Safeway 1

"Clark, why is there a naked boy standing in my kitchen?"

Mandi had just rushed in from the bedroom after "putting her face on." She was certainly all dolled up. She carried a large knock-off designer purse in one hand and an almost equally large zipper-cased book in the other. A Holy Bible the gold foil said.

"Mandi, this is Justin. I ran into him like this at the Safeway just now. Another one of these fraternity pledges gone wrong."

"I would say," Mandi said, looking Justin up and down. Clark had handed Justin a striped dish towel with which to cover his genitals. Mandi made a face: "Make sure you throw that towel in the wash afterwards. And were you able to pick up those things at the grocery I asked you to?"

Clark nodded. A less patient man would have rolled his eyes. Or sighed. "Yes, Mandi. They're in the front seat of my patrol car. I'll get 'em in a minute. I thought you and I could sit down with Justin here and talk to him about a few things and maybe share some appropriate Bible verses."

"I'm late as it is, Clark!"

"For what?"

"Bible study!"

"On a Saturday afternoon?" Clark asked, glancing at his cheap watch. "Can't you skip it today?"

"I'm teaching the class, Clark. No, in a word!" Adding, as she resumed her rush to kitchen's garage door: "Now put this boy in some clothes. I don't want him sitting on our furniture like that."

"I will."

"And...," turning back in the open doorway, "don't go too hard on him, Clark."

"I won't."

"Promise?"

"I promise. Just the usual."

Mandi smiled, hurriedly, confusingly: "You boys have fun!"

The side door slammed as seconds later the double garage door rumbled open again. Clark's roundish, patient, rather blank face cracking in unexpected smile as he exchanged looks with his naked charge. "Well I guess I don't have to tell you who's boss in this house."

The prank, the pledge, had been simple enough. Streak naked from one end of the Safeway parking lot to the other, the store entrance end, turn around and streak back to where a few of his prospective frat buddies would be waiting, car idling, door open, laughter exiting it along with clouds of pot smoke.

Justin had been lucky his entire 19 years. When he turned 18 he received a high wartime draft number. Three hundred-something. Around the same time he got accepted into a college he had no business attending. His SAT score had sucked. One time he'd been in a car accident with his parents. Both his mother and father had to be hospitalized while Justin walked away without a scratch. Justin and five of his buddies could commit some kind of petty crime, such as stealing gum and candy, and five of the six would get caught. Only Justin would walk away scot-free. But today his teflon-like luck seemed to have at long last run out.

As he approached the Safeway entrance at full tilt, his exposed penis wagging all the while, he'd run smack into Officer Steadman exiting the grocery through the automatic doors. Steadman, a bag of groceries in his left arm, ordered Justin to halt, walked over to the boy, took hold of him forcefully by the skinny arm and led him to the far side of his patrol car. While a small crowd of gawkers gathered officer Steadman cuffed Justin and loaded him into the back of his car. Justin, not used to getting in trouble, was near tears. He saw his life going up in smoke. A criminal record, expelled from college...he'd be lucky to get his old job back bagging groceries at another Safeway in his home town. He would be a laughingstock. He'd never live the embarrassment of this down, not if he lived to be 90. Worst of all he'd lose his college exemption and have to roll the dice in the draft again. Just as his luck was turning...

As they reached the exit of the parking lot in the patrol car Steadman pointed off to the left, at three college-age boys standing open-mouthed next to a late-model Malibu and said, "Those your buddies? The ones put you up to this?"

Justin, head already bowed, nodded.

"Well...," steering right, out of the lot and onto the street, "now they can bail you out."

At these words Justin's heart sank even lower. He shuddered. He was in deep, deep shit.

Steadman slowly drove two-and-a-half blocks before pulling over to the curb. He put the cruiser in Park, left the big V8 running. He didn't turn his overhead flashers on however, the red and the blue. The middle-aged man rotated slightly to his right, put his arm across the bench seat and looked through the metal protective grate at his young, naked prisoner.

