Josh’s Nude News Route 6 to 10

Mono D. Duo

monodduo@gmail.com

Copyright 2026 by Mono D. Duo, all rights reserved

[19,749 words]

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This story is intended for adults only. It contains depictions of forced nudity, spanking, and sexual activity of preteen and young teen children for the purpose of punishment. None of the behaviors in this story should be attempted in real life, as that would be harmful and/or illegal. If you are not of legal age in your community to read or view such material, please leave now. 

Josh’s Nude News Route Part 6

Castlehaven House – 10 Papers Left

Josh whimpered and gently sobbed as he continued his route. His thighs burned as if they’d been blistered by hot coals. He didn’t even really care when passers-by saw him hobbling along, his satchel thankfully getting lighter and lighter with each deposit. And mercifully, after having suffered Andy Bolton’s lashings, the subsequent two houses were both letterbox deliveries.

As he approached his next stop, Josh felt bile rise in his throat. This was not just a house, a regular delivery. This was a parish house. Castlehaven House, to be specific, where the local priest, Father Richard Dunne, spent his downtime between masses with all the other Johns and Marys who were sure to attend each and every sermon.

Fr. Richard Dunne was not known for being a soft touch, either. He was a younger man of the cloth, about forty, and had been the local ear for just over two years. But his relatively young age brought with it an urge and need to prove himself as every bit as steadfast and pious as the clergy twice his age.

He was also popular with the mothers of his flock. He was stall, sturdy, broad-shouldered and strong jawed. He had a plain look about him, however, but his physique more than made up for it. Josh understood it.

When Josh had gone for confession, his hands clasped, his tongue stuck out, he couldn’t help but feel a tingling in his chest when the Father placed the divine wafer unto him.

But that wasn’t all. With his popularity amongst the mothers of the parish, his strength and his reputation as a traditional hardliner, said mothers, especially the single ones, felt confident in bringing their errant sons to him when they were in need of correction.

Fr. Richard’s reputation proceeded him, too. Josh had friends who’d been whipped by him, and they had horror stories to tell.

One boy, Aaron Boyne, who was a little bit older than Josh, had once regaled his underclassmen with his story of his trip to Fr. Richard. He’d been made to strip in Castlehaven House, then get lectured then and there in front of the parish volunteers. Then he was made to walk from the parish house to the church across the road butt-naked, holding a bible to his chest, not allowed to cover anything.

Aaron then had to walk down the central aisle of the church, between the pews, all the way to the altar and then kneel on the top step, the bible still held to his chest. He was then left to kneel and think, on display before anyone who happened to be there on the off time, usually grandparents and the especially pious. If your luck was bad, the altar boys would be there to see your humiliation.

There were there to see Aaron’s punishment. That meant Aaron’s story made it back to the schools before Aaron himself got to tell the story. Though Josh had missed it and got to hear it from the boy himself.

When it came to the punishment itself, aside from the forced streaking — which was paltry in comparison — Aaron’s story took a horrific turn. He was made to kneel on the steps of the altar and bend over, his bare bottom fully exposed to the churchgoers, his balls peeking between his thighs. His front was laid flat on the itchy carpet of the alter itself, and he was told not to get up even a little bit.

One thing Josh had found funny at the time was how itchy Aaron said his nipples got after being forced against the carpet for so long.

In any case, while in this demeaning, humiliating, debasing position, and while having an audience, Fr. Richard stood behind Aaron, to his left. He then lectured him again while holding a leather strap in his hand.

That strap was the implement of nightmares. It was pitch black, twelve inches by two, with a stitched edge, wooden grip, and the screams of a hundred sorry little boys embedded into its existence.

Aaron swore he could feel the heat of hell emanating from the strap, and that it burned him just by being near his cheeks.

He’d gotten twelve lashes of it. His age. And he wept. Lord, did he weep. Aaron didn’t sugarcoat that detail. He was taken to the church’s crying room to do corner time, hands on his head as his ass was scorched and maimed.

He’d shown Josh and the other boys present his bare bottom after the story had been told, and the marks of the lashing were still there, healing welts still red and raised.

Josh was thinking about all of this as he approached the parish house. His ass already stung just by having the air brush across it. His inner thighs were raw and agonised. He didn’t know how much more he could take. He counted his papers. Ten left. Ten potential spankings. He cried quiet tears at the mere thought of it.

But he had to. He couldn’t lose this job. He couldn’t let down his dad, Mr. Murphy, or even himself. He would do it. Josh would power through, no matter what. He would finish his route, and he would do it on time.

Josh marched up to Castlehaven House’s front door and knocked, his paper already in hand. It took a moment, but he knew for certain now that someone was there. The black door swung open, and before him stood Fr. Richard. Josh felt himself, his willy, and his will to go on shrink in the presence of the holy man.

As for Fr. Richard himself, he took in the sight before him with some mix of amusement and concern. Before even addressing the nude boy on his doorstep, he stuck his head out of his front door and looked both ways, trying to see if anyone had put this boy up to a prank of sorts. He knew of the church’s reputation, of course, and his hardline stance on corporal punishment didn’t help, but still, if this was a commentary on such things, this was rather brazen.

“Hello, young man. Can I help you with something?” Fr. Richard asked, his tone warm and dulcet, much different than imagined by those who heard stories of him. Much less snarling and hissing than Josh had anticipated.

“Um, yes,” Josh stammered. “I mean, well,” he held the newspaper out to Fr. Richard. “I’m your postboy, Father,” Josh started, reiterating who he was and why he was there. When he was done, Fr. Richard took the paper and placed it behind him on a side table, right between an RTÉ telly guide and a statuette of Mary.

“I see,” Fr. Richard started, contemplating the situation before him. If he was being honest with himself, he never noticed his paper not being there. He was typically too busy and would find it whenever he happened to get in. Josh Pearse had done him no ill-will and was clearly atoning for his naughtiness already.

Naughtiness, not sin. Sin was what Fr. Richard whipped for. Theft, bullying, gross disobedience. Those were the ilk of transgression he punished when parents came to him. Sure, Josh Pearse could have been considered guilty of the sin of sloth, but that was what confession was for. It was a mortal, human, inherent sin and didn’t need chastisement on this level unless taken to the extreme.

But still. This boy just came naked onto his doorstep, letting him know that he had permission and an expectation to punish him.

“Show me your bottom, laddy,” Fr. Richard ordered gently, watching as Josh did just that. The little boy turned on the spot. Fr. Richard’s bushy eyebrows almost disappeared into his hair. This boy had been punished and then some.

His cheeks were a fierce scarlet, his sit-spots matching. Then his thighs were an angry red, the insides of them too. Walking with those must’ve been a torture in and of itself.

“You’ve certainly been through it, Joshua,” the priest said contemplatively. He reached out and very gently touched the boy’s left cheek. It was warm to the touch, very warm. “Do you think you deserve more punishment?” he asked, pulling his hand away.

Josh turned and looked up at Fr. Richard, his eyes more determined than the man had expected of a boy so thoroughly spanked and paddled.

“Yes, sir. I was very naughty and a very bad employee. I don’t deserve even this chance to prove my dedication, but Mr. Murphy is giving it to me anyway. I can’t say I don’t deserve this for all the times I’ve let him down.”

Richard was impressed. Not even as a man of the cloth, but just a man. This boy had principles. And this nude pilgrimage seemed to be hardening his resolve and his spirit. Fr. Richard could tell that by the time that Josh ended this walk, he would not only be a model employee, but well on his way to becoming a disciplined and well-rounded young man.

And who was Richard Dunne to deny him trial and test on such an important occasion.

“Very well, then, Joshua. Come in.” He stepped aside and gestured for Josh to walk down into the parish house. “And put the paddle away, it’s not something I use.”

Immediately, Josh was hit with the smell of old people. He couldn’t tell you what that smell was, but he was certainly hit with it. He hoped that none were there, though, as they were few greater gossipers or networks of intelligence than old women.

Though, all Josh heard as he walked in was the sound of the door closing behind him. He placed his cap and his satchel on hooks by the door, took off his boots, and waited to be directed.

“Right this way,” Fr. Richard said, placing his hand gently on Josh’s back. He guided him into the main living room, a room decorated by the obviously pious. There were almost a dozen crucifixes on the left wall of varying size and intricacy, shelves of holy books, Jesuit decorations, and an armchair with a broad ottoman before it.

Josh wondered if this was the room Aaron had stripped in, where his punishment began.

Fr. Richard went to a cabinet in the corner. The top half was a shrine to Mother Mary, the bottom half a cupboard. Fr. Richard leaned down, opened it, and rose with the black strap in his hand.

Josh suppressed a whimper. Aaron had been correct, he could hear the screams of whipped-boys-past coming from it. It was a truly wicked thing altogether.

“How old are you, laddy,” the priest asked, holding the strap by its whipping end, the handle dangling limply.

“Ten, sir,” Josh answered, wishing he was younger.

“Then you shall get ten lashes of the strap, Mr. Pearse.” Fr. Richard then gestured to the ottoman. “Please get on the footrest, on your hands and knees,” he said, sounding surprisingly gentile. Josh had been expecting a ravenous, strap-happy monster, but the Father seemed mostly ambivalent. He even offered a light smile.

Josh didn’t feel like smiling, he felt utterly debased. This position was better than the one Andy Bolton had him in – he felt like he was getting his nappy changed – but it was almost as humiliating.

But he obeyed, he walked up to the ottoman and crawled up on top of it, his bare, red bottom raised high in the air.

“Knees a bit wider, Mr. Pearse, I don’t want to his any spot twice.”

Josh did as he was told, taking a moment so no limb slipped off the ottoman. He was slightly, minutely grateful, though he was wondering how a strap that big wasn’t going to overlap its lashes.

“Good. I’m going to give you five a side. Starting at your shoulder blade, then the top of your bottom, then the flesh of your cheeks, then your thigh, and then your calf. Understand? You’ll have about half a minute after each lash to recover, cry, and compose yourself. Understand?”

“Yes, sir, thank you, sir.” Josh steeled himself, feeling relatively okay with this punishment. It would hurt. It would definitely hurt. But knowing exactly what to expect made it seem all the more tolerable.

Fr. Richard held the strap properly in his right hand and held it against Josh’s left shoulder blade. The leather draped against Josh’s soft, nubile back muscles, caressing skin that had yet to be blemished.

Fr. Pearse took a moment to look the boy over, his form, his shape, his handsome complexion. Josh was a nice-looking boy, he couldn’t deny. Before the cloth had called to him, back when he was still a naughty raggamuffin, he may have very much fallen for a boy like Josh. When he was the same age, of course, or similar.

Fr. Richard took a breath, raised his arm, felt the leather flop against the back of his wrist, then brought the strap down with a sickeningly shrill scream through the air.

Josh thought it didn’t connect at first. Then he felt a burn. A hot, sharp, stabbing burn across his left shoulder blade. His eyes widened, his hands fisted the upholstery of the ottoman, and a scream erupted from his mouth as he felt the lash thoroughly and horrifically. He shrugged his shoulder back in a futile attempt to alleviate the sting that infected his shoulder blade.

His heart pounded like a drum in his chest as he felt the strap against the very top of his cheek. This part of him was also relatively untouched. Up until now, the fleshiest part of his mounds and their respective undersides had received most of the abuse. The tops of his cheeks, where they met Josh’s lower back, were about to feel the punishment the rest of his little bottom had received.

That sickening whistle slashed through the room again. CRACK!

Again, there was a delay before Josh writhed in agony. His rear shifted in the air, his cheeks clenched and he had to clench his hands to stop from reaching back.

Fr. Richard watched him and let him feel the agony, let it set in and watched as the skin went pink. When Josh settled again, his breathing heavy, tears already streaking down his cheeks, he placed the wicked leather against the bounciest, fleshiest, softest, most red part of his poor little rear.

