A Landlady Spanks Her Lodgers

The landlady had moved to Eddie's bed as she summoned his Caribbean slang word.

Inspired she raised her hand and brought it down in a slap across the black boy's powerful hardon. He yelped, and sprang up to sitting position, doubled over.

"Please, lady! No...that hurts me bad!"

She ignored him and continued.

"...and committing self abuse. That explains the noise of the bed springs."

"What can we do to...to stop them? Stop them...'playing' with themselves?"

Jenny used the shameful term her mother had used about her brothers. Her mother had talked of her brothers as if, left to themselves, their hands were going to fall to their organs, masturbating like monkeys in the zoo.

"A full punishment regime for a week. And visits to Gerda's will be part of it..."

The boys started at the prospect. Especially Eddie who had heard about the establishment but dreaded the day when he might be the first coloured boy in its history to suffer in its rooms. Nude in front of a white lady and a white girl. That would be horrible.

Mrs Ellroy noticed his jolt. His fear at the prospect.

"I am very, very disappointed with Eddie's behaviour...the reference he brought from his church...his attendance at bible studies...his fond demeanour towards us."

Yes, she might have expected so much more from the boy from Barbados.

Eddie clenched his eyes with the shame.

"He will be the first of them to spend a morning on his knees polishing our linoleum..."

Eddie seemed frozen with horror, an obsidian tomb statue.

"...yes, down on the floor...we will have some lady visitors. And he won't have the benefit of underwear. No, he will be naked as the day that he was born..."

Eddie looked horrified.

"And I regret that while he polishes the floor I intend to polish his bare bottom..."

Her eyes flared with anger...and something else.

"...turning both those large cheeks of his, a bright shade of...purple!"

Jenny's eyes lit up.

"And then we should have him clean the windows as well!" she ventured, not able to keep to herself her concupiscent imaginings. She dared to think of the Negro youth...

...ordered to stand up from polishing the floor...

...his bottom cheeks would be turned to them, darkened with the paddlings...

...and, then, with his erect prick pointing the way...

...he would be made to move around in their full vision, attending to the windows...

...naked, polishing away, with his foot-long erection sticking out in front...

...and Mrs Ellroy letting her lay on the paddle if the purple showed any sign of fading.

Jenny's panties were soaked. Drenched. But the truth was, so were those of her patroness.

Mrs Ellroy- yes, thrilled by the situation- now instructed the boys to turn over on their tummies.

Jenny watched in amazement as the three boys quickly complied.

Quick- the three of them now had their bottoms propped up in the air as they lay on their tummies, heads cradled in their arms. The girl couldn't believe how compliant these young athletes were. Was there anything Mrs Ellroy could order them to do that they would resist?

"I want you to offer up your naughty bottoms as a sacrifice. And you, Jenny, go to my room and bring two of those nice wooden hairbrushes. Go on, lift your bottoms into the air."

Jenny could hardly control her trembling. She was back in a jiffy, to marvel at the sight, this study in male submission.

Three naked young male bottoms were presented in the air, tilted for a spanking.

Propped up. On their beds.

The boys faces pressed into their folded arms.

Which, thought the girl, was good for their shame- being forced to hold up the fleshy bits of their anatomy, for two females to view. Again, she felt a surge of excitement at their submissiveness.

But there was...yes, personality in those bottoms. So cute.

Yes, the boxer's, for example- like two tight soccer balls. Youthful. Jaunty. Athletic. To power him in his contests in the ring. And she could see right into his hairless cleft. Wrinkles flamed out from a tight little crater, that little pout...

Oh, the shame he must feel. This thought quickened her excitement. Imagine this boy knowing what he was displaying. Poor little fella, he probably guesses that she's looking right at it.

The black boy's glutes- black and shiny as a car bonnet- were broad and shapely, all the better for balancing that heavy prick when it was steering him. Inside his cleft the flesh became a bright girlish pink. His hole flamed big, furrows flying out of the central crater. Between his thighs his heavy scrotum dangled, the big titanium rocks clearly visible. His shame? Hell, he was a church-goer, a bible student. Now finding himself stripped nude with two women inspecting him and one, a girl his own age. Taking in once more his proud proportions she found herself swallowing...with greed.