"There are two ways we can do this, son," he said. "As you could probably tell, I went off-duty about thirty minutes ago. And I'm not looking to pull any more OT after all these riots and all we've been having. So...I can call in and have another unit sent out, and they'll put you in their car and take you in for booking. The good news is public indecency is not necessarily a felony, especially in a case like this. But you'll probably still spend the night in jail—or until your buddies bail you out. If they're feeling generous. You know them well?"

Justin looked up. "No sir."

"Well..."

Justin's hands were cuffed behind his naked back, against his sweaty ass-crack actually, so the only way he had to wipe his tears away was to raise a shoulder while dipping his head. It was awkward; futile.

"The alternative is, son, we go to my house and deal with things privately, my way. Eventually I'll put you in some loaner clothes—they won't fit—and drive you back to the frat house, or wherever you live."

"The dorm," Justin sniffed.

"The dorm then. My wife Mandi and I are devout Christians. We believe in giving people, especially young people, second chances. If you go with me to my house the three of us might sit down and share some common experiences and Mandi will probably want to read some verses from the Bible. Mandi is the most devoutly religious person I know. She teaches Sunday School at our church and is head of our Women's Group aged 30 and up. She's a saint. I'm a deacon. Are you a Christian, son?"

Justin, experiencing a slight glimmer of hope, nodded. "I was raised as a Christian," he lied, "yes. Yes sir."

"That's excellent. So which is it, son?"

"Sir?"

"Do I call this in or do we go to my house and we do it my way?"

"Oh, definitely sir. Your way."

"Good. This will be good for you, son. Guaranteed," facing forward now and dropping the lever into Drive.

Justin had traded in the cuffs behind his back for the pair dangling from the spare bedroom's ceiling. He was still naked, of course, and Clark Steadman, out of uniform now, out of everything save his cheap watch, was standing a short distance behind the frat pledge, tapping his palm with something. He had the makings of a thick erection. But it wasn't quite there yet.

"Some use paddles," the off-duty policeman said. "Some whips. Cat-of-nine-tails...that sort of thing. But for my money I don't think you can beat a switch. Look..."

Clark now stood so close that Justin could feel the man's breath against his neck. And his partial erection against Justin's pale, unblemished left buttock, which lifted it vertically, the older man's swell. Even at its thickest the stick was perhaps only two millimeters in diameter. From there tapering three feet or so into a mere curved whisp.

"See this? I cut 'em off a cherry bush in my backyard, the choice ones, when they're still green. I strip them of leaves and any little, you know, twigs. When they're long and naked like this, no knots, they literally zing through the air. You'll hear it. Mandi calls it a song. She sings in the choir by the way. Has a lovely soprano voice. Does solos. Are you ready?"

Justin's voice quavered: "For what, sir?"

"Corporal punishment. You deserve something, yes? And not just a few of Mandi's Bible readings?"

"Yes—yes sir."

"Good. We're in agreement. I use three, three at a time. Switches of more-or-less equal length. Back in my day this is how—something like this—a fraternity pledged its new members. Not some horse manure running naked in public. Who dreamed that up? We pledged our members in public. Private I mean. Our fraternity had this big, varnished paddle with three holes drilled in it. Wham! But this is subtle, son, more refined. You'll see..."

The trio of "switches" sang. A relatively gentle chorus at first. Before, as minute trumped minute, the song, the sound, became as urgent, as discordant, as something by Penderecki. His Threnody?

It was odd. For Justin. A novice for punishment. At first the triple blows were almost pleasurable; but his cock hung limp. Then as the pain increased, became searing—left buttock, right—right buttock, left—his penis swelled and grew; stood upright; bobbed with the forward-and-back motion of his prone, handcuffed body, receiving the stripe-raising punishment. The pink; the red; the welts. Tears fell from Justin's eyes and ran down his cheeks as the session went on and on. Neverending? Justin thought he might cum; auto-ejaculate. What kind of message would that send to Officer Steadfast. No, man. Steadman.

