Finally got a chance to spank big dick, Rick.

 I took him naked, over my knee, with his long cock hanging. I spanked him by hand, wooden paddle, crop, and cane. 

He kicked his long legs, moaned, and gasped in pain.

 I finished with 50 strokes of the cane, making him dance and jump in pain as his big cock flopped around. 

Ricky and Scot

Reluctant Young Men

Tighty Whitey Wednesday — The Unified Morning Order of Taben Rael

 

Tighty Whitey Wednesday — The Unified Morning Order of Taben Rael

The Raelic Convent Bell rang once — low, clear, and resonant — moving through the colossal structure of Taben Rael, the hundred-acre Orthodox male convent that sat like a fortress atop the mountain. Its stone walls, towers, dormitories, servant quarters, and foundation halls formed a world unto themselves.

Two levels below the main floors lay the Discipline Matters Fraternity Cathedral Hall, the foundation chamber built to hold eight hundred Sons, twelve Elders, and the Bishop, with space still left over. 

Deeper still, in the lower levels carved into the oldest stone, lay the Cathedral of Refinement, overseen by Ellison the Elder Boy.

This was Wednesday — the Day of White Garments.

I. The Sons of Taben Rael

In the lower dormitory wing, the Sons stirred from their sleep. Two men shared each room. They ranged in age from eighteen to thirty-five. Some sat up immediately, already carrying a quiet eagerness. Others remained still a few seconds longer, letting the familiar weight of the day settle over them.

They had slept in the standard Raelic nightwear: brown fitted briefs and brown tank tops.

At the foot of each bed the ritual garments lay folded with precision — pure white briefs, pure white tank tops, and white socks. But none of these were touched. In Taben Rael, white is never worn before washing.

The Sons rose and moved directly to the shower hall, a vast chamber lined with iron spigots and warm steam rising from the tiled floor. Conversation was low, reverent, and disciplined. 

Only after washing did they return to their rooms, remove the brown garments, and dress in the ritual white.

 The briefs clung close, the tank tops were thin and fitted, the white socks completed the uniform.

They proceeded to breakfast, eating with purpose and anticipation.

II. The Servants of Taben Rael

The servants rose at the same bell in their own quarters. They wore black fitted briefs and black tank tops, the initials T.B. marked on the rear of the briefs — Taben Bound.

They left their white garments untouched.

In the designated servant shower halls, the air was already thick with steam. The men stripped without hesitation. The black fabric was peeled down and set aside. Under the running water their bodies were fully exposed — muscular, some still carrying faint marks from previous Wednesdays.

 As the warm water ran over them, more than a few began to harden. 

The ritual itself, the knowledge of what the white briefs would soon contain, the approaching paddle — all of it worked on the body. Some tried to ignore the rising stiffness. Others simply let it happen, standing under the spray with their cocks heavy and lifting.

When they finished washing, they returned to their quarters still naked and damp. 

They stepped into the pure white briefs. The fabric was tight, deliberately so. It cupped and compressed, turning any remaining hardness into a clear outline. The white tank tops followed, thin enough that the shape of their chests showed through. White socks completed the uniform. A few leaked a single clear drop that darkened the front of the briefs before they could stop it. No one commented. Refinement belonged to all, and the body was part of the offering.

The Bishop’s Servants, Aldwen’s Servants, and Edward La’Mar’s Servants all followed the same order in their separate chambers. By the time they left their quarters, every servant walked in pure white, the tight briefs leaving little to the imagination.

III. The Corridor of Refinement — The Stricken and Bound

Beyond the servant quarters lay the long stone passage known as the Corridor of Refinement. Here the stricken and bound men were held — men under extended correction, men who had broken covenant, men requiring deeper alignment.

They woke in charcoal briefs and torn tank tops, the garments themselves a mark of their fallen state. Some of the charcoal fabric was already strained at the front from the morning’s inevitable response.

They were taken to their washing chamber under supervision. 

The charcoal garments were removed and discarded. Naked, they stood under the water. Many were already fully hard; the combination of exposure, the watching eyes of the attendants, and the knowledge of what waited in the lower cathedral pulled the response from them. Some leaked freely under the spray. Others clenched their fists and tried to will it down, only to fail.

