The three children and younger brother of the deceased sat fidgeting as the lawyer finally began to read the will. The Last Will and Testament of Arnold J. Miller.
“I leave my Model T antique Ford to The Ford Foundation on condition that my good-for-nothing son Mark shall have possession of same for a period of five years to be driven once and only once yearly on my birthday in loving memory of me and in the annual Veterans Day parade. To him I also bequeath my sweetie-pie, Sissy. Enjoy Sissy, Mark.”
“Sweetie-pie? The Rottweiler? That savage beast?”
“Hush,” said his sister Lola. "Daddy loved her.”
“I leave my Norman Rockwell painting titled Freedom from Want to the Norman Rockwell museum on condition that my old maid daughter Lola to possess same for a period of five years and display it prominently in her abode as a reminder of what might have been and in hope that it shall yet be.”
Lola simply looked at the lawyer dumbfounded.
“To my bad boy, devilish yet most lovable son Scott I leave a monthly stipend of seven thousand dollars to be paid from my trust, The Benevolent Arnold J. Miller Trust, in accordance with its terms and conditions.”
“I appoint my younger brother Tory Executor of this my last will and testament and Trustee of The Arnold J. Miller Benevolent Trust.”
Soon the other formalities of the will were read. Jason Brown the lawyer laid it down on his massive desk there in his law office and smiled. Oh how he had been yearning for this day to come. No same-old, same-old was this will. He had had to keep from snickering as he read it to the gathering of hopefuls.
A deadly silence came over the room as the two sons, daughter and younger brother tried to let this sink it. They looked around at each other in bewilderment.
“Is that for real, Mister Brown, or some sick joke?”
“It’s for real, Mark.”
“But.”
“But?”
“You’re telling me I just get that fucking Rottweiler and the Model T to be driven just twice a year?”
“I’m telling you.”
“Can I just sell it?”
“Nope. It’s now the property of the Ford Foundation.”
“Well shit.”
“So I can’t sell the Rockwell painting either?” inquired Lola.
“Nope. It’s now the property of the museum. Your father was quite the philanthropist. You should all be proud of his life achievements and in death foresight and benevolence.” This time he couldn’t help but to snicker at his own wit.
“You’ve got another thing coming if you think I’m keeping Sissy. That dog should have been put down long ago.”
“Well Mark, that certainly is up to you. But you see your father’s trust does provide rather generous funds for her room and board on certain conditions.”
“Like?”
“Like providing your uncle Tory with a monthly picture of you walking Sissy in the park holding a poop bag and the daily newspaper. He wanted nothing but the best for Sissy’s remaining time.”
“How much for her upkeep?”
“Five hundred a month. Plus five thousand dollars for her burial upon her death from natural causes.”
“And what about me? For me keeping that Rockwell painting safe and all?”
“The trust is to cover the insurance cost. Not only that but your home owners or renter’s insurance premiums too.”
“How about my car insurance? I might have to drive it sometime.”
“You can speak to your Uncle Tory about that. He has limited discretion.”
“Talk to that... that...”
“Sadist? That’s what you called me the last time we spoke.”
“So the truth hurts?”
“I’m no sadist. I was just helping my older brother out whenever I gave you all the strap. A brother who didn’t want to use corporal punishment himself on his own children. He was such the sensitive one.”
“Sadist.”
“Oh my no. I simply have a fetish. Don’t we all in one form or another? Are we all not human? Not all children of the Lord?”
“Gentlemen and lady, please. Your good and caring father knew exactly what he was doing in framing the terms of his will. You may not realize it but by bequeathing as he did he enabled his estate to avoid paying estate taxes all together. He just wanted his feeling of inadequacy in having raised his children in a manner that did not produce adults in possession of the traits that he believed in to have a second chance. Don’t you see the wisdom in all of this? Don’t you recognize his caring and benevolence?”
“Just what do I have to do under this so called trust to receive my seven thousand dollars monthly? I know there must be a catch.”
