Castaneda's Parable

by Aardvark51 <>

The late anthropologist, Carlos Castaneda, wrote the stories of his encounters (some say fact, some say fiction) with the Yaqui Indian sorcerer, Don Juan. Early in "Journey to Ixtlan", Castaneda and Don Juan debate the problem of Castaneda's friend's son, who is 9 and very naughty. Don Juan says he should be spanked, but the spanking will be most effective if it is done by a stranger.

This "stranger" principle has come my way twice.

In the first case, I was in correspondence with a single mother, who I met in a spanking club. Although neither of us ever got to spank the other, it emerged that she had a twelve year old son, who was getting increasingly out of hand. Her punishment technique had been to take him to his bedroom, put him over her knee, and spank him with the back of a long-handled hairbrush, over his trousers. At the age of eight or nine, this had worked, but now it no longer did so.

Eventually, we agreed that she should warn him that if he infringed in various stated ways again, she had a friend, a male, who would carry out a punishment for her - a punishment far more severe and shocking than anything he had experienced before.

For a while, young Charles responded to this threat by reining himself in, but it was not many weeks before his mother was phoning me to ask if I could call to see them the following Saturday morning.

Because I had never met Charles or his mother, arriving at their door at ten that Saturday was a nerve-racking event. But I was welcomed in by Karen and found Charles, still in bathrobe, finishing off his breakfast. He looked a solid, muscular young 12 year old, black curly hair, a florid face, brown eyes. Karen sent him to bath and to change into his best school clothes.

Over coffee, Karen said she did not want to be present for the punishment and would go out shopping - but would return to see the result. She told me that Charles knew he was in for a bare bottom punishment, was very nervous, but also accepted that he had gone way too far.

Eventually, Charles came back down, dressed in grey woollen pullover (it was winter), blue and grey diagonally striped tie, white shirt, light grey long trousers, grey socks and black shoes. Karen briefly went back over the ground with him and checked that he was going to take his punishment "like a man". He nodded tersely and she left.

I sat myself in a living room armchair and had him stand in front of me. I asked him to go back over what he had done wrong. He started out extremely nervously, but with some gentle prompting and a touch of humour on my part, he gradually relaxed - and probably ended up admitting to more than even Karen knew about. By the end of our conversation, I had achieved some rapport with him - and thought how much he needed a man in his life.

"You know your punishment is going to be on the bare backside?"


"How do you feel about that?"

"A bit scared." He'd got to the stage, even though I was to punish him, of being curiously open and trusting, like we were friends.

"OK, well I think it would be a good idea if you took off your shoes."

Strange the difference shoes make. Without them, standing in his socks, he suddenly looked quite forlorn and small.

"Now your pullover and tie."

He took off both.

"Come closer."

He stood closer.

I sat forward, unbuttoned his white shirt, untucked it from his waistband, and had him take it off. He wore a white cotton vest beneath.

"Now take your trousers off for me please, Charles."

Blushing furiously, with fumbling fingers, he undid himself, dropped his school trousers to his ankles, and hopped out of them, nearly falling over in the process. I had him in white briefs, white vest and grey ankle socks.

"OK, take the clothes you've removed upto your bedroom and put them away neatly, then come back down."

He did this. His vest and pants clung to and flattered his juvenile contours. "Good boy!" I said. "Take off your vest and give it to me please." Charles removed it quickly and handed it over.

"Now stand close again."

He stood close and I sat forward once more. I took hold of the waistband of his underpants and pulled them down to just above his knees. He looked down in dismay - I could see his considerable but still hairless dick and balls. "Take the pants off now," I said, "and give them to me."

He did so.

"Take them upstairs please, then come back down."

He came back, stark naked.

I moved to an upright chair, sat on it and put him over my knee.

I quickly smacked each arse cheek once, hard.

He winced.

I began a slow, deliberate, hard-handed spanking, spreading my hand spanks all over his bottom and upper thighs, bringing him to peaks of pain, kicking and yelling, then slowing the pace and building him up again. By the end, his bottom was bright red, he was in tears and begging me to stop - but he was not bruised.

I stood him in a corner and his mother arrived shortly afterwards to comfort him.

I kept in touch with Karen for a while. Eventually she found a good man as her partner - he also believe in bare bottom spankings - and when I last heard he and Charles were getting on well, despite or because of the occasional spanking.

The second occasion I was the stranger occurred at a hotel, where a thirteen year old boy was gratuitously rude to his single parent father. He was sent to his room, but in subsequent conversation I volunteered the view that he would benefit from a good spanking. His father said he had never done this and would be grateful if I would show him how.

When we got to young Richard's bedroom he was lying on his bed, on his stomach, watching TV, wearing red sports shorts, a white polo shirt, white socks and training shoes. He was a blonde haired boy, with smooth brown skin and blue eyes.

His father turned off the TV and announced that we were there to give him a sound bare bottom thrashing. This galvanised him into epic protests, complaints and pleading. When none of this shifted his father, Richard became melodramatically tearful and begged that at least his dignity might be preserved by being allowed to keep his shorts on.

"I think I've heard enough," his father said, and with that we pounced on the slender boy, pinned him on his back on the bed, dragged off his shoes and socks and hauled down his red shorts before pulling them off his ankles to reveal his very brief silver briefs.

For all of this, he made some resistance, but once his shorts were down, he gave up. We pulled off his shirt and slid down his briefs with no difficulty. His penis, I remember, was soft, long and thin, with just a touch of pubic hair.

I placed pillows in the centre of the bed and we had him bend across them such that his bare arse was raised up high. Then I removed my broad belt, doubled it over and started to spank his tight young buttocks. I didn't spank hard, so much as I hit often, so the build up of pain was gradual. After a while his father took over and soon Richard was howling, kicking, apologising, promising to be good, anything to release him from the sharp heat of his arse.

I had no further contact with this father and have often wondered whether the effect of the stranger was as potent as it had been with Charles.

Don Juan seems to have a good idea...

xxx xxx

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