“Relax and unclench your bottom, Mr. Pearse,” he advised as he brought the strap back. Josh did as he was told just in time for the pain to lash into the most ached part of his body. He screamed, pounded the seat of the armchair next to him, and heaved back and forth on the ottoman.

Josh couldn’t believe he still had seven lashes to go. He hiccupped and cried, trembling in every limb as he felt the lash drape against his thigh.

“Please! I’m sorry!” he begged desperately. He looked over his shoulder imploringly, hoping that the priest would have mercy on him.

“You’ve committed, Joshua, see this through and you’ll be that much closer to your own redemption and atonement,” Fr. Richard said sagely, rearing his arm back.

Josh could only press his forehead to the ottoman as he waited for the pain to strike him like lightning.

CRACK!

Josh cried out through his gritted lips, his cry dry and agonised, sweat sliding down his brow with his tears. His thigh bloomed into a fiery burn, feeling even worse than his cheek did. He writhed and pounded the armchair with his fist again, the entire left side of his body throbbing.

“Almost halfway there,” Fr. Richard said, knowing it wouldn’t really make the boy feel better. He tugged the boy’s white sock down, placed the leather against his calve, raised it, then brought it down with another ear-piercing whistle.

Josh’s toes curled, his back arched, his cheeks clenched and his body quivered. He cried and wept and tried to convince himself that it was over. But it wasn’t. He was only halfway done. He still had five hellish, horrible, horrific lashes of that evil instrument left.

“Dismount and face the other way, please, Mr. Pearse,” Fr. Richard requested, holding a hand out for Josh to take. He did, and boy, he needed it to just stand. The left side of his body felt almost numb. He was helped to walk around the other side of the ottoman and got into position again. He sobbed once before pressing his forehead down.

Like before, Fr. Richard started by lashing his shoulder blade. Josh cried out – of course he did – but remained in position. He hadn’t been told he wasn’t allowed to, but he was not taking that risk.

Then came the top of his bottom again, the awful leather catching the inside of his partition in its fury. Josh hissed and held the ottoman so hard his knuckles went snow white. Much the same, but worse and more painful, happened when Fr. Richard lashed the flesh of his cheek.

That might just have been the worst spank of the day so far. This lash too curled into the crease of his buttocks, just barely missing Josh’s bumhole and sending an inferno of pain up his body. The poor boy didn’t have it in him to clench or tighten anymore. He just lay there on his shaking hands and knees as his thigh, and then his calve, were lashed with the leather.

He just cried. It was all he could do. He hurt, hurt like he’d never hurt before. One thing was for certain: Josh would never so much as be a minute late for work again. He would never talk back, he would never skive or ditch. He would be a model employee, the gold standard anyone could strive for. Otherwise, how would all this pain be worth it?

“All done, Joshua, all done,” Fr. Richard said, taking the strap back to the cupboard in the corner. He quickly blessed himself in front of Mary, mother of God, and then went back to Josh. He looked upon the naked sinner with a pang of sympathy in his heart. He placed what he hoped was a supporting hand on his back.

“Stay there a moment longer, Joshua, I’ll be right back.” Then he left the room.

Josh did as he was told, not because he thought he’d be punished, but because he couldn’t bring himself to move from his spot on the ottoman. Everything ached enough without him adding to it. His ass throbbed and quivered, his shoulder blades smarted, his thighs trembled. His calves stung, but they were the very least of his concerns.

A moment later, though, Fr. Richard came back, and Josh dared to look up at him. The man just stood by him again, looking over his naked body and his soon-to-be welts. He popped open the little tub of white cream in his hand, scooped a small amount of it out on his pinkie finger, and brought it to Josh’s left bum cheek.

Josh hissed and gasped as the sting intensified. Even if it was a soothing cream that was being applied to his skin, it was still agony. But he bore it, bore it because he couldn’t say no. If it offered him any relief on the rest of his pilgrimage, he would take it.

It was another good ten minutes before Josh was standing outside again, butt-naked in the elements, the clock ticking.

“Sorry again, sir,” Josh said, wiping his eyes with his fists, sniffling still. His bottom, thighs, and feet ached. He didn’t know how much more of this he could take, but he hoped the back half of his route would be merciful.

“You’re forgiven by me, Joshua. Now, you just need to forgive yourself,” Fr. Richard said, placing his hand on the nude boy’s shoulder. “I hope I never have to lay the lash to you again, young man. Maybe now you understand why I don’t get repeat offenders on my doorstep.”

Josh nodded fiercely. The priest’s leather strap was torture. Pure torture. He couldn’t imagine how awful it was getting it with an audience. Then again, Josh could very much relate to having the privacy of your body on display for anyone and everyone to see. Perhaps he himself had had the worst of it, as his lashes went onto an already punished bottom? He’d have to talk to Aaron Boyne again.

“I promise, I’ll never have to be spanked by you again, sir,” Josh swore, hand on his heart.

Fr. Richard nodded, smiled, and watched as Josh walked away, the bare boy hissing as his thighs rubbed together and the breeze crossed his cheeks. May God bless him on the rest of his journey.









Josh’s Nude News Route Part 7



Apartment 248, The Burrens – 7 Papers Left

The fact the next two papers went through letterboxes was a small mercy for Josh. He ached. Lord, he ached. His thighs stung with each step, his shoulder blades hurt to flex. The strap of his satchel went diagonally across the lashes Fr. Richard had given him, and while it’d been chafing before, it utterly bothered now.

Josh let out a breath as he walked towards his next stop. He walked through a set of large, black, cast-iron gates, and onto a carpark. He hiccupped, his aches pulsed as he walked towards the front door of the apartment complex. He blushed as he passed a family. The son, a few years younger than Josh, grinned. The daughter, a few years older, had her nose too deep in a book to notice him. Another small mercy.

He looked out onto a nearby field as he approached the front door. He saw a couple dozen out there, half of them in green bibs, the other half shirtless. Boys, all who looked to be in their teens, seemed to be playing soccer. Josh’s core panged. He wished he was playing with his friends on a nice day like this, not streaking through the village, offering his naked bottom to whoever sought to claim their pound of flesh.

For now, though, Josh was glad that they were all over there, and he was heading inside, hidden from view.

His next paper was addressed to apartment 248, which meant he had to go up two flights of stairs. He groaned, his thighs already feeling flayed. Still, there was no getting out of it.

He looked at the mail lockers where he’d usually be depositing his paper, then to the clock hung next to them. It was 1:48. He had just over an hour to deliver the rest of his papers. Thankfully, after this apartment block, the rest of his route was rather compact, so Josh ought to be able to make good time.

Josh ascended the stairs, trying wide steps to avoid his thighs brushing against one another. He happened to pass an older man in a tweed suit and a bushy moustache on the way up. The man gave him one look, and his moustache and shoulders shook as he chuckled. Josh blushed, kept his head down and powered on.

Finally, he knocked on the door to apartment 248. A moment later, a young woman answered the door. She was wearing a green turtleneck sweater and had round glasses. A blush tinged her face, contrasting her dark hair.

“Is, is Mr. Hobson here?” he asked, taking the paper out of his satchel. “My name is Josh Pearse, ma’am, and I’m your postboy,” he started. His heart sank when the next door to his left opened and a trio of teenage boys came out, all dressed in soccer kit. He ignored them and looked back to the woman in the doorway. “And, if you’re wondering why I’m naked, miss, it’s because I haven’t been a very good postboy, and this is my way of proving to my boss that I take my job seriously.”

Josh handed the paper to the lady and took the paddle from his satchel. “To further prove how sorry I am, I am also here to give our loyal subscriber the chance to dole out some deserved punishment,” he added, holding the paddle out.

“Uh,” the woman started, her eyes going from Josh to the paddle, then to the teenagers off to the side, who were watching the display. “You mean, to see Wes, yes?” he asked, her accent strong, from Eastern Europe, Josh guessed.

“He is outside, playing the football with the boys,” she said, gesturing to the lads, who were all sporting grins.

Josh’s heart collapsed into his stomach.

“I see,” he said, trembling at the thought of having to go outside to meet his punisher. In front of all those boys. It’d be worse than his second spanking of the day, the one done by Mr. Denny, near the market. At least that debacle had some degree of separation from the crowd. But here, if Mr. Hobson was to punish him there and then, Josh would have a captive and eager audience.

“Nile, could you show the naked boy,” the lady asked, leaning out of her doorway and looking at one of the boys. He was a handsome lad, Josh would admit. He had curly, bushy, dusty blond hair, deep blue eyes, tanned skin, and a very wide, handsome, smile.

Josh was already blushing madly, but it deepened when his eyes met Nile’s. He could feel those icy blues raking all over his bare body, noting the dark redness on his rear and his thighs. To add to Josh’s abject and complete humiliation, his willy decided now was the time to stiffen.

“Yeah, we’ll bring him down to the coach,” Nile said, stepping forward and putting an arm around Josh’s shoulder. Nile was warm, solid. Josh could just about make out the light definition of his abs through his tight jersey.

And that he did. The other two teens following Nile and Josh down the stairs. Once again, Josh whimpered as his thighs brushed together, now unable to do his awkward wide walk.

“How the hell do you get so bad at your job that you have to do this?” Nile asked as they walked together.

“I was late…a lot,” Josh confessed, wringing his satchel’s strap in his hands. “And I played hookey, pulled a sicky or two…and mooned someone while wearing the uniform,” he answered, counting out his sins. Though, he hadn’t been demerited for his sickies, since he’d been believed before.

“And I’m…naked…because these boots were all the uniform I remembered to wear to work this morning, so Mr. Murphy said that would do for my route today,” he explained, recalling just how deeply he’d gotten himself in trouble. That conversation with Mr. Murphy felt like a very long time ago.

“Damn, he sounds as strict as Coach Hob,” Nile said with a chuckle. Josh looked down, both to avoid Nile’s eye so he might not see his deepened blush, and to contemplate what he might be in for if Mr. Hobson was truly as strict as his boss, the one who sent him on this journey.

When Josh, Nile, and the other two approached the field, both sides, greens and skins, and the coach all looked on with fascination.

“That your new boyfriend, Burke?” a shirtless onlooker jeered, to which Nile replied with a flipped bird.

“Nile, who’s this?” The coach asked, stepping up to Josh, who was cupping his stiffy now that it had an audience.

“He’s here for yourself, coach,” Nile said, pressing between Josh’s shoulder blades. He happened to graze just where Fr. Richard had lashed him, making Josh hiss.

“Hello, Mr. Hobson,” Josh started, very, very aware of the couple dozen sets of eyes looking his naked body up and down, no doubt piecing together what kind of day he’d had from the state of his bum and thighs.

Josh explained once again why he was there, and what Mr. Hobson was within his right to do to him. He presented the paddle to the man. Josh gulped as a silence draped over them, giving him the time to take in Mr. Hobson’s appearance. He was a young man, maybe about twenty-five, but finely built. Veins pulsed in his bare arms, his hair was pulled back into a bun, stubble coated his jaw.

Mr. Hobson’s grey eyes raked Josh up and down, looking from the paddle to Josh’s cupping hand.

“I won’t be needing that paddle, kid,” Mr. Hobson said, sending relief flooding through Josh. Though, upon looking at the man’s heavy-looking hands, he couldn’t decide if that relief was warranted.

“Darragh, take the paper boy’s satchel and cap. Nile, take him to the goal,” Mr. Hobson ordered, sending a thrill of dread through Josh’s chest. Immediately, he could tell what was going to happen. He was going to be target practice!

The group of teens whooped and hollered, then started to chant; “Red arse! Red arse! Red arse!” and their coach didn’t deter them.

Josh had received his fair share of red arses in the past, it was a normal forfeit among playful lads. Depending on the severity of the wager or the mood of the opposition, you may or may not have to take down your trousers and/or underwear for the punishment, but it stung no matter what.

But never had Josh gotten it while stark naked. Others had on very rare occasions, usually after a bout of skinny dipping or having been nude for another reason, but Josh had only heard rumours about boys stripping just to get a red arse.

