Birth of a fetish
If you really want to know what happened that day, so long ago, I'll tell you.
It's a simple story - "simple,' in the sense of, not complex. Yet, what happened woke up some complex desires and emotions in my younger self.
Basically, what happened was, I walked into a bathroom and saw . . .
**
An adult, middle-aged Rottweiler is giving his teenage son a good, hard spanking in a gritty public restroom. The noise of it echoes through the empty space. I'm watching because I have to watch. My curiosity overwhelms me, and I just have to watch. I'd been drawn in by the sounds -- the noises of the spanking which were echoing around the bathroom, bouncing off the tiles and the fixtures. As soon as I'd walked in to the restroom, I'd heard those sounds, and I just had to know what was going on.
The large restroom has kind of an odd layout. A row of cracked and faded sinks faces an equally long row of faded urinals. That's pretty standard, right? However, you have to go around a corner to find the row of ancient toilets. Some of those toilets have a stall around them, but no door. The rest of them, however, have no stalls - they're just out there, in the open, lined up next to each other, and if you use one you won't have any privacy at all.
The father is sitting on one of those toilets with no stalls, and he has his Rottweiler son across his lap. Who knows what the punishment's for. Does it matter? Whatever the son did, the spanking apparently couldn't wait until they got home. It has to happen now, right away, immediately.
**
I never found out their names. If I tell you about this, I don't want to keep calling them "father" and "son," so, I guess I'll make up names for them. Hmmmm. I'll call the father "Max," and I'll call the son "Travis."
Max - the father - was stocky. Big. He wasn't fat, but he did have a bit of a gut - his stomach bulged out, a bit, over his belt. He was a big, wide Rottweiler. Yes, wide is a good word, I suppose. He had thick, muscular arms, and thick, muscular legs. There was something . . . sexy about the big Rottweiler. At the time this happened -- all those years ago -- I thought I had a "type," and Max was not my type. He was older, for one thing -- he was someone's dad. Why -- I wondered, back then -- why would I think he was kinda sexy? I suppose I was a typical eighteen year-old back then -- unable to see someone older as hot. I know, not all eighteen year-olds are like that. But many are.
Anyway, there was just something so . . . masculine about the big, beefy dog, and I found myself responding to that.
Travis - the son - looked like his father, no surprise, and they both looked like typical Rottweilers. However, the son's body was lean, slender. Almost like a Doberman's body. Of course, he _was _young, so who knew how he'd turn out later on. Like I said, he was a teenager, maybe fourteen or sixteen or so.
I had just turned eighteen when this happened, so you know I'm talking about something from a very, very long time ago. I had just graduated from high school, and I'd just left the orphanage where I'd grown up. Eighteen. Gods above and below, eighteen feels like a million years ago. Well, that day in the restroom also feels like it happened a million years ago, and yet, the memory of it is still so vivid in my mind.
**
Like I said, I'd been drawn in by the sounds of a meaty paw smacking down, again and again, smacking -- what? Someone? Something? I heard those sounds, and my curiosity rose, and so I walked around the corner, towards the row of ancient toilets -- because I just had to see what was going on.
When I saw them, father and son, when I saw what was happening, I was surprised, or maybe shocked. I froze, I stood there, frozen in place.
I blushed, and you could probably see the red coming through my Dalmatian fur. My stomach flipped over, and my throat went dry.
The scene . . . it woke up something, in me. Watching Travis get his spanking woke up something, in me -- or maybe it created something.
And I stood there, blushing, shy and tongue-tied. For a second, I couldn't move, and I couldn't talk. There I was, a shy eighteen year-old Dalmatian, wearing faded jeans and a t-shirt I'd gotten from some rock concert. There I was, watching Max punish Travis.
Most other anthros would walk into a scene like that one -- a father spanking his son -- and then they would turn around and walk away. Or, they would run away. I couldn't leave. The whole thing surprised me, as I said -- but it also intrigued me.
Travis lay across his father's lap, his chest on Max's left leg. His crotch rested on Max's right leg. Travis' arms hung down. Max raised his right leg just a bit, elevating Travis' exposed butt somewhat. Travis had been told to take his pants and underwear down before going across Max's lap, and when I walked in, Travis' underwear was around his knees. As the spanking went on, his jeans gradually slid down, slowly, sliding further and further down.
He's getting it on the bare fur, I thought. No jeans, no protection, as his father's hand smacked down . . . paused . . . and then smacked down again.
When I walked in, and froze like an idiot, both of them looked at me. Max paused the spanking, and he said something, to me. It was something like, "It's okay, you're cool. You need to use one of the stalls?"
Max's voice was deep, and powerful - but his tone was gentle. Almost friendly. I realized he sounded . . . concerned? Worried that someone would be afraid to use one of the toilets while the spanking was going on?
Unable to speak, for a moment, all I could do was shake my head. No, I didn't need a toilet.
"Well, you can stay," Max said. There was a gleam in his eyes and he had a hint of a smile. He looked at me, like he was . . . appraising me? Like he was trying to figure me out, I suppose.
"And, well, maybe you need somethin' like this, too?" The big Rottweiler asked me, with that gleam still in his eyes.
Huh? _I thought. Who actually says stuff like that? However . . . the idea of it . . . the thought of actually going over the older dog's knee . . . Could I really do something like that? The thought of it was terrifying. And if the _thought was terrifying, what would the reality be like? However . . .
I'd always been somewhat curious about spanking. Suddenly, I was actually seeing one happen, right in front of me. And not only that, but, had Max just invited me to get one as well? Had he really said that?
I realized that Travis was looking at me, intently. I didn't see any anger on his face. He didn't seem to mind that I was watching. The way he looked at me -- it was, I eventually figured out, curiosity. Still looking at me, he nodded his head. What did that nod mean? I'm still not sure.
Max shifted his attention from me back to his son.
"Ready for the rest of it?" Max asked his son. Again, Travis nodded. He turned his attention back to the floor, but after the spanking resumed, he turned his head a few times, to look at me, as I watched him get punished on his bare fur.
I don't know if I walked in near the beginning of the spanking, or somewhere in the middle. I didn't count, and I have no idea how many more smacks Travis got as I watched Max's furry, right hand come down, again and again, spanking Travis' naked butt. The hand was thick, and looked strong. There was a pause, a brief one, between each spank. Smack . . . pause . . . smack. The blows looked painful, but at least the punishment wasn't fast and furious. Travis squirmed, a bit, but I got the impression he was trying not to. After each blow, he'd raise his head, sometimes quickly, then lower it back down. He'd also gasp, or moan quietly, after each loud spank. A few times, he ran a hand over the fur on his head, briefly. Once in awhile, he'd grimace from the pain, but overall he was taking it well, I thought. Maybe he was trying to show that he was tough, or brave, or whatever - that he could handle the pain?
"Just a few more," Max eventually said, looking down at Travis. "They're gonna be sharp."
Max raised his hand, higher this time, and brought it down -- much faster than before. It slapped Travis' naked, furry butt so hard that the sound of it was like a sonic boom rolling through the bathroom. Travis gave out one of those soft gasps, and his butt jiggled. I wondered how red the skin was, under his fur, after all those slaps.
Max gave Travis another one of those hard, furious spanks, and then, without much pause, another one. Travis raised his head, his eyes squeezed shut, his mouth an open grimace of pain. Still, he didn't yell, or cry, and say anything. Max lifted his hand up, again, and this time he paused . . . for only a few seconds, but I'd guess Travis felt like the pause lasted a long, long time. Then, one more time, Max's hand sped down, and one more time it gave Travis' naked butt a firm, hard spank. Travis moaned, and almost squirmed.
"Okay," Max said, softly, "That's it, you took that real well, I'm proud of ya."
He helped Travis stand up, and the teenager seemed shaky, a little unsteady on his feet. Travis' underwear was still down around his knees, but his jeans had puddled at his ankles. He pulled up his underwear first, and I glanced at his penis -- it was long and slender, like his body. His balls were tight, plump. His hands shook as he pulled up his jeans, revealing how much the spanking had affected him. For a moment, he paused, catching his breath, collecting himself.
"So," Max looked at me. "Kinda intense, huh? I hate when I have to do that - I don' like punishin' him." He looked at his son. "O' course, you had that one comin', didn't ya?" Max had a slight smile on his face.
"Yeah," Travis looked embarrassed to admit that.
I said something in reply - I have no idea what.
