By "Mike"

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Woody spent most of the 1990's and early 2000's in Los Angeles, often frequenting the leather bars in Silver Lake, making friends with other leather men.

He was from rural Oklahoma, and grew up on a ranch, where he learned to cowboy. He developed a strong attraction to other cowboys, from afar of course, especially his high school classmates. Corporal punishment was the law of the day, and he and his buddies often found themselves on the receiving end of a wood paddle. He didn't know what S&M was, only that he got rock hard at even the thought of his cowboy classmates standing in line in the gym after school or practice, emptying their pockets and bending over one of the coach's desks for licks. One coach in particular, a young guy barely ten years older than he was, had a great paddle swing to go along with his athletic good looks. While the other guys did their best to avoid him, Woody secretly hoped he would get one of Coach Brown's fiery swats, still burning on his ass when he got home, where he would head up to his room and shoot a huge load as the fire in his ass raged on. He could conjure up the memory whenever he wanted, starting with the young, well-built ex-marine retrieving the thick paddle from the shelf where he kept it, and ending with the vivid memory of the loud BANG and the fiery pain. Then he'd relive one of his buddies getting it, hearing the lick from outside the office, and the sight of him leaving the office with a grimace on his face and his hands rubbing the seat of his Wranglers. Sometimes, in the afternoons when there was time to kill, Coach Brown had a game where a group of guys would flip coins until one coin was odd from the rest. The loser got a lick. Woody was on Coach Brown's baseball team, and naturally loved playing the game as did a few others. The licks were hard and frequent, and the guys would play hoping to avoid getting hit and laughing at the loser. Sometimes there was a group of five guys, sometimes three, and often the game had to wait until after his disciplinary licks were given.

A natural cowboy, college did not suit Woody, but he found a place on the rodeo circuit. He liked tie-down roping and was fairly good at it, and a nice oil royalty from his family's ranch allowed him the freedom to pursue rodeo full time. Truth was, he wasn't good enough consistently to advance to the top where the big money was. Knowing by now that he was fully gay, with a mean streak, he traveled with it anyway, making several close "friends" along the way. He once remarked that he hooked up more frequently in the straight rodeo circuit than in the gay circuit. The gay rodeos were mostly for entertainment, with little real competition, and Woody found he was not the only secretly gay cowboy competing in the "straight" rodeo circuit. One of these friends convinced him to follow him to Los Angeles, where Woody finally found what he needed. He became known as the "Leather Cowboy" in the leather bar where he worked and learned bar tending. He always dressed in tight Wrangler jeans, boots, sometimes chaps and usually a Stetson hat. His good looks kept him busy, and the leather and denim crowd loved him.

The bar had several specialty nights, to increase attendance. There was "Leather Night", "Daddy Night" and Woody suggested "Spanking Night", which quickly became the most popular. There was a dimly-lit corner of the room where guys would pair off and spank, whip and paddle each other, usually mild-to-medium, rarely hard or severe enough for Woody's taste.

One night Woody noticed a tall, dark leatherman watching him, while smoking a big cigar. There was a large donation jar on the bar, for AIDS relief. The man looked at Woody, motioning to a good-sized paddle on the wall behind the bar, and said loudly

"How much to bust the bartender?"

Woody looked at the man and said,

"With that? How many swats?"

"How about FIVE". Hard."

Woody thought for a while, staring into the man's eyes. This guy was not the typical visitor on spanking night. The fact that he said only five swats meant he was into serious paddling. The guys who give a lot of swats are the light swingers. But a hard, five-swat discipline paddling was serious punishment. He knew what he was doing.

"I'd say twenty bucks for 'hard'. Forty bucks for 'extra hard'."

The man opened his wallet, took out a one hundred dollar bill and dropped it in the jar.

"Deal. This ought to cover it. Five swats."

Woody reached up on the wall behind him and handed the man the paddle. He came from behind the bar as the crowd cleared with excitement. Woody was a crowd favorite. The leatherman stood up and motioned with the paddle to a long table.

"Bend over that table."

Woody removed his wallet and his Cope can, and proceeded to bend over, grabbing the edge of the table with his hands. He felt a fist in his back, shoving him forward,

"WAY over'"

Woody bent completely across the table, gripping the opposite edge in his hands. His boots were spread wide apart, in complete cooperation, presenting his perfect ass for punishment. The crowd formed a circle, and the music stopped. The leatherman chomped his cigar and placed the paddle across Woody's tight Wrangler butt.


"Yes, SIR!" Woody replied, respectfully. The man looked behind him, making sure he had room to swing. The crowd was quiet.


The swat was as hard as it gets, and worth every penny of twenty dollars. Woody did his best to hide the shock and the pain.


The crowd was in stunned silence as


the second swat landed, hard and loud on top of the first. Woody shifted his boots, firming his stance, fighting the urge to flinch. He knew that flinching was not only useless but dangerous, and in Woody's world, if a guy flinched before a lick, he got an extra. These licks were real.


The third swat seemed unbearable, but Woody took it well. There were a few extra seconds while he gathered his composure.