“Right, right, calm down, boys,” the coach said, his sonorous voice cutting through the chant, shutting all of them up effectively. “Josh, you bend right over and stick your head between Nile’s thighs. Keep your legs as straight as an arrow. Nile,” coach said, taking a thick glove from one of the other boys. “Wear this to protect yourself. You keep that boy where he is, keep him standing as best you can.” He then tossed the glove to Nile, who caught and donned it.

Josh’s breathing started to quicken. This was going to be hellish. Fr. Richard’s lashing may have been agony, but they were controlled, measured. He only hurt Josh as much as he intended, nothing more, nothing less. But now, Josh’s tenderised little rear was at the mercy of rowdy, relentless, teenage boys, who wouldn’t hesitate to launch their ball into his backside at mach speeds.

“And Josh, if you’re interested in having kids of your own one day, keep a hand over your little sack.” The coach’s words earned jeering laughter from the boys, who’d formed two parallel lines some distance away from the goal.

Coach Hob took his place next to a burlap sack of balls and toed a ball to the head of each queue.

“If you successfully hit Josh’s cheeks or thighs with the ball, go stand by the goal. If you miss, go to the back of your line and you’ll keep trying until you hit,” Mr. Hobson explained. Josh whimpered. By his count, there’d been eleven boys per side before, but that wasn’t all of them. There were the two that’d come with Nile, and at least a handful more who’d not been playing when he first passed. So, around thirty.

He looked teary eyed up at Nile, who just gave him a frank smile.

“C’mon, bend over,” Nile ordered, a tinge of sweetness in his voice. Josh’s willy, which was still stiff behind his hand, throbbed for a reason he didn’t quite understand yet when Nile ordered him to bend over. Nevertheless, he obeyed, and then his head was wedged between the teen’s thighs.

He whimpered again, but for a different reason. He could feel Nile’s package up against the back of his head, though he’d taken the time to adjust himself to put his jewels at as little risk as possible.

“I am interested in having kids one day, to try not to headbutt my goolies if you can,” Nile said with a chuckle, placing one hand on Josh’s ribs, the other one, the gloved one, raised to defend his face from his teammates penalties.

“Ready over there?” Coach called.

“Ready!” Nile confirmed.

“Start!” Coach Hobson then blew his whistle.

Josh wrapped his free arm around Nile’s thigh, bracing himself. He heard the kick of cleat on leather, and then a pitched whistle. Immediately after, a fleshy clap.

At first, Josh didn’t feel it. He almost thought the first kicker had missed. Then a fire bloomed on his bum cheeks. No, someone was running thorns along them. No, wait! Someone had in fact gotten acid and poured it over his bum! That had to be it!

Regardless of the truth, Josh let out a cry, his legs shaking, is knees knocking. His naked arse wiggled in the air, trying to blow any volume of cooling air across the configuration enveloping his bum.

“Easy, steady, keep your legs under yourself,” Nile said, shifting his hand down to Josh’s hip to help keep him up.

Josh couldn’t hear the cheers of success from the rest of the teens as the first striker took his place by the goal. His ears were muffled by Nile’s thighs and his own sobs.

He just about heard the next kick, then he felt the ball crash into his left thigh. He stamped his foot and shook his rear, the back of his head riding further up into Nile’s crotch.

“Easy, easy,” the teen said, bringing his gloved hand down to hold Josh’s other hip as the lad thrashed.

Another kick, but this one went wide. But it didn’t matter, Josh knew that anyone who missed would get their chance again.

The next kick landed squarely against Josh’s right thigh, and it smarted more than anything the lad could remember. He cried out, gritting his teeth, kicking the ground where he stood. Again, he shook his hips, trying to get some manner of relief across his cheeks. He was still shaking them when the next player kicked off. The ball launched into his right cheek, a new level of hellish burning unlocking.

Josh clenched, trying to shield himself in any way he could. If it worked, he couldn’t tell. Fresh, smarting, simmering sting engulfed his entire bottom as a succession of star strikers landed a series of punishing penalties into his poor posterior.

Josh was openly weeping now, snot and tears dribbling down his cheeks as his other ones felt numb with agony. His arms wrapping around Nile’s thighs like a vice, his nails digging into the older boy’s skin through his shorts.

He was given only a moment of reprieve as the players who previously landed their shots kicked the balls surrounding the goal back to the coach and their teammates. Not that Josh noticed, his behind was just as on fire before, during, and after this intermission.

A couple of the subsequent shots landed on Josh’s calves, reigniting the forgotten punishment Fr. Richard had given them with his strap. Though, it seemed those shots counted just as much as any other, giving his cheeks a brief break.

Then, the centre of his bottom was lashed upon again by a penalty powerhouse. He screamed, putting on a show as he shook his hips and kicked his legs. As he did, Josh’s legs slipped out from under him, causing him to slip to his knees. As a result, he dragged Nile’s shorts down around the centre of the teen’s thighs.

“Oi!” Nile hissed, bending over to pull Josh back up to his feet. By the volume of the laughs Josh heard, he may have pulled down more than just the shorts. By the time he looked up through his wet lashes, Nile had righted his clothes.

Though, Nile’s embarrassment wasn’t a priority right now for the naked lad. Josh reached back and gently rubbed his bottom. It was hot and painful to the touch. He himself hissed, unable to bear touching his own skin.

“Alright, alright, calm down,” Coach Hobson announced to the remaining jeering teens. “Penalties are done with,” he said, causing Josh’s hopes to soar sky-high. “The rest of you are going to focus on accuracy, chip your shots into the goal, hitting the lad’s cheeks directly.” Josh’s hopes then came back down to Earth, took a shovel, and buried themselves a few feet under.

He hiccupped as he got back into position, his head between the older boy’s thighs. Seemingly, without the worry of a ball flying at his face at high speeds, Nile held both of Josh’s hips, keeping him sturdily upright.

Without warning, the ball clapped into Josh’s cheeks, dead centre. But the pain wasn’t anything compared to what he’d gotten before. This was more like a reminder, a mere taste, of his suffering.

Then another, then another, and another. Very soon, those gentle reminders turned into an incessant nagging that pricked and pinched and slapped his arse over and over.

He was a trembling, quivering, weeping, hiccupping mess by the time every teenage boy had had his go.

“Right, that’s everyone,” Coach Hobson said, then set a few of the boys to gather and sack the balls. “Thank you for the target practise, Josh,” the man said as Josh emerged from between Nile’s legs. Through his tears and soreness, he didn’t notice the older boy gently adjusting his shorts.

“Twas, twas no issue, sir,” Josh said, his lower lip quivering. He tried to caress his cheeks again, but they just hurt too damn much.

“I think we should take a picture for the scrapbook, bainisteoir,” one voice from the crowd said, using the Irish term for the team’s manager.

“You think so, Bran?”

Josh’s lower lip quivered at the idea of that. The last thing he wanted was for his red arse to be immortalised. That is, if it hadn’t been already.

“Right, line up, photo positions,” Mr. Hobson announced, giving one booming clap of his hands. The players, whether they were in shirts or not, all gathered in front of the goal, seemingly organising themselves by height. “Josh, you turn around, your bum’s gonna be the centrepiece,” the coach explained, going over to where all the equipment was kept and pulling out a camera and a tripod.

“Usually only use this for winning games, or when we have freshers, but this is just as important an occasion, I think,” Mr. Hobson said with a chuckle, earning laughs from his boys.

Josh was turned around for the photo, the teenagers making sure he was front and centre, his nude back to the camera. Nile was to his right, their arms linked, and a boy he didn’t know was linking his other arm.

“Say cheers!”

There was a snap, and Josh’s humiliation would be preserved and bound for all future members of this club to see. It could be worse, he thought. He didn’t know how, right now, but it could definitely be worse.









Josh’s Nude News Route Part 8



24 Spear Street – 4 Papers Left



Almost there, Josh was almost there. The mid-afternoon sun beat down on his neck, his raven locks were soaked with sweat, his legs ached, his skin from cheek to knee stung, smarted, and quivered at even the lightest of breezes.

His satchel hung loosely around his neck, draped against his bare hip, bumping with every step. His heels dragged against the footpath, more exhausted and agonised than any of his previous walks. Even when he had to weather his route in rain and hail, cold and shivering, that was preferable to this.

He was naked. Butt-naked. Well, aside from his boots and socks, the latter of which had been generously given to him by his former teacher, Mr. O’Rourke. Otherwise, he was bare. He had been for several hours now, walking through town, his prepubescent body on show for anyone and everyone to see. And by now, he’d been ogled by well over one hundred people.

Yes, his bare red bottom and small, hairless willy were surely the talk of the town by now. Word had definitely spread, Josh didn’t doubt that. When he went back to school, he was probably going to be dogpiled for his misadventure. He just hoped that no-one happened to get pictures of him while he was out and about.

Barring the one currently in Coach Hobson’s team’s almanac. Even that was more than what Josh was comfortable with.

Alas, his in-person humiliation was far from over. As he was delivering the following papers, both of which went into their respective letterboxes sans homeowners, he was called at by a pack of teenage boys all sitting on a wall.

“Where you going, fag?” one of them called. “Yeah, bring that red little ass on over here,” another added. “You been a bad boy? C’mere and we’ll show you what happens to really bad boys!”

Josh ignored them as best he could, his head lowered, his knuckles white as he gripped his satchel’s strap. But, at the same time, he couldn’t help but picture them grabbing him, bending him over their wall and…

He shook his head before he could finish the thought. But it was too late. He felt that tightness down there again, and when he dared to look, he did indeed have a stiffy. He groaned, cupped a hand over it, and tried to walk faster without agitating the fire on his thighs.

Josh bit his lip, unable to stop himself from picturing those boys grabbing him. Then his mind cast itself back to when his head was between Nile Burke’s thighs. He hadn’t been able to appreciate it in the moment, but when he recalled the sensation of those strong, masculine, slightly musky thighs around him, it made his willy pulse for reasons he couldn’t pin down.

This wasn’t helping! He had his next delivery coming up, and if its occupant wanted to spank him yet again, his case wouldn’t be helped if he was sporting a horn!

Josh rounded a corner onto Spear Street, ignoring the open cackles of a group of girls who were passing on their bicycles. One of them tried to swipe at his bottom as she passed but missed by a fair margin, swerving before her front wheel clipped the curb.

Josh scowled, his hand tightening around his cock and balls as he walked onwards. He looked at the doors as he passed, counting the even numbers on the semi-detached pairs of houses. 2 and 4 were joined, then 6 and 8, all the way down the road until he reached the joined pair of 22 and 24.

What Josh saw made his heart sink to his knees.

There were cars, lots of cars, parked along the curbs on and opposite houses 22 and 24. There was laughter, balloons, and worst of all, a banner. A banner that read “HAPPY 10 ^TH BIRTHDAY GORDON”.

Josh fished the next paper out of his bag and saw that it was addressed to a “Gordon McKeefe”. But 10-year-old boys didn’t subscribe to newspapers, so Josh could only assume that the Gordon in question was in fact Gordon Junior.

Josh gulped, his heart hammering in his chest. He could hear the voices, over a dozen, celebrating in the back garden. When he walked closer, he could see that the side gate was open. He dared a glance and indeed saw figures darting in and out of view. He hoped that Gordon Sr. would be too busy managing the party to take Josh up on his inevitable offer to paddle his bum.

He walked up to the front door, finding it already ajar, and tried for the doorbell. He regretted it almost instantly.

It took but a blink of the eye for the door to whoosh open inwards, the music much louder now.

“Who are you?” a boy asked, a boy a little bit shorter than Josh, with tightly cut blond hair and blue eyes. His eyes raked Josh up and down, a grin spreading on his lips.

“Um, is Mr. McKeefe home,” Josh asked, looking past the blond boy and his pointed party hat. “I have his paper.”

“He’s in the kitchen,” the blondie said, pointing down the hall behind him. “I’ll take you to him,” he said, too excited about the idea.

