Jock Spank – Male Spanking

Zeus used to be a respectful Spanish son, struggling to get decent grades in gymnasium, but(t) (befitting the Greek original, often enduring CP in/on the bare, there as at home) an amazing athlete, scoring a rare sports scholarship for college, only to lose it on account of the all-round academic failure every teacher warned was inevitable. Due to the enduring economic crisis in their Spanish region, his father nearly avoided bankruptcy and home loss, so couldn’t afford to take Zeus in back home, and as he didn’t find a job, lacking qualifications, made him accept an in-living artisanal apprenticeship, so his smarter kid brother can stay in college.
As the knave made crystal-clear from the start he didn’t intend to take this Dickensian solution like a Victorian son, his employers exacted contract clauses the kid can’t cancel the contract for nine years and accepts extending the loco parentis permission to subject him to the pitiless paternalistic privilege of painful CP as they see fit. They are brothers running a carpentry in their old mountain village’s converted former only inn, causing Zeus to get injured by tools, nails and so on all the time, while his only happy student job experiences were as barman, liftboy and busboy, convincing him the hospitality industry was his calling, begging and bugging his bosses to resurrect the inn, which they refuse, really resenting the rascally reminders as respectless, resulting in rod-ravaging his rebel-rear red-raw as ruthless response and revoking his rest-times around meals to impose above professional, mostly menial, tasks additional domestic chores, mainly all cleaning and cooking, apron-only when red-reared from CP on the job -which is almost always- and serving, often on naked knees or on all four (also as live table or – footstool), various items to be carried in various body-cavities (especially his aching anus and ‘foul dogsbody’ mouth) or hung on his humblehound-he-hood as a hook, say as coat-hanger, twist-augmentations of the thorny time-honoured teen-tail-torment-technique to teach him total thrall-tractability, as his contrary comportment convinced the caretakers curbing the cur’s caprices to complete compliance commands close-to-constant clothless-cones-crimson-castigation.
As that didn’t yield good-enough results all quarter, but(t) he never was impudent serving customers, the brothers hoped to start a new chapter by allowing him to sit in at the Christmastime dinner for crucial contract clients and -suppliers, catered by the village’s only candidate, which proved awful, almost inedible, yet the klutz caterer -being a cousin of the mayor, the municipality being their major customer- was paid, not chastised, while Zeus’s ever-superior cooking was always criticized, often even spanking him OTK for a futility, rendering Zeus resentful, rudely-outspoken regardless of ever-expected eerily-exposed-endurance, except this time he wasn’t sent to wait for it privately but(t) promptly posterior-punished painfully-publicly in the perversely-pleasured presence of predatory pricks, a perplexing precedent.
Practice-proven a peculiar public probably pays a pretty penny for the perverse pleasures of pitilessly punishing a poor puerile puppy private-parts-privacy-privated as pitiful penitent pup’s proper punishment or on pretext, while every villager should enjoy some catering given the complete lack of local competent competition, the brothers finally decided to put Zeus’s talents to better use, albeit not quite as he had hoped. On top of the many menial tasks at home and in the workshop, where proper carpentry work no longer is risked in his klutz-claws, the absolutely-abject apprentice now must run a tapas bar for clients, where they can put him OTK for any complaint, however unfair, and does deliveries at home, where they can strip and spank the squirming squirt at predatory pleasure as if due displeasure, the brothers getting paid by the hour their going repairs-rate. Zeus can count himself lucky if spared another whooping from them unless the client is content when called, even furiously-fanny-flogged when one complains, and five regular, major ‘premium account’ customers can call to have him deliver tapas after hours at a fixed day of the working week, till midnight their trembling teen-twink-thrall for two-tail-torment to their thorny taste. This labour conditions normally couldn’t stand the test of apprenticeship inspection, except in such small town the regular routine falls to the town clerk, appeals to the mayor, who jointly or taking turns enjoy a municipality-paid premium account, shared further with the sole constable, all three super-strict senior señores, still notably-nostalgic of nasty-naked-nates-nurture of ‘naturally needy’ knaves and curs-comparable criminals’ coverless-cones-cruelly-criss-cross-crimson-cutting comeuppances in Franco’s days of divine devotion and dire defrocked-derriere-discipline as daily due deserts displaying their definite demi-deified dignity then.
Zeus will toil his time-and-time-tender-tanned tail off there in total despair, till next Christmas, when his dad and especially kid brother, who turns out a brilliant economist, will join the dinner with a dream gift: a business plan to re-open the inn, with all at the table as partners, keeping the workshop at ground level, turning the tapas bar into a top floor real restaurant and the basement into a dungeon club. Zeus will work his thrashable teen-twin-tail off ‘thrice as hard’ serving in all three, yet be hugely-happier, for it will yield modest shares for himself, his father’s family firm and his brother’s study fund, realizing all their dreams and reviving the village, part-paid-for by plenty of pantsing and paining his perky-puppy-posterior for punishment and predatory pleasures.