Vintage Pulp and Original Gay Erotica
Foreword
Whack! Whack! Whack! went the paddle, each time connecting on the reddening flesh, each time hitting a different spot on the cheeks and thighs. Maynard cried freely, sobbing, moaning, no longer begging for the help he knew was not forthcoming, rubbing his body against the leg holding him, a strange delicious warmth creeping through him, concentrating where the patrolman’s leg held his body up at its highest point. Eyes closed, words fumbled out of his sobbing mouth: “Oh, please. I’ll be good, oh, Sir, please, please, please, I won’t do it again, I’ll be good, please, please!…” His hips jerked against their support, and a great heat shot through him in spasms, racking his body, burning his groin; and, his eyes open and glazed with strange pleasure, he shouted and sobbed in delight and humiliation, finally slumping, lying as still as possible, crying, “Please! I’ll be good, Sir. I’ll be good.”
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