note: This is posted in reply to several recent requests concerning a trip to Italy. It is factual and as it happened. Readers who are not aware of some of the names, like Alejandro, can find them in the "Dear James" letters, letters to and from an English University boy who still lives in London, though he has a older, retired "gentleman" (disciplinarian) who also still lives in an old Manor estate in the English Countryside. These are all non-fiction postings, all based on real situations and persons , as strange as it may all seem. Cal
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We'd arrived in Rome after then journey from the Far East and been there about a week, catching up on business, looking at a new deal, and basically just enjoying the friendship of Alejandro, a good old friend from Madrid. Really, nothing much happened for several days as I did business (as did Alejandro).
Alejandro and I had planned to go up to his friend's vineyards near Gallese for Saturday, then his wife and I would meet me on the train and, as the Hollywood crowd likes to say, "do" Florence (she's an art expert apparently who also does some teaching in Art History in Madrid) with Alejandro returning to Rome.
I learned from his wife -- who's name is Ana (sp?), but whom everyone refers to as La Donna (sp?) - that Alejandro is an informal advisor on EU/agribusiness and holds a title that he just doesn't like art or Florence!
Anyway, then during dinner one night when Alejandro somewhat abruptly took both his nephews from the table up to their Suite, she said something like: "Don't look so concerned. He's not going to paddle them now." I smiled a bit embarrassed but then she added, "At least not too hard."
Ana smiled broadly and continued, "You know in past days, private schools and Priests or Nuns instilled discipline and rules with an understanding of repentance and absolution in younger generations, but today, though some Priests still will, with more modern notions ruling our society, young people never learn these things to instill discipline in their lives. Alejandro's disciplined both of the boys for most of their lives, and I understand you have upon occasion as well, and look how well especially Guiermo's turned out. He's splendidly prepared for leading the Group when Alejandro's too old and Juan will get there eventually too. More parents should be like Alejandro."
Her's was a statement. I only nodded. I had no idea what she and Alejandro agreed and might not have agreed about and, to be honest, I didn't want to know either!
About that time waiters came, cleared some things, brought out a wonderful looking cake-like thing, and then Alejandro and the two boys returned to the table with no reason given for their absence. Each of the boy's eyes looked maybe just a little red, but there was no possibly way he could have spanked the two of them that quickly. Still they sat at the table rigidly, quietly, and looked down throughout the rest of the evening.
The next day just Alejandro and I took the train up at my insistence, preferring that to the driver driven Mercedes that always went too fast for my comfort. Anyway, the train's a nice one with a very good dining car and a good lunch is about as long as it takes to get there, so why not?
Alejandro's friend who owned the vineyard up in the hills outside Gallese was an Italian, middle-aged, quite fat and bald, but jolly humoured and very gracious as a host. From what I saw most of the grapes must come from some other location to make all the bottles he had aging there?
During his grand tour as walked with a golden handled cane, he pointed out one farm worker, stripped to his waist and glistening with sweat over his superb body chopping fence logs. He called him over and the lad bounded up to us. He was more olive skinned but he had a full hear of black ringlets and beautiful black eyes. He arrived wiping sweat from his brow and smiling broadly as he was introduced to Alejandro and myself. The host asked the boy -- who seemed not to speak Italian -- why he had "broken the rules" last Monday, I think it was. The boy related in basic English with some French words a tale of a flat tire on a scooter causing his delay and didn't seem concerned. The host merely took his cane and while tracing the lad's solid abdominal definition told him to come to him after dinner "to settle it" (in English) and the lad, responding "Yes, Sir," acted like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Watching the lad turn with sweat still glistening on his bare shoulders and back and falling down to dampen his oversized work slacks, there was only promise to visualize as he went back to his fencing unconcerned. I hoped our host had in mind what I knew we might enjoy watching. Alejandro's friends have never been a disappointment yet. Turns out the lad's from Tunis, where the host also has a place (and the boy was of French Tunisian background, about 25).
