When I first got out of a school, I shared an apartment with Bob since neither of us really had enough money to get a place of our own. Most of the time, we got along really well, and did a lot of fun things together, both inside and outside of the apartment. For the most part, Bob was pretty easy to get along with. He was good looking, a black irishman with a pretty genial personality but a quick temper. The other major difference between us was that he was really neat, and I was really not.
After a few months, Bob began to complain that I was too much of a slob. Almost every day or so, he would complain because I was leaving my stuff around and he had to pick up after me. It was really getting on his nerves and he mentioned it more and more. Finally, one night he came home from work and he was really tired, because he had worked a really long day. I had left stuff all over the place, and there was hardly even room for him to sit down. When he looked around, his face got really dark and more angry than I had ever seen him.
"Okay, Timothy, this is it!" he said.
I sort of laughed and said, what are you talking about.
"I'll show you what I'm talking about. I'm going to teach you once and for all to keep this place cleaned up."
I still sort of laughed at him. "_f_u_c_k_ you, you clean it up." As it turned out, this was not a smart thing to say. Bob walked into the kitchen and I could hear him opening one of the kitchen drawers and rummaging around in it. Just a minute later, Bob came back into the living room and he had a pancake turner, one of those large metal spatulas, in his hand. He came and sat down on the couch.
"Okay, Timothy, get over here." He said. I sort of looked at him and chuckled. I knew from our stories that his dad had sometimes spanked him with a pancake turner when he was a boy and did something wrong so I thought maybe he was playing sort of a game to get my attention. The only thing that made me a little nervous was remembering that when he got spanked, he got spanked on his bare butt.
"What are you talking about?" Bob just looked straight at me. "Either get over here and take your medicine, or get out, your choice."
After some more discussion, it became apparent that Bob was serious. I came over, thinking I could joke him out of what I thought was just a threat. When I got close, Bob grabbed my arm and quickly pulled me over his lap. He was in better shape than I from running and riding his bike and he quickly had me pinned over his lap. "Okay, Tim, either you stay here and take the spanking you have coming, or I'll just let you up and one of us will move out. Your choice?"
I laid there for a minute and decided I wanted to keep Bob for a room mate. "Okay, Bobby, I'll do better, just let me up."
Bob shook his head. "Tim, its either I pull your pants down and spank your rear with this pancake turner, or its over. Choose!"
I had no choice, really. "Okay, Bobby, give me the pancake turner" Bob unbuttoned my pants and pulled them down to my knees. Then, he took the pancake turner and started quickly spanking me with it. I was afraid that he was going to pull my shorts down and paddle my bare rear so I was sort of glad he left my underpants in place. But , I was surprised how much that thing stung. At first, I thought it was going to be a symbolic thing, but after about ten swats it was really starting to hurt and Bob was not letting up. I was starting to squirm around on his lap and try to get away but he had me pinned pretty good. Bob just kept spanking away, giving me maybe forty swats with that pancake turner. I was kicking my legs around but it didn't seem to stop it from hurting or stop him from spanking. Finally, he let me up after I promised to keep the apartment as clean as I could. When I stood up, I couldn't help rubbing my butt good, just like a little boy, but it really stung.
The very next night, Bob came home from work and checked the apartment out. To be honest, I had really not cleaned it up much at all. I had picked up a few things, and thought he would be really glad with that. Boy, was I wrong again. As soon as he looked it over, Bob took his suit coat off and laid it on the couch, and started rolling up his shirt sleeves. "Get the pancake turner out and bring it here, Timothy".
I tried to argue but he would hear none of it, and just kept repeating to bring him the pancake turner. When I reluctantly went to the kitchen and brought it to him, he just said, "Drop trou," which meant I supposed to take my pants down. He sat on the edge of the couch, took me over his knees, but this time he quickly pulled my undershorts down to my knees, then we had a repeat performance of the night before, except I was yelling a bit more since my rear was already sore This time, Bobby gave me about 50 swats with the pancake turner, all on my bare butt. Once again, