Cat's M/M Discipline Fiction

Jon and Kit Stories


6. Friday…part three



He was fucked. Kit tried once again to steer a straight course along the towpath, but almost ended up in the canal after getting his feet tangled in pedals that totally refused to cooperate. He allowed self and cycle to crash to the ground as one entity before disentangling himself. He might as well admit it. He was well and truly, absolutely, without a doubt, royally fucked!

Lying on his back with his knees bent up he shut out the whirling sky by closing his eyes. He felt sick and altogether like crap. Why in God’s name had he bought and drunk a third pint of strong dry cider?  He was an idiot that’s why. Cider was too easy to get drunk on. Its apple taste masked its alcoholic potential and drinking it on a stomach devoid of any kind of soaking up material didn’t help much either. Nor had discovering that his treacherous watch had stopped and it was much later than he thought it was and no way could he make it home before Jon, not even if Jon were running late.

Oh God, why hadn’t he just stayed safely at home in the first place. It was that bastard Sam’s fault, even when he wasn’t around he was making trouble. If it weren’t for him then Colin would have joined him in taking a bike ride along the canal. They would have had a bit of a chat, something to eat and a quiet drink within reason and then headed home in good time. But Colin hadn’t wanted to leave home in case Sam returned or phoned or emailed.

Kit rolled miserably onto his side and opened his eyes. He stared at the sun-browned grass, but saw only Colin’s kitchen and the odd eyed teddy bear propped against the teapot on the table. He’d asked what it was and Colin had picked it up saying it belonged to Sam and he liked to have it around. The look on his face as he’d tenderly handled the shabby toy had made Kit’s stomach twist with guilt. He’d refused an offer of coffee and left. He shouldn’t have detoured to Colin’s house straight from work in the first place. He should have gone home and done what was expected of him. On leaving Colin’s he did head home, but he didn’t stay home. Instead he had gotten changed and taken his misery for a lone bike ride, sulking on wheels Jon would call it…and with some justification.

Struggling to a sitting position Kit reached for the water bottle on his bike, but even after having a good drink and pouring the remains over his head he wasn’t sober enough to safely control the cycle. Even pushing it in his present state would be dangerous on those portions of the towpath that margined close to the canal. Jon would kill him if he fell in and drowned while drunk.

It was time to stop being a prat and call for assistance. Jon would punish him he had no doubt of it, but at least he’d still be alive afterwards, which is more than could be said if he ended up in the canal. He was not a particularly strong swimmer.

Wrestling his phone out of his waist wallet he turned it back on only to discover that it was dead. He stared at the blank screen in dismay. With one thing and another he hadn’t put it on charge lately. He glared at it. His watch was useless. His phone was useless, but not half as fucking useless as he was. In a flare of temper he sent the phone arching through the air towards the canal. 

Shit-shit-shit! After watching the ripples spreading outwards he flopped back on the grass putting his hands over his face. That phone had cost him a fortune. He’d only had it six months. Maybe it would be just easier all round if he quietly drowned. He lay still for a few moments taking deep breaths. He would feel better if he could eject some of the poison that was causing the symptoms. Lumbering onto his knees and opening his mouth he poked his fingers down his throat and wretched, nothing, he tried again and this time his stomach obliged ejecting its curdled contents onto the grass. Once he started vomiting it was hard to stop and Kit heaved again, then again until both throat and stomach ached and there was nothing left to bring up. Oh God, wiping a shaky hand across his mouth he sat back on his haunches, starting with fright as a voice sounded.
“Are you quite finished?”

 “Jon!” Kit’s relief was heartfelt and bone deep. He tried to scramble to his feet, but lost his balance sitting down heavily on the bank.

Jon stated a plain fact in a hard voice. “You’ve been drinking.”

Kit’s stomach fluttered and any relief he felt at Jon materialising from thin air vanished. His resentment with life reasserted itself and under the lingering influence of the cider presented itself as cheek. “You did say you’d review alcohol today, Jon, I took a chance on the review being in my favour. I thought you’d approve of me acting on my own initiative and seeing as I haven’t had dinner yet you can’t go complaining that I’ve broken curfew. Bed after dinner, that was the ruling.” 

