Deputy Jeavons Deputy Jeavons Has A Busy Morning

by John Lambert

Copyright on this story text belongs at all times to the original author only, whether stated explicitly in the text or not. The original date of posting to the MMSA was: 21 Jun 2008

I stepped into the Police Station on a freshly scrubbed late spring Sunday morning. It was an excellent calm, still day, but I knew that, as the heat built, tempers would fray, and Officers would be busy. The Sheriff was waiting for me to arrive, it was good that I was early, 'Ah Jeavons,' He spat a copious stream of tobacco juice into the paper cup he carried with him around the station, 'got a fella for you downstairs,' His voice sounded stern and he waved a piece of paper at me. I took the document: it was a 'Preliminary Incident Report.''Probably, not worth processing,' said the big man, a daddy of all salad dodgers, he shrugged, 'but that boy has a trailer load of bad attitude, I'm asking you to paddle the devilishness outta his hide.' The Sheriff was the kind of man who would probably eat me if I disobeyed, but I had no mind to disobey. I felt my pulse gather pace, indeed, it started to sprint. 'Jeavons bring me a humble boy and he walks free.' My boss spat into his cup again. I went down the stairs to the custody area with an extra bounce in my step. I opened the hatch and peered into the prisoner's cell. It had an ordinary steel door, no bars. It was reasonably clean and well lit. The bunk had a mattress, a pillow, and a blanket. Tyrell, for that was the name on the report, was a sturdy and well-made boy, but his surly attitude vibrated like a force field. His hot and insolent eyes glared up as he heard the hatch open. I unlocked the door. 'When am I getting outta here?' He demanded truculently. His face showed a stubborn, angry scowl and he 'bad-eyed' me. I turned abruptly authoritarian. 'You get outta here, when I've paddled the sassiness from your behind.' A hunted look arrived in his eyes and he bit his bottom lip. The 'inner boy' realised his situation – helpless, in trouble and standing before authority. His butt protection instincts took control. The intensity of my stare forced him to look at the floor. Tyrell's jaw dropped in shock, aghast at my 'proposal'. He found it difficult to meet my eyes. I ran my tongue over my parched lips.
'No.' He said quietly, regaining his composure quickly. He had his head up, a little haughty. The boy was as fresh as the other side of a pillow. 'Here me talkin' I said gruffly, 'we don't settle this now, you do State time while the case comes up, that's State time in prison, they got rats you could put a saddle on in that place. They've also got 250 pound brothers who'll put so much manhood up that crack of yours you'll be able to chew your own tonsils. I enjoyed the look of horror on his face. He listened with his mouth wide open, when I finished, he started to shiver and tremble. 'Trust me.' I said earnestly, placing a fatherly hand on his shoulder. Tyrell considered my last appeal with a huge and intense wrinkling of his forehead. He heaved, a sigh, 'I guess it's a paddling.' He released the words signally, and with reluctance. My heart soared. I thought to myself; 'it's definitely a paddling, and probably the best you'll ever get.'
I took Tyrell to the 'Punishment Room'. He barely looked at the leather-topped bench across which I would thrash him. 'Take a shower.' I ordered. Tyrell stripped quickly. His body was 'heavy-manual-work' trim. I watched as he progressively revealed his dark brown flesh. The youth possessed a thrilling combination of parabolic contours and undulations that numbed the mind and made my lions burn. Tyrell stood facing me, so I did not see too much of his butt, he refused to met my eyes as he soaped himself all over. I found him a towel from a cupboard.
'Come on, I got other work to do today.' I grumbled, handing him the towel. He displayed no further evidence of petulance, but took the towel and started to dry his broad shoulders. Then his strong thighs, he was an elegant boy, glossy and well muscled, but in his highly vulnerable state, his eyes remained downcast. I noticed that with his intimate towelling his heavy and thick penis slowly came to life. Perhaps something deep inside this youth found his circumstances stimulating. It might have been my uniform, light blue shirt tight across my barrel chest, my dark blue trousers tucked into my highly polished knee length boots. Possibility he secretly revelled in his vulnerability, alone in a locked room with a very powerful man about to tenderize his bare ass. The intoxicating bouquet of freshly showered boy filled the room. Tyrell's teeth chattered as he dried himself. I smiled a malicious smile. I observed his slowly swelling dick and reassured myself that I had paddled the sap out of plenty of buoyant organs in the past.
'Come on, get across this bench.' He came forward with dubious eyes, but rested his body obediently over the apparatus as I instructed. I fastened the straps around his ankles and pulled the leather restraints very tightly before buckling him in place. I finally looked at his ass; it was so shiny I could almost see my reflection in it. I swallowed hard and smiled broadly; my erection was rampant. 'Put your hands here,' our bench had no means of securing a miscreant's wrists. I pointed to a cross rail. His fists gripped it so tightly that his knuckles showed white. I ambled across to the 'equipment' cupboard, while my heart roared and accelerated. I picked out the paddle I needed, my 'man smacker' twelve inches long, six inches wide and half an inch thick. The maker had drilled holes through the heavy wood so that air resistance would not slow its velocity as the paddle raced to bludgeon the target buttocks. I slapped the paddle on the palm of my hand. 'What do you think of my paddle?' I asked Tyrell placing it in front of his wide eyes.