“Ah yes, the trust.”
All watched as the lawyer scanned down to the wickedly, cleverly designed document.
“Ah yes, here it is: That my son, the bad boy Scott, shall present himself to his uncle Tory to receive twelve strokes of a rattan cane of his choosing under the conditions of his choosing immediately prior to receiving his monthly allowances.”
“Twelve strokes of a cane? From that... that? Why that would come to...”
“Five hundred eighty-thee dollars and thirty-three cents per stroke. I’ve already done the math, Scott. Merely out of curiosity.”
“Good Lord I’d take that in a New York minute,” said Mark.
“So would I,” echoed Lola.
“This don’t sound legal to me.”
“What, the seven thousand dollars a month or the dozen strokes of the cane monthly? Which part?”
“And from Tory of all people. Anyone but him. Anyone but you, uncle.”
“Precisely. Your father had superior insight. Keen foresight. Don’t you see? His spirit lives on. God bless the now departed Arnold J. Miller. May he truly rest in peace and in the comfort in knowing that you all may find redemption and now strive to live up to your potential. To your potential in his mind. That Mark shall come to love animals rather than to hunt and kill them. That Lola shall belatedly marry and raise a family of his own. That Scott shall become a good and righteous man and manage to stay out of brothels and jails and opium dens.”
“Opium dens? The weed ain’t opium, friend.”
“Hush.”
“And that his uncle, my brother, shall feast on seeing the redemption of his nephew Scott no matter how many canings over the years it shall take. And there are other terms of the trust that you all can read at your leisure.”
“Now then. Would each of you like to say a word of farewell to your most righteous and loving father. Mark?”
“Fuck that Rottweiler.’
“Lola?”
“I think I’ll join a nunnery. No, make it Planned Parenthood. Abortion division.”
“Scott.”
“Fuck Uncle Tory. And his fucking cane.”
“Mister Brown?”
“Tory?”
“My brother left me nothing?”
“No worldly goods, I’m afraid.”
“Just the task of caning Scott monthly and passing a check on to him?”
“Yes, I’m afraid so. But I hardly thought you would consider it to be a task but an honor and privilege.”
“I see. Well if that is what he wanted I’m happy to oblige.”
“Sadist.”
“Hush.”
“Today is the twenty-eighth, right?”
“Correct, Tory.”
“Then Scott, you’ll need to come over tomorrow night or the next so that we don’t lose this month.”
“Tomorrow night? Tomorrow night for my money?”
“Right. For your monthly allowance and.”
“Yes, yes; I know. The condition.”
“Good. Would eight o’clock be convenient, Scott?”
“That’ll work.”
“If you’ll stay behind for a few minutes Tory, I’ll have my secretary draw you up a check for Scott’s drawn from the new trust account that I’ve set up.”
“Can I at least watch?”
“That would be up to your uncle, Lola.”
“Well, Uncle Tory?”
“We’ll see. But not this month. It’s been some time since I’ve whipped your bad boy brother. I’ll need to get re-acquainted with his ass first.”
- - - - - - - - -
“Come in Scott. I see that you are right on time.”
“Yes, Uncle. You do have my money, right?”
“Oh yes. And you did bring your ass, I presume. Correct? I do hope you didn’t forget it.”
“Fuck you.”
“What shameful language. So unappreciative. Your allowance is hardly a pittance.”
“It ain’t the money. It’s what comes with it.”
“True there is a string attached. But understand that the spankings are more of a bequest to me his favorite brother in lieu of tangible goods.”
“His only brother, asshole. And I wouldn’t call a caning a spanking. Call it what it is.”
“That being?”
“His way of making me beg for my trust allowance each month. Beg in the most disgusting way by having to offer up my ass to you. Don’t think I haven’t heard the rumors.”
“About my being gay?”
“Right. Oh I can see it now. You want just a couple of the cane? I’d be happy to oblige. I’ll waive the rest if you’d just invite me in. Invite me to bugger you. Oh yea. I ain’t dumb.”