"So how 'bout you?" Max asked me. "When was the last time you got somethin' like that?"
I blushed again. "I've . . . never . . . " I stammered.
"First time for everythin', so they say," Max had that gleam in his eyes again.
"Yeah," I tried to sound casual.
"Look, if you need this, I'm here," Max patted his right knee. "If not, well, that's cool, too."
I walked over, to stand by his side. I was amazed I could walk -- my stomach was fluttering like mad, my throat was dry, and my legs felt shaky. I had a weird mixture of curiosity, nervousness, and fear rolling around inside me.
Travis positioned himself in front of his father, a few feet away. He stood there, looking at the two of us.
"Okay, you know what to do, take 'em down," Max said, looking at me with calm and steady eyes. His voice was soothing, or maybe reassuring is the word I'm looking for.
Part of me couldn't believe I was doing this, while another part couldn't wait. I unbuttoned and unzipped my jeans -- then I slid down my pants and underwear, all at once. I noticed that Travis watched as I did so. I was relieved to discover that it didn't feel weird at all to pull my pants down in front of the two Rottweilers.
With some help from Max, I got myself across his lap. Soon, I was in the exact same position Travis had just been in -- my chest on Max's left leg, my crotch on his right. It felt strange to be there, over a man's lap, with my butt naked and exposed -- but, oddly, it also felt good. Possibly - okay, probably - it felt good because I thought Max was kinda sexy. The older, masculine Rottweiler was turning me on, and there I was - my body against his, with my pants all down, his hand on my lower back.
I looked at Travis. Briefly, I thought about what I'd just seen, Travis on Max's lap, his ass exposed and getting spanked.
I realized I could feel Max's body heat radiating into me, as I lay there. Was that why Max's legs, his jeans, felt so warm? Or were the jeans still warm because Travis' body had just been there a moment ago?
"Ready?" Max asked, softly.
I was actually going to get a spanking. Not only that, but a spanking on my bare fur, as well, with my jeans and underwear pulled down. And, in addition, we were in a restroom -- someone could walk in, and watch, just as I had walked in and watched Travis take his bare bottom punishment.
Trying to steady myself, I inhaled, took in a deep breath. Doing so, I got the smell of Max in my nostrils, and it was raw and sexy. He wasn't wearing cologne. I got a whiff of his deodorant. I could smell his sweat, sharp and musky.
The spanking probably only lasted a few minutes. Ten minutes, at most? I guess? It's hard to sense the passage of time during something like this.
It felt like it lasted hours.
When I think back on it, when I replay the memory in my mind, I sometimes like to imagine that it happened differently. I sometimes like to imagine that it did last for hours. I like to imagine that Max made it last, by spanking me hard, but not too hard. Sometimes, too, I like to imagine that Max paused, every once in a while, and rubbed my stinging butt, which would sooth the ache . . . and help make the punishment last longer. But that's not how it really happened.
In reality, this is how the real spanking went . . . The first blow wasn't very hard, and I wondered if Max was going to take it easy on me, perhaps because it was my first time. Or was he going to build it up, increase the strength of the smacks bit by bit until the spanking reached truly painful heights? Either way, I supposed I would find out.
My anticipation of that first blow was intense, by the way. I feared it and wanted it in equal measure. I had to force myself to relax.
The second smack was about the same, but the third stepped things up. It was harder, causing me to gasp, softly, for the first time.
After the fourth blow, I stopped counting. That fourth one stung, and I could feel a fire starting to burn.
The next few were much harder.
Spank . . . pause . . . spank.
And just like that, the spanking was suddenly much more intense. It was, also, suddenly much more real - it went from being something I'd been curious about, to something that was real and painful. Obviously, I had known it was going to hurt. For one thing, I had just watched Travis get his spanking, and that had sure looked painful. For another thing, Max hadn't asked me if I wanted a pretend spanking. Nope, this was real, and the big Rottweiler was determined to warm up my butt, as I lay across his lap with my pants down.
Max kept going, kept spanking me, and the blows got sharper and sharper. It was actually a pretty hard punishment - or, at least, that's how it seemed to my eighteen year-old self. The fire began to burn hotter and hotter, the pain got more and more overwhelming.
A sharp, stinging spank and I raised my head, gasped and inhaled.