After washing they too were dressed in pure white briefs, pure white tank tops, and white socks. The white fabric against skin still marked from previous discipline created a sharp contrast. The tight briefs did nothing to hide the continued hardness; in several cases the material darkened immediately where pre-come had begun to seep. They were not allowed to adjust or conceal. The white was meant to reveal as much as it covered.

Even the stricken must enter refinement clean — and fully seen.

They did not join the Sons or the Servants. Their path led deeper.

IV. The Descent — Two Paths of Refinement

After breakfast the Sons and Servants moved toward the great stairwell that descended two levels into the foundation of Taben Rael. The air cooled as they walked downward. They entered the Discipline Matters Fraternity Cathedral Hall. The paddle rested at the front — long, smooth, well-used, never misused. The Sons and Servants took their places in ordered rows, white garments bright against the dark wood.

The stricken men were led deeper — past the foundation hall, into the lower levels carved into the oldest stone. They entered the Cathedral of Refinement, overseen by Ellison the Elder Boy. Their ritual would be separate, solemn, and absolute.

V. The Moment Before the Ritual

Across Taben Rael — from the upper dormitories to the servant quarters to the 

Corridor of Refinement — every man now stood in white.

Every man had washed.

Every man had taken his place.

Two halls waited.

Two rituals were about to begin.

One covenant.

One structure.

One morning.

Tighty Whitey Wednesday had fully arrived.

The Fall of Kareem Jubilee

 

Kareem Jubilee grew up in the pressure‑cooker streets of Decoda, Georgia, where childhood ended early, and survival was the only language boys understood.

 His father, James Jubilee, walked out when Kareem was four,

 

leaving Martha Jubilee to raise him alone in a small, aging house on Larkspur Street.

 She worked double shifts, prayed over him every morning, and fought to keep him close, but Decoda had a way of pulling boys into its orbit. By ten, Kareem was navigating streets where sirens replaced lullabies. By twelve, he was running errands for older men.

 By sixteen, he carried himself with a quiet authority that made him respected, feared, and targeted in equal measure. He wasn’t a criminal; he was a product — shaped by poverty, shaped by abandonment, shaped by a system that punished boys for drowning instead of teaching them how to swim. 

The night everything changed came fast and violent. A confrontation erupted on a humid Decoda evening — a flash of anger, a shove, a terrible moment of instinct — and a man fell, never rising again. 

The story twisted itself before Kareem could speak. Witnesses contradicted each other. The police arrived already convinced. 

Within hours, Kareem was in handcuffs, and within two days he was processed, photographed, and placed in holding on the island Far‑Far Away, awaiting transfer deeper into the system. He had not yet hardened. 

He had not yet adapted. He had barely slept. He sat in a cold cell wearing the orange uniform of the condemned, replaying the night over and over, wondering how a single moment had shattered everything Martha fought to protect. 

He expected the system to swallow him whole. He expected to disappear. But on the morning of his second day in custody, Aldwen — Overseer of Discipline Matters — saw Kareem’s case on the world news. He saw the fear in Kareem’s eyes, the collapse in his posture, the weight of a life shaped by abandonment and survival, and something inside Aldwen stirred. He gathered the Brotherhood Council and petitioned the Bishop, breaking seven centuries of silence

. Kareem did not know any of this. He only knew that guards arrived at his cell with an expression he had never seen before: not contempt, not indifference, but confusion. “Jubilee,” one of them said, “you’re being released… to some mountain order.” Kareem didn’t understand. 

He didn’t trust it. But he followed. He boarded the helicopter in chains, still wearing the orange uniform, still carrying the shock of a life overturned in forty‑eight hours. He did not know why he had been chosen. He did not know what waited on the mountain. He only knew that for the first time since childhood, something had reached for him — not the streets, not the system, but something older, disciplined, and divine. 

When the helicopter lifted him from Far‑Far Away, he did not look back. He felt the weight of Martha’s prayers in his chest and the weight of a destiny he had never imagined. 

He did not know that Taben Rael was not a temporary refuge but the place where he would live out the rest of his life — refined, aligned, and transformed. Kareem Jubilee left the world behind in forty‑eight hours, and the mountain claimed him forever.