Patreon Compilation – Fic#293 – Sam/Lewis/Clint/George – public usage; discipline – Don't Do The Crime... (Patreon)

Sam/Lewis/Clint/George – Sam has vandalized the men's locker room so now he has to do some community service by standing in a stocks in the middle of town for all the men to use.

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Sam’s face goes slacker and paler by the minute as he listens to the Mayor and his father figuring out the particulars of his punishment. It is already humiliating enough to have his father here in the first place. He is a grown man – he does not need his dad to talk to the Mayor as if he were still some Highschool delinquent…

But neither had listened to his complaints, just like they are not paying any attention to him now.

As he watches Kent thrust his hand out for a firm, manly shake, Sam jerks out of his stupor, heart pounding in his throat.

“...wait,” he croaks and when nobody reacts, he thrusts out his own hands and grabs their wrists. “Wait! You can’t be… like… serious??”

Kent levels a hard, unimpressed stare on him.

“If you got the balls to vandalize the men’s locker rooms, you’ll have them to pay off the cleaning costs with some community service for the men.”

And that is that.

.oOo.

Of course the first one to use him would be Morris. He has no affiliation to the bathhouse and the locker rooms but the moment he sees Sam’s naked ass out in the open on the town square in the early morning hours, he just wanders over and gives it to him like it’s his Yoba given right.

“Oh I do like the small town customs that you’ve got here! This is simply marvellous! You know, this is what the big town is missing! I will have to report back to HQ! Maybe they will feel inspired to-”

Sam doesn’t know what they should feel inspired to do. He doesn’t really care, if he’s being honest. He’s hanging in the stocks, mouth agape as Morris rams into his previously carefully prepared hole.

The bastard is rude and mean about it and Sam hates that he should be the first one to use the privilege. The slap of Morris’ palm against his ass is even louder than the slap of his hips hitting him whenever he drives his cock in nice and deep.

It echoes throughout the square until the flick of a curtain high up in the clinic alerts him to the fact that people are getting woken up and start looking what’s going on.

“Oh… there even is a little letter here. Let’s see, let’s see… what have you done wrong, you little delinquent?” The thrusts slow down as Sam hears the rustling of paper. Morris hums under his breath, quickly perusing whatever Mayor Lewis has put down there because he just knows that his father wouldn’t have bothered putting down any informational leaflets for the town.

“Oh dear oh dear… what a nasty young man you are. Hmpf. I suppose I should be a bit more mean to you in that case, huh?”

Sam doesn’t exactly know how Morris wants to be more mean to him when he is suitably sure his ass will be bruised tomorrow, but… well. Well, he somehow manages to anyway. He starts pinching Sam, which is such a petty and wholly unnecessary thing to do that he starts awkwardly bucking like a horse, trying to somehow get the bastard off of him and his cock far away from his already swollen pussy.

His rim feels extraordinarily sensitive… and he refuses to accept that it might have something to do with how insanely excited the whole situation is getting him.

Five minutes before Joja has to open its doors for the day, Morris finally stops fucking Sam like an ape and grunts as he begins to pump him full of cum.

Sam exhales, relieved when Morris steps away. His knees feel a little soft and there is already cum starting to drip out of him before he’s stood in his stocks for even an hour.

At least now he’ll have some respite until-

“Finally. I gotta get back to work after this. Thought he’d never stop rabbitfucking you.”

That’s Clint. That is motherfucking Clint whose big, rough hands grab Sam around the hips and pull them back and up so he can push his dick unceremoniously into him. How long had he been standing back there, watching Morris dick Sam down? His cock is short but fat and when he pushes it past Sam’s rim it zings through him like an electric shock, leaving him breathless and reeling.

Clint is no better than Morris. He doesn’t slap and pinch but he is just as rough about ramming himself into Sam, and is just as unrelenting as he breeds him. He fucks like he hasn’t fucked for months, his breath loud and labored and his stomach dragging against the small of Sam’s back until the coarse hair there are starting to make him feel like he’s developing rugburn.

Sam’s mouth is open, a low continuous groan dragging out from his inner depths as he watches himself drool onto the town square. Every now and then he sees a pair of feet walking through his peripheral vision; sometimes they even pause for a second to apparently watch as Clint really lays into him, but nobody talks.

Are they shocked? Probably. But not enough to ask what the fuck Sam is doing standing in the middle of the town square in a stock, getting grunt fucked by a row of men.

Maybe the Mayor let them all know. He must have done something just to ensure Vincent and Jass weren’t just stumbling over this whole sordid scene…

Clint is done with him before long. He pulls out a split second before he comes and jerks his hot load off onto the small of Sam’s back.

Sam can feel his hole still gaping open as it contracts desperately, searching for the immense stretch of that fat beercan dick.

He groans, his cock flexing beneath his belly. Somehow it’s even worse that he can’t even reach down to take a hold of it and squeeze the everloving life out of his dick. Fuuuuck this suuuucks! He’d known that he’d get in trouble if they found out he was the one smearing on the locker room walls, but this kind of punishment?

“Well then… let’s see, let’s see…”

Sam’s heart sinks when he hears the brittle voice behind him. He can’t crane his head to see either; he’s completely helpless to it as old Mister Mullner grabs his hips and pulls them down some, ostensibly so he may better see Sam’s cunt.

He can’t help it that he’s obediently bending his knees for it or how he whimpers like a slut when two long, bony fingers thrust into his gaping hole.

“Mhn. Soft and warm. Ah, the wonders of youth…”

Sam clenches his eyes closed. He tries not to make a sound but Mister Mullner is finding his prostate like he’s done nothing but damn prostate exams for all his life. He zeroes in on it, pressing his fingertips harshly against that plump little gland until stars explode in the darkness of Sam’s eyelids, and a whining moan slips from his throat.

“A delinquent like you does not deserve this, of course,” Mister Mullner mutters behind him, “but I can’t say that I don’t enjoy getting my hands on some nice firm flesh every now and then! Go on, boy – sing some more! Make your daddy proud!”

He cackles at that, a rusty sound that Sam doesn’t think he’s ever heard. He bites down on his lips, determined not to make any more sounds, but the bony fingers knuckle rudely into one side of his spasming walls and his fingertips press even harder in a tight circling motion into Sam’s prostate until he can’t help it.

He cries out, his knees shaking and cock jumping fiercely. He’s so deliciously close to an orgasm that he can practically taste it on his tongue.

Feet appear in his vision again. Sam awkwardly lifts his head just to see Lewis standing there with a disapproving frown on his face.

“It’s not even been two hours and you are already making quite a ruckus. You also seem to enjoy yourself quite a bit. Maybe we ought to think of a different punishment after all. It wouldn’t do to incentivise your vandalism even more.”

“Hear, hear, Lewis!” George calls from the back. Sam can feel his breath puffing against his swollen rim but it does not really occur to him what that means until he feels the slippery hot tongue wiggling against his ass and trying to slip in next to the old guy’s fingers.

Not that he can focus much on it because Mayor Lewis seems to have decided that whatever Sam’s punishment should entail is a thought for another day. He’s nudging the blunt tip of his cock against Sam’s lax mouth, trying to slip it inside, so Sam opens up wider and puts his tongue out like a red carpet.

The Mayor grabs his unruly mane of hair and pulls his head further up so they can look each other in the eye.

“Next time you need some disciplinary action, don’t use permanent marker. Do you understand?”