The host seemed like something out of a Feline flick, almost stumbling along with his very expensive looking walking stick. He added with a smile that he "enjoys giving the North Africans a chance" but that "these boys and girls need more education always." Then slowly walking along the path he added enticingly, "You'll see what I mean later."
Coincidentally, it turns out the host also has a connection with a vineyard in the Napa Valley. Turned out the guy has a real school for these workers from the place in Tunis (he's got maybe 25 boys and gals of varying ages above 13 years) where they attend school mornings before work and evenings after work and that includes the maids in his house, etc. The guy sees himself as providing a good opportunity and an education for these worker's futures, and genuinely so. He constantly almost lectured about it, but he is also clearly a firm believer in corporal punishment and an affectionate. My hopes rose for the evening but dinner was not less than six hours away.
Anyways, our host took a nap after our tour, leaving Alejandro and me sitting and talking until around 21:00 dinner
After a long, somewhat boring, meal with the host going on and on, it was not until he was sipping cognac and a bit to the winds when there was a soft knock on the door and the field boy entered quietly, dressed identically as he had this afternoon, and, unacknowledged by our host who didn't even pause in his lecture on some fine point of wine making to look at him, the lad came in quietly and stood beside him at the table. It was if he was a messenger waiting for a pause in the conversation to offer a message.
Still, our host did not even look at the lad as he continued talking to us while simply reaching over, untying the cord on the boy's pants and taking, no, pulling, the boy's slacks and boxer shorts completely down to the floor as the boy stood there at the table, in front of us all.
The lad, acting as if this were the most natural thing in the world, slowly and simply folded his arms in front of himself and stood tall proudly. Possibly there was a slight smirk on his wet lips as he stood there knowing the way he was standing left him completely open to view, but he showed no reaction as his "at ease" pecker and nuts came out into full view by Alejandro and myself sitting there at the table. It was impossible not to stare at him in his almost natural nakedness..
It was as if the boy was staring at some hidden spot on the wall across the room, looking at something and thinking to himself, without a care in the world that he had been completely exposed in front of two men he did not know. The boy never looked at us, just stood there with his arms crossed over his chest, then when the host touched his bun, he stepped out of his slacks and briefs leaving him only in his field shoes and socks. He stood there tall and proudly, as if waiting as if he had comfortably done this before and would surely do it again, in all his youthful masculine glory, displaying a superior physique, tan above his pants but living pure with an unblemished olive glow below, with good abs and firm thighs truly etched from good hard field work. Minimal black pubic hair offered him no protection for any eyes, but he was unconcerned, proud, nature, just waiting patiently there at the table beside our host.
The display was magnificently unbelievable as he stood there quietly, arms crossed over his chest, staring straight forward, as if a guest at a dinner party waiting to be introduced and without any concerned about his brash nudity showing all he had beside the host, who paid him absolutely no attention, nor did one servant who was clearing the table. He had been told to be there then, to present himself, so things could be taken care of. It was no big deal for him. He was unashamed, unembarrassed, and clearly used to it. More than that. He was proud of himself and his naked body. This may be the host, the owners, little thing, but for the boy, he was unaffected. His mind was elsewhere.
For me, it was like nothing I'd seen before.
No one paid him any attention. He simply stood there! He must have known how exceptionally fine he looked. He certainly showed no signs of embarrassment.
Then, following the table's clearing and the host's pouring more cognac, the servant brought a wooden paddle and placed it on the table in front of the owner and host. Still without looking at or acknowledging the boy in any way, our host reached over, grabbed the boy by his upper inner left thigh, tugging him closer by his hand between the boy's bare thighs.
The boy remained silent and offered no resistance. He still continued to keep his arms cross over his chest and he still looked blankly and straight ahead. His balls with tightly constricted on his body, his _c_o_c_k_ was, if anything, shrinking.
Then the host pushed back his dinner chair a bit, took hold of the lad's bare bottom, and guided him across his lap (still never looking at him or acknowledging him nor pausing in his interminable story).
With the boy wiggling for balance and the man adjusting his position, only then did he stop talking and looked at the fine young male bare bottom across his lap, ran his hands over it and its upper thighs.
