Ron Was a Sick Bastard

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This story is intended for adults only. It contains depictions of forced nudity, spanking, and sexual activity of preteen and young teen children for the purpose of punishment. None of the behaviors in this story should be attempted in real life, as that would be harmful and/or illegal. If you are not of legal age in your community to read or view such material, please leave now.

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Ron Stapleton was an acquaintance of my parents. He was a professional photographer. He’d flown all over the world specializing in taking what people called stock photos of various cultures. Many of his photos were profiled in such famous publications as National Geographic magazine, several major newspapers, travel ads and even textbooks. Apparently, he had an interest in photographing children—especially young boys engaged in sports.

Why he’d decided on photographing me for “studio” shots I’ll never know. He was clear when he explained to Mom, Dad, and me the photos would be placed in a presentation for people looking for specific models for advertising and even motion pictures. He was also clear that the presentation in the “catalog” was several nude shots of me.

I balked at that. I wasn’t going to get naked for him to take pictures. Screw the money I’d make if chosen after various presentations. I mean what did my penis or balls or backside have to do with getting chosen? Shorts okay. Naked no way.

Problem is when you’re twelve you don’t have a say. The adults make those decisions. Ron won out. Mom and Dad didn’t see any reason why photos of their son’s body shouldn’t be shared with anyone who might appreciate “his handsomeness”. I’m sure the two thousand dollar check Ronny boy offered them for putting me in the catalog also played a huge role in their decision.

I’d be remiss not to also note the two hundred dollars he offered me for participation. I refused when I was told my nudity would be required.

On day one Ron’s true colors shown through. Gone was the congenial man who negotiated the contract with my parents. He was a bit gruffer than he’d let on when he met with them and me. What quickly became apparent at the week long outing he’d taken me on was that Dad had told him to keep me in line and if a belt was needed, he should use one on my bare backside.

Mom and Dad had left for a day and Ron and I were supposed to be getting to know each other before we took off for some lakefront cabin he’d rented for a week. It was clear this preliminary visit was designed to initiate me to being naked in front of this guy. Needless to say, I wasn’t a happy camper and I was committed to making him change his mind and search for another subject.

“Your parents said I would have trouble with you, and I was kind of hoping I would.”

I was scared but adamant as I watched the thirty something year old man unbuckle his belt and withdraw it from around his waist. I wasn’t a sage at age twelve, but I did know he’d probably been authorized by my dad to use it on me to break my insolence and enforce compliance to any command he felt compelled to give.

“See, Jack, I’ve never really enjoyed the privilege of whipping the fire out of some boy’s ass. You’ll be the first. But, truthfully, I’ve been looking forward to it. You know I was even dreaming up a scheme to find a reason to do it. I really want to spank you soundly just to feel that sense of power.”

There was a lump in my throat. I could see in his eyes he meant every word of what he just said.

“Now let’s see if you want to minimize the damage you’ve just earned. Let me try again. I want you to take off your jeans and put them over there by your shoes and socks. Do it!”

I stalled staring blankly in Ron’s direction. I wanted to tell him to go to hell, but that would have probably resulted in a deluge of lashings. What kind of sick bastard openly admits a desire to inflict pain on a kid? You can desire it, but decency should compel one to keep it to himself.

My hands fumbled around my own belt buckle as a stalling technique.

“You need me to help you?” It wasn’t a pleasant offer it was an angry prod to make me get about it faster.

I unbuttoned and unzipped my Wranglers allowing the garment to bunch around my ankles. I know my face had to be relaying the message to the guy that I was angry, scared and embarrassed all at the same time.

“Take ‘em off and put them over there by your shoes. I don’t want to have to tell you again.”

Slowly, I kicked one leg free and then the other. I felt tears welling up in my eyes. My anger was projected to him thru my indignant stare as I bent down and picked them up to put them where I was told.

Having finished that, I didn’t have to be a brain surgeon to know the next command. It came just as predicted.

“Now the underpants. Take ‘em off and put them over there too.”

My thumbs looped on either side of the elastic waistband, but I couldn’t bring myself to pushing downward.

“Keep facing me and pull them down and off. Oh, and don’t try to cover up either.”

It was obvious he wanted frontal photographs and videos of the occasion. He’d placed the belt on the table and was busily recording the undressing process with a tripod mounted video camera and a digital SLR.

A tear ran down my left cheek. I still hadn’t brought up enough courage to expose myself to his photographic barrage.

