Friends To The (Rear) End 17

* * * * *
This work is intended for ADULTS ONLY. It may contain depictions of sexual activity involving minors. If you are not of a legal age in your locality to view such material or if such material does not appeal to you, do not read further, and do not save this story.
* * * * *

Friends to the (rear) end – Chapter 17

Sitting on the large sofa in the TV room, Mickey and Ryan played Call of Duty. The game was becoming intense and they were deeply focused, their minds racing as they engaged the enemy troops.

Well, Mickey, at least, was deeply focused. Ryan, on the other hand, was partly focused on the game and partly focused on the relentless sting coming from his freshly-spanked bottom. He kept squirming in his seat, as the stubborn sting refused to go away. He forced himself to remember that it was all part of his new proactive strategy, where the sting was supposed to help him keep from misbehaving so bad that the hairbrush might be called for.

And he was glad to notice that it seemed to be working. He could count at least three times in their current game when he almost double-crossed his friend for his own benefit. Such a move might have pissed off Mickey enough to make him decide that Ryan's butt needed a solid warm-up. And that same persistent sting had been the only thing that had made Ryan think twice about double-crossing his spank-enabled friend. It was almost as if his own butt was speaking to him every time Ryan's mind wandered into dangerous territory, playing the part of a conscience by providing a continuous flow of electrical jolts of pain across his buns that somehow seemed to hurt just a little worse whenever Ryan considered a dishonest maneuver.

Videogame double-crosses might constitute small offenses, really, but still Ryan felt a little better knowing that this uncomfortable 'warning system' was activated, since it might keep him from performing a hairbrush-worthy offense.

"Dammit!" Mickey said, when a Nazi sniper killed his character.

Ryan chuckled. "That's ok, you're just doing your job: You're distracting them so I can get through their lines. We both know I'm the only real chance we have at beating this game, anyway."

Mickey grumbled, unamused by the comment. "Oh, yeah? Well, sure, you've been better than me at this game since forever, but I've been practicing and I've improved a LOT. In fact, I bet I can beat you on a Deathmatch now."

"HA! Don't make me laugh. You've never beaten me on a Deatmatch and you never will."

"I can, too!"

"Nu-uh."

"Yeah-uh! Let's do it now if you're so sure of yourself!"

"Well, why don't you get some money on the table to make it interesting for me? Otherwise it's going to get pretty boring to just kill you repeatedly."

Mickey's face turned angry-red. "You're on! I'll go get some right now!"

Mickey hurried to his bedroom and came back almost immediately, carrying a bundle of bills. He then challengingly dropped it on the table, in front of Ryan.

Ryan stared at the money. He couldn't believe how much of it there seemed to be. "Holy...! How did you get this much money, dude?"

"It's just my weekly allowance," Mickey said, shrugging. "Dad was promoted recently, so he earns a lot more now than before. I mean a LOT more. And when he found out about my spanking deal with you, he said that it proved that I was becoming more responsible, which meant that I should get more money to reflect that."

"What? You mean you're going to get this much money every WEEK?" Ryan said, dumbfounded. "And you're earning it because you spank me?"

"Yeah. Another perk of the spanking business, right?" Mickey said, chuckling. "It's no big deal, I don't really spend all that much anyway. Which means that I can spare it to show you who's boss in this game now. So hurry up and get your own money on the table so I can start kicking your butt!"

Ryan stayed still for a moment. He had been half-joking when he had mentioned the money. He never imagined Mickey could bet that much. Still, now it seemed like a sweet proposition for Ryan, since he knew he was far better at the game than Mickey. Which meant that this was easy money. BIG, easy money. He salivated at the thought of the stuff he could buy with it. Stuff he had been wanting to buy for months.

But then he sadly realized that it was not going to happen, for a very simple reason. "I'm sorry dude, but I just remembered that I didn't bring any money with me," Ryan said, sounding sincerely disappointed.

"That's ok," Mickey said, folding his arms. "You brought your ass with you, right?"

"I... huh?"

"I'll take spank-credits. Every time I beat you on a Deathmatch, I get to beat you in real life, too. A one-minute hand-spanking every time you lose. You've annoyed me just enough that I'm really going to enjoy giving it to you."

"WHAT? But.. my butt's still sore from my preemptive spanking. So it would hurt a lot if you spank me again so soon!"

Mickey smiled. "So what happened to 'you've never beaten me on a Deathmatch and you never will'? I thought it was going to get pretty boring to kill me so much, isn't that what you said? So you have a big mouth but you're really just a pussy, is that it?"

"No, I... !"

