M/m sex, discipline, spanking. If the idea of a discipline relationship between adult men offends you, so will this story.
ELIZABETH MARSHALL STORIES
BACK THAT ASS UP
"Girl, you looks good, won't you back that ass up,
You'se a fine motherfucker, won't you back that ass up!"
"Call me big daddy when you back that ass up," Philip sang lustily.
The flying book took Philip completely unaware. For a moment he stood, frozen, looking at the splayed volume at his feet, its spine grotesquely broken, leaves outstretched like the wings of a dead bird.
"...back that ass up
Call me big daddy when you back that ass up
Girl, who is you playing..."
Dave stalked across the living room and punched the power button on the stereo into silence.
Philip bent over and picked the book from the floor, idly noting the cover. A new anthology from a prestigious university press.
"Rough day, Dave?" Philip looked stonily at Dave.
"I've asked you not to play that sexist, homophobic shit around me and here you've got it up so loud you didn't even hear me come in!" Dave was seething. "I'm going to take a shower."
Philip exhaled slowly. Upstairs Dave slammed the door to the bedroom.
"What was that all about?" Philip asked himself. He retrieved Dave's open briefcase from where Dave had dropped in the doorway to the living room, carried it over to the dining room table and began to sort through the contents.
He set Dave's laptop aside. Went quickly through the rest of the bag, looking for anything untoward.
Student papers. Exams. Research notes. All of which seemed in order.
Philip tried the bedroom door. It was locked.
"Dave? Let me in please."
The knob turned from the inside, the door cracked open. Dave retreated to the bed as Philip entered. He had stripped to tee and briefs; his good clothes were already hung meticulously on his closet door.
Philip seated himself next to Dave on the bed and took Dave's unresisting hand in his own. Ran his thumb over the soft skin between thumb and forefinger.
"Want to talk to me about it?"
"Not really," Dave sighed.
"That was what's known as a rhetorical question," Philip said, and when Dave didn't respond, merely looked at him with wounded eyes, added, "Joke."
"Phil, stop it, please!" Dave protested.
"Dave, what's the matter?" Philip asked gently. All hint of teasing was gone from Philip's voice. "Talk to me."
"I can't. I'm sorry," Dave said morosely. "Philip? Did I clip you?"
"No." Philip cuddled Dave closer. "Talk to me, Dave. What was that about?"
"It's stupid." Dave sighed. "I'm sorry, Phil. Just let me alone for awhile." He turned away, onto his side.
"Talk to me first," Philip said.
"I don't want to!" Dave's voice was high and tight. "I can't!"
"Talk to me." Philip jostled Dave gently.
"Did you look at the fucking book? At the list of contributors?" Dave's throat tightened. "I'm not on it. I knew I wasn't included, of course. It's just seeing the hard copy..."
Philip rubbed Dave's back. They went through this at least once a semester, Philip mused. A colleague would cite another article, not Dave's, or the chair of the department would commend another professor, not Dave, or the dean's office would solicit suggestions from another committee, not Dave's.
"All right, Dave." Philip stroked Dave's hair gently. "Take it easy now, you're home, I'm right here. I love you." Philip felt Dave shudder and then there were only the small quivering movements of his shoulders as he cried himself out.
"I'm so tired," Dave said hoarsely. "Just a lousy day."
"I know, Dave," Philip said, brushing his fingertips softly over Dave's wet cheek. "Here." He moved the tissue box to within easy reach.
"I hate this." Dave sighed. "They're not any better than I am!"
"Of course they're not. You've got to stop overreacting like this, Dave, you're only hurting yourself. I'm not going to let you make what you don't get professionally more important than what we do have at home."
"I don't do it on purpose," Dave protested. "You're not being fair, Phil!"
"I'm not being fair?" Phil asked, stressing the first word. "You threw a book at me, Dave."
Dave was silent. Philip waited, letting Dave think.
"It's not a small thing, Dave," Philip said quietly. "It's one thing to yell at me. It's quite another to throw something at me. It's not how we live, Davey."
"You're right, Philip." Guilt fueled Dave's courage. He swivelled so that he was face down over Philip's lap. "I shouldn't have done that."
"I don't like to do this." Philip eased Dave's shorts off. He studied the tense white buttocks for a moment, steeling himself, and then cracked his hand hard across each cheek.
Dave arched upward in involuntary protest and Philip pushed him firmly back down. He spanked Dave briskly and thoroughly. Dave buried his face in the mattress and took it tight-lipped and without a sound.
"Done." Lying back, Philip eased Dave down on the bed alongside him.
"Ow," Dave yelped at the shift in position. "Ow."
"Breathe, Davey," Philip crooned. "We're all done. Breathe."
"I'm sorry," Dave sniffled. "I'm sorry!"
"I know. We're okay now." Philip spooned Dave closer. "Back that ass up, Dave."
"Not that song again," Dave moaned, pressing into Philip. "Do you know how much I hate that miserable song? What is this part, Phil, my punishment for liking disco?"
Philip started to laugh.
"That's my boy," Philip said. "Back that ass up, Dave. Back that ass up."
This story was written for LS's songfic challenge. The lyrics are taken from Juvenile's "Back That Ass Up." I am grateful to Hedeia and Rusty for their good advice. EM