The truck-driver in the woods: A true spanking memoir

I was 22 and walking through the little state park by the ocean, a notoriously cruisy area of woods, ponds, salt marsh, and trails. It was a warm spring day, and being alone in the woods always made me want to take down my pants, to pee or compare bare bottoms, the way I had with other boys as a kid. There weren’t many people around today, some shy older men and one odd guy, around 30, dressed in wing-tip shoes and a long white raincoat that made me think “flasher.”

I passed the stone barn where I’d once gotten a spanking, and left the main trail and went deeper into the woods. Crisscrossing the area, I kept running into the Raincoat Guy, tall, blond, gawky, slipping in his formal shoes; he’d grunt or nod but somehow he made me nervous. I wondered whether he was a cop.

Eventually, I encountered a short, muscular man around 45, in a tight dark T-shirt and jeans, wearing a belt with a big Peterbilt brass buckle. He nodded gruffly, and, as I approached him on the narrow dirt trail, he grabbed his crotch and pulled it. I already had a boner, so I pulled mine.

He unzipped his fly and took out his hard-on and balls. I showed him my boner, and he began playing with it.

“Are you from around here?” I asked. I was now rock-hard.

“No, I’m a truckdriver. I’m just passing through.”

I wanted to embarrass him; he was so stern and masculine. As if on a dare, I said, “Let me see your ass.”

A little reluctant, he pulled down his pants and showed me his small, pale, muscular bare bottom.

“What do you like?” he said.

Now, I could be blunt. “I like to get spanked.”

I was uneasy to have both of us bare, so I suggested he pull his back up. He did.

I lowered my pants and briefs. “Bend over.” He acted mad. He yanked up my shirt.

“Can you see OK?”

“Yeah,” he laughed. “I see it.”

Dad spanked my bare bottom, very, very hard. He really walloped me. The sounded echoed off the woods and rocks, so I glanced around, worried some guys might catch us.

“Stick it up so I can spank it.”

“Yes, sir.”

He paused, and I stood, bare and embarrassed. I looked back. He was removing his belt. “You’re getting a lickin’. You’re getting the strap.”

“Yes, sir.”

Dad swung the belt. Crack, crack, crack!

“Aach!” I gasped. “Ow!”

He laughed. When I turned to see him prepare to strap me, I noticed we had an audience. High on a ledge, about a hundred yards away, stood the Raincoat Guy. He was lighting a cigarette. Suddenly, I got scared. I was still afraid he might be a basher or a cop.

“Dad,” I said. “There’s a guy watching us!” I figured Dad would order me to hitch up my pants and we’d both go away as quickly as possible.

“SO?!” Dad said. “Turn around so he can see your ass.”

I couldn’t believe it. That was the last reaction I had expected.

I was scared and embarrassed, but I did as Dad said. I showed the Raincoat Guy my bare, spanked bottom. The Raincoat Guy pulled out his cock and began playing with it. He walked toward us.

“Turn around and BEND OVER!”

"Yes, Dad!”

Dad continued strapping. The Raincoat Guy now joined us, smoking his cigarette and staring at my bare bottom while Dad administered my discipline. I was blushing bright red. Then Dad said, “Spank him.”

The Raincoat Guy put his cigarette in his mouth. He rolled up his sleeve, and I bent over. He began spanking my bare bottom while Dad laughed. Dad sure had his revenge for his earlier embarrassment.

“Ow, ow! Ow, ow!”

Then Dad joined back in. Each man took one side of my crack and they spanked me, bare, in tandem, two Dads with their one bare boy.

“I’m sorry, sir, I’m sorry, sir, I’m sorry!”

END