"C'mon, you big sissy. Every time you win, you can pocket one of those beautiful Hamiltons on the table. Isn't that good enough?"

"Um, that's actually Jackson on those bills, dude..."

"Whatever. All right, listen, just admit that you're not willing to put your ass where you run your mouth, and then we'll know you're just a little pussy and we can move on and play a different game or something. You can end this right now."

End it? This little punk was calling him a pussy? Ryan felt his butt starting to sting a little more intensely, his spanking-new 'warning system' was definitely urging him to take the way out he'd just been offered. Ryan swallowed and felt a chill run down his back when he thought of getting another spanking on his already sore bottom.

But something else in Ryan sent a completely different signal, and he recognized it a second later - it was his greed speaking to him. Man, there were quite a few Jacksons over there on the table. Money enough to pick up quite a few items that had been in Ryan's shopping list for a while now. And it was also true that Mickey had never beaten him on a Deathmatch before...

Ok, so let's say Mickey managed to beat Ryan maybe once, because of some random stroke of luck. That meant a one-minute spanking for Ryan, but then he also would get the money in the other matches. Was all that money worth a one-minute spanking? Sorry, sore butt, but your owner thought it was.

Moreover, there was another important factor in play here: The power games that Ryan had started between his spanker and himself. As Ryan had planned, he had already started regaining a little control from his authoritative young friend's hands. Beating Mickey on this game, after all of the macho roaring they'd just made about it, might probably humble Mickey some more. Take him down another notch. Yes, it was worth the risk.

"All right," Ryan said, trying to sound confident. "All right you little brat, you have a deal. Let's do this."

Mickey smiled wickedly and sat down at his friend's side. Game on.

Ryan felt growingly excited as the Deathmatch started, but also confident about it. He knew all the tricks in the game, after all. There was no way the little punk could ever out-strategize him. He reflected that it had probably been silly of him to have worried at all - this was going to be a breeze. He smiled deviously as he hunted Mickey's character through the war-torn streets on the screen. The twerp would never see him coming. But just then, he lost sight of his target. Where the hell did he...?

Boom.

Mickey laughed out loud. "Gotcha, sucker!"

"B-but...?" Ryan said, his jaw dropping. What had just happened? How had his character just been killed? "How did you....? But I thought..."

"Yeah, yeah, you thought you were the Deathmatch King. Well, so there! Now drop 'em and get over my knee, loser."

"W-what? But I..."

"OVER MY KNEE. Don't make me repeat myself or I'll go get the hairbrush, which is what a bad loser would deserve."

Ryan groaned, stood up, dropped his pants and underwear, then climbed across his blond friend's lap. His entire body shivered with anticipation - his butt was still hurting from his previous spanking! Shit, shit, shit. This was really going to-

*SMACK!*

-HURT.

"OOOOOOW!"

*SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!*

"OOOW! OOOW! YOU DON'T HAVE TO-!"

*SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!*

"OOOW! YOU DON'T HAVE TO SPANK SO HARD! THIS ISN'T PUNISHMENT!" Ryan said, squirming.

"I know it's not," Mickey said. "It's a lost bet. The point of this spanking is not to punish you for bad behavior, it's simply so I can enjoy smacking your ass and hearing you cry, and so you can not-enjoy getting your ass smacked and crying. Like they say in the movies: It's not business, it's personal!"

*SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!*

"OOOW! IT'S THE OTHER WAY AROUND, YOU LITTLE-! OOOW! OOOW!"

The spanking went on for a full minute, Mickey being honest enough to check his watch to know when to stop. When that happened, Ryan jumped from his friend's lap and performed a little misery-dance, rubbing his punished behind as he sniffled and shed some more tears. He had managed to keep from reaching full-bawling mode, but it had been close. The little twerp sure knew how to spank by now! Mickey laughed at his dancing friend, satisfied with his handiwork.

So things were not going exactly as planned for Ryan. He had considered that he might lose one Deathmatch, but losing the very first one? That did not bide well for his young reddened rump. Still, he forced himself to remember the reasons why he had agreed to this unusual bet: Jacksons, power play. Jacksons, power play. He wiped his nose with the back of his hand, wiped his tears with the other hand, and set a hardened look on his eyes.

"Let's go," he said defiantly, with a weep-wavery voice. He started to pull his pants back up. "Next Deathmatch. Let's go."

"Sure!" Mickey said. "But you know what? Don't bother getting your pants back on. That way it'll be easier for me when I spank you again after the next game. And after the next one," he said and giggled.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever," Ryan said, tossing his pants away and then pulling his underpants back on. "That's not gonna- *sniff* -not gonna happen again, anyway. That was a lucky shot you got, but now the kid's gloves are off!"