“Now Scott, whatever gave you that sordid idea? Merciful heavens. What a filthy mind you have. No wonder my brother wanted you to have the cane. To have it on a regular basis.”
“Fuck this. Let’s just get it over with.”
“Very well. Into the living room. I’ve prepared a fire to keep you from getting a chill.”
“A chill?”
“Right. Naked people tend to get chills, you know.”
“Naked?”
“Of course. You don’t think your father would have wanted me to cane you over clothes, do you?”
“But.”
“No buts. But I have no desire to see your manhood. I don’t want any indecent exposure here in my own home. So I have some sanitary napkins for you to wear.”
“Sanitary napkins?”
“Do you have a hearing problem, Scott?”
“Sanitary napkins for women? Do you think I’m having my period, uncle?”
“Never mind the expense I’ve gone to. And no, you don’t have to thank me. To thank me for buying one hundred percent pure biodegradable cotton napkins infused with negative ions.”
“Negative ions?”
“Are you sure you don’t have a hearing problem? Yes, negative ions not only to balance ph but also to provide protection from germs. In this case protection for me because I have no idea where your cock has been hanging around of late.”
“What’s going to hold the thing on?”
“The sanitary napkins I’ve bought for my nephew here have wings. We’ll use tape. I’ve also gone to the expense of buying a sanitary napkin belt. We should have no problem in keeping it on while I cane your ass. But I will give you an option.”
“What option?”
“You can tape it on with your cock balled up all nice and snug or extended upright flush against your belly.”
“Oh thanks. Thanks a lot, you pervert.”
“Oh, and you may keep your shoes and socks on.”
“Sweet. Thanks so much. How kind of you. I’ll have to put this in my diary.”
“Put your clothes in the chair over there.”
After stripping with his back turned to his uncle he took hold of the sanitary napkin and pressed it against his privates. Now was decision time. Tape it on with his package balled up snuggly or with his prick upright against his belly?
Deciding to minimize anything approaching sexual implication he elected the balled-up, limp package configuration.
It wasn’t long before Scott found himself standing in front of a blazing wood fire with his hands on the fireplace mantel wearing just his shoes and socks and sanitary napkin. To each side of him stood a porcelain figurine upon the mantel. A porn statuette. To his left was a clothed fat man with a big round belly with his cock and balls out of his pants fly and with a cane in one hand. Next to him was a naked male teen bent backwards with his hands on his buns. Obviously the fat man had just struck him with the cane. To his other side was the same teen bent over holding his ankles with the fat man standing flush against his butt. Obviously he was buggering for the bent-over teen had his face up in a grimace with his hands clasping his facial cheeks.
The innuendo was obvious. The porcelain figurine to his left forecast was lay immediately ahead for Scott, the heir, while the one to his right represented what lay ahead following his caning. No way, thought Scott. No way in hell would his uncle’s cock ream his rectum. Ram and ream it just after its being caned.
“Are you comfortable, nephew?”
“Sure. This is just great.”
Swish THWICK!
His hands holding onto the fireplace mantel gripped harder. Shit that hurt.
“No chill, I presume.”
“No, I’m fine. I’m just super, Uncle Tory.”
“Splendid.”
Swish THWICK!
Scott looked down at the burning wood logs. They were burning in harmony with his burning ass.
“I really loved your father, you know. And he, you must now know, really loved me in making this bequest. This most special bequest for he knew my fetish as well as he knew your abiding naughtiness.”
Swish THWICK!
Good God Almighty, thought Scott. Never had he expected this to be so terrible.
Again he stared down into the fire to see some embers flare up. Just like embers were flaring on his burning ass. I’ll never make it through twelve, he thought. To hell with this. I’ll just cut and run.
But then.
But then his eyes caught sight of an envelope there on the mantel just beyond the figurine to his right of the dressed fat man buggering the teen. Sure enough there was an inscription on the envelope. It read: Scott - September.