"He's a fine one, isn't he?" he asked rhetorically
The room was silent. No one was left in the room except Alejandro and myself and the boy, naked over the owner's lap.
Certainly our host was right. The boy was well packed, compliant, and fully obedient as if this were the most normal thing in the world.
Then our host picked up that paddle, brought it down hard, shattering the room silence and paddled the boy. The overweight Italian man, huffing and puffing soon, seemed to be paddling the boy very well, given the red marks left by the descending paddle, but the boy remained basically stoic every time his face jerked toward me, thought a few times his face grimaced briefly in pain and he let out an "ouch" or something similar in what I think was French. His legs still in his shoes and socks moved around jerking wildly and his tight fair young bottom clenched firmly with each swat.
After sometime, maybe 15 minutes or so, the boy's full but tight bare bottom was red but he was still stoically staring -- no serious whimpers, tears, pleas, nothing but "ah's and ouch's"! The host seem pleased with his red bottom, in which he took great interest while commenting on it's hot feel to us and the boy's learning to obey the rules to him. But the boy remained fairly unaffected from what I could see, though the host seemed utterly exhausted.
Then very surprisingly he ask me if I would like to spank him?
Sure! Why not? And I did as I took the lad, who walked over proudly to me then smiling and laid himself across my own lap unconcerned.
I spanked him first with my hand until whimpers and "ah's" and "oh's" began more earnestly and his long muscular thighs and legs began really dancing. I've been at this long enough to know when a boy's playing with you and really needs a good spanking from a man. As you know, this is the kind of challenge I really enjoy and I was happy to oblige. My hand gave it to him and I'm sure in places where he'd never been spanked before.
His concern had increased noticeably now. When his smile left, I switched to that paddle until the tears began in earnest as I blistered his bottom with it and his real spanking began, then after a while, returned to my hand, taking the lad back to his childhood and providing a real lesson. The boy was beautiful to spank, especially as he had no fear at all and clearly was not anticipating, nor used to anything like what I gave him. His bare bottom flayed wildly as I turned it scarlet and his cries turned to genuine tears, promises, and pleas as I continued. With the boy draped over my lap in tears, the host started talking to him calling him "my fine one" and "my little one."
"Do what you want with him," our host said abruptly.
Then he just got up and left, taking Alejandro with him, as the boy still hung over my lap sobbing openly and freely, dejected, but wiggling openly in a way that told me he'd been needing this for a long time coming. Often boys know they need their bottoms spanked but don't know how or are afraid to ask. This one had gotten it, at least for now.
While the host had left some marks when he paddled him, I had left none.
I sat alone in that dining room then with the lad hung crying over my lap as I caressed his very red bare bottom with the paddle I'd just used on it. As we were alone and the house was quiet I just let him hang there privately. Every time I touched his bare bottom to feel the heat while I continued thinking about giving him more, he wept further. He'd be a good boy for me, I felt sure!
For the next full day and until I departed for the train the following morning, the lad remained at my side, his eyes blood shoot and his bottom glowing under his loose slacks.
Our host not only approved, but encouraged me to spank him more, saying it was a good object for the others who would certainly hear rumours.
Fine for me!
All in all, a great time for which I thanked our host profusely. The host had offered him to accompany us for the rest of my time in Italy, but, I turned it down regretfully. Instead, I limited myself to keeping the lad's bottom nicely red under those pants to insure he remembered and I left knowing I'd experienced something special. The host told me at the station he'd never seen the lad cry before. I looked at the boy when the host said that and watched his embarrassment. Sometimes youths need spanking. They need to cry. Loud. Tears. Round, red bare bottoms. This one did for sure. I'd spanked him before coming to the station and both he and I knew he was very red. The train pulled in while I looked at him standing there. His face seemed to have a look of relief on it at my departure. In some ways I regretted leaving but had a schedule to keep (unfortunately). Still with that lad at the Station, I hope I can return sometime, someday. Interestingly, at least to me, he has written the old fashioned way, by aereogram.
(to be continued. . .)