“Oh no, it’s okay, I can just see him here at the door,” Josh implored, though he wasn’t heeded. His wrist, the one connected to the hand covering his boyhood, was grabbed, and he was uncovered. He shielded himself with the folded paper as he was yanked inside.

His face flushed redder than red as he was pulled along, far too weak and sore to put up any resistance. Josh’s bare body flashed past the open living room door, causing heads to swivel. He could have started crying all over again.

Yet the worst was yet to come. He was dragged into the kitchen, which was loud and raucous, decorated with balloons, bunting and banners. Food was spread across the kitchen table and the countertops, sweets and sandwiches and meats on cocktail sticks. Grownups and children alike were enjoying the festivities on this warm, welcoming summer’s day.

When Josh was dragged into the room, their heads all snapped around. Now, he was the entertainment.

“Mr. McKeefe, this lad’s here to give you your paper,” the grinning blonde said, stepping aside as the addressed Mr. McKeefe stepped away from the kitchen window and walked over. He wasn’t a very tall man, with thick, deep red hair and an even darker beard. His cheeks were slightly rosy and his eyes an emerald green. His lips bore a light smirk, one that seemed natural on him, a smile that complemented the crow’s feet either side of his eyes.

“Is that so, laddy?” Mr. McKeefe asked, his voice a smooth, lilting tone. The radio was turned down so the crowd could eavesdrop on what Josh would call a private conversation. His eyes scanned Josh up and down, to the paper covering Josh’s unmentionables.

“Yes, sir,” Josh sniffed, the back of his neck burning as dozens of eyes bore onto him. Josh brought his now free hand down behind the paper to cover himself as he lifted the paper.

“And is there a story behind your naked state?” Mr. McKeefe questioned as he took the paper, his smile turning into an entertained smirk.

Josh nodded and once again retold his story to Mr. McKeefe. The crowd of onlookers, mums, dads, and other kids, listened with barely a sound.

Then, as Josh was about to present the paddle, raucous laughter echoed from the ajar back door.

“Why’s everything gone quiet?” a boy’s voice called as the door was pulled open. Josh’s eyes went wide. He wasn’t sure what he was supposed to feel as another naked boy walked into the kitchen.

This boy must’ve been Gordon McKeefe Junior. Not only could Josh see the family resemblance, with Gordon Junior having thick red hair that brushed his ears and parted stylishly at the front, he wasn’t entirely naked. He had a red cape draped down his back, fastened at his chest with a large wooden badge with “10” carved into it. Also, atop his head was a small golden coloured crown that was somehow staying upright.

Josh couldn’t help but look him up and down. Thankfully, Josh’s face was already beet-red, so when he noticed that Gordon Jr.’s willy was bigger than his own by some degree, his new embarrassment blended into the established humiliation.

“Who’s this?” Junior asked, looking up at his father, head tilted in curiosity.

“This is Josh, he’s our postboy,” Gordon answered, his hand going to the back of his naked son’s head. “Apparently, he’s been very naughty and has offered for himself to be spanked,” he added, his tone as casual as if he were commenting on the weather.

“He looks like he’s been spanked a lot, though,” Junior commented, stepping up to Josh and peering around to look right at his bare bum and legs. “Really a lot.” Junior stood straight, though now he was a mere few inches from Josh, his hands lying at his sides as if he didn’t care at all that he was buck naked in front of all his friends and family.

Josh was familiar with this tradition – on a boy’s birthday, he will wear nothing but his birthday suit. While he himself didn’t take part in the tradition, he knew many boys who did. Many hated it, but others didn’t seem to care at all. Gordon McKeefe Junior seemed to fall into the latter camp.

Then again, if you were to ask Josh, that must’ve been because Gordon Junior had a lot to be proud of. He was a handsome boy, anyone could see that. Not just in the face, with his strong cheekbones and sharp jaw, everything below the neck was impressive too. He had a flat, sharply cut chest and tummy, with very defined V-lines and, like previously stated, and impressively sized willy for a boy who just turned ten.

Josh, who would be eleven before too long, felt very put upon that he was naked in the same room as Gordon, and that they were the only exposed ones. If they happened to be sharing a locker room, it’d probably be more bearable since there’d be several more boys who could feel inadequate with Josh. Alas, he was alone in this yet another humiliation.

“Y-yes,” Josh admitted when he realised clarification was expected. “Seven times today so far,” he said with a sniff, every individual ache pulsing all at the same time.

“Dang,” Junior said under his breath. “Are you going to spank him to, Pa?” he asked, craning to look over his shoulder at his dad.

“I was thinking about it,” Gordon Sr. said while pinching his chin. “Your birthday spanking was going to take place after lunch, but I think we can push it forward to have a double feature,” he said with a light chuckle.

“Unless, Josh, you can wait around for another hour or so?” he asked the nude postboy.

Josh looked at the clock on the far wall. It was 2:18. He shuddered. He had less than three-quarters of an hour to finish his route. He was beginning to doubt whether or not he’d even finish at all, and all of this will have been for nought.

“Sorry, sir, I have to be back to the news agent’s by three this afternoon,” he said morosely, his lower lip starting to quiver. He had to try. He had to try.

“Never mind, then,” Mr. McKeefe said, a gentle hand placed on Josh’s shoulder. “Everyone outside, then,” he declared, his voice booming through the kitchen.

As if it were an edict from on-high, everyone started to file outside into the back garden. Josh caught Gordon Junior’s sigh, acting as if getting spanked completely bare in front of a massive group of friends and family was little more inconvenient than your preferred flavour of juice being out of stock and having to go with your second favourite.

Josh doffed his cap, satchel and boots, leaving them to the side as he followed the crowd out into the garden. To his despair, there were even more boys his age out there, some of which he somewhat recognised from school. None in his own year group, but the one below. Hopefully, his face was as vague to them as theirs were to him.

“Right, everyone, form a circle,” Gordon Sr.’s sonorous voice commanded, and in the centre of the garden a circle was left empty. Soon, Josh, both Gordons, and a stool were occupying it. Josh heard whispers regarding his bum, and a look over his shoulder confirmed that people were pointing and noticing just how spanked he already was.

Josh looked back to Mr. McKeefe, who was unfastening his son’s cape. Without it, he seemed much more naked and vulnerable. With his back to Josh as said cape was removed, Josh got a good look at Junior’s backside. He swallowed. It was as handsome as the rest of him. Taut and perky and as fair as the rest of him.

Once again, Josh felt blood rush into his little member at the sight of it. He was glad no one had made him move his hand from his boyhood, though he knew that was probably going to change soon.

“How old are you, Josh?” Mr. McKeefe asked as he plucked the crown from Junior’s head. Turned out it was being kept straight by a hairband that was well hidden by the boy’s thick locks.

“Ten, sir, almost eleven,” he answered honestly.

“Right, ten. For his annual birthday spanking, Gordo here gets ten with my hand, then half as many with another implement decided by popular vote,” Mr. McKeefe explained, ending with a broad gesture to the onlooking crowd. “But, this year, how about we use that paddle you told us about? Would that be acceptable to yourself?”

“Uh, yes, sir, that would be fine,” Josh said, not sure if that was an invitation for him to go and fetch the paddle.

“Lovely. Then, after Gordo has had his turn, it’ll be yours. How does that sound?”

If he answered honestly, Josh knew he’d earn far more whacks with the paddle than if he just told the lie everyone wanted to here. His rear end throbbed and smarted, his thighs ached, his feet screamed at him to give them a moment’s rest. He clenched his bum cheeks and let out a sigh through his nose.

“Sounds great, sir.” Josh sniffed, a thin tear already escaping his eye.

Mr. McKeefe nodded. “Someone fetch Josh’s paddle from his bag, if you would.”

Within a moment, it’d been gotten from the kitchen and passed around the crowd until it found its way into Gordon Sr.’s hand.

“Nice bit of wood, this. Birch? Maybe Ash?” he noted, raising an eyebrow at Josh as if he had the answer.

“I, um, I’m not sure, sir, you’d have to ask my boss, Mr. Murphy.”

“Hm…might do,” the man mumbled under his breath. “Right, let’s get this going,” he continued, then took his son’s hand and sat down on the stool. Josh watched avidly as Gordon Junior’s wonderful bottom was positioned and his hips were adjusted. Said rear was pointed right at Josh, so he got to see everything. Gordo’s hole and tight little nuts were on full display. He was only marginally aware that he would be in the very same position in a moment, but that fact wasn’t going to dull his experience of getting to witness a spanking today instead of just receiving one.

“Josh, could you hold this for me, please,” Gordon Sr. asked, holding the paddle out for Josh to take. He took it, wanting the spanking to commence already.

Josh didn’t have to wait much longer. As soon as he took the paddle from Mr. McKeefe, the man’s arm was raised high into the air, then whistled down with practised strength and clapped with a jolt into the birthday boy’s bum!

Josh watched with wide eyes as Gordo’s beautiful bottom jiggled and rippled, and a dark pink handprint already painted his tender cheeks. A stone of dreadful realisation dropped into his tummy. That was going to be him soon.

CLAP! CLAP! CLAP!

Josh’s mouth went drier and drier the further the spanking went on. Mr. McKeefe was a seasoned professional. Truly, were there a spanking Olympics, he would be representing Ireland. Naughty boys all over the world would be warded from naughtiness under the threat of Mighty McKeefe’s Meaty Mitt!

And poor Gordo, try as he might, by the time the fifth birthday beating butchered his bum, his veneer of bravado was washed away. He was kicking, putting on a show, crying out and twisting his hips. None of it did any good. Onlookers only laughed at the display.

Josh’s eyes went wide again as he briefly scanned the crowd. At the front, facing Gordon Jr. from the side, capturing his entire naked profile in detail, was a woman holding a camcorder. His lower lip trembled. That meant he was naked on tape too. And not for a single moment did he even think that his spanking wouldn’t be recorded too.

All Josh could do was watch as the hand spanking was concluded. Gordon Jr.’s previously pristine posterior was now a ruddy shade of red, his sobs were echoing soundly.

“And now the paddle. Josh? The paddle, please,” Mr. McKeefe said, snapping josh out of his stupor. He stepped back up to the man and placed the paddle in his outstretched hand. “Thank you.”

Gordon McKeefe Sr. raised the paddle as if it were an extension of his own hand and lashed it great ferocity onto his son’s bare bum. Josh watched with morbid fascination as the other nude boy kicked his legs, his bum and hips squirming as the paddle made his flesh bounce and jiggle again.

Kudos were due to the boy, however, as not once did he beg or plead for mercy, nor did he try to reach back and obstruct the spanking. He took it kicking and screaming, but he took it.

Josh held his breath as the final smacks of the paddle were lashed onto Gordo’s perky little bum. When all was said and done, his entire backside was an equal and awful shade of crimson, like a pair of fresh cherries. Cherries that Josh knew he wouldn’t mind holding and gently touching.

No, his stiffy hadn’t gone down yet.

After getting a moment to compose himself, Gordon Junior was let up. His hands instantly went to his bottom, doing a perfect recital of the famous spanked boy dance. Though, there was an added effect that was being caught on camera. Just like Josh, Gordo had a stiffy. Unlike Josh, Gordo was big. Fully hard, Josh guessed it was about four inches. Maybe five. It was wagging and bouncing too quickly for him to get an accurate reading.

One thing was for sure, if Josh were to measure his willy up against Gordon Jr.’s dick, his own would look perfectly in place between a pre-schooler’s legs! But only by comparison! On its own, secluded and viewed by itself, he had a perfectly average willy! He knew because he’d seen his classmates’ and friends’ members enough to know, both hard and soft.

“Josh? Josh!”

Once again, Josh was snapped from his ogling by the unshakable voice of Mr. McKeefe, who was holding his hand out to him. Josh gulped, stepped forward, and took the man’s hand. He was guided over his lap, his stiffy pressed right up against Gordon Sr.’s thigh. He let out a gasp and hoped that people would assume it was due to his pre-spanked state.