"I think the kid's undies are going to come off instead, again!" Mickey said and laughed at his own joke. "You just love to brag so much and I just love to spank a bragger! You really have a big mouth, you know? Hey, maybe that's the reason why you give such good blowjobs!"

"Ha-ha. Very funny, dickhead," Ryan said, definitely not in the mood.

"Hey, watch your language! That's the mouth you suck my dick with, remember?" Mickey said, and laughed again.

Ryan won the next Deathmatch, the burning on his bottom encouraging him to stay focused. He didn't want yet another spanking! And he won the next match, too, which meant that he had now pocketed two beautiful bills. But then he lost the next one...

"Shit, shit, SHIT!" Ryan said.

"HA!" Mickey said, raising his arms in victory. "C’mon, loser, you know what to do."

Ryan did know what to do. He grumbled, pulled down his underpants to knee-level and placed himself across his friend's lap. He started crying as soon as the spanking began.

And so they kept at it, Ryan too proud and too greedy to put a stop to the cycle. Sometimes he won and happily reached for the money. Sometimes he lost and tearfully accepted his punishment. After a while, though, his butt was hurting so much, his crying had become so wild and his eyes had filled so much with tears that he had to admit that he simply couldn't keep on playing. He could neither see the game clearly through the tears, or hear it clearly through his continuous crying, or even sit or stand still from all the squirming.

To top off his humiliation, it was clear that Mickey had won more games than he had, which meant that his younger friend had been emboldened -instead of humbled- by the whole thing, which was a definite step back in Ryan's objective for that day. Sure, Ryan had managed to earn quite a lot of money in the process, but he was definitely not feeling like a winner now that the dust had settled.

"Yahooooo!" cried Mickey, doing a little victory dance. "Who's the Deathmatch boss now, huh? C'mon, say it!"

Ryan was still crying but he forced himself to reply, his words coming out blurry and strained, his sentences interrupted by sudden cry-coughs of misery. "Yeah, yeah... *ahuh-ahuh!* ...You're the D-deathmatch boss... *ahuh!* ...Whatever... *ahuh-ahuh-ahuhhh!*"

Staring at his humiliated friend, Mickey's eyes turned from pride to pity, although his smile remained. He had loved winning and making his previously-bragging friend eat his belligerent words, but now that it was over he also remembered that Ryan was still his friend. And he remembered that this was a sleepover, where they were both supposed to have fun. Mickey thought that he should do or say something to lighten up the mood a bit.

Mickey waited until Ryan had calmed down a little, before speaking again. "Listen, um... I know we said we were going to play Super Smash Bros next, but we can play whatever you want instead. How's that?"

"N-no, dude, *sniff*," Ryan said, still sniffling. "We should play that game. You like it so much... *sniff*"

"Well, I, uh..." Mickey said, trying to think of something nice to say. "I'm sure you have improved in Super Smash Bros, just as I improved in the Call of Duty Deathmatches. You'll probably win more matches this time!"

"Yeah, right. As if we don't know that you're absolutely invincible in Super Smash Bros," Ryan said, still rubbing his bare behind. His underpants had been kicked off during the last spanking, and he was now looking for them around the room. "But I think I can manage to beat you maybe once or twice. In fact, I was even thinking we should bet on it, too."

"What? Are you crazy? You want to get spanked even more?"

"No, nothing like that," Ryan said, finally finding his white briefs and starting to put them back on. "Even my butt's got limits, you know? No, I was thinking of something that would also hurt you a little, for a change."

"Sounds like you already have something in mind."

"Yes. We play Super Smash Bros, and after each match... the loser loses something."

"What does the loser lose?"

"He loses..." Ryan started to say, pausing a second for a devious smile to form on his face. "...a pube."

"A... what?"

"A pube, dude! A pubic fucking hair. One of our short and curlies. Don't you know what a pube is?"

"I know what a pube is, I just didn't know if I'd heard you right. I mean, holy shit dude, that's..."

"Embarrassing?"

"Well... yeah! I mean, we see each other naked all the time, but I wouldn't like ending up hairless down there, like a little kid. That'd be just... just..."

"Humiliating? Humbling? Degrading?"

"Uh, right. All of those things. But hold on a minute, we both know I'm so much better than you at Super Smash Bros, you just said so yourself. So you're bound to lose way more pubes than me here. In fact, I'll probably lose no pubes at all! So what's the catch? You're the one who suggested this bet. What's in it for you, really?"

