NOTE: This is story is FICTION, as are the characters. I had planned to write this as sort of a "Halloween treat" for Nifty readers last October, but somehow, never got around to it.Enjoy!
Barnabas Atwood III was a millionaire noted for his quirky and eccentric behavior. Tall, muscular, and handsome, the 60-something megabucks stud-daddy was, at present, enjoying his new "toy" with a passion. He just purchased a huge, echoing mausoleum, that had been built in the 1920s, but, due to the stock market crash in 1929, it was never used for its intended purpose. For many years, though, the hulking structure was maintained and kept in repair, due to some complicated redtape.
So, when Barnabas Atwood III bought the abandoned structure, as well as its surrounding property, he set his horny, kinky mind on what he would do with his latest "toy". He went to a movie-prop supply company, and from them bought a fake mahogony coffin, complete with supporting cataflaque. He then purchased vintage electric floor lamps, with bronze pedestals, as well as a huge electric organ, some 70 years old, from an old theatre that had closed. In the center of the great hall of the empty vaults, he positioned the movie-prop coffin, and had special leather restraints attatched. The massive, towering light fixtures he positioned around the fake box, and then had the old organ installed right in the very center of the high-ceilinged, dimly-lit hall. Then, he had a custom-designed rack built on the opposite wall, and from the hooks hung a variety of paddles, leather strops, and other such implements ofdiscipline.
Then, when all was done, the hunky, salt-and-pepper haired gay executive invited a number of his wealthy gay friends to be his guests at the "grand opening". All men, of course, were expected to wear suits and ties, and they all were to be wearing boxer shorts and garters underneath. On a Friday night in July, a dozen of Atwood's executive cohorts and business associates were all present, all sitting on old-fashioned wooden folding chairs facing the fake coffin. One of Atwood's friends sat at the organ, and the haunting music that echoed throughout the cavernous building made the dapper gents even hornier than they already were. At 10 o' clock on the dot, Atwood appeared from his small office in the corner, dressed in a swallow tailed-jacket that sported a white carnation, tight pinstripe trousers, and white-spattedshoes.
His deep, rich voice bid them all a good evening, echoing eeerily through the cavernoushall.
Then, one by one, Atwood called up his well-dressed corporate buddies, and told them to pull down thier suit pants and then climb up on top of the fake coffin, face down. Justin Chamberton IV was the first. The tough-looking, 50-something CEO eagerly dropped his grey suit pants, and let them slide down to his polished shoes, revealing his snug red-striped boxers and gartered dark-blue socks. Somewhat clumsily, the stocky exec mounted the coffin, and, when he did so, Atwood fastened the thick leather restraints around Chamberton's stockytorso.
His proud, beefy rump seemed ready to rip right through the tight seat of those sweaty shorts, and Atwood felt his cock pound hard behind his pinstriped fly. Then, Atwood went over to the rack and removed a leather razor strop. Standing next to Chamberton's captive corporate ass, he brought the strop down hard against Chamberton's beefy, boxers-covered ass, and the wiley CEO yowled loudly as the strop lashed into his broad backside. The guests, by this time, were all stroking their aching executive dongs through their suit pants, their bifocaled eyes feasting on the highly-erotic scene before them. Chamberton's masculine grunts and cries mingled erotically with the haunting organ music, echoing throughout the vaulted mausoleum that never was. Then, without warning, Atwood stopped the assault on Chamberton's upturned corporate ass, and then roughly yanked the hairy CEO's sweaty undershorts down to his knees. Chamberton's big, furry glutes were hot and glowing, sporting several hot-looking welts. Then Atwood went over to the rack and replaced the strop on its hook, and came back with a massive wooden paddle drilled with holes. As the echoing organ music continued, the "undertaker" then started a fresh assault on Chamberton's big, hairy backside, making the restrained man hump his aching cock harder against the lube-slick coffinlid.
Again and again, the big paddle made sharp, stinging contact with the executive's hairy buns, and the "guests" were now trying to restrain from massaging their trouser-imprisoned cocks too much, lest they shoot off before THEIR turn came to mount the box and have their own boardroom asses whacked around. The horny executive audience licked their lips in eager anticipation as they watched Chamberton's big ass attacked by The Undertaker's massive paddle. Finally, Chamberton could no longer hold back, his churning, hairy bull-balls let loose with a massive orgasm, and he humped the coffin lid in a wild, sexual frenzy, jets of executive spooge spurting out of his beer-can cock, soaking his shirt front and tie, and oozing all over the coffin lid. After Chamberton was released and his suit pants pulled up over his VERY sore, blistered ass, it was time for the next victim. This fellow was Victor Canturelli, a very prominent (and wealthy) local real-estate mogul. This dapper little gent was only about five-foot-two, but his corporate bedpartners knew that the little guy packed a huge nine-inch cock and had a round, hairy little butt that was tailor made to be spanked and fucked royally. Canturelli dropped his grey pinstripes, revealing his skinny, hairy legs, and a pair of VERY tight blue boxers that hugged his sexy little ass like a second skin. Once he was in position atop the cum-sticky coffin, Atwood, The Undertaker, retrieved a wooden paddle shaped like a very largehand.
Thirty or so good solid whacks to the seat of Victor Canturelli's tight blue undershorts really had his little ass blazing, and his fat Italian cock leaking lube which mingled with the residue of Chamberton's massive load. Then, The Undertaker's white-gloved hands pulled down Canturelli's boxer shorts, and bared his furry, compact little ass which was a bright, glowingred. The Undertaker made ready for a fresh assault, this time using an old-fashioned wooden bathbrush. Canturelli yelped, moaned, groaned and cussed as The Undertaker paddled his hairy little boardroom butt with BOTH sides of the brush, the stiff bristles biting into the whining, squirming man's flaming rump with a vengance. As the organ music bleated on, Canturelli hit his peak, and, as the big bathbrush attacked his hairy, flaming ass, his meaty boardroom boner began spurting geyers of thick CEO sperm, all over his shirt, tie, and the coffin lid. And, so it went on throughout the evening, each executive stud mounting the cum-splattered coffin and having their manly, furry backsides severely disciplined and kept there until he'd shot his sticky executive seed. By the time the 12th man had been paddled, Marvin Towerman II, The Undertaker could no longer deny his long pent-up load. Climbing up on a footstool, The Undertaker unzipped his pinstriped fly and yanked out his elongated, lube-smeared executiveeel.
His broad, white-gloved hand pumped his capitalistic cockshaft furiously, and, grunting loudly as the organ music continued to play, The Undertaker finally shot his thick, hot load, and gobs of hot millionaire's jizz squirted all over the beefy, atheletic ass of Marvin Towerman II. From this night forward, all the assembled men knew that this tall, handsome, pinstriped man was "The Undertaker"........who was DYING to paddle each and every one of their beefy executive backsides!! THE END! Hope you guys enjoyed! Comments and feedback are always welcome!