This was every bit a disciplinary paddling. There was no teasing. This was serious punishment. Swat number four is usually heard more than it is felt. A fire can only burn so hot.


Woody let out a loud "AW FUCK!" as the cigar smoke filled the air. There was a long time until the count came.


Woody was choking back tears, as he shouted the count through clenched teeth and sharp, forced breaths. He couldn't feel it, but the paddle was being rubbed across his ass. The smoke filled the air, the voice got lower, almost soft.

"You ready for a good'un, boy?'"


"This is gonna be a hard one, boy!"

Fuck! Like the first four weren't?

"Welcome to HELL, boy!"


If it was possible, it was harder. Woody later wondered why it didn't break the paddle.


The crowd fixed their eyes on the leatherman, as their friend Woody rose to his full height. Woody REFUSED to touch his ass, as he turned around, stuck out his hand and firmly shook the man's hand. The crowd watched in silence, as Woody stiffly returned to the bar, and opened his wallet. He didn't have a hundred-dollar bill, but he had two twenty's, which he folded together and dropped into the jar. He tipped his hat to his new friend, and said loudly, shaking his head,

"Thank you, Sir. That was quite a lickin'!"

"Well taken." the leatherman said, blowing another cloud of heavy smoke into the air.

"Hey Woody! Show us your ass!" came a familiar voice from the crowd.

"Fuck you!", said Woody, jokingly.

The leatherman opened his wallet and dropped another hundred-dollar bill into the jar.

"Hey Woody", the man breathed deeply, almost a whisper, "Show us your ass.", he said, mocking the man who had shouted it earlier. His eyes were barely a slit as they met Woody's.

Woody came around to the front of the bar, where a couple of bar stools had been cleared. Facing the now-small crowd of patrons, he slowly unbuckled his belt and opened his Wranglers. His dick was wet with pre-cum but only semi-hard from the hard paddling. It flopped out as he slid the tight Wranglers down to his knees. As he turned around, there was a painful gasp from the crowd. The skin was dark red, like a raw steak, in an even pattern across both cheeks of his butt. The licks were well-placed, one on top of the other, from a man who knew how to paddle and a guy who knew how to take one. The angry skin was wet with sweat. The leatherman took out his phone, the other guys moved so he could get close, and took a picture.

"How much to touch it?", he asked in Woody's ear. Woody thought for a few seconds, before speaking in a soft voice.

"Go ahead, Sir."

The leatherman moved close and laid a rough right hand across the flaming left cheek, feeling the heat on the clammy surface. His third finger slid down and between the fiery cheeks, before his hand moved to the other side. He patted the right cheek softly, which was Woody's cue to pull up his Wranglers. The crowd went back to their drinks, but the leatherman stayed at the bar.

Woody completed his shift as best he could. The leatherman sipped his drinks and smoked his cigar, never taking his eyes off him. Bar patrons would drop dollars into his tip jar, and offer words of approval or encouragement. Finally, the head bartender told Woody he'd finish up for him, saying, "Man, Woody. That was something to see. You going to be okay?" Woody smiled, wiping down the counter. "Yeah, thanks. This butt has seen worse."

The leatherman spoke when they were alone.

"Listen. I live nearby. You interested in a little turnabout? I, uh, I can take what I dish out." He stuck out his hand, "The name's Tom, by the way."

"Woody, here.", Woody replied.

Damn right he was interested. The guy was hot and apparently liked what he liked. The two exited the bar and headed out into the neon and leather neighborhood, for the short walk to Tom's apartment. The apartment was nicer than most in the area, with painted brick walls and conduit. It was one big room, with a divider separating the bedroom from the rest. It was black leather and dark wood, naturally, with a few modern touches.

"I've got to hand it to you," Woody said, his hands on his still throbbing ass. "Those were the hardest licks I've ever gotten."

"Somethin' told me you could take it", Tom said smiling, "Glad you enjoyed 'em. You've got one hell of an ass there, Woody. Whiskey?"

"Thanks". He looked around the apartment. "You said something about turnabout? What kind of thing are you into?", once again overcome by the pain in his ass. Tom tossed him a key out of a drawer in the kitchen area. "Open up that closet."

Woody opened the closet, revealing the rest of Tom's leather wardrobe. There were leather pants, jeans and several pairs of boots. Behind the door, was an assortment of disciplinary items, including medium and long straps, and a couple of good-sized paddles. This was heavy shit. Nothing mild or for play. Woody was drawn to a heavy strap, about two feet long, with a wooden handle. The strap was about three and a half inches wide, and a quarter inch thick. Woody was getting hard. Tom came over to the open closet and got down on his knees.

"You in a hurry?", Tom said.

"Nope. You?"

"Nope.", Tom said, turning Woody toward him, and placing his hands on Woody's throbbing backside. He drew him closer, unbuckled his leather belt, opened his jeans and unzipped his fly. Woody's rock hard dick came out from a mound of bushy black hair. "Holy shit", Woody thought. "Nothin' better than a stand-up, open-fly blowjob." Tom's hands returned to the seat of Woody's jeans, feeling the heat from the hard licks of an hour before. Woody's eyes rolled back in his head as soon as the smoky mouth wrapped around his dick, first the tip, then slowly taking in the entire shaft. Tom pulled Woody into him with his hands on his ass, feeling his hard dick with his tongue. It was a long, slow blowjob. After a while, Woody's groans intensified. Fearing that he was ready to shoot. He pushed Tom away.

"I'm ready for the strap, Sir.", Tom said.

Tom rose to his feet and moved to the table. He removed a red bandanna from his left hip pocket, and his wallet from the front. The fly in his leather pants was extra deep, and his own hard cock spilled out the front as he bent over the table, gripping the opposite edge as he had made Woody do.

Woody's dick was hard and wet from the blowjob, and poking straight out of his fly as he took the heavy strap in his hand.

"Any neighbors we need to worry about?"

"Nope. Brick walls, no neighbors."

"Other than the nice blowjob, any reason I shouldn't thoroughly bust your ass?"

There was a long pause, before Tom answered.

"No, Sir."

"Five licks. Count 'em out."

"Yes, Sir."

Woody had never hit a pair of leather britches before. He mostly paddled jeans and bare asses, though never as hard as what this guy was obviously into. The leather seat of Tom's pants was worn and cracked, but still shiny black. The thought of thick leather on leather made his dick even harder. He tightened his grip on the wooden handle, letting the strap slap against Tom's ass. He drew it way back and up.

"KA ---- POWWWWWW!!!"

Wood on Wranglers was one thing. But leather on leather - FUCK!


Tom's ass was on fire, as Woody readied the next swat.

"KA --- POWWWWWW !!!"


There was agony in his voice. The licks were as hard or harder than the ones he gave Woody.

Woody delivered two more blistering swats, which were met with clenched teeth.

"HOW MANY WAS THAT, BOY"? Woody demanded.


Woody stood him up to his feet and ordered,

"Finish this fucking blowjob."

"Y-yes, Sir!".

Tom dropped to his knees and took Woody's dick into his mouth. The act was not as erotic or as sensual as before, done through thick tears and heavy breaths. Woody was soon ready to shoot. He took the strap in his hand and slammed it across the table in a mighty swat across the wooden surface. He pulled Tom's face into his crotch and heaved hard and shot a heavy load deep into his throat. He kept Tom close, his muffled breathing against the crotch of his wranglers, until he slowly grew softer, and the sensation of Tom's tongue grew uncomfortable on the tip of his dick.

"Back over the table!"

"PLEASE, sir!" Tom rocked back on his heals revealing his dick dripping the last of a giant load that he had lost when Woody came inside his mouth. He was in no mood for that last lick.

"I- I can't take another one right now, Sir!"

"Sure you can", Woody whispered, repeating Tom's words from earlier.

"You ready for a good'un, boy?"

Woody reached down and grabbed Tom's dripping cock, and guided him over to the table. He wiped the cum that was on his hand across Tom's leather ass, where it left a wet smear.

"KA ---- POWWWWWWW !!!"

Tom's head flew back, as he collapsed on his knees. Woody grabbed him by the back of the pants and stood him up. He stared into his face and deep-kissed him, slowly moving his hands inside the waist of his leather pants, feeling the hot, sweaty ass inside. Both dicks were stirring again, exhausted from the heavy scene, but better to wait for a bigger load.

The men moved to the bed, where they each fell backward and into a deep sleep, neither man knowing where this was going to end up. It had been a remarkable night for both men. They each wondered if they had found a new partner, or at the very least, a very good friend.

The next morning, they awoke, still fully dressed, side-by-side, feet on the floor, laying back on the bed. Tom's hand found its way to Woody's crotch where it could feel the fullness of Woody's crotch as it stirred to life.

"So, ... what do you think we've got going on here?", Tom asked him, as Woody slowly stood up, wincing at the pain in his ass.

"I don't know", Woody answered truthfully. "But I know one thing. I can't take a night like that one every night. I was starting to think there was nobody into this shit as deep as I am. I need to go home and shower."

"You're welcome to clean up here.", Tom said, getting him a clean towel.

Woody bent over and removed his boots and socks, then his shirt and jeans. As he walked past Tom toward the shower, Tom took in the sight of a still-bright red ass, a testament to the hard licking he had given him. Afterwards, as the steam from the hot shower entered the room, Woody wrapped the towel around his waist.

"You need a clean pair of underwear?", Tom asked. "I've got briefs and boxers."

"No thanks.", Woody replied. "Never wear it", as he stepped into his Wranglers. He sipped at the mug of coffee Tom had made for him.

After Tom cleaned up, the men went to a nearby restaurant, in an effort to get to know each other. As they were getting ready to leave, Tom asked him,

"So what's next for you, Woody?"

"Well, now that I've learned how to bar tend, I was thinking of moving maybe to Colorado or Wyoming, and opening my own place, hopefully out in the country. A place with plenty of cowboys and truckers."

"Speaking of cowboys", Tom interrupted, "What'd you think about that frat in west Texas?"

"What?", Woody replied.

"On the news the other night. Some cowboy frat in west Texas got disbanded and kicked off campus for excessive hazing. Seems they paddled their pledges black and blue for like a hundred years."

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