Seven thousand dollars was there waiting for him! Seven thousand dollars just beyond arm’s reach. Seven thousand with another seven to come next month and the next and the next. Stay the course, he thought. I’d best not act rashly. Grin and bear it. Screw my pride.
Now to his dismay he felt an unraveling. An unraveling of his goodies down in his crotch. In his crotch made warm and cozy by its close proximity to the fire which of course had warmed the soft cotton fabric pressed against his sleeping cock.
Swish THWICK!
Goddamn. GODDAMN! His uncle was giving this his all.
His eyes returned to the waiting envelope. Hang on. Hang on he told himself as his eyes shifted down to look at the wood fire which was maturing. Less and less flare-ups were now occurring as a pile of red-hot ambers was building up beneath the iron grate upon which the wood logs lay. Well the fire might be calming down but his ass sure wasn’t. And now his cock was pushing and pushing to straighten out but prevented from doing so by the strapped-on sanitary napkin.
Swish THWICK!
His head flew back as his hands slid along the edge of the fireplace mantel. “Good God, Uncle Tory. Nothing in the will said you had to hit so damn hard.”
“Hey, be careful of the statuettes. Breaking one will cause a delay in receiving your allowance for the check will have to be rewritten to cover the replacement cost.”
“Where did you get these?”
“Never mind where I got them. Where did you get that growth under your sanitary napkin? Oh Lord you’ve fallen for me. Fallen in love with me your uncle.”
“You’re crazy,” came his reply as he moved his hands from the mantel and slide them down inside the absorbent cotton sanitary napkin to make room for his now pulsating cock to straighten out and assume an upright position pressed against his belly. But rather than that it assumed a forty-five degree angle of inclination as soon as he released it.
His uncle Tory watched with amusement as his nephew withdrew his hands from inside his sanitary napkin and pressed the protruding bulge back against his belly. But as soon as he released it his pecker shot back up and out to its forty-five degree angle of inclination underneath his sanitary napkin. At that position it was stretching the napkin such that some of the tape was being pulled loose. Fortunately not so much as to cause the napkin to come off.
“Such a show of affection for me, nephew. I’m honored. Say it looks like you have a quite stout prick. A Miller family trait you know. Good Lord it may even rival my own. Wouldn’t that be something!”
“Would you just shut up and get on with this? But ease up with the cane, man. I’m still a blood relative, you know.”
“I well knew your father, my dearly departed older brother. I know he would have wanted me to give you my best shot. I’m sure you know this too down deep in your heart. I shall not be a laggard. He may well be looking down on us at this very instant. I shall not disappoint him nor his kindred spirit. Now hands back on the mantel if you please. And bend back over. That should relieve the tension on your napkin a tad.”
Swish THWICK!
“That makes six, nephew. We are halfway home already. My how time passes so quickly when one is enjoying himself. And I want you to know that I am thoroughly enjoying this maiden cruise of ours. But I see that the fire needs some attention.”
Scott managed to retain his bent-over position holding onto the edge of the fireplace mantel as he watched his uncle stoke the fire with an iron stoker. As he did so the fire roared back to life as embers flared. A corollary came instantly to Scott’s mind. His uncle was in the process of stoking both his burning wood fire and his nephew’s burning ass. The more that the embers flared the more that the nephew’s ass flared in burning pain from the tramline welts.
Once Tory was satisfied he laid down the stoker with its hook end left lying on the bed of burning embers beneath the fireplace grill and its handle end out into the room air. To Scott’s horror it looked now like a branding iron! Surely the man wouldn’t dare, would he?
“There now. That should keep you warm. How is your sanitary napkin? Do you need a change? I have a whole box. Or perhaps a glass of water?”
“I’m good.”
“That’s nice. I think I’ll switch sides. Do some work some on my backhand.” Then he went to softly signing The Christmas Song.