And then the next sharp, stinging spank and I had to force my body to stay relaxed -- I didn't want to tense up. I moaned, softly, closed my eyes. Forcing myself to breath in, breath out, not clench up, I opened my eyes. I looked at Travis, as he watched, and then I looked down at the floor.
And then another painful spank, and then another. The pain was intense, and the most animal part of my brain wanted very much to get away from it, and yet . . . somewhere in there, mixed in with the burning pain, was . . . pleasure. I hadn't expected that. Was it because Max was turning me on? Was it the smell of Max, was it his body heat? Was it simply the contact, the fact that our bodies were pressed together? Was I feeling pleasure because of a combination of everything?
spank! _. . . pause . . . _spank!
Max spanked me several more times, and the pain was much greater than the pleasure . . . much greater, but . . . I tried to focus on the pleasure. It was tough. Like I said, that animal instinct to avoid pain had kicked in - my brain kept telling me to get away, get away. At the same time, however, I wanted to stay there - simply because I was enjoying the sensations of such close contact with Max. My penis was pressed up against his warm jeans, for one thing, and (briefly) I focused on that (but a distant part of my brain was worried about me getting hard). I also tried to focus on how turned on I was getting by the warmth of Max's body heat, as well as the sensation of his left hand resting on my back. And, of course, I focused on the smell of Max's fur, and the smell of his sweat - every bit of air I breathed in smelled like Max, and it was intoxicating and raw.
Max himself, that big, beefy Rottweiler, was a "big" reason (pun intended) why I felt some pleasure mixed in with the pain. I didn't think about it at the time, while this whole thing was happening . . . but, later on, I would figure out that I had wanted to be dominated by Max. I had wanted him to be my alpha. I wanted him to be in control, and that little pause between blows showed that he was for sure in control - he wasn't spanking from some raw emotion, such as anger.
And I was grateful for that little pause, as Max continued spanking me over his knee - it gave me a second to try to prepare myself for the next sharp blow. The pain - the pain was intense, as the big Rottweiler's meaty hand came down again and again, as I felt that hand spanking my bare butt.
I hadn't noticed that Travis had walked up to us, had moved up until he was right in front of us. He reached out a hand, he grabbed my shoulder and squeezed it -- it was a gesture of support. It was his way of telling me I was doing good, I could do this, I could take it.
That . . . turned out to be what I needed. Travis supporting me with just a touch, and a certain look in his eyes -- that was all I needed to realize I could get through this.
"Just a few more. They're gonna be sharp," Max said.
The next blow was like a meteor, coming in from far, far away. I gasped, moaned, almost clenched up. Two more incredibly painful spanks rained down, quickly, one after the other, and they hurt fiercely . . . I grit my teeth, closed my eyes.
After what felt like a long, long pause, Max's hand came down one last time, spanking my butt with a loud and powerful blow. The sound of it was immense.
For just a second, I lay there, over Max's lap. His left hand still rested on my back, and his warmth and his smells surrounded me. I wanted to stay there for hours.
But, eventually, I stood up, with Max's help, my ass stinging and my whole body shaking, I noticed that Travis was looking at my penis. Slowly, I raised up my underwear and my jeans.
"You took that real good, I'm proud of ya," Max told me.
At eighteen, I hadn't yet figured myself out. Who I was, and what I wanted, all that jazz. I knew I was into other males, but that was about it.
A few years later, when I was around twenty, or so, I finally realized I was a top. I also figured out that I liked being in charge - I didn't _have _to be, but I preferred it. However . . . the memory of Max, and the spanking, would always be with me. Even though I turned into someone who preferred being the alpha, I always had the memory of wanting to be dominated by Max.
And so, in my twenties and thirties, I would - not very often, just once in awhile - look for someone to dominate me.
Not very often, maybe just a few times a year - I would find a big, beefy Rottweiler, and I'd ask him to spank me.They'd always be either too rough, or too soft, of course, those sexy Rottweilers. They'd either spank me too hard or too gently - because that's how things go, right? Nothing is ever as good as the first time.
Not that it matters. I have the memory of that day, in that bathroom, with Travis and Max. I have the fantasies that sprang out of the experience. I have the knowledge, about myself, that I learned that day - though it would take me some time to figure it out.
A million years ago, it feels like, and yet . . . I can still see that gleam in Max's eyes.