Diego has completed his inspection of Martin and Erik’s doom room. Erik though is still in the shower and Diego is in no mood to wait until the errant boy comes out.
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While meekly-mounted-male-mounds-martyred Martin softly sobbed, sincerely-submissively suffering a ‘soundly’ sounding-spanks-stressed lecture OTK, at-length about clever, complete caution with contemptible kinds of contraband as compelling causes for cross cursing and cruelly-crossed clothless-cur-cones-crimson-cuts-covering-castigation, radiantly-red-reared rotter rascal Ramon retreated for relief to a cold cream-rubbing rascal-lush-mate’s room, the semi-silence allowed Diego to notice surprising sounds from the shower, so checked it and found skunk-drunk third beer-buddy Erik, hardly-hiding his hottie-hide, happily horse-hung, having his hangover-halving shower here.
He’s still too drunk even to recognize Diego, who suspected so at the silly-sexy staggering stud’s semi-sad sight sine surely-severe-spanking-scare-stirred-stiffy-seed-spillage, and for now only hand-spanks shower-starkers on the spot, to make sure it’s no act, concluding there’s no point in working up his own sweat by severely swatting the shapely, shameless scoundrel-squirt here and now: CP like any punishment only works by painfully-pertinent pain-perception, which is ironically dulled by the squirt’s very spankable sin.
So when Martin’s butt barely burns any longer, like Eric’s hangover, the naked-naughty-knave-nates-nurture-nightmare is about over for the former, just beginning for the latter, who will be note-notified to report twice daily for a month to Diego, freshly cold-showered: every morning towel-only to serve breakfast for Sir – who soon tear it off to snap him ‘olayfuly’- and guests, plus any assigned chores to their fancy, like shoe-shining, followed by his first OTK and probably a naked belting touching-toes, unless it was all flawless, and every evening for an hour in detention shirtless commando, getting double-dose holed-paddling all-on-ankles, elbows on Sir’s desk corroborating every CP in his agenda, which so far is usually worth half an hour, and instead of cold cream he gets rubbed-in pure alcohol, brine and tiger-balm bountifully, badly burning buttocks, boner, boy-hole and balls too, before and bare-still bawling on his belly in bed, forbidden to wash off any before midnight at pain of an extra month.