“Chestnuts roasting on an open fire. Jack Frost nipping at your nose.”
Chestnuts roasting on an open fire indeed.
Swish THWICK!
Scott took a death grip on the edge of the mantel there above the rejuvenated wood fire. His breathing quicken as he drew in the warm air radiating from it. His evil uncle had crossed over the six tramline welts that he had given birth to from his prior stance to the other side of his nephew.
I’ll never make it. I’ll never make it he thought as he felt his uncle’s hand sliding over his rump in examining the fresh welt that had just now crossed the others. But to Scott’s mind his uncle was doing this to get aroused. To get aroused prior to his buggering him just like there represented by the two porcelain figurines. He took another look at the statuette of the dressed fat man buggering the teen. This was too much. With one hand he pushed the arm of the hand of his uncle that was caressing his ass as his other hand made a grab for the waiting envelope.
Quickly he walked over to the chair upon which his clothes lay without saying a word while holding onto the envelope. To his surprise he uncle said nothing but was simply staring at his crotch. He followed the man’s eyes to see that one side of his sanitary napkin had come loose when he had suddenly jerked up and was now dangling down to one side. His cock was now free and pointing the way while the other side of his sanitary napkin managed to stay on.
Scott started to rip off the still-attached side wing but hesitated. All he needed now was another source of pain. The pain from ripping off tape that was adhered to his skin over pubic hairs. So instead he pressed the other side back on. No easy task with his upright cock protesting. He’d fool with this later.
Tory smiled as he watched his nephew fumble about in dressing himself in a panic after having struggled to re-secure his napkin over his protesting cock. Scott made a couple of glances his way and was a bit surprised to see that his uncle didn’t seem to be upset. Oh well. The man was simply crazy.
He picked up the envelope that he had laid down while getting dressed and made for the door. Still his uncle said nothing. Well then neither would he. No departing goodbyes. No have a nice evening. You too. Be seeing ya.
At the archway over the room exit Scott paused. Something didn’t seem right other than that his ass was on fire. He looked at the envelope now with suspicion. He tore it open to find a note rather than a bank check. It read:
Get back into position, nephew. There’s still work to be done.
His arm and hands went limp. He felt crushed. There he was on the verge of escaping with seven thousand dollars in hand and now this. And what was this? This was another five cuts of the cane yet to come.
“Jack Frost nipping at the door.” The most happy man had gone back to singing.
Time stood still as Scott pondered. Walk? Walk away from a stipend of seven thousand dollars today and in the coming month? In each and every month to follow? Grow up, he told himself. Don’t let the asshole think I’m a coward.
Uncle Tory watched as his nephew returned to the chair and disrobed again. But this time to see the sanitary napkin still there shielding his privates from view.
Once prepared to return to the fireplace Scott put his hand on the chair and spoke.
“Are you going to bugger me too?”
Tory made him wait for his response.
“Would you like that?”
“There’s five more to go?”
“Correct.”
“Do you mean instead of those five more?”
A deafening silence came over the room as Scott waited for the response. Was this blackmail or was it not?
“Nope. Were I to waive the rest, your father’s kindred spirit would rise up among with the embers from the fire.”
“You mean you think he’s roasting in hell?”
“What do you think, nephew?”
Scott stood there nude wearing his sanitary napkin while studying his uncle standing there near the fireplace with the cane in hand. From there he looked down at the fire to see that the hook end of the stoker was now glowing red. Red hot.
“Your father specified twelve. And twelve it shall be.”
“There is another envelope?”
“I do believe so.”
As Scott endured the remaining five with his hands gripping the fireplace mantel he stared into the burning wood flames and embers to find a simmering ghost-like image. Simmering from the pool of tears in his eyes. A red-faced image of his father smiling in contentment up at him.
So that’s where the old man had gone. Then just as the red-eyed, ghost-devil stuck his forked tongue out at him and wiggled it came the twelfth.
Swish THWICK!