He balked. He acted as if he was going to put the SLR down and grab the ominous belt. His words of wanting to use the belt on me rang back through my mind. The threat alone was enough to extort me to give in to his embarrassing command. I pushed my briefs to my knees. My stiff penis bounced free of the elastic and centered itself parallel to the floor. Ron’s SLR clicked through it all. I didn’t have the sense of mind to count, but I’ll bet he shot close to twenty high def photos of me.

I was secretly hoping, but knowing full well it wouldn’t be, that my t-shirt was long enough to passively cover my boy parts. It came to just above the base of my penis only covering half of my pubis. No way it was sufficient to maintain even the slightest modicum of modesty. The thought occurred to me he’d just make me hold up my t-shirt, if it did.

More tears freed themselves from my eyes and rolled down my cheeks. If embarrassment was what he wanted to capture this was the perfect moment.

My first inclination was to cover up, but I knew he wanted my penis in all those frontal shots. Covering up would just annoy him and complicate my position. End result, he’d get what he wanted one way or the other. The path of least resistance was my best choice. I stood there holding the briefs trying to let them hang before my erection and limit its exposure to the cameras.

“Put the underwear over there on the chair with the other clothes. Why do I have to keep repeating myself?”

I turned purposely trying to hide my penis from view at least for the minute or so as I was putting the underwear down.

“Okay, now the t-shirt. Get the shirt off and put it over there.”

As I lifted it up over my head and removed it, he shared a kinder sentiment.

“You know you are a beautiful kid. Your muscular legs and that beautiful penis are really amazing. Your mother was right. You are well endowed. I’m glad they had you cut when you were born. That tip is really an eye catcher.”

He resumed the photographing after turning off the video camera.

“You might as well get used to it. You’re going to be naked for the whole weekend. By Monday you’ll be completely comfortable being naked. But now, I need you to bend over the arm of the couch. I’m going to stripe your butt for being so stubborn about stripping in the first place. Like I said, I’ve been wanting to use a belt on you since I first set eyes on you. Now get over there.”

He put the camera down and grabbed the belt from the table. My fear multiplied exponentially. I’d figured my eventual compliance would give him reason to forgo any punishment, but apparently not.

I reluctantly complied figuring any attempt at stalling would make the impending punishment worse. I’d hardly gotten into position when the snap of the belt hitting my backside caused a sting I’ll never forget. He delivered another within seconds and I lurched forward with an audible grunt. The third caught me as I was readjusting. It was also the one that freed the pent-up crying.

“Oh yeah. This is really something. I envy your father. I’m sure he gets to do this a lot.”

My dad really didn’t spank me a lot. At least when he did, I deserved it. I’m not sure this would have qualified in Dad’s book.

The fourth stinging blow did more to stoke the heat than sting. Guess I was acclimating to the sting part and now was concentrating on the fire emanating from my backside.

I was on the verge of shouting insults and hatred toward the spanker, but held it back. I was hurting and a vocal outburst of such a nature might have helped me feel retaliation, but it just might have made Ron angrier and intensified the situation. I forced myself to hold back the verbal retaliation.

After ten, Ron raised me from the couch and told me to go outside and wait for him. Angrily, I strode outside completely incognizant that I’d be publicly on display. Not only was I naked, but I now was wearing the stripes of a discipline session. At least I’d be away from that sadistic nut job.

After leaving the house, I did have enough sense to etch out a space between the house and the shrubbery three or four feet in front of the foundation. I was somewhat hidden from the view of anyone who might happen by.

My ass was so warm it burned. My tears had subsided but I was still sucking nasal discharge back up. That that wouldn’t go I wiped with the palm of my hand. As I sniffled and wished for Ron to have any number of misfortunes befall him, I eventually came to the conclusion I wasn’t hidden well enough from being discovered by complete strangers to make myself comfortable.

I was a mere thirty feet from the sidewalk that paralleled the street. The hedge was pretty scraggly and anyone who might look this way while passing would be treated to the sight of a naked twelve-year-old boy hunched down behind the sparse vegetation. Oh, I could hide my items of interest well enough by keeping them sandwiched between my legs but that wasn’t enough.

“All right, Jack, come out from there,” I was startled by the deep voiced command. “Just get up and come over here.”

The camera began recording my guarded rise as I left the cover of the bushes and walked onto the open front yard. I instinctively cupped my penis and balls as I did so.

“Put your hands down. From now on, no covering. I don’t care who is here or who is coming or passing, you aren’t to hide your boy parts. People love to look at young boys’ penises and yours certainly qualifies. Frankly, I don’t see what you’re so concerned about. You’re just a kid and you definitely have been blessed with a respectable package. What’s to hide? You should be eager to show it off.”