"Please!" Justin finally cried.

"Please what?" the cop said, out of breath.

"Why are you...?"

"Why hast thou forsaken me?"

"Huh?" grateful for the whipless respite.

"Who do you think you are? Our Lord? On the cross?"

"Ow!"

"I've outdone myself," Steadman conceded, seemingly, suddenly, from eight feet away. He was breathing hard; panting. "WWMS? What would Mandi say? Oh god...Let me free you, son. Like Moses, his people...," switching effortlessly from New Testament to the Old. "I'm about to cum."

Justin's ass was...on fire!. It radiated heat. Was crisscrossed with thin pink and red raised stripes. Dozens upon dozens of them, interwoven. Clark's hand was gentle on it; as if merely gauging the temperature. "Let's get in the shower. Some nice cooling water on your...your little bottom."

Justin, gingerly stepping in, was proceeded by his own inexplicable erection; as was Clark. At first the latter told the boy to spread his legs, as he reached under to squeeze the boy's balls, ungently. Justin found himself pushed against the tile as a rapidly breathing Clark tried to penetrate him. Without lube. He tried Mandi's slippery Walmart-brand body wash but it was no good; Justin was too young; too tight. So he resigned his out-of-control self to adding to Justin's pain by rubbing his thick cop's cock against the boy's buttocks. Both. Then lengthwise in his crack, quickly cumming up Justin's lower backside—not that Justin could feel anything except the recoil of the ejaculation.

He only knew what his slender body, his masochism, had produced when Clark retreated, abruptly, his back slamming against tile, freeing the shower head to wash the cop's cum down Justin's crack and ass until it eventually, thickly, circulated clockwise through the perforated drain between Justin's splayed feet.

"Oh," Clark said, latently. "What have I done? My life, my Word will..."

Mandi, oblivious, wrapped her legs around the appropriately named Christian, the church's youth minister. They were over ten years apart in age but Christian seemed to like older women—mom's—and the ever-horny Mandi certainly was up for a younger man. And his hard cock. She was on the pill but had actually entertained thoughts of secretly going off it. Time was running out for her. A pregnancy would seal the deal.

Christian would be obligated, as a good Christian, to marry her; to be the father; while this would open the door for her to divorce Clark. The closet adorer of young men. He confessed his fantasies as she whipped him, in their above-ground dungeon of a spare bedroom. Over the years Clark had brought countless "boys," young men, home for Christian "counseling." Some of them reprobates—present or future criminals—downright dangerous.

And now, as she lay there in Christian's church-paid-for bedroom, receiving his premature sperm, she could not help but think of this latest "kid" Clark had brought into their lives. A college student. 18? 19 at most? Thinking about him naked—a streaker—in her kitchen had made her juicy-wet even before Christian, on his knees between her spread legs, began licking her...

"There's a reason why I didn't jerk you off in the shower just now," a still-winded Clark said. "You know why?"

"No sir."

"Because Mandi will be back soon from her Sunday School...excuse me, Bible Study class, and she'll want you. I know Mandi and I could see it in her eyes, whatever she had to say. Would you like to fuck my wife?" Clark, still naked, consulted his watch again. They were standing in the kitchen. Again. "She'll love it. She loves cock. Christian cock. And as you confessed to me during our Bible session, and during our shower afterwards...you're a devout Christian."

"Yes sir," an uncertain Justin lied. And when exactly would he get to pull on some borrowed clothes and be taken back to his dorm?

Up until one minute ago Justin had been a virgin. Now his cock was deep inside Mandi and her legs circled his back. Loose while at the same time tight. Lots of makeup but she was kind of pretty, in a MILF kind of way. Clark had stood in the doorway at the start. But now they were sealed inside, alone. They hadn't need lube. Mandi's pussy already sticky-wet inside. And warm.