“Right, you have places to be and papers to deliver, so let’s not dawdle, eh?” Gordon said, fitting Josh over his lap just as well as he had his son. His heavy hand rested on Josh’s deep red cheeks. “Although, you’re already such a deep red, son, that I’m not sure where to start,” he added with a chuckle. It was the first time Josh heard anything resembling doubt in his voice.

“I can take it, sir,” Josh sniffed, knowing he had no choice. “Whatever you think I deserve, I deserve.” Josh fisted the fabric of the man’s jeans.

“Spoken like a mature young man,” Gordon said, gently caressing Josh’s bum. It felt nice, tender, a welcome bit of affection. “On another day, I probably would have let you go with nary a single smack, but today of all days? Seemed too fateful, wouldn’t you say?”

“Yes, sir, far too much of a coincidence,” Josh agreed, though he scantly believed it. Mr. McKeefe may have been a kind man, but even a kind man wouldn’t turn away a boy’s bottom that needed correcting.

Not enough of a coincidence, it seemed, as Gordon Sr. very soundly swung his arm through the air and clapped his palm into Josh’s backside with the force of a bull whip! Josh gasped, the breath pushed from his lungs as all the pain and sting he’d known in the past hours all reintroduced themselves to his bottom.

It may have just been the bias of this being his eighth spanking of the day, but he was sure that Mr. McKeefe had the hardest hand spank of all. Thick tears welled and fell from Josh’s eyes by the time the second spank clapped his cheeks.

Josh squeezed his eyes and hissed, his ankles crossing as he bucked his hips, inadvertently grinding his stiffy against his spanker’s leg. But that stimulation barely registered as the next smack laid into him.

Josh hissed and tried his level best to even out his breathing as the spanking went on. He writhed and bucked, but never did he try to free himself from Gordon Sr.’s lap. No, he was going to take his fifteen licks and then get on with his job as fast as he could.

But, by God, was it hard. Gordon Sr. must’ve wrestled bulls in his spare time because the force he was exerting from his swing was just insane! Each spank echoed across the garden like the firing of a bullet. Josh could feel the ripples going down his legs with each thunderous clap.

Josh was heaving and weeping by the time Gordon Jr. was coaxed over to hand his dad the paddle. The paddle! Josh was so in fear of the paddle that he barely noticed Gordo’s wagging erection mere inches from his face.

“Almost there,” Gordon Sr. said in his calm lilt, his left hand pressing on Josh’s shoulder blades. He placed the wood of the paddle up against Josh’s quivering bum cheeks, lifted his arm and brought it down with a tremendous, whistling clap!

He may as well have stabbed Josh right in the bum for all the pain it caused. The first one was horrific enough, it reignited all the smarting impacts the footballs blew into him. The next one reminded Josh of the lashes Fr. Richard gave him. The third one brought back memories of what Andrew Bolton did to his thighs. The penultimate whack of the paddle conjured images of Ms. McCoole and her tea party.

Then, finally, the last spank brought Josh all the way back to his spanking from his former teacher, Mr. O’Rourke, and the thorough hand-spanking he’d given Josh. The paddlings from misters Denny and O’Toole were almost forgotten, mild anecdotes, gentle teasers of the day Josh has had.

He cried over Mr. McKeefe’s lap, his bottom and thighs trembling and quivering even as he was helped to his feet. His stiffy had at least deflated by the time he was let up, a small mercy as he tried to rub the heat from his cheeks.

“You took that rather well, all things considered,” Gordon Sr. said, gently rubbing Josh’s back. The man stood too, his hand on both boys’ shoulders. “I think both lads deserve a round of applause for making it through that, wouldn’t you all say?” he said to the crowd.

Josh had almost forgotten that he had an audience at all. He was so used to his naked body being on show that it barely phased him. Though, that might just be the intense pain he was currently in.

Gordon Sr. handed Josh back the paddle, which he reluctantly took. He was still hiccupping even as he was applauded and cheered for.

“Thank you, sir, I really should be going now.” Josh made to go back inside to get his boots, cap and satchel.

“Hang on!”

Josh was stopped by a hand on his shoulder. He flinched, thinking that he was about to be pulled back over Gordon Sr.’s lap for round two. Instead, it was Gordon Jr., his cheeks still wet, his willy still sticking out.

“How many stops on your route do you have left?” the other naked boy asked.

“Um, three, I think, then I have to make it back to Mr. Murphy’s, by three o’clock, or I’ll be fired,” Josh said, eager to get going, not wanting to waste a second.

“Then I have an idea,” Gordon Junior said, flashing Josh with a killer smile. He looked beyond Josh, through the crowd of friends and relatives, to the wall by the back door. Laid against the wall was a bicycle, a shiny new black and green one. And, Josh noticed, pegs on the back wheels. Pegs that another person would be able to stand on.

The nude boys’ eyes met, and despite the pain in their backsides, they smiled at each other. Maybe Josh would be able to make it in time after all.









Josh’s Nude News Route Part 9



8 Castlehaven Drive – 1 Paper Left



Josh might just make it after all! Standing on the back pegs of Gordo’s bike, hands on the other boy’s shoulders, he made it to his next stop in a matter of minutes. Brilliantly, there was no answer, so he ran back down the driveway to the other naked boy – yes, despite being out of the house, Gordon McKeefe Junior elected to ride his new bike buck naked, and shortly after a spanking of his own.

And they weren’t the lone bikers, either. Several of Gordo’s friends, who themselves had biked to his birthday party, were flanking them. Josh could barely fathom what it looked like from the outside. A gang of boys on their bicycles, headed and seemingly lead by a completely naked pair of lads. Both of whom were sporting red bottoms, though one was much more red than the other.

The story would tear through all the local schools like lice, even the girls’ school as they’d briefly crossed paths with the gaggle of she-bikers that Josh had seen on the way to Gordon’s house.

Nevertheless, there were but two papers remaining in Josh’s satchel. Those and his cap, which he feared he would lose at the speeds Gordo was going if he left it on his head. But he was never going to tell his new friend to slow down.

The penultimate paper was due for one “Terry McGuiness”, in 90 Castlehaven Road. Not to be confused with Castlehaven House, where Father Richard Dunne had strapped Josh. This housing estate and that parish house just happened to share a namesake from some decades back.

Gordo pulled to a shaky stop in front of the gated garden path, Josh jumped off, reached over the short iron gate to open it and ran up the drive. He knocked, and to his chagrin, he heard commotion on the other side. It took a whole agonising minute for the door to open, a minute that could have gotten him to his final paper’s destination already.

Alas, the door opened, and an elderly man stood in the threshold. He had on a sweater vest over a shirt, very formal attire for sitting at home. He somewhat reminded Josh of Wallace, of Aardman fame.

“Aye laddy, what can I do you fer?” Mr. McGuinness asks in a deep country tone. With the way he was adjusting his glasses on his nose and squinting, Josh didn’t know if the elderly man knew he was naked or not.

“Hello, sir, I’m Josh Pearse,” he started, then went on to explain his situation, and how the old man was well within his right to paddle him then and there.

“Have ye been put over here yet?” he asked, though it took Josh a moment to realise what he meant.

“Ah, yes, sir, eight times today.” Josh turned on the spot, thinking that Mr. McGuinness would notice the deep red state of his bare bum and thighs.

Josh looked over his shoulder and saw the old man reach into his pocket and pull out a monocle. Josh frowned, seeing as the man was already wearing spectacles. He had to suck his lips in to suppress a giggle as Mr. McGuinness placed the monocle behind the glass of his left spectacle.

“Oh lord have mercy, didn’t realise yer was in yer buff on me garden,” he exclaimed with a hearty laugh. “And go on wit’ yerself, yer have had yer fill o’ paddlins an’ all today,” he finished, taking his newspaper and turning on the spot to head back inside.

Josh smiled with relief and put the paddle back in his satchel. He ran his hands over his bare arse as he made his way back to Gordo and his friends.

“Last one!” he said excitedly, a bright smile on his otherwise weary and splotchy face. “And I know this one, it’s my friend Scotty’s house!”

And Scotty’s house wasn’t very far at all! They were leaving the collection of houses known as Castlehaven Road, meaning Castlehaven Drive only a couple of minutes away. And provided they finished quickly at Scotty’s, they’d be able to bike to the news agent’s with time to spare!

They arrived in front of Scotty’s, coming to a jerking, almost disastrous stop. Gordo was still getting the hang of his new bike and the concept of brakes.

“Shouldn’t be long,” Josh said, hopping off the bike. He donned his cap, held the last paper in his hand, stepped into the porch and knocked on his friend’s door.

Josh took a breath. The day was almost done, his penance almost paid. Just one more paper, a paper he had to hand to his best friend, and it’d be done. Well, the paper had the name “Séan McCarthy” on it, but Josh knew that his friend’s dad would be at work this time of day. Scotty’s mum had passed away a few years ago, so it anyone was going to answer the door, it would be Scotty or his little brother, Tommy.

Josh held his breath when the door opened. For once, the person on the other side of the door had already seen him naked. Several times. Has seen him spanked, seen him cry, and in the case of Scotty specifically, playfully touched his body in placed no-one else ever had.

“Hi, Josh!” Tommy said, immediately grinning when he saw Josh’s nude state. The little boy, who was six if Josh remembered correctly, was wearing a pair of light blue shorts and nothing else, his skin lightly tanned, his blond curls brushing against the back of his neck. He was the spitting image of his brother and late mother.

“Why are you nakey?” Tommy asked, swaying against the door.

“Um, hi, Tommy. I can’t really say now, in a bit of a rush, but is Scotty here?” he asked, speaking slightly louder than usual and looking past the littler boy into his home. He knew it well, he’s spent countless hours running those halls, getting told off alongside Scotty, constructing blanket forts in the living room he could just barely see, and sneaking down in the middle of the night to pilfer goodies from the kitchen.

Tommy giggled, swayed a bit more, then stepped back to the base of the stairs.

“SCOTTY! JOSH IS HERE! AND HE’S NAKEY!” Tommy shouted at the top of his lungs in the shrill, ear-piercing way only a little boy could.

“What?” Josh heard muffled from up the stairs. Then the ceiling thundered as Scotty made his way to the top of the stairs. From where he was, Josh could just about see his shins.

“Josh is here, and he’s nakey,” Tommy repeated, running his hands down his own chest and tummy while shaking his hips left and right.

“What are you being an idiot for?” Scotty said with an exasperated tone, starting down the stairs. Josh gulped, seeing more and more of his best friend with each step. God, he was handsome. Josh didn’t need to know everything about his feelings to know, without a doubt, that his best friend was the most good-looking boy around.

Silky golden curls, smooth sun-kissed skin, bright blue eyes, lashes a woman would kill for, and a smile that made his whole face shine.

Josh swallowed again when Scotty made it to the bottom of the stairs. Their eyes met, Scotty looked him up and down, his cheeks tinted red. Then, he smiled. Then he giggled.

“Oh,” Scotty said with a chuckle. He ran his hand through his little brother’s curls, as best an apology a big brother could give after erroneously calling his baby brother an idiot. “So, you are naked. Why’s that, it’s not your birthday for a bit yet,” Scotty said with a smirk, crossing his arms as he leaned against the doorframe. Like his brother, he was shirtless, though he was wearing white ankle-socks with his blue shorts.

“Yeah…it’s, it’s been a long afternoon,” Josh said, unaware there’d been a lump in his throat until it made his voice crack. He stepped forward suddenly, his face buried against Scotty’s shoulder as his arms rose to wrap around him. The paper fell to the floor.

“Whoa,” Scotty said, almost falling back from the force of the impact. He brought an arm up to rest across Josh’s shoulders. He looked down his friend’s back, down at the top of his bum, and saw how violently red it was.

“Dang, that looks like it really hurts.” Scotty stepped back, bringing Josh with him across the threshold of his home. Josh sniffed and just nodded against him.