I wasn’t. I kept a vigilant eye on the road and sidewalk worried that any time someone, anyone, would happen by and see me in all my glory. My pre-beating hard-on had returned. My rear end was still emitting a lot of heat. My face still had the post cry feel—swollen eyes, redness, and now embarrassment.

Fifteen or twenty minutes later things got worse. I heard the distant chatter of three girls approaching on the sidewalk that fronted the house. It was unmistakable. Sarah Mitchell, a classmate at school, and her posse of friends hadn’t yet discovered me naked and posed between the house and the neighbors’, but it wouldn’t be long.

Whatever she was in the middle of expounding upon was abruptly interrupted with, “Oh my God. Look, Jack’s naked!”

The three onlookers stood still momentarily watching as Ron coached me for his photographing. Oh, I’m sure he was aware of the gathered audience and was reveling in my exposure. “Hey, put your hands down and stand still. The girls have all seen naked boys at some time or another.”

I couldn’t relinquish my coverage of my erect penis and preadolescent ball sack. I couldn’t openly let them have a view of my most “private” body parts.

“I said put your hands down and let them see your penis.”

No way. I’d reached the point that my privacy superseded the threat of Ron’s belt. What I didn’t count on was Ron’s determination to whip my ass for any transgression what-so-ever. I mean what did I miss when he revealed his desire to experience punishing me at the drop of a hat. The guy was a brutal bastard.

“Okay, have it your way. Girls come on over here. You’ll get a closer look. I’m about to apply my belt to his stubborn ass.”

There was an immediate air of excitement among the girls. I was scared but not scared enough to filter out the giggling and laughter as they approached to within arm’s length of me. It was the first time I’d mustered the courage to identify Sarah’s cohorts—Brandy Sturgis and Cheryl Thompson—both of whom were a year younger than us.

Sarah pretended to be sympathetic, “Come on Jack, put your hands down so we can have a look. We might not touch it. He’s gonna beat your ass if you don’t.”

Where in the hell did the “We might not touch it” part came from? I didn’t have time to ponder. Tears of embarrassment continued to run down my cheeks.

“That’s it. Get over here.” Ron directed me to the rock retaining wall that lined the driveway. “Grab the wall and bend over.” His excitement at the opportunity to once again light my fire with his belt was very evident. He smiled toward the equally amused girls and nodded his head self-righteously. Compliantly, I grabbed the wall and my penis hung downward. The girls were now treated to an unhampered view.

Sarah was quick to announce, “Geezzzz, look at his rear. Man, he’s already been spanked. He’s going for seconds. Hey Jack, did you know there are already red stripes on your sweet pink cheeks?”

Ignoring her taunting remarks, Ron’s attention was locked in on me. “Spread your feet apart.” Ron kicked them to spread them.

“Look! You can see his ball sack!” Cheryl had come alive.

“Oh yeah!” Brandy finally acknowledged the observation. She followed her awareness with a question to Ron, “Is he gonna be naked like this all day?”

With his hand pressing down on my back he actually took the time to answer the girl. “Would you like that?”

“Yeah.”

“Well how about we make him stay naked all weekend?”

Cutting Brandy’s response short, Sarah re-engaged, “That’s even better.”

Though I couldn’t see his face, there was a deviousness in Ron’s reassurance to the girls, “Then we’ll do it! And, you girls can come by anytime you want. Bring some friends. Bring your cellphones and take whatever pictures or videos you want. You can do whatever you want to him.”

What a bastard. I wasn’t sure whether those remarks were actual invitations or just to humiliate and embarrass me further, but he said them. I was certain he’d allow it if they chose to antagonize or even torture me during their visits. All I could do was hope to overpower them should they force some kind of harmful or painful activities during their visits.

My fearful thoughts were interrupted by a snap and sharp pain across both cheeks. I lunged forward with a grunt. It wasn’t long before a second snap delivered a stinging sensation that caused an audible response. The third strike got me crying and so upset I verbally attacked Ron. “I hate your guts. Fuck you, Ron. I hate you.”

The beating continued. Six stripes later it stopped. I instinctively sought refuge by running to the backyard and crouching behind the gardening shed to sob. The girls followed but stayed their distance. Ron showed up clicking away from varied angles as I unwound from the punishment.

The girls were to return on daily visits. Two who had them, brought cellphones to record various images and videos that week. Videos and images that were shared with other classmates the following Fall.

They were also treated to observing and recording each of four other beltings for contrived transgressions.

To this day I still consider Ron as an asshole. Thankfully, he was never asked to supervise me during my parents’ absence again. Guess he crossed Mom and Dad’s line with his conduct during that initial visit.

(End of File)