He gave a cry as he was roughly yanked to his feet, then another as Jon’s hand cracked across his rump. Beneath his shorts he wore only a lightweight sports support that like a thong left his bottom all but bare. The ultra light cycling shorts did nothing to muffle either the sound of the smack or its sting. In fact the close skin of silky material acted much like a film of water intensifying the sting and making it spread across his cheeks in a shockwave. He drew a pained breath, his eyes springing water as the hand cracked down again reviving his alcohol-numbed nerves with a vengeance. A third smack registered like an explosion in his muzzy brain, clearing it more effectively than a dash of iced water.

In total the spanking comprised of a half dozen thunderous blows applied in seconds, but Kit felt like it was happening in slow time and was never going to stop. When it did he was stone cold sober. Overawed, he cupped his throbbing buttocks with hands that trembled. He had never before been disciplined outside the confined privacy of home. There were no witnesses to his chastisement, save for some moorhens that at the first crack of Jon’s hand had scuttered to the safety of reeds near the water’s edge fearing they were being shot at, but never had Kit felt so exposed nor so acutely aware of his partner’s displeasure and power. He couldn’t bear to meet his gaze, staring at the ground instead while being conscious of every atom that constituted his presence. It suddenly dawned him how low the light was getting. It must be even later than he’d imagined, as much as anything else Jon would have been worried.  A wave of shame swept over him. “I’m sorry, Jon,” he risked a quick look,  “I was going to call you, but I‘ve lost my phone.”

“Be quiet, Christian.” Leaning down Jon picked up the bike with his right hand and taking Kit’s arm in his left began walking and wheeling them back to where the track began.

Walking silently along, his backside stinging, Kit regretted every single moment of the week that lay behind him. He also regretted not wearing his long distance cycling shorts, the ones with the padded seat, before setting off on his ill-advised jaunt. It was a relief to reach the car and get in leaning his head against the seat as his bike was secured to the cycle rack at the back of the car. The sun dipped lower as they drove homewards and by the time the car pulled onto the drive dusk was merging into darkness proper.

Turning the car engine off, Jon turned to his passenger instructing quietly, “go to bed.”

Kit’s resentment over the rabbit kits slyly resurrected and instead of preparing to accept the consequences of his actions his wilful ego became determined to resist. He unfastened his seat belt, “I want to shower first. I…”

Jon’s finger aimed itself straight between his eyes, cutting off his ability to finish his sentence. “What you want is irrelevant. The only thing that matters right now is what I want and I want you out of my sight and in bed.”

Kit’s face flamed, but he lifted his chin defiantly. “You’re not being fair, just like you weren’t fair last night. I’m sweaty and I need a shower.”

“Don’t you dare presume to talk to me about fairness after your behaviour today.” Jon’s tone carried no hint of reprieve. “Get indoors and straight up to bed, where you should have been all evening.”

Kit stubbornly persisted. “I’m just saying...”

“I’m not interested and I won’t tell you again, is that perfectly clear?”

Throwing himself out of the car, Kit slammed the door and stormed up the path. Seconds later a strong hand grasped his elbow and steered him back towards the car.

“Open that door and then close it properly. You’re in the wrong here, on several scores, you have no right to tantrums.”

Hot, tired and guiltily stressed, Kit vented. Wrenching the door open he hurled it closed harder still and then turned to storm back towards the house, only to find his path cut off by a one-man blockade.

“Do it properly.”

Kit had given his temper far too much rope. It hung itself and him along with it. “If you want to play with the car door, then fucking play with it. I’m going for a shower.” He tried to sidestep the blockade, giving a gasp as a large hand suddenly scrunched the back of his t-shirt and using it as a means of propulsion powered him up the path towards the front door. The door was quickly unlocked and he was thrust inside. He found himself in the living room sprawled over the back of the leather couch with his bottom perched high in the air and his toes just to say on the floor.

Gripping the waistband of Kit’s cycle shorts Jon pulled them up tight, drawing the thin stretchy material into the cleft of his bottom emphasising his buttocks and lifting his toes right off the floor. Raising his hand he brought it forward to make hard contact with the left side of the target, concentrating a series of rapid smacks before moving to the other side of Kit’s backside. He spanked hard, alternating so that one portion had time to recover sensitivity as the other was punished. When Kit began making obvious sounds of discomfort, Jon righted him and firmly escorted him back outside. “Open the car door and then close it in a befitting and respectful manner.”

Kit reached out a hand and opened the car door, then some imp of resistance and resentment mixed with stupid egotistical vanity suddenly flared in him. He wanted his will to rule for once. Lashing out with his foot he violently kicked it shut again. The back of the couch was even less appealing the second time round than it had been the first, especially when his shorts were swiftly peeled down to his knees.

Holding Kit firmly in position with his left hand, Jon raised his right hand high and swung it hard against his already reddened backside. By the time he stopped spanking, Kit was sobbing and his backside sported a block of solid crimson from his hips to midway down his thighs. Returning Kit to his feet he pulled up his shorts and said, “let’s try again shall we, young man.”

With tears and nasal fluids still flowing freely own his face Kit did as he was told, opening the door and closing it again in the prescribed way. He felt calmer as soon it was done.

“Easy, wasn’t it, Christian?”

Kit nodded, but avoided meeting Jon’s gaze, wiping his face with his hands and depositing the secretions down the sides of his shorts.

“I asked you a question, answer it properly.”

“Yes, Jon,” mumbled Kit, too conscious of his hotly smarting backside and stinging legs to risk further defiance.

Ushering Kit back inside Jon closed the door. “If you think that spanking clears the slate for your disgraceful behaviour today, you’re much mistaken.” He stood in quiet thought for a moment, then, “I was going to leave further discussions until morning, but judging from your attitude I’d say you have a real need for things to be settled tonight, at least repercussion wise. You’ve been actively pushing to be disciplined all week, so be it. Go upstairs, get the long paddle out, get undressed, you can leave a t-shirt on, but nothing below the waist. When I come up I expect to find you bending over the end of the bed with your bottom presented for punishment.”

Kit met the instruction with a look of mute dismay and appeal. Turning him towards the stairs Jon sent him on his way with a firm slap to the buttocks. He then went back outside to garage the car properly and unload Kit’s bike to be locked away.

Fresh tears ran down Kit’s face as he took the wooden paddle from the drawer and laid it on top of the chest. He undressed, donning a clean t-shirt before obediently bending over the bed to wait for Jon. His penis was rock hard, but the spanking he’d just endured hadn’t sexually aroused him, nor did thought of the one to come. There was no thrill for him in pain. The element of eroticism that existed, causing the rush of blood to his member, didn’t stem from pain. It was more to do with an instinctive male reaction to the charged atmosphere and his place within the dominance hierarchy of the household…more especially his place in relation to Jon who was undisputed head of it. He knew that the moment the paddle was laid against the skin of his already sore backside the erection would begin to falter and would then fail completely at the first stroke of pain. 

His guts constricted as he heard footsteps on the stairs and his cock immediately lost a little of its tautness. Jon didn’t speak as he came into the room. Closing the door he walked to the bed and raised Kit up in order to place a pillow under his pelvis to elevate his bottom a little more. After being put back over the pillow Kit closed his eyes twisting his fingers into the bed sheet, his erection now fast diminishing. As on the towpath he felt exposed, laid bare in more ways than the obvious his whole being centred on the man to whom he was submitting.

“Do you defy me, Christian?”

“No,” Kit answered immediately.

“No, you do not defy me and yet for the past week you’ve done little else. You do not break curfews or contravene restrictions that I’ve imposed simply because you are angry over a decision I’ve made.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Thank you. I don’t think anymore needs to be said at this point.”

Before picking up the paddle Jon inspected his partner’s chastised bottom. The colour had not yet receded from the hard hand spanking he’d visited upon it. Kit was also tired and emotionally stretched. There was no way he could take a serious or lengthy paddling. What he needed was something that felt shocking, something that made him feel he’d been properly corrected, but was soon over.

He utilised the middle portion of the oblong paddle, centring it across Kit’s backside to take in both cheeks at the same time, then he delivered six powerful strokes layered from the top of his buttocks to the top of his thighs in rapid succession with two of the strokes being twinned on the tender under curve of Kit’s bottom before the final one was applied to his upper thighs.

It hurt like hell while it lasted and Jon had to keep his hand pressed firmly between Kit’s shoulder blades to keep him in place. Full impact dispersed along a broad length of wood left an intense burning sting but a lesser risk of bruising. Afterwards he deposited his weeping partner under the sheets and prepared for bed himself.

The moment he got into bed, Kit turned to him pressing his tear-wet face against his chest. Kissing his dark hair Jon cuddled him to sleep, but lay wakeful himself.  Kit had been unusually recalcitrant all week. There was something eating at him and come the morning, Jon was going to get to the bottom of it once and for all. There’d been enough mutiny. It was time for the Master’s mate, Mr Christian, to come clean.


Copyright 2010 Cat/Fabian Black