Just look at the attitude of Thiago, lounging back and smoking, even just throwing his lighter on the floor.
It’s no wonder he finds himself OTK and getting a much-needed spanking.
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A good warm up on his tight dark boxers starts the session off well.
Once they are down he is suddenly aware that this is for real, he is struggling and trying to cover his ass.
The squirming is stopped when his junk is grabbed, seems to calm any lad down. The look on his face tells the whole story, he regrets deeply that he was not behaving better. Maybe its a lesson he will remember.
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Well, internet spankers, I had a bet with myself here. I bet myself that I would buy a double shot of my favourite whisky at my local if I could guess correctly what young Thiago’s taste in underpants would run to after the first time I saw him (when, of course, he didn’t have any underpants on). My guess was that he would wear dark coloured boxer-briefs, maybe fairly conservatively coloured, but also short and tight! And it turns out that I was absolutely right! Not only is Thiago a coloured-underpants wearer, but he has on a pair in my second favourite colour for punishment underpants – navy-blue, and good and short, and smackably tight! Perfect spankingwear!
Pub, here I come!
While teen Thiago’s twinkly bucolic-naive bumpkin innocence had rapidly endeared him to urbane uncle Franco, who happily hosts him long and often for holidays, the boorish-born cousin’s mindless partying with dodgy city knaves, who are actually after free drinks and so on, even earning them a sneaky commission from a dubious tattoo parlor, worries rapidly as radically-wrong rogue-influences soft-spankophile Sir (still often called away a while on urgent business), who has no intention to explain to his medically-schooled brother how he let the prize puppy degenerate from pleasant pride and joy to putrid player, practically a pitiful penniless party-parasitic punk.
Fortunately for the fallen-angel fledgling’s fucking-up-feared future, fatherly favorite familyman Franco responsibly, regretfully realizes reining-in the run-off-road rascal really requires rapidly resorting to a ruthless rigid-respect-&-respectability-restoration-regime by relentless rebel-rear-red-raw-rods-ravaging. So seeing the self-spoiling sweetie-squirt shamefully stoned from shocking smoking-debut, so-far semi-soft-sinner-seat-smacking Sir severely shape-shifted to a strictly-stern spanker, stat-sermoning the scoundrel to stop spoiling stuff, style and self, sentenced to successively suffer after self-fetching simply-sound to savagely-severe spanking-evenings with belt, brush, tawse, switch, martinet and birch interlaced with laser tattoo removal sessions without any anesthetic, most frightening of all, the thrashed teen tearfully thanking God he didn’t deface his crown jewels.
Firstly missing the heavenly-hurt-hide-healing hottub at home he helpfully had his hell-hot-hits-heep-hided homeboys hail, alas away now he could have had full benefit himself, Thiago quickly realizes he more meaningfully misses here his humbly hamlet-home almost in general, values and virtues like honesty, simplicity, healthiness, charity, helpfullness, country comradship. Favorite-fanny-fiercely-flailing Franco gives him the wise, warmly-welcomed advise to reset mentally to his real home-self, only enriched by their intimate relationship, a second father and love-coach, abstaining from any sinful influence from urban demons in disguise : better be a boorish bucolic boy bumbling in town then a torn two-worlds-teen tempted to thrashy things. The true wealth isn’t dozens of bad party friends without prospect, but(t) two complementary fine father-figures furthering his future fairly.