| Subject: The Army/Navy Surplus Store |
Author:
Stan
| [ Next Thread |
Previous Thread |
Next Message |
Previous Message
]
Date Posted: 15:07:44 01/29/19 Tue
In the 1950s, army/navy surplus stores could be found in almost any city in the USA. They held the leftover clothing and equipment issued by the military during World War II. Because of the unusual merchandise one might find in them, they were ideal places for browsing. To me, these stores were the repository of all things "masculine". Fishing equipment and camping supplies were the most frequent customer purchases, as were rifles and other firearms.
What attracted me the most, though, were the racks of leather belts. These were not the skinny belts (1/2" wide) that were so popular then, but REAL WIDE BELTS like the kind worn by policemen, workmen, and other men who had what I considered masculine occupations. They were known as "garrison" belts. They came in several widths, but the widest ones, which were 1-3/4" wide, interested me the most. I would try them on and get a hard-on, feeling the firm wide leather tightly wrapped around my waist. I would check out how I looked wearing a wide garrison belt in one of the full-length mirrors you could always find in these stores. Those belts were so wide, it almost felt like I was trying on a cowboy's gun belt, calling undue attention to myself. Eventually, I would become self-conscious and leave the store without having made a purchase. I guess I was still not totally comfortable with that image of myself wearing a wide garrison belt. I was not quite ready to join that exclusive all-male fraternity. But then, a week later, I'd be drawn back to the same store again and repeat my compulsive "ritual" at the belt rack.
One time, when I was in a surplus store trying on a garrison belt, the store owner, a middle-aged man, walked over to me. He said, "Young man! I see you have good taste when it comes to belts. We only carry belts made for real men in this store. We don't stock those wimpy skinny belts that the high school kids are all wearing now." Then, he approached unusually close to me and said, "As you can see, I wear a wide garrison belt myself". I looked down at his waist. His hands were hooked around the large rectangular buckle, drawing my attention to his belt. To my mind, any man wearing a garrison belt automatically commanded attention and respect. He asked me if I would like to wear a belt just like his, and I replied, "Yes, Sir". He said, "I don't allow my customers to purchase a garrison belt with money. In my store, a man must EARN his own garrison belt by taking 50 LASHES with my belt! And you impress me as being that kind of man. Wearing a garrison belt is a sign that you have reached manhood. You have to earn the right to wear it. Come back to my store just before closing time if you really want that belt. Well, what do you say?" I wanted a garrison belt so bad that I threw caution to the winds and agreed to his terms. I showed up at his store about 10 minutes before closing time. He announced to the remaining customers that the store was closing up, but he quietly told me, "YOU can stay!" Then, after the last customer had left, he locked the doors and fastened the shutters over the windows. An eerie silence fell over the large room, but that silence wouldn't last for very long.
The store owner told me to take off all my clothes. Then, he tied me up so that my body was stretched across one of the wider aisles. My hands were tied to restraints at the top of a pair of vertical wooden posts, and my feet were tied to restraints at the base of those posts. Then, he asked me if I was ready to "earn" my own garrison belt, as there would be no turning back later on. I hesitantly nodded yes. He then stood directly in front of me so that my attention was totally focused on what he was doing. He unbuckled his belt, pulled it out of the belt loops of his pants, and doubled it over threateningly. He looked very manly as he was preparing to punish me, and I imagined he would impart some of that manliness to me with his belt. He walked toward my left side, positioning himself for my whipping. My parents had never punished me with a belt. So, when the very first lash struck my butt, I was totally unprepared for the brutal intensity of the pain it delivered. And the pain only got worse with each succeeding lash! Before I had even received 10 lashes, I was pleading with him to stop the punishment, but he told me it was too late to back out now! I yelled each time his belt struck my butt, and I cried as the burning pain mounted. I yanked on the restraints that held me captive, desperately trying to free myself, but there was no escape from the BELT. I thought I'd pass out from the pain, sparing me some of the agony, but I had no such luck. Each lash felt like a lightning bolt, delivering a shock of excruciating pain to my entire body.
After the final lash, the store owner put his belt back into the belt loops of his pants. I was still crying. Then, he approached me from the rear and wrapped his arms around me, as if to comfort me. When I felt the cold metal of his large belt buckle pressing against my burning ass, my dick suddenly got hard. My body had never responded like that to a man before. Then, the store owner wrapped his warm right hand around my dick and squeezed it tightly. He jerked it off, causing me to release my cum. Then, he said, "You have earned the right to wear a garrison belt now." He released me from the restraints and told me it was time to go over to the belt rack and pick out my own garrison belt. Afterwards, he said, "Every time you put on that belt, you will be reminded of the very first belt whipping you got in my store".
As I was leaving his store, the owner said something that mystified me. He told me I was welcome to return to his store, at any time, for any reason. Although I wasn't aware of it then, he somehow knew that I would eventually experience the need to be tied up again and to feel the sting of his belt once more. And that time came sooner than I expected. Hardly a month had passed by, when I went back to his store and told him, with some trepidation, that I needed to be punished with his belt again. He willingly obliged me that very evening. After I was tied up and receiving my second belt whipping, I wondered why I had this strange "need" because my only thought during that whipping was, "When were those horribly painful lashes going to end?"
For the curious, this story was a complete fantasy, except for my "ritual" at the belt rack.
[
Next Thread |
Previous Thread |
Next Message |
Previous Message
] |
|
Feedback: 