And Jack's muscular cheeks were intimately white, an arse powerful in its whiteness, with a light dusting of curly hair to decorate his manly cleft and hide the precise shape of his pout. Jack- who she saw in the kitchen each day struggling to keep his loose privates in his Y fronts. Jack- who sometimes struggled to keep from their sight a telltale bulge, getting up from the table or hanging washing on the line. Now beautifully shorn of his clothing, head buried...bottom stuck in the air.

So funny, their submission to Mrs Ellroy. Three naked boys, earlier being forced to lie with hands behind their heads, showing off their complete nudity...

...face down and bottoms skywards.

The little engine inside her purred away.

She would, she thought, have to throw these panties away. They were sooooo soaked.

The smacking that followed was the most vivid collective punishment in the history of Eccles Street. Mrs Ellroy told Jenny to start with the trembling boxer- he of the pouting bottom hole- and to "lay on hard."

"Because he deserves it. The aim is to turn his naughty bottom pepper red."

Mrs Ellroy herself turned to the Negro youth. And began.

She drew back her arm and struck him on the the upper left thigh. Her stroke was so hard he lifted the knee up to his chest...and repeated the funny gesture as every subsequent blow landed. He started groaning with his deep baritone.

Smack! Smack! Smack!

Mrs Ellroy was taking her time. After all, this was her one-time favourite, the black boy from the Indies. So she spanked on and on. Now, on the most curved part of his bottom...now, after telling him to spread his legs, even near the inner part of his cleft. Which made him howl.

That he begged and twisted and pleaded and moaned as the smacks continued wasn't surprising either. Always shooting one knee up to his chest when she slashed a thigh. A mechanical gesture.

Smack!

Hairbrush struck black bottom!

Knee shot up to chest.

"Awwwwww! No, please..."

But Mrs Ellroy kept it up. Blast upon blast.

Smack!

Smack!

smack!

Eddie's vast glutes were turning purple.

But Mrs Ellroy persisted. Stroke after stroke. And as,every blow landed the relevant leg would scissor to his chest.

It seemed to be close to the point where he could not take anymore.

Would be collapse? Flatten on the bed? Roll sideways off it?

He was blubbering into his folded arms, bottom still obediently lifted in the air.

He was weeping. But his landlady continued, eyes on fire. Jenny looked at her with admiration. And was in no doubt: the mature lady was ignited by the same flame that burnt so brightly in the girl's inner reaches.

Smack!

Smack!

Smack!

Mrs Ellroy paused. She could hardly have gone on. She gently stroked the punished bottom and said, "There I hope that's taught you a lesson." The black boy mumbled or gurgled. It could have been a desperate expression of thanks. A message of total fealty to the lady, to her authority.

Then, breathing heavily, the landlady turned to Jack's upraised and trembling arse.

Which encouraged the girl to turn her attention to the young boxer's bottom. She noted it was also trembling. This excited her more.

She swung her arm back.

Then, as if remembering something, Jenny lowered her head, placed one hand on the boy's right arse cheek and whispered, "It's what happens to naughty boys who play with themselves, Billy. They get stripped...and smacked on the bottom...with no clothes on. Like you now."

He was her captive. Totally in her power.

"Nude totally. I can even see your little bottom hole. Oh, wouldn't your sister Daisy like to know that!"

She swung her arm back...and landed a ferocious blow right in the middle of the boy's left cheek.

Billy dropped his raised bottom to the sheets.

He lay flat.

"Now...boy, up again...back to the position we like..."

Jenny forced her left hand right under his hip...

...savoured the feel of his squashed genitals...

...and lifted his middle back to the tilting position.

She told him to spread his thighs.

"Don't clamp them together like that."

He instantly obeyed, which Jenny found touching. It made her soften her attitude.

But just a little.

She delivered a series of blows on the inner parts of his upper legs. The slaps landed threateningly close to his hanging baubles.

Then as he whimpered she switched her focus. She started striking his "sit spot" moving in a clockwise direction.

Slap!

Slap!

Slap!

Billy's desperate meowing noise graduated into sobs...

...especially as Jenny swiped his high-up thighs...on the curve of his precious bottom...his "gluteal folds."

After one such very hard hit- SLAP!- the boy cried out, choking on his tears: "Oh Jenny! Pleassssse! I...will...never...do...that...again!"

Jenny looked up to catch the eye of Mrs Ellroy and gain her approval.

She saw that the lady was fully occupied by her own target.

Jack's white arse was now a shining pink.