“Tommy, go get the bum cream,” Scotty said, leaving the front door ajar as he brought Josh into the living room. Josh didn’t know if Tommy did go to get it, he was too preoccupied with trying to not completely break down.

“I do kind of know what’s happened, I’ll be honest,” Scotty started, walking to the couch. He sat, but instead of Josh sitting next to him, he sat in Scotty’s lap, head still resting against his shoulder. “Mr. Murphy happened to call our landline earlier, gave a bit of an idea what to expect. Though, I didn’t expect your bum to look like that.”

Josh hiccupped, recalling everything he’d been through that day. From his first step naked onto the street, to his first paddling from John O’Toole, his thigh thrashing from Andrew Bolton, his strapping from Fr. Richard Dunne to his most recent hand/paddle combo spanking from Gordon McKeefe Sr., and all the others in between.

He wept against his friend, squirming in his lap, no position comfortably no matter how much Scotty spread his legs. But he didn’t move away, he didn’t stand, he needed his friend’s hands on him, someone who would listen to just how awful it all was.

“Eight spankings in one afternoon? You must hurt like nothing else,” Scotty said, running his hand up and down Josh’s back. Josh hissed when his fingers brushed the red marks across his shoulder blades, but aside from arching his back, he didn’t move away.

“Sorry,” Scotty said, moving his hand to the small of Josh’s back and keeping it there. Then, Tommy came into the room, with what looked like a toothpaste tube in his hand. But Josh knew what it really way.

“Thanks, Tommy. Josh, lie over my lap, please.”

Josh stood and sniffed, not even embarrassed after all he’d been through that day. After Scotty shifted right up against the back of the couch, he crawled over his lap, his chest and legs resting on the couch either side of Scotty.

Josh groaned slightly, as this position had his willy pressed right against his friend’s thigh. Though it wasn’t anything Scotty hadn’t seen or felt before. He lightly chuckled and ran his hand softly over Josh’s cherry-red cheeks.

His friend really did have a cute bum, Scotty thought. It was the only boy’s bum he’d been able to look at for any length of time longer than a glance. From when they shared baths, or skinny dipped, or just stayed naked in the same room after showering during a sleepover. Scotty took every chance to see Josh’s bare rear.

He was so preoccupied with doing this when the opportunity arose, that he scarcely noticed Josh attempting the same. Then, there were those times when they’d been spanked together, either by both of their dads at the same time, or by one dad spanking them one after the other.

Scotty would never say he tried to get them in trouble at times just to have the chance to see Josh’s bum bounce and jiggle as one of their father’s slapped it, but there were certainly a couple of occasions when he could have avoided getting caught and didn’t.

Then there were the times when Scotty and Josh would do that boyish song and dance, the one where they would coyly and “regretfully” touch one another. Either down on their willies or their bottoms, but they offending hand would always be retracted in faux-disgust, decrying the fact that they had been dared to touch down there.

Each boy was so worried that the other would actually think they liked touching the other, that they were both so oblivious to the other’s intentions. And his desires.

But now, truly, Scotty had a damn good reason to rub and touch his best friend’s bare bottom as much as he wanted. His shorts were all the tighter for it, and he could feel Josh’s similar predicament against his thigh.

“I hope this helps, this stuff has never been used on a bum as red as this before,” Scotty said after finally prying his caressing hand from Josh’s cheeks. He unscrewed the cap and squeezed a line of the white balm onto Josh’s left cheek, then the right.

Josh let out a breath, burying his face in his folded arms and crossing his ankles. He squirmed, feeling the cool balm on his hot skin. The sting was still very real. Though, his squirming had the totally accidental effect of rubbing his stiffy against Scotty’s leg, an action that sent a sparking sensation up his body.

He whined into his arms just as Scotty started to rub the cream into his cheeks. He started with the left one, his deft fingers rubbing a broad circle into the crest of his red flesh, shifting the mound around, pulling it away slightly from its twin.

Josh bit his bottom lip. It hurt. There was no getting around that. His skin was beyond tender and sensitive. Scotty touching it the way he was, rubbing that soothing ointment into his skin, even with the best of intentions, reminded him of all the pain he’d gone through that afternoon.

Scotty caressed his fingers between Josh’s cheeks, focussing on the softest, most sensitive skin. Josh blushed and groaned in embarrassment as well as pain. His best friend’s fingers were currently rubbing against his bum hole, there was little one could do to distract from that fact. All he could do was try not to clench and squirm more than he already was.

“You’re okay,” Scotty soothed, rubbing circles into the centre of Josh’s back as his other hand rubbed balm into the battered underside of Josh’s left cheek, his sensitive sit-spot. Josh arched his hips, trying to draw the skin as taut as possible for his friend’s fingers. Scotty smiled at the display, which consequently parted Josh’s cheeks.

He squeezed another small amount of balm onto his hand and resumed rubbing it into Josh’s thigh, both the back and the inside. He was especially excited about that latter part, as his fingers happened to roam far up enough to glance against Josh’s little balls. Not that they could linger too long, lest he be accused of enjoying touching them. Even if Josh enjoyed it too.

It was Scotty’s turn to shift uncomfortably in his seat. His pecker was throbbing in his shorts. He was touching his best friend in all his most private of areas, fingers tracing invasively up his inner thigh, into the crook next to his testicles, almost touching Josh’s willy. Not something he’d ever done when it was stiff. But he wanted to. He wanted to know if it felt the same as his own. He wanted to know if it was bigger, smaller, or if it twitched the same way his did when he played with it for long enough.

He almost did, Scotty almost let his hand drift far enough underneath Josh until Tommy sneezed, reminding both other boys that they had an audience of one.

“That’s the left side all done,” Scotty said gently, pressing on Josh’s back to get him to lie back down properly. His hand was trembling. He’d almost done it, he’d almost touched Josh’s stiffy. He couldn’t do that again, especially not now, when he was meant to be comforting his best friend, not sating his own curiosity. “Now for the right side,” he said through a breath, his eager hand cupping and rubbing Josh’s right butt cheek.

And Scotty followed much the same path as before, with Josh hissing and clenching at all the same moments as before. The difference this time was that Scotty didn’t let his hand drift dangerously close to his friend’s willy.

What he didn’t know then was that Josh was almost as disappointed about that as he was.

“I hope this helps,” Scotty said, his fingers lightly caressing down Josh’s cheeks. “Even a little bit.”

Josh buried himself in his arms, arched his hips and squirmed. His little member throbbed against Scotty’s leg, and he very badly wanted to grind against him. But that would be weird, especially since his best friend just got done touching his bum all over.

Josh dared to lift his head, intending to look back at Scotty with an imploring expression, but then he happened to glance at the clock over the fireplace. It was 2:54, or thereabouts. His eyes widened in panic as he stood with a start.

“I have to go!” he said, panic setting in. He picked up his cap and his satchel, his little stiffy wagging here and there in his gusto.

“Go where?” Tommy asked, half-hiding behind the living room door.

“Back to the Mr. Murphy’s shop, if I don’t get back there by 3 o’clock, then everything I did today doesn’t matter,” Josh explained.

“Do you think you’ll make it in time?” Scotty asked, disappointed that the moment ended, but he pushed those feelings aside out of concern for his friend.

“I should. Remember, Gordo is biking me there,” Josh said, backing towards the door.

“Right, yeah,” Scotty said, looking down. “I wish I could go with you, but I can’t leave Tommy on his own.”

“It’s fine, I’ll come by again when it’s all done,” Josh said, offering Scotty a smile. Scotty returned it and nodded, his golden curls bouncing in that way that made Josh’s chest flutter.

“Go on then, don’t waste more time,” Scotty ordered, taking a swipe at Josh’s bum as the nude boy darted out the front door. He heard Josh’s coy giggle as he ran down the driveway. Scotty enjoyed watching Josh’s cheeks shift as he ran.

“I’ll get you back for that,” Josh declared as he met his pack of bikers, though there was no malice in it, a big grin plastered on his face.

“I’ll hold you to that,” Scotty called back, standing with Tommy in the doorway as Josh got onto the back pegs of a bike ridden by another naked boy, a ginger one. He watched longingly as Josh’s bare red bum disappeared down the road. His little heart panged, hoping that his best friend would be fine after all this, that he would still have his job and all the spankings he’d gone through would be worth it.









Josh’s Nude News Route Part 10 – Finale



0 Papers Left



To say that Gordon rushed was an understatement. He downright tore around corners, sped down roads and even hopped up onto the footpath just down the street from Murphy’s Newsagent.

“’Scuse me! Sorry!” he said as pedestrians dodged and gave way to the two naked boys riding a bicycle on the footpath.

Josh looked around to see where their entourage were, only to see that they’d gone. Gordon must’ve left them behind in his dust. He wasn’t surprised. Josh himself had to wrap his arms around the other boy’s chest to keep on the pegs. Had he not, with how sweaty they both were and how fast the bike was going, he was sure he would’ve fallen off by now.

“Which one is it?” Gordo called back, slowly starting to apply his brakes, having learned a little bit from previous choppy stops.

“This white and red building up here,” Josh answered, pointing ahead. He was going to do it! He’d had help, yes, but he was going to do it!

Gordon braked, the front tyre froze, the back one lifted off the ground, forcing Josh right up against his new friend, stiffy and all, which had refused to go down since Scotty had massaged a balm into his bum.

“This it?” Gordon asked.

“Yes!” Josh jumped from the pegs, wrapped his arms around Gordo from the side and gave a tight squeeze. “Thank you! And happy birthday!” he said as he reached into his satchel and pulled out his cap. He placed it rightly on his head and went into Murphy’s Newsagent without looking back again.

The bell above the door jingled, Josh, his breath heavy from exhilaration, weaved through the couple of customers mooching about the front of the shop, nonplussed by their shocked glances, and went straight for the back door.

He burst through it, right into the cool air of the back office. He looked around, eyes scanning for Mr. Murphy.

“Sir? Mr. Murphy, sir?” he called out, weaving around the shelves until his boss’ desk became visible.

And there he was, standing with his back facing Josh, leaning over his linotype machine. A slightly outdated way of typesetting papers, compiling each line brick by brick before printing, but Mr. Murphy often said it was therapeutic. Whatever that meant.

“Josh?” Mr. Murphy said, casting a look over his shoulder before standing tall again. Lord, he was tall. He towered, clearing six feet easily, with salt ‘n pepper hair and piercing green eyes. He then looked to the clock, quirked an eyebrow, then looked back to the naked boy.

“Just in the nick of time, it seems,” he said, one hand on his hip, the other scratching the stubble on his chin. He regarded Josh with a pensive expression, as if mulling over his chances of his success.

“Yes, sir, it wasn’t easy,” Josh said, breath heavy, stiffy wagging as he stepped forward. “And it hurt, sir, it hurt me bum and me feet something fierce, but I did it! I proved I want this job, right?” Josh implored, looking up at his boss, at his dad’s friend.

Mr. Murphy looked Josh up and down, regarding his state from head to toe. Then, his tight expression cracked into a slight smile. And from that smile, there came a chuckle.

“By god, you did,” Mr. Murphy said, chuckling again. “I won’t lie, Josh, I didn’t expect you to do it. You’ve really surprised me.” He took his seat and gave Josh another contemplative look. “Truly, I expected you to go home, to give it all up. I expected to get a call from one of the homes on your route to tell me you never showed up or just slipped the paper in the box. But no. You proved me wrong.”

Josh smiled, tears brimming his eyes again but for entirely different reasons.

“Yes!” he cheered, bouncing on the spot despite the ache in his legs. “Thank you, sir! I will never let you down again!”

Mr. Murphy let out another chuckle. “Yes, if anything, I had very positive feedback from your customers today. Firstly, a John O’Toole said that you were a polite and well-mannered boy, and thanks to you, the paper he was thinking of unsubscribing from will now be a weekly staple. So long as it’s always delivered by Josh, the naked news boy.”