"Damn, you're just too smart for me, aren't you?" Ryan said, carefully sitting next to Mickey. He winced when his underwear-clad bottom touched the seat. "All right, all right, you got me. Look, here's the thing, Jake and Deion have just had their pubes plucked out by their girlfriends. They're smooth as babies down there now. And you know their girlfriends are BFFs with my girlfriend, and they're always giving tips to each other and doing everything the same way - particularly when it comes to dealing with their boyfriends. So I figured..."

"You figured that you're probably going to lose your pubes anyway," Mickey said, the realization dawning on his face. "So you thought that you had nothing to lose by betting them. And that maybe, just maybe, you might get me to lose some of my pubes in the process."

"Bingo," Ryan said, shrugging.

"You little trickster!" Mickey said and laughed. "I should spank you for trying to trick me, you know? But I was smarter that you expected."

"You were. You were way smarter than I expected."

"That's exactly right!"

"Right, yeah. Oh well, I guess I'll have to wait for Haley to pluck out my pubes one by one, with a pair of tweezers."

"Tweezers?"

"Oh, yeah. My buddies said their girls used tweezers on them. And they said it stings quite a bit, you know?"

"Really?"

"Yeah, they said they were really crying by the end, and their faces were bright red because it was really embarrassing. Their girls must have enjoyed watching them squirm and suffer so much, though. Don't you think?"

"So it stings that much?"

"They cried out with every... single... pube. Pluck. Pluck. Pluck."

"Well, I..." Mickey said, a thoughtful look on his face. "I guess I could risk a pube or two, if only to have a few laughs. I'd love to see your reaction when you're left nice and smooth down there!"

"Sure, if you want," Ryan said, shrugging again. "I mean, it's all the same to me if you do it or Haley does it. At least I maaaay get to pluck out one of yours, if I happen to win a match."

"Not gonna happen, dude. But you're welcome to try," Mickey said, looking increasingly excited. "All right, let me just go get a pair of mom's tweezers and we can get on with it. Be right back!"

Mickey leapt from his seat and hurried out of the room, his speed betraying his feelings. 'If only to have a few laughs', he said? Oh please. Ryan knew his friend so much better than that. He knew that Mickey was practically salivating at the thought of making Ryan squirm and cry out and blush with embarrassment - all of it through a brand-new technique for Mickey, something different from spanking. Ryan knew that Mickey enjoyed spanking him, even though he only did it when Ryan truly deserved it. But the truth still was that Mickey enjoyed making him blush and cry. And, well, Ryan thought that probably most boys enjoyed watching another boy blush and cry. It was just boy-nature, he reckoned.

And that same nature had been exactly what Ryan was really betting on: Mickey's thirst for that particular pleasure. True to form, Mickey had proved him right and accepted the deal.

Sucker.

Hook, line and sinker, Ryan thought. His young friend had swallowed the bait! Yes, it was true that Jake and Deion had been shaved. And it was true that Haley would probably shave him when she found out about his buddies’ shavings. And it was also true that Mickey had always been better than Ryan at Super Smash Bros.

But Mickey was not the only one who could improve his gameplay.

Earlier that day, Ryan had foreseen that they would play videogames that night. He had also already decided to humble Mickey that night, try to snatch some control from him. So Ryan had planned to make this particular bet when they played videogames. In fact, he had been planning to make the bet earlier, and his comment about money had only been a way to start the conversation, but he had not expected that Mickey actually had so much money to bet, just as he hadn't expected Mickey to suggest that Ryan should pay with his ass, and just as he hadn't expected that Mickey had improved so much in Call of Duty's Deathmatches.

So none of that had been part of his plan. What had been part of his plan was getting Mickey to bet his pubes on Super Smash Bros, a game that Ryan had been training at in his house for hours, right before coming to Mickey's house. A few hours don't sound like much, but he'd made an excellent research on the internet and he had managed to learn and memorize most of the characters' special moves and combos. Ryan was a quick study when he was properly motivated (which might explain why his grades were improving after Mickey had started spanking him for every bad grade).

In short, Ryan was ready to kick Mickey's ass. He was ready pluck out his short and curlies one by one. And he was ready to make Mickey feel like a hairless little boy who is not as high and mighty as he thought he was. Oh yeah, he was more than ready for that.

"Here they are!" Mickey said, grinning as he hurried back into the room, holding the pair of tweezers on his hand. The metal instrument gleamed as Mickey held it high, showing it off. Mickey gently placed the tweezers on the table in front of them, turned the game on and giggled. "This is going to be fun!"

"Yes," Ryan said, smirking. "It’s going to be very fun."

To be continued...

(The End)