And the boy was pirouetting...even in his head-down, bottom-up posture.

In fact he was driven by the mounting pain to twist his arse- like Elvis, swinging his hips- somehow imagining this could ward off the stings.

And Jennie followed her mistress. She let Billy go with the whispered admonition, "If we ever catch you playing with your fat little penis again, I will cane your bottom with a hickory stick!"

And she moved to the big black boy, whimpering with his raised bottom a shiny purple.

The girl was driven by her wild daemon. But what a target zone- the scale and power of the bottom, black as a car bonnet although now tinted purple. And the way his knee scissored on every slap. So...mechanical, like some wind-up doll in a department store window display. The swinging of his ballsac. Yes, what a word. Sack indeed. And the big dangling and soft cock, elephantine, grey-brown, wrinkled and threatening.

Suddenly it was over.

These three young men were silent and still.

Without a word the females exited.

They heard the door to Jenny's room snap shut, then Mrs Ellroy's. Then Mrs Ellroy's bedside radio switch on.

Apart from these static murmurs, all of Manchester seemed to be asleep.

But, inside, the young men were raging with wild impulses.

The spankings had sent blood hurtling through the arteries of their midriffs. Slaps on their anuses. Driving into the nerve endings. Pounding their perineums with wild sensations. Tickling their balls. Driven their hormones to frenzies.

Their bottoms stung like hell but their cocks were rock hard.

Their minds were afire with the dirtiest of fantasies.

Big black Eddie suppressed the pain by summoning the notion of being at the YMCA, part of Jack's swim team. He protested, in this fantasy, he begged. But he was forced to walk out- buck naked, long cock inflating and balls swinging in their sac- right in full view of sisters, aunts and mothers. All stared bug-eyed at his privates. All locked onto the view, in prurient admiration of their size...

He stroked his cock, imagining it. And didn't care that his room mates could hear.

The boxer Billy stroked away as well.

His furtive and disgraceful fantasy? That he was nude, reduced by a party of teasing girls to his birthday suit. And circling him they were all mocking his erection. Making fun of him. And it. For its stubby shortness. For its ridiculous width. For its over large head. "What a funny dick, little man!" one was taunting. "Oh, very stiff aren't we! But soooo short!" cooed another. "Now make it shoot off for us, Billy, make your stubby fat prick spurt!" said another- who looked just like Jenny.

Jack didn't need the encouragement of the others to join the under-the-sheets jerk-off circle.

He was thinking of being a young man in hospital, stripped on the bed. And a party of traineee nurses all around, looking down at him. While a stern old instructor with a pointer was saying, "So our young patient is presenting himself with what we call...an erection. That's when his organ stretches...gets stiff...stands out and up..."

Young nurses twitter, eyes fastened on the ventral side of Jack's dick.

In his fantasy the young man withers with shame.

And the old nursing veteran continues to talk about erections and their causes (full bladder, indecent thoughts, manipulation for self-pleasuring) while young nurses stare and smirk. Jack, or his fictional self, nearly expires from the humiliation...

...and his cock releases dollops of Cowper's fluid...

...and it twitches and pulses...

...and he knows that one touch or tickle would make him explode...

...and the old nurse puts the tip of her pointer right under his glans...on the tight skin, his precious frenulum...

...and in front of all those girlish eyes, the young man- Jack or his imagined counterpart- shoots off one...two...three cannonades of white fluid...and then keeps bubbling away...

And the young nurses, just out of school, squeal their delight!

Jack, under the sheets, proceeded to his own glorious explosion...

Billy exploded too, just as the mockery of the girls in his fantasy made him explode for them.

And Eddie- a huge emission that might have filled a tea cup- just as, in his fantasy, he posed before a gaggle of old ladies- grannies or aunts- and took his rod and brought himself off, spraying the first row of the bleachers.

The next morning three very shamed young men, in nothing but Y fronts, trailed down to breakfast.

Jenny was in aprons, and at the stove, frying eggs and bacon. The homely smell flavoured the air.

She turned and looked the abashed boys up and down.

"Well, naughty bottoms still red?"

Her wicked eyes swiped the front of their underwear.

Jack's was as usual in a clear state of arousal. Eddie's was a lolling, hefty half-hid presence.

And in Billy's frontage there was the plump glans in outline, the top of his short stubby stem, making its shapely presence felt.

Oh, how lucky am I, she reflected once again.

