Part Two: Sunday Service
D A Maddox
At Huntington Regional Detention Center, the time has come for the four freshman pledges of the Punishment Club to complete their sentence. Their final day in the Controlled Judicial Humiliations Program will take them to the outermost limits of their endurance. They will be tested by torment, scourged with shame. For Emma Jo and Buddy, for Peter and Cassidy, only love can temper the agony of their discipline—and only friendship can give them the strength to deliver a little justice of their own.
Be Warned: BDSM, sex toys, spanking, paddling, whipping, public exhibition, f/f sex, forced seduction
“We’re all alone, bucko.” She got off her bike, rested it against the nearest tree, and held out her hand to him.
Buddy dismounted. “We’re going swimming?” he asked, nodding at the gym bag. “Got a guy’s suit in there?”
“Maybe,” she said, taking his hand. “In a little bit. Come on.”
He walked with her. His heart was already racing. He hadn’t actually thought they were here to go swimming—he wasn’t that dim—but if she wanted to play coy, he could play coy, too. For himself, he would have been content just that she was holding his hand and walking with him. He could be happy without a lot of unnecessary talk. But if this was shaping up to be more than that, as he guessed, he was more than ready. And Emma Jo, she was…
He stopped, right where the grass began to recede. Emma Jo turned to him.
“I’m just going to say this,” he said, summoning fortitude, taking breath. “You’re beautiful. And… I—I mean everything about you, Emma Jo. Your eyes, your face … your courage, the way you always tell the truth…”
Her hand left his. She cupped the side of his face. “Thank you, Buddy,” she said, kissing him softly, breathing into his mouth. “So are you. Don’t you know that?”
He kissed her in return, hands gently squeezing her upper arms, which were both soft and strong, just like the rest of her. “I don’t deserve you,” he said. It was a thought that had occurred to him more than once—not something he dwelled on every second of the day, but still, it had occurred to him. “But I want you, Emma Jo. It’s selfish. And it’s too soon, but I think I love you.”
“Buddy,” Emma Jo said slowly, running a hand through his hair, thumbing his ear, stopping at the back of his neck, “you do deserve me. And do you know why?”
He shook his head. He was so happy, but he still wanted to cry. And he honestly didn’t know the answer.
“Because I want you,” she said, her voice steady and determined. “Because you’re beautiful. The way you talk when you have something to actually say. The guts you showed in court when you tried to take the fall for all of us. Your heart. Your sweetness. The way you listen—the deep, still waters behind those dark eyes. I love you, Buddy.”
Her other hand at the front of his pants.
Another kiss, this one initiated by Buddy—long and slow and deep, his hands around her back, her hands at his shoulders and his rear. They drank each other.
“Don’t deny me, Buddy.”
He shook his head. He pulled back, gasping. “Are we going to—?”
“Yes, Buddy. Right now. Are you ready?”
He nodded, panting. “Are you? Are you sure?”
She let go of him, slung the duffel bag to the ground—yanked open the zipper with a haste that betrayed her need. From it, she drew forth a long, wide, soft-as-down white blanket and spread it on the ground where the grass was thinnest.
Then she came for him again, both hands extended. He took them. He smiled at her, unabashed by the tears in his eyes. “I can’t believe this is happening,” he said.
“Believe it,” she said, her voice husky with longing. Then, before stepping onto the blanket, she said, “Take your shoes off.” She kicked hers to the side without untying them.
Buddy reached down and hauled them off—then tossed them over his shoulders and behind him, not caring where they landed.
“Come here,” she said, curling her pointing finger, drawing him closer. “I’ve got a surprise.”
He stepped onto the blanket. Another one? he thought.
And she delivered—big time—when she reached into her back pocket and retrieved the small square of plastic with the raised ring in the middle. She flashed it to him like a precious gem she’d been eager to show off.
“Where,” he floundered—then started over. “How? Emma Jo? You have to be—”
“Twenty-three,” she agreed, her face unrefined smugness. “Thought I might get lucky asking Cassidy’s former roommate, Toni. No dice. But she did refer me to someone who kept a little hidden contraband.”
“Oh?” Buddy asked, reaching out as though to receive the holy grail.
“Your roommate, Ernie Morse. Also a senior, right?”
Eyes wide, Buddy nodded. And he thought, Still looking out for me like you’ve done since the frat interview.
Buddy knelt, set the condom on the blanket, then rose to his feet again and gave Emma Jo another kiss. “You’re very good at … planning,” he said, worshiping her mouth, her cheek, her forehead.
Emma Jo’s hand worked him over the fabric of his jeans. She shook her head. “I just … don’t want … to get into trouble,” she huffed into him, kissing him back on the neck. “Now hold still. I want to do this. I want to put it on you.”
Buddy straightened—in more ways than one. His cock ached against the inside of his pants. Feel free, he thought. Strip me. Show me no mercy. That’s the only thing I don’t want from you.
Emma Jo seemed to be of similar mind. “Such a good boy,” she said, tapping his nose—then dropping to his waist. Feverishly, she worked at unbuckling his belt, and in three stiff yanks she had it through the loops. Then the button over the zipper. Buddy looked straight ahead, and so he heard rather than saw his zipper come down. But he could not keep himself from watching when she tugged his pants down—leaving him in his underwear, which she could easily have brought down with them.
“Are you embarrassed?”
“No,” he said, though his cock jutted up like a tower and he was flushed in the face, even though Emma Jo’s fingers traced his manhood through his underwear, closer to the skin than they ever had before. He caught himself before allowing the drool to escape his lips, and he said, “Go ahead.”
She brought his boxers down to his ankles, exposing him completely, then ran the side of her finger along his length. Buddy had to redirect his gaze yet again. If he watched her doing that, he’d shoot. But … just feeling her do it was nothing short of incredible. It was so much better than being handled by strangers—or even Matron. This was neither punishment, nor humiliation, nor the clinical protection against blue balls. It was love, the first expression of it. And although he didn’t mind being the only one naked in front of Emma Jo, he longed to return that love.
But first, the tearing of plastic. The placement of the receptacle center of the condom over his tip. Buddy’s hands trembled at his side.
Help me not to lose it, God, he prayed. Not now, not now.
Emma Jo eased the ring of the condom down his shaft, unrolling it onto his hardness neither so slow as to cause him to ejaculate, nor so fast as to seem uncaring. “Jesus,” she breathed, “Buddy, not that it matters, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen it this big before.”
Buddy dropped to his knees to meet her eye-to-eye. “I’ve never felt this big before,” he said, then reached forward to undress her.
© D A Maddox 2021
D.A. Maddox lives a quiet life in a small apartment in Woodbridge, Virginia with his cat, Shazam. He works very hard at the day job—but he rises each morning before the sun to get his words in. He enjoys drinking coffee from his mug of Shakespearean insults while writing, then revising in the evening while hard rock music from the 80s plays in the background. He has a penchant for naughty tales of excess and extreme BDSM, but at the core of all of his stories there is a heart, characters to root for and to love, and (of course) a happily-ever-after when all is said and done.
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