"I think I have a new boyfriend," she smiled. Up at him.

"Ma'am?"

"The good Lord approves of intercourse when it is for purposes of procreation. Do you want to be a daddy?"

"No! I'm..."

Mandi laughed. "Of course not. I'm joking. Clark will be the daddy. I've decided. Yours or Christian's, I don't care. You're both cute. Christian's, though, would be problematic. I think he's in love with me. So he says anyway. But you..."

Justin was speechless. He was working hard, sweating. He was no longer a virgin—right? Did this count? Penetration and fucking before...?

He'd forgotten all about his ass. The pain. When Mandi arrived home from "Bible study" and found Justin still very much naked, his ass baring the wounds of the cop/husband's relentless punishment, she'd declared: "Clark. I told you. I've told you a million times: Don't go overboard."

Her naked husband, his balls spent, his cock limp, bowed his head: "I'm sorry, darling. I got carried away."

"You should be. Who do you think you are...Pontius Pilate? You prick! Did you cum?"

"I'm sorry," Clark repeated, evading the last question. "Please don't—"

"Shut up! You disgust me."

"Yes, dear."

"I'm taking this boy into the bedroom. Now leave us alone."

"Sure. I'll fire up the grill. Those steaks you wanted tonight..."

"Do that," Mandi said. "Put three on..." To Justin she asked:

"Can you spend the night? With me? Just me? The two of us?"

Justin closed his mouth. He verbally stumbled—as he did night after night while reliving the impossible questions on his nightmare SAT's.

"S-sure. I guess."

"Let's go procreate," Mandi said, smiling. "In the name of the Lord..."

When Justin finally showed up the frat house, a member now, several of his "brothers" gathered round to ask questions.

"What happened?"

"Did you get arrested?"

"How'd you get out?"

"Who posted bail, dude?"

Justin, by now, was feeling rather...lucky. The Teflon Man. "The cop was...He was very understanding."

"He let you go?"

"Well...after a while."

Someone joked, laughed: "What? You sucked his cock?"

Justin lost his smile. How the fuck could anybody possibly have known...?

Not even his lover Mandi did, though he guessed she suspected it. She'd called her husband, at one point, "that closet homo."

After his whipping, in the shower before the water came on, ordered down on his knees as Clark's hard-on, bent downward, entered his mouth, Justin was surprised at how naturally it had all come to him. The up-and-down, in-and-out oral motion; gripping Clark's ass, his right buttock; fondling the cop's big balls, gagging...

"That's enough," Clark had said, turning on the water. Cold at first, warming in a minute. "Now I wanna fuck you. Cum in that sweet ass of yours. Praise the Lord!"

It never happened, as it turned out. No lube, inadequately slippery body wash coupled with Justin's impossibly tight hole. In one very big sense he was still a virgin. Now Officer Steadman addressed this before he let Justin out of the passenger's seat of his patrol car, in front of the frat house. He leaned over and put a hand on Justin's left thigh, the boy cloaked in the older, larger man's clothes. Though his slender feet were still bare. Underneath he wore a pair of Mandi's silky panties—a perfect fit. Clark's Jockeys having proved impossibly big.

"I meant what I said."

"What, sir?"

"In the shower. I still wanna fuck you. Not something that my wife needs to know..."

"I know."

"Pick you up here Saturday, about the same time?" It was late Sunday morning. Justin having inseminated Mandi again while she, in an increasingly shrill tone, recited Bible verses. Along with: "Give me a baby, baby! A baby!..."

Clark continued, fondling the boy through the pants tent in the baggy, borrowed clothing and Mandi's panties: "We'll have our time together, you and me. You're young. Your wounds should be healed by then. We'll have our time together," he repeated, "before the wife gets home from Bible Study with asshole. Christian? That fuck. Fair enough?"

Justin nodded. "Yessir."

"Now beat it." Adding, with a smile, "And behave yourself from now on, young man."