And she told them to sit down.

"And I hope those bottoms aren't too sore. But they will be when Gerda deals with you."

Gerda was heavily booked. No visit possible that week.

Saturday dawned.

The three boarders ate a dinner of Cumberland sausages and boiled potatoes with Colman's mustard, served by their landlady, Jenny being off on a date, to the movies, with one of her respectable young men. Bidding goodnight to Mrs Ellroy the three obedient young men were uniformed, in dress inspired by Marlon Brando in The Wild One. They wore blue denim jeans from the Lancashire company, Selvedge Denim United Overalls. The jeans featured flies with metal buttons. There was white stitching to accentuate pocket and seam details. Each had wide turn ups, as if to emphasise the mirror polish of black boots.

How the precious jeans should be curated was a subject about which Jack felt strongly. "Only wash three times a year," said Jack. "So they keep the dark indigo dye." But Mrs Ellroy insisted on scrubbing mercilessly and around the flies in particular. As a result the tight groin of the jeans had aquired a lighter scrubbed look. Embarrasssing- because it drew attention to this zone of interest, and implied it needed special attention due to adolescent emissions that spilled over onto their favourite clothing.

Checked shirts in a variety of colours were neatly pressed and tucked in, at 26 and 28 inch waists.

Underneath, their Y fronts were newly laundered.

A pedestrian might have smelt the Brylcreen slicking their hair, even before the boys rounded a corner. Brylcreen, and English Leather aftershave, recommended to Jack by his workmates because of its "woodsy" flavour.

When, draped in towels in the bathroom, he had slapped some on the cheeks of the young boxer who had never applied perfume before, Jack noticed an immediate erection tent Billy's towel. As for Eddie, the boy from Barbados, he admitted to his mates he feared white ladies would not like "Negro man body smells" and enthusiastically emptied half the bottle.

In the back of the tram Jack sat behind the other two and leant forward over the seat to whisper details about these dance evening with the girls.

"They make me dance in the candle light with them, four or six randy girls...and me, just in my Y fronts...them, feeling up my tallywhacker...or slipping their fingers down to tickle my bum. All while we're walzing. And one said that next time...that's tonight...in the dark she would slip the Y fronts off...and they would dance with me...nude..."

Eddie's big black eyes bulged. Billy started. Jack could see both of their fly fronts register a quick stiffening.

"Tonight?" Billy choked out the question.

"Yes. And they are very excited to have a Negro boy come. They were thrilled to know you are black all over. They've heard stories about how Negroes have massive cocks. And, Billy, you won't like this...but your sister has spread the word about your funny prick. Unbelievably wide with a massive head but stubby...short. They've heard about it. It's famous. They want to feel it prod them through their dresses...and know something? On these nights they don't wear petticoats or panties!"

Looking over their shoulders, Jack saw both cocks stretch behind metal fly buttons. Eddie's looked fit to burst.

They crossed the city.

Their hostess had a fine two story arts and crafts movement house.

Parents were away and there were no siblings in the country, just brothers off running the British Empire. Which put gaunt 19 year old Gwendolyn in charge- she of the flat chest and plain mousy hair but of a libidinous spirit.

She cast her green eyes over the rooms, checked the gramaphone and the sherry glasses.

It was a fragrant interior, perfumed with summertime flowers from the garden, with cream striped wallpaper above the wainscoting and framed prints of John Constable landscapes.

The doorbell rang, the party stopped their excited giggling and girly titter. Gwendolyn said, "This is it. Brace yourselves, my friends."

She hastened along the runner carpet to the front door.

"I have one goal," thought Gwendolyn. "That is, to get these three boys out of every stitch of clothing as fast as possible and up dancing with us in the darkness. A night of dancing. Us dressed, and the young athletes in their birthday suits. And I hope the two new ones are as stiff as our Jack always is..."

The young woman, home from Cambridge for the holidays, panted with excitement.

"...especially the Negro"

Underneath the light summer frock she was naked and her crotch was leaking a sticky fluid down her pearl white thighs.

Which was true of her eight friends, especially when she ushered the three young athletes, in their Marlon Brando clothing and their halos of Brylcreem and English Leather, into the sitting room.

Eight pairs of eyes ogled at the sudden male presence.

Sally, a first year student at Manchester College of the Arts, thought that underneath the denim these youths must be built like the statues of Greece and Rome and she had never...