Josh blushed, but his smile didn’t falter. He thought back to Mr. O’Toole, his first spanking of the day. A truly merciful first spanker. He really could have done with someone as understanding and as kind of him later in his route. He’d offered Josh comfort and a drink, something he could have done with around four or five spankings in.

“And old teacher of yours, Mr. O’Rourke, I believe, said he was very proud of the responsibility you were taking by going on your nude walk, and he felt nostalgic when he took you over his lap. He also asked that I forgive him giving you socks you hadn’t started the day with. Since they were once worn by a past postboy, I’ve decided to accept them as proper uniform.”

Josh had almost forgotten that he’d acquired the socks that early into his route. He didn’t want to think about the agony he’d be in without them. He owed Mr. and Mrs. O’Rourke a proper thanks after all was said and done.

“In a similar vein, our local Father, Richard Dunne, was impressed at the penance you were willing to undergo for your sins. He wanted to make sure it was okay that he didn’t use the paddle on you. I told him that his judgement was more important than mine, and I’ve let it be. I’m sure his infamous strap hurt more than the paddle would’ve anyway.

Josh couldn’t help but agree. But Fr. Dunne had been kind in his own way. He was a nice man, a reliable man. So much so that Josh pondered whether or not to apply to become an altar boy in the near future.

“And finally, one Gordon McKeefe called not long ago, saying that you were a very welcome spot of entertainment in the middle of his son’s birthday party, and that you were welcome to come back for some cake later on, if you so wished.”

Josh couldn’t help but laugh at himself. He didn’t have it in him to be mad at Gordon Sr. for spanking him. As the soothing cream Scotty had given him slowly took effect, he found himself less upset about the day and more relieved it was all over. And he’d gotten some things out of it. A new friend in Gordo, and maybe even John O’Toole. Respect from his former teacher and the local parish priest. And maybe, hopefully, he proved himself in the eyes of his boss. Proved he was more than a layabout little boy.

“I, I wasn’t sure I’d be able to do it, sir. But, I have to confess, I did have some help. Mr. O’Rourke drove me for a couple of my stops, and Gordon McKeefe’s son biked me these last few.” Josh didn’t know if he was shooting himself in the foot with this confession, but he didn’t want to be dishonest at this stage of things.

“I see. Well, I don’t see why that ought to mark against you. You managed to charm your way into those boons, lad, they shan’t go against you.”

Josh let out a breath of relief, those weights slipping away from him.

“Thank you, sir. I promise I won’t let you down again,” Josh said, his fists balled resolutely in front of him.

“I’m sure you won’t. In any case, turn around, I want to see what state your rear is in after all this,” Mr. Murphy said, sitting back in his chair and nonchalantly flicking his wrist.

Josh blushed, nodded, and turned on the spot, used to his bum being on display at this point. He heard Mr. Murphy whistle.

“You took quite the thrashing, didn’t you? Hand, paddle and strap, yes?” Mr. Murphy reached out and gently ran his hand across Josh’s bare cheeks, making the boy flinch. But he didn’t move away.

“And about thirty footballs, sir,” Josh corrected, recalling that particular experience. The only good thing he could say about it was getting to have his head between Nile Burke’s thighs.

“Lord above,” Mr. Murphy said under his breath, followed by a light chuckle. “You’ve certainly paid your dues, haven’t you?”

“I’d like to think so, sir,” Josh said, pressing his little bum back into the affectionate hand. “Though, I might have one more spanking in my future today,” he added with sour realisation. “My dad won’t be too happy, I think. He most definitely will find out about my walk today, and he’ll want to know why, and I’ll have to tell him. Well-spanked or no, he’ll have my bum again for being a poor employee. Though, it might not be as bad as the one he would have given me were I fired,” Josh mused.

Though, in reality, he wasn’t that scared. His dad wasn’t a cruel man, just a strict one. And he never gave Josh too bad a spanking if he’d already been spanked, like when he was spanked at school. So, with the stripes he was bearing now, Josh estimated he would get a lighter reprimand. He’d still be crying, no doubt, but by tomorrow, all would be forgiven.

“Is that so? Well, best not keep you, then. You have your afternoon free now, don’t you? Why don’t you go get dressed and go back to that party?” Mr. Murphy said. As he did so, he plucked Josh’s cap from his head, followed by his satchel, keeping those at the shop.

Josh did not need to be told twice. He went back into the bathroom he’d stripped in at the top of his journey, found his clothes right where he’d left them, and donned them. He made sure to pull the back of his joggers out as they came up over his thighs and bum. Even so, he whimpered when the soft material laid against his tender flesh.

Josh looked at himself in the mirror. A mess looked back at him. His face was splotchy, his eyes red, his lips chapped. His chest peeked through his halfway-zipped jacket, his hair was tousled, and he was trembling.

He thought about what came next. Should he just go home? His dad wouldn’t be home for a few more hours. He’d just be wallowing in self-pity and anticipation, he would be no good to himself.

He took a deep breath, splashed water in his face and ran his hands through his hair again. It was done, it was all done. He didn’t have to walk naked through the streets anymore, he didn’t have to deliver more papers or offer his bum for spanking. It was done. But why was his heart still pounding?

He didn’t know, so Josh made the decision to return to the one place he knew he’d feel safe.



8 Castlehaven Drive

Once again, Tommy McCarthy opened the door for Josh. Unlike last time, Josh was clothed. Before Josh could get a word in, Tommy opened his mouth wide and called up the stairs.

“Scotty! Josh is here again! And he’s not naked this time!” he shouted, making Josh flinch back.

“I’m coming,” Josh heard, then saw his best friend again. Already, Josh’s shoulders felt lighter just for being in his presence.

Scotty descended the stairs, still just in his socks and shorts. Both boys’ eyes locked. Words didn’t need to be exchanged. Josh stepped inside and closed the door behind him.

“Tommy, go play in the sitting room for a bit,” Scotty said as he got to the bottom of the stairs. “Don’t bother us,” he continued.

Josh ruffled the little boy’s hair when he pouted.

Scotty took Josh’s hand and led him up to his room. Josh knew it well. It was painted a light orange with a Savannah motif leftover from Scotty’s toddlerhood. He slipped off his boots and sat next to his friend on his bed, their legs dangling over the edge.

“So, you’re all done now, right?” Scotty asked, breaking the comfortable silence that’d developed between them.

“Yeah, my bum hurts so bad, though,” Josh replied, shuffling on the spot.

“Want more balm?” Scotty suggested, perhaps faster than he meant to.

Josh blushed, remembering the feeling of his best friend’s hand all over his bum. He swallowed, the recent memory sending a shiver down his spine.

“No, not right now,” Josh said, his voice hoarse. His hand slipped over Scotty’s, resting atop it between them. “I, um, wondered if we could do something else, an idea I got from when you were rubbing my bum.”

“Oh?” Scotty’s cheeks tinged red, the intensity of that moment crashing back to him. His shorts tightened immediately. He shifted his thighs to try and hide it, but Josh still noticed it. “What were you thinking?” Scotty hadn’t had the chance to see to himself earlier, even though he’d wanted to.

“Yeah…” Josh stood and, for the second time that day, started to undress. He pushed his joggers down off his hips, his little stiffy springing up against his belly. He unzipped his jacket and let it fall, leaving him in just the socks Mr. O’Rourke had given him.

Josh then stepped between Scotty’s legs and pushed on his shoulders. Scotty took the hint and lay back, his shorts clearly tented. Josh hooked his fingers into the other boy’s waistband and pulled his shorts down! He wasn’t wearing any underwear. He pulled the shorts to Scotty’s knees, then stepped back to pull them off over his feet. Like Josh, he was now only in his socks, though Scotty’s were short white ankle socks instead of knee-high black ones.

“Now what?” Scotty asked, his breath tight in his chest. Yes, he and Josh had rough-housed and touched each other before, but always with the veneer of mislike over it. Never had they earnestly touched and stripped one another. It’d always been a game, something to laugh over, pretend they didn’t want. Never…this.

“Um, swing your legs over,” Josh said, tapping Scotty’s knee. He obeyed and swung his legs up onto his bed. Josh crawled onto the bed, following him. He straddled Scotty’s knees, looked him up and down and tried to still his shaking hands.

Scotty was handsome. That was beyond dispute. He was tanned all over. Any tan lines he might have had were so faint that they may as well not be there. When they played by the weir they always got naked, same as when they played in one of their gardens. And he coloured very well, unlike Josh, who was more prone to burning.

Josh placed his hands on his friend’s thighs and looked right at his willy. It was standing tall and straight, pointing up to his bellybutton. It was slightly bigger than Josh’s own, though still not as big as Gordon Junior’s.

“Josh?”

Josh looked up and met Scotty’s gaze. He didn’t have time to react as his best friend grabbed his wrists and pulled him down onto him. Josh yelped and tried to brace himself. Suddenly, he was face to face with Scotty, feeling his breath on his own lips.

Josh let out a light whimper, then looked down between their naked bodies. He flushed completely red when he saw that their members were pressing against one another. Scotty’s little hood was pulled back a bit further than his own. He could see his little slit and that, more than anything else, made his palms sweat.

“Whoa,” Scotty whispered. Josh looked back into his eyes, then decided to follow through on what he started. He lowered his hips flush against his best friend’s and moved.

Instantly, both boys whimpered. Then they gasped as Scotty reciprocated the movement.

“Oh,” Josh moaned, his naked red bottom shifting back and forth in the air as he started to grind himself properly against his best friend.

“Josh!” Scotty gasped, his hands groping down Josh’s back, all the way to his bottom. Josh hissed as his tender flesh was gripped tight. But he continued to grind. He buried his face in the crook of Scotty’s neck as he humped and searched for his juvenile pleasure.

Scotty gave back as much as he got, bucking his hips up into Josh, sliding their cocks alongside one another, pressing their sensitive tips into one-another’s hips, light trails of transparent precum trailing up each boy’s v-lines.

“Scotty! Scotty!” Josh moaned, breathing in his best friend, white knuckling the bedding under him.

“Josh! I’m close!” Scotty whispered, fingers digging into the plush, red flesh of Josh’s spanked rear.

Both boys moaned in time with the other, their humping and grinding speeding up for about ten seconds before both of them slowed to sparse, lethargic gestures. After a moment, Josh lay limp on his friend, who wrapped his arms around him in turn.

After a moment of getting their breaths back, Josh pulled back but couldn’t bring himself to look his best friend in the world in the eye.

“Scotty, I, um…” he started, but trailed off, unsure where the sentence was going.

He didn’t need to finish it, though, as Scotty brought one hand up into Josh’s locks and pulled him close, catching his lips with his own before another word could be spoken. A spark passed between them, Josh’s heart pounded. He was tense and rigid for all of a second before he melted onto the other boy.

They shared breath for almost twenty whole seconds before the need for air parted them.

Their eyes met once more, Josh’s twinkling with wetness. Then he smiled, then Scotty smiled, then they kissed again.



20 Limefield Park

Josh walked up his driveway, the evening sun hitting his left side. He looked up to the orange and pink sky, taking in the view once more. He was shirtless, his jacket tied around his waist and one of Scotty’s t-shirts tossed over his shoulder. After their fun together, he’d showered at Scotty’s place and gladly left with one of his t-shirts and a pair of his underwear.

In his hand he had a little paper bag, one with a piece of cake and other goodies from Gordo McKeefe’s birthday party.

After he and Scotty managed to pull their lips away from one another, Josh did leave his friend for the party. Scotty refused the invitation, saying he had to stay and look after his brother, but insisted that Josh go and celebrate after the day he’d had. That, and Scotty didn’t want to turn up to a party he wasn’t officially invited to.

And Josh did enjoy himself. He was welcomed back into the McKeefe’s home, played games with the other boys, enjoyed the view of Gordo naked, then took his leave with the aforementioned baggy of goodies.

He let himself into his house, slipped his boots off his aching feet and let out a deep sigh.

