SkinMarvin Gay Stories

Chapter | 1 | 2 | 3

I walked gamely to the rear of the shop wondering ever so coolly what Buttsub might be up to as he was never due home this early.

"Now don't tell your dad Sam went and canned a lad like you!"

"Nah, nah. 'Taint nothin' like it. When I leaves, I leaves of my own accord." And he keeps rummaging through the vast store of wooden boxes where I keep most of my spare bike parts. His back to me in a rare show of independence, I thought, he asks if I remember I might have stored the chain from his dirt bike.

"N what might you be wanting that for this being the middle of the day?"

"Some lad down at the stand. I want to give it to him so he can use it for a belt. I've taken to dressin' him as I don't think his kit produces the desired effect when he's out and about. His mates'll be right proud of him once they get a...'ere it is, dad. Gotta get my arse back before Sam notices how long I've been away from my bench."

And with that he pokes me in the nuts all matey like and promises to be home in time to cook my supper.

No, I reckon, my boy 's planning something big for his old dad and the letter is what's meant to reduce the shock once he springs it on me. So I'm gonna have to take steps to clear his head before he starts to get muddled. That's what I did the first time he flinched from being told to wear his buttplug while at work. As he knew that I was the only one who could get it back in place without hurting him, he resisted and set up a howl at first but I wouldn't hear of it. I forget exactly what he had pulled that week for me to go so far as to make sure that his humiliation would be public. But whatever it was, I knew the plug would be just the right touch to set his mates a howling over what he'd gone and done to piss off his old dad so as to have sport a rubber tail protruding from the trear I widened around his arse at the back of his jeans.

"And if my shitta...," he began to protest.

"You let me worry about your shitta, son." And I pushed him toward the door to indicate that the matter was closed.

Yet I could see that his first sign of rebellion as just one indication that I had a fine and healthy lad. If I was up to the challenge of keeping him in line, he'd be all right. If I failed, I might as well say farewell to the pleasure cave what filled my bed and cooked my stew even if I did fancy myself the only dad what could prime and lube his hole just right.

Keep the lad on a tight leash, I always say, and he won't get himself in a muddle.

Nah, trimming his Mohawk without his dad's permission, the bike chain, the lad at the shop, deceiving Sam, all of this pointed to the change what was coming over my Buttsub as indicated right here in this bleedin' letter. Where was I?

"Yeah, it's still tucked away in me backpocket. But I thought I'd finish reading it later.

So if I had to take steps to cure my lad before things got outta hand, I knew I'd have to take that beer can between his legs in hand. And once more I lost myself in one of those reveries from the times I disciplined him good and proper.

I can recall one night after my Buttsub seemed tired of recycling his dad's ale and he chomped down on my foreskin as if to say "enough!" I had to teach him a very strong lesson, indeed. Of course, I wasn't gonna let him see any disappointment on my end. Instead, I'd make him feel it. And for all his shouts of being dragged about by his Mohawk, I wouldn't have any of it. I simply seated myself on old chair at the rear of our kitchen, unzipped his fly as to draw down the rest of filthy jeans, leaving only his lube stained jock to keep his ballocks in place.

I began that tanning with unusual vigor for that hour of the evening as I usually reserved his normal periods of discipline for the early evening. These were no ordinary circumstances, I reasoned, and so I laid him across my lap and set out to execute the fatherly task that lay before me.

No amount of his pleading and tears would alter my determination to convey my displeasure at his attempt to set the pace of this particular encounter. And as soon as he realized what I was about, he stopped squirming to fix his arse atop my lap and settled in for a well-earned tanning. I could feel his p.a. bulging through the worn codpiece of his jock every time I pretended to move his nuts from the range of my strokes.. I traced its shape with a proud glow to think that I had brought a sniveling bootlicker this far. And I wasn't about to watch him degenerate.

"Thank you, sir," Buttsub managed to let through his sobs when he realized why he I was disciplining his already reddened arse with unseen force.

"You say, something, bootlicker?"

No, I kept up my pace that night for his own good. Thirty minutes later his sobs were competing with the whiz and roar of the bikers parading their wheels up and down the streets in pursuit of some tweeky lass who wasn't gonna waste the time o' day on 'em for all their mechanized prancing and preening.

"Good, lad. You teach them blokes to interrupt us with their makeshift noises when I'm dead set at putting you through your paces."

"Thank you, sir, for taking such pains. I know just how important my character formation is to you, dad," he groaned once more and continued to sob apologetically.

And that's how I liked my lad best.

Then, as I was sure he couldn't reach the top floor without his old dad's help, I hoisted my lad and his newly tanned hide atop my back just like a steady butcher with a choice side of beef. I carried him straight up to bed.

There I tucked him in and waited for him to thank me. Next I turn out the lights and, to my astonishment, he's lubing up his old dad's rammer with all the spittle left in him. And when I'm good 'n hard, he motions me to stay on my back seein' as it's his turn to work for his pleasure.

Buttsub mounted my flagpole that night like one of them rockclimbers who won't breathe until he's sure he's steadied himself in his ascent. I could feel and hear his arse stretching itself into position.

"That's my boy, I kept telling myself with pride. That's the way I like him."

And him hopping up and down on his old dad's fat knob like a kid on his pogo stick. Here in the dark, I thought, with my lad's arse neatly planted on my cock and a neon sign flickering through our window from some broken down shop across the way, a man could be at peace. Here is what a man wants most of a cool, damp night under a moonlit sky. Bestrid and comforted by my well-disciplined lad, I lay there reaching for that one split second of manly bliss.

Now, would I allow what passed between me and my boy that night to change my mind next morning? I certainly did not. He woke at his usual hour, fixed my tea, and set about dressing for work, lacing up in his newest DMs.

Aren't you forgetting something, son?" I turned to ask in a groggy voice.

"Am I, dad. An' what might that just be?"

"Oh, I think you know, Buttsub, my lad." So I pull him toward me while reaching for his well-used tin of ladlube under our bed. And after I make sure the hole in his jeans is wide enough, I bend him over and insert his large puppy plug with a good six inch tale sticking out of his arse for all and any to see. He knew better than to protest that time.

I can still hear his steps as he gingerly descended to the shoproom and then out the courtyard below. I still hear his steps growing ever distant as I remind myself that I licked his presumption in the past and I was up to whatever test the lad might have in store for me now.

So I took Buttsub's letter from my back pocket and returned to the line that my eyes hit upon just as he surprised me with his early return. And I read that bewildering paragraph aloud this time.

"He's a lad like I was, dad. He's got no one, and nothing, 'cept his spot at Sam's, and a trunk full of stuff Sam lets him store in the basement beside his makeshift bed, so I thought to myself maybe we could fit out a little hammock for him in the attic above our room and when he's proper ready, cause he says he's never been that way with his mates, but he so much wants to give it a go..."

Chapter | 1 | 2 | 3