Mr. Baker is a strict, no-nonsense MAN WHO SPANKS, now in his mid-50s. I am a 45 year old male still in need of sound, old-fashioned discipline. For the past seven years, Mr. B has been punishing me for my misdeeds on a relatively regular basis. Sometimes we don't see each other for several months, sometimes we see each other a couple times in the same week. What I do know is that, eventually, I will once again end up with my pants down over his knee.
A fairly typical spanking from Mr. B proceeds more or less as follows: I am sent to the corner in his bedroom to "think about it" for 5 or 10 minutes, the anticipation growing greater and greater as I come to understand the pain and shame I am soon to feel. He enters, takes me by the ear like a misbehaving schoolboy of old, and marches me to his desk chair.
He sits, opens my pants as I stand there, and lowers them and my underpants below my knees, all the while lecturing me on my particular misdeed. This lecture often lasts a couple of minutes, during which time I stand there with bottom and privates bared, the very picture of a boy about to be punished.
Mr. B. then pulls me over his lap and picks up the hairbrush. I then get anywhere from 75 to 200 rapid swats across my bare bottom with the brush, accompanied by lecturing, which is certainly enough to bring a rosy glow to my exposed rear end, along with a large amount of whining and squirming. This may seem extreme to some MEN WHO SPANK, but I am a big boy who has been spanked many times and still hasn't learned his lesson. Mr. B is only making sure he is getting thru to me from the start.
I then get sent to the corner again, this time, of course, with pants and underpants around my ankles.
After a few miserable and embarrassing moments, I'm ordered to the living room, where I'm positioned over the back of an armchair. This is one high enough that my feet are off the ground. This is the position for switching. Mr. Baker gets the switch--a finger's width around, about 3 feet long--and, again, gives me a rapid thrashing with the switch which usually goes on for several minutes, till I am kicking, crying out and bouncing over the back of the chair. I then get down and am ordered to waddle back to the bedroom, hobbled by my pants and shorts. On the way, Mr. Baker frequently stops me and tells me to bend over in the hall, where I get paddled--anywhere from 25 to 50 swats. He has a very mean paddle-- an oval, wooden one which is wrapped with chicken wire and then wrapped with duct tape. It does not cut at all but the wire sometimes leaves an impression on my bottom. I am then sent again to the corner.
Mr. Baker then orders me to take off my pants and underpants entirely and lie on the bed with a pillow under me for a strapping. He has 2 or 3 belts he uses, and the whipping goes on for several minutes, till I am unashamedly pleading not to get spanked anymore and promising to behave.
After that, I go back to the corner to think about what has happened to me. Then, in a repeat of the opening of the punishment, I get taken by the ear, turned over Mr. B's lap, and spanked with the hairbrush till I am out of control--kicking, squirming, bucking, begging and crying. Since I now have no trousers hobbling my ankles, my legs wave wildly in the air as my already stinging rump is truly set afire. I have been told by a couple men who have watched it is pretty amusing to watch somebody big as me wiggling and wailing like an 8 year old. There are "no limits" at this point. Mr. B is going to spank me till he feels certain I have learned my lesson.
When that is finally done, when I have been made to feel completely ashamed about my conduct and what it has earned me, when I have been completely transformed into a sobbing and very sorry little boy,I am then made to strip completely and stand naked in the corner for 10 minutes or so. Often, this time, I have to kneel and put my nose in the corner, which means my scalding red bottom is spread wide for whoever is there to see. It is fiery red from waist to thighes, from hip bone to hip bone, and often in the crack as well. I feel totally humiliated and properly put in my place, showing off my blazing rear end as well as my quivering boyhole, my hairy nards and dinkus dangling beneath.
After a few minutes, I may be subject to various other humiliations: a rectal temperature, a thorough posterior exam, an enema, or other things, depending on who is present and what Mr. B. feels like. Sometimes I have to go sit my burning bottom on a hemp mat on a chair and write lines. If I misbehave again, of course, I get spanked some more with proper severity..
After it is all over, either I leave or we sit, with me naked and he dressed, and talk until it is time for me to go. That decision is his to make. He has made me what I needed to be made: a properly humbled and punished boy.