“Josh?” he heard from the kitchen. He started to walk down the hall towards the voice, to his dad.

“Hi, dad,” he said, stopping at the threshold of the kitchen door. Padraig Pearse was standing at the stove, clearly not long since in from work. “How was work?”

“Same old, same old,” Padraig said with a shrug, continuing to stir the stew. “I bet you can’t say the same thing, lad.”

Josh winced. He knew.

“No, sir, I can’t.” Josh took a step closer, leaning against the countertop, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides.

“Been wandering through the village completely naked, from what I heard.” Padraig brought the wooden spoon to his mouth and sipped the stew. “Needs salt,” he mumbled, then reached for the spice cupboard.

“Yes, well… I had my boots and socks,” Josh said, a small smirk pulling at his lips. “But otherwise, yes, sir, naked.”

“Why were you naked?”

“…”

“Joshua.”

“Mr. Murphy told me it was the only way to keep my postboy job,” he said in one quick breath.

Padraig looked at his son, looked him up and down and narrowed his eyes. He knew his old friend wouldn’t have done that without a good reason. The man opened his mouth to voice that very query but was stopped.

“I wasn’t doing very well, I was being late and…other things. He gave me more chances than I deserved, and I slept in this morning. This…was my only chance of keeping my job and not letting you down,” Josh said, a lump forming in his throat, tears pricking his eyes.

“I see… he didn’t tell me any of that. He was sparing you the smacked bums you would have gotten.” Padraig turned off the stove, stepped aside and reached for the bread bin. “Set the table, boy.”

Josh silently did as he was told, setting cutlery and crockery down at his and his father’s respective spots at the kitchen table. Padraig followed suit soon after. He set down a tea towel first then placed the pot of stew atop it, followed by a plate of bread.

They ate in silence, an anxiety niggling in the pit of Josh’s stomach, but the warm stew helped to quell that anxiety for the time being.

They finished dinner, though Josh didn’t eat much. He’d spoiled his appetite at Gordon’s party. He was about to take the dishes to the sink to wash them, but his dad put his hand over his and looked him in the eye.

“Go wait in the living room, we’re going to need to have a talk,” he said, causing a stone to drop into Josh’s guts. He knew what that meant, so, with a trembling lip, he made his way to the living room.

Now he had to wait. That, at least, was one thing he didn’t have to do with today’s eight spankings. He hated waiting. Despised it. It made his guts tingle with dread.

He paced along the carpet for a few minutes before needing to find something to do. So, he got naked. He pulled his hoodie from around his waist and laid it over the back of his dad’s armchair, then pushed his joggers and Scotty’s underwear down and off. At least, if he was already naked when his dad finished doing the dishes, it’d all be over that much quicker.

But stripping only took so long, so Josh went back to pacing, now wearing only his tall black socks. He was swinging his arms back and forth when he realised the curtains were still open, and anyone could look in and see him naked, ready for a spanking. He had a mind to close them, but that would mean climbing up onto the back of the sofa and he just didn’t have the energy.

He’d already been seen naked by dozens, if not over one-hundred, people today, what would it matter if passers-by did? Passers-by who’d probably already seen him naked in his garden or by the weir, or even on the way home from said weir. He just didn’t care if anyone else saw his willy or his bum.

Josh strained his ears, trying to guess by sound if his dad would be done soon. The radio was on, some sports result or another was being reported on. Josh sighed, knowing his dad might wait until that show was done before joining him in the living room.

He eventually meandered to the corner, looking into the corner cabinet where his dad kept the nice plates and saucers that were only for looking at. Apparently, they belonged to Josh’s mother. Many years ago, she would make sure to only get her petrol from one specific garage who did a promotion where, for every amount of money you spent with them, you’d get another part of the set.

Josh’s gaze wandered past the crockery. He looked into the mirror backing the cabinet. Despite his shower, his hair was messy and frazzled, his cheeks still splotchy and red. Not as red as their southern counterparts, but red enough.

Then, Josh’s lips pressed into a line when he noticed a specific bruise on his neck, one that hadn’t been there until very recently. He then recalled a moment when he and Scotty had been grinding feverously against one another. His friend – or was it boyfriend – sank his teeth into him. It’d felt weirdly good in the moment, but now Josh hoped his dad would just dismiss it as a random bruise. He was an active boy, after all, he had random marks all the time!

He must’ve spent several minutes touching the bruise, long enough for his dad’s show to finish and for him to sneak into the living room. Josh span around, snatching his hand away from his hickey, hoping he wasn’t spotted playing with it.

“Dad,” Josh sputtered, only noticing at the last second that he was sporting an erection. Both hands went down to cover it, feeling beyond mortified. Damn Scotty and his lingering touches!

“Josh,” Padraig said, his voice heavy, his eyes bagged. He walked right past his armchair and went to the couch. Josh suppressed a groan. The couch meant his dad planned to pull him over his lap, his armchair meant only a talking-to was happening.

“C’mere, lad.”

Josh did just that. Still cupping himself, he walked over to his dad and stood at arm’s length.

“Turn around.”

Again, Josh obeyed and showed his father his bottom. He heard the man whistle, then felt his hard, calloused hand on his left cheek. He grunted, feeling very tender. His dad’s thumb caressed down the inside of his cheek, causing Josh to groan in embarrassment.

“What exactly did you get today?” Padraig asked as casually as if he were asking the score of a hurling match.

“Hmm…” Josh cast his mind back, trying to remember every spank he’d gotten, from Mr. O’Toole to Mr. McKeefe. “I got the paddle twenty-two times from Mr. O’Toole, then forty-eight from Mr. Denny, but he wasn’t very good at spanking,” Josh mused. Sure, it’d hurt a lot in the moment, and it did add to his redness, but it didn’t hurt much as some of his subsequent spankings.

“Then, Mr O’Rourke, my old teacher, spanked me for three minutes. But he was like a dang machine. I think he went over my bum and thighs six times, with six spanks each, so,” he started to do the quick math in his head.

“Thirty-six,” Padraig helped.

“Yes, thirty-six spanks with his hand. Then Ms. McCoole did what Mr. O’Toole did and gave me twenty-two with the paddle.” Josh tried to remember what Andy Bolton had done to him. The main thing he recalled was the teen stroking himself to completion and shooting up Josh’s back. But, before that, he’d used both his hand and the paddle.

“Then, Andy Bolton gave me six hard ones with his hand, then twelve with the paddle. Father Dunne used his strap ten times on me, once on each shoulder blade, on each top of my cheek, then the fleshy bit, thigh, then my calves.” That experience had been particularly hellish, no pun intended.

“Coach Hobson had all his soccer boys line up and use my bum as target practise. I think there were thirty-three of them,” Josh grumbled. In retrospect, that might have been the worst overall punishment. He’d had to stay standing and wait for everyone to get their hit in.

“Lastly, Mr. McKeefe smacked me with his hand ten times, then paddled me five times. But…his hand and his swing are something else…poor Gordo.”

“Huh…that is…a lot,” Padraig mused, hand still caressing his son’s punished backside. He leaned back on the couch, running the numbers through his head.

“Ten straps, thirty-three soccer balls, seventy-two hands, 107 paddles. Christ above.”

Josh’s ears pricked at that. It wasn’t often his dad took the Lord’s name in vain like that.

“You’ve been hit exactly 222 times today. Ow.” Padraig couldn’t help but chuckle.

“Yeah. Ow.” Josh ran both hands over his bottom. They stung something diabolical. And he knew he’d be feeling it for at least a week. Probably longer. At least he wouldn’t be in school and have to sit on a rock-solid chair for seven hours.

“And so many people have smacked my son’s bottom today. But not me.”

Josh looked over his shoulder with an indignant grimace. His dad could not be serious! He’d just had the worst series of punishments he had ever had! That any boy he knew had ever had! And his dad was really going to add to it? He thought that going through the hard numbers would lead to sympathy.

“Don’t give me that look, boy, we need to get that number up to an even 250. It’ll make the story easier to remember, don’t you think?” Padraig then proceeded to manhandle his naked son over his left thigh such that Josh’s upper half was on the couch. He closed his right leg in, trapping Josh by the knees.

“I think I’ll remember today fine as is, dad! So will everyone who saw me naked all through the village,” Josh tried to argue, sending one hand back to cover his bum while trying to push off. His father had the gall to be grinning at him!

Padraig just chuckled, grabbed his son’s wrist and pinned it to the small of his back. He cupped and squeezed his son’s cheeks with his right hand, watching the way the red flesh moulded to his grip.

“Hey now, don’t think I don’t have valid cause. You were getting away with murder at work, and I was none the wiser. You showed me up, you did. I’m going to bring you up to a good, even, 250, and then you’re going to stay naked for the rest of the night, and every day for a whole week,” Padraig said, rubbing his boy’s bottom, letting his tone take on a more severe edge.

Josh shrank against the couch, feeling much littler, and much more vulnerable than he had all day.

“Yes, daddy,” Josh whispered, his lower lip quivering at the thought of yet another spanking and even more prolonged nudity. Though, if he were honest, he was going to take every chance to stay naked anyway, at least from the waist down. His bottom wasn’t going to have anything touching it if he could help it.

SLAP!

The first slap made Josh jolt. He groaned and squirmed, rubbing his willy right into his dad’s thigh, though there was no stimulation to be found. Not right now.

The spank landed solidly into the centre of his rear, causing the reawakening sting to ripple all down his thighs too.

SLAP!

The next one landed in that very same spot, sending a second wave of resurging fire through the boy’s backside.

SLAP!

“Three,” Padraig said under his breath. Only then did Josh realise his dad was keeping count for him. That was something. But this was going to be the slowest count to twenty-eight of his life.

The next handful of spanks went to that exact same spot, really heating the centre of Josh’s bottom up. He was already hiccupping against the couch cushion, his knuckles going white from gripping it.

It was fine. He knew exactly when it would end. In just a couple of minutes, it’d all be over. He could handle being naked for a week. It was summer, it was warm, it would be fine. He just needed to make it through these next couple of minutes!

“Daddy!” Josh yelled when Padraig shifted his focus to the undersides of his pert crimson cheeks. Now, those were sensitive and tender. Josh thrashed uselessly in his dad’s hold as that most important part of his bum – the part used for sitting – was spanked again. It lasted until Padraig mumbled “fourteen” under his breath.

Josh had the chance to breathe at the halfway point, during which his dad rubbed his blazing skin. Only, it didn’t do any good, all it did was spread the sting around to every inch of his rear.

The rest of the spanking mirrored the beginning. Padraig smacked the centre of his cheeks, then finished off with Josh’s sit spots, bringing his spank total of the day to 250. The naked boy was sobbing into the upholstery when it was all said and done, completely undone by this final punishment.

“Daddy, it hurts,” he cried, tears and snot streaking down his face.

“I know, kid, it looks sore,” Padraig sighed. He picked his boy up and turned him around in his lap. He held his son close and Josh instantly wrapped his arms and legs around Padraig and continued to sob into his neck.

He held Josh against him by the nape and the small of his back, starting to feel a bit guilty about spanking him again after all he’d already been through. But he knew there was no spanking quite like the one over dad’s knee and thought it the perfect final lesson for his boy. He’d been no worse off for it.

Eventually, Josh’s sobs subsided, and when Padraig looked down, he saw that his boy was fast asleep. Then he finally noticed the mark on Josh’s neck. He narrowed his eyes, looking closer at it. Surely it wasn’t a… No, Josh had probably bumped himself, that was definitely not a little love bite.

The man stood gently, brought his sleeping son up to his bedroom and, as carefully as possible, laid him down onto his bed. On his stomach, of course. He couldn’t help but look him over, from his messy black hair to his glowing bottom and thighs, to his tall black socks.

Padraig stepped out for a moment, retrieved a camera from his room, aimed it at his naked son and snapped a picture. He would get the film developed later, but that would be going in the family scrapbook for sure. A day Josh would never forget.

The day of Josh’s Nude News Route.