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I played with the flesh of his bottom carefully, slowly, listening to the screams and shouts of battle outside. No one would hear. The blows of the paddle blended seamlessly with the sounds of the gunshots. I paddled the boy hard, very hard. He groaned and cried desperately, but remained in position. Occasionally I reached around and played with his cock, touching it. When I resumed the paddling it would relax him and he'd go limp. I kept this up for some time and then I began to paddle him while I played with his cock. It was evident that my touch drove him wild but the paddle subdued him. Together they made him moan in frustration. I found I was enjoying paddling the boy. I pretended he was the cook or the first mate. I even briefly made believe he was the captain. I liked seeing his round bottom turning pink under my blows, seeing his hands struggle to remain in place. I understood exactly what he felt and I relished in passing that feeling to someone else. When I decided.

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