its thin gripping legs on either side of the cleft
between the cheeks, jabbed it’s stinger into the tender and tightly
sloping flesh between the magnificent pearly white globes of his his
19 year old behind, and ejected a sting of truly agonizing strength,
sending a pure white hot bolt of pain deep into Bobby’s rear.
Bobby
let out an agonized howl of pain which echoed round the empty park
and again just managed to stifle back the worse swear word he knew.
Why on earth had a dumb insect done that? 
 
He
look back and to his mounting horror, saw a second hornet buzzing
towards their chosen target, seemingly with the same intention as its
earlier comrade. Bobby struggled frantically, but still he could not
move from the branch or escape.
No!”
he yelled “Help me …. Please help!!
+++
Bobby’s
cries for help, though ear piercing, were not loud enough to reach
the Draper home, but even if they had they would have been downed out
by the loud whacks and yelps of pain which were flooding out onto the
street. It the middle of the room, Me Draper was swinging his shiny
new wooden paddle, and gift he had received from his new friend and
neighbour Caleb Tartarus, the Ranger, and bringing it down with
repeated loud WHACKS! On Jordan’s now very red bottom, as his naked
son bent over in front of him.
Seated
comfortably on the sofa, was Ranger Tartarus, a grin of satisfaction
on his face. Having dragged the reluctant Jordan back from the
hospital, and informed his father of the boy’s exploits, he was sure
that Mr Draper’s new paddle would be seeing a lot of action over the
next few weeks and months.
Things
were working out just as the were supposed to.
Later
that day, Tartarus took a stroll round the Town, he was just
beginning to enjoy his visit there, and certainly did not want to
leave just yet. It had been a very long time since he he had been
called back from that deep are fiery place where had been dwelling,
to carry out the wishes of those who had summons him, and he had
almost forgotten how much fun it was.
As
he reached Capsaicin College, he made his way though a narrow gap by
the changing room, and the sight that met him served to re-enforce is
wish to stay in town.
Taylor
Hunter was another member of the swimming team, and although not as
accomplished a swimmer as Jordan, was not less physically appealing.
Another trait which the handsome Taylor share with Jordan was that
his attractive appearance did not reflect his personality, at that
was significantly less appealing. At that moment Taylor was in the
act of leaving a strikingly unfriendly, and some might say somewhat
hateful message for the team coach, Thor Amundsen.
As
it was, again, such a hot day, Taylor was wearing nothing except a
pair of skimpy yellow cotton shorts, which clung most enticingly to
to curves on the lad’s bubble cheeked bottom. Tartarus’s eyes
travelled down Taylor’s back, and rested on the seat of those thin
cotton short. His lips curled into a cruel grin. “Yes” he
murmured to himself, I think I will stay around for a while longer!” 
 .
The Shaman had conjured up dark forces to carry out his revenge, but as
others have found before him, once they are called, the powers
unleashed create ripples which have a wider impact than just on their
intended target.
The
Shaman’s Revenge is not going away.