His face suddenly went three shades paler. Any colored boy growing up in the fifties would be able to evaluate the hurting potential of a paddle, belt, or switch with great accuracy. 'That's going to polish my ass real good.' He announced gravely in a voice that was hoarse with passion before he closed his eyes tightly and swallowed loudly. 'Tyrell,' I said, slapping the paddle more fiercely against my palm, 'if you decide that you might want any skin left on your ass when we are done here, you can start called me 'Sir' whenever you want. Tyrell took a moment or two, 'I wasn't disrespecting, Sir.' He screeched, 'No, Sir, I just forgot.' I placed the paddle on the crown of his trembling bent rump, his cheeks tightened involuntarily. 'I didn't mean nuffin' nothing bad, Sir. Hush, Tyrell, I've got to concentrate on whuppin' this bad ass I got here, and I ain't got time for talking. I experienced that supreme moment of satisfaction in law enforcement: a miscreant, trussed and helpless with his quivering bare ass facing my paddle. Tyrell's position, bent deeply over the bench, stretched the contours of his firm bottom very tightly. I meant that the nerve ends were close to the surface of his skin and ready for instant activation when my paddle landed. My brightest smile appeared on my face. Just that very morning I had read a newspaper article by my favourite baseball player Minnie Minoso on how to 'hit'. It occurred to me that his hints for successfully hitting a baseball would easily transfer to the important pursuit that is 'whuppin a bad boy's ass'. I tried to recall my hero's hints. I took a light grip on the paddle's handle. Loose muscles are fast muscles, Minnie's writing emphasised. I gripped the handle at the base of my fingers. I placed my feet apart, slightly more than my shoulders width. I bent my knees slightly and shuffled my weight onto the balls of my feet. I raised the paddle over my right shoulder. The bottom before me quaked. I took a small step forward, and put my weight on my back foot and then rotated my hips towards my target. I then launched my hands and the paddle at the bottom that waited in dreaded anticipation. I kept my feet firmly in the floor and swung my shoulders. Centrifugal force powered the paddle against the miscreant's rump. The wooden instrument struck Tyrell's bad ass with mighty speed and generated a loud 'crack'. I followed through as Minnie's instructions advised and created an extension in my swing. A broad swathe of grey showed on Tyrell's ebony bottom. He groaned and shuffled. The swing felt so good I repeated it twice, cracking the heavy paddle over the centre of Tyrell's ass to great effect. The young man panted and moaned. He wriggled his fit, sore ass to try to avoid the paddle.
'I'm sorry, Sir.' He blurted, I whacked him a fourth, lighter blow, to keep the fires burning across both cheeks. Tyrell grumbled and groaned. His high and tight tail looked very sore and was becoming a rosy colour. I delivered another couple of 'Minnie' style specials without a pause. Tyrell released a bloodcurdling howl. His hands came off the rail and gave his burning ass so much tender attention that my dick actually started to hurt as it fought for space inside my shorts. 'How old are you, Tyrell?' The young man kneaded his rubbery mounds without embarrassment. He turned his grimacing face. It was beaded with sweat, and full of anguish.
'I'm twenty, Sir.' He answered in a croaking, panting voice. I considered this for while studying the churning of Tyrell's hands and the massaging of his splendid buttocks, 'Well, if you don't get better at taking whuppins, you better be much less sassy. 'Yes, Sir.' He answered politely. He sniffed, I patted the paddle gently on his head, and he understood that I wanted him across the bench again. I whacked him four more 'light' ones, even the easier strokes built substantially on the monstrous pain of the initial blows. I abandoned the 'Minnie' approach until a more worthy and 'hard-assed' target presented itself. Tyrell groaned in agony. I untied the straps from around his ankles and left him to compose himself. The 'sap', I noticed had gone from his penis. His ass had a ruddy glow and it looked hot and very sore. In other circumstances, I might have enjoyed massaging soothing cream gently and firmly into his stinging flesh, but I was already late for duty. Tyrell dressed slowly, his eyes bright with moisture and he sniffed a lot. I led him back upstairs to the Sheriff. 'You whupped the sass out of that boy, Deputy Jeavons?' The Sheriff demanded truculently as we approached. 'Yes, Sir.' I responded immediately.
The cowered and whimpering youth turned his anxious eyes towards his main tormentor. Anguish filled the young man's face and the Sheriff saw it straight away, a broad villainous grim expanded across his face, several of his chins nodded. I can see you have, well done.' He spat in his cup again and turned on his heel. Tyrell walked, he was stiff, unsteady, and his hands rested on the seat of his pants, but he walked. I sat in my cruiser and watched him wander off. I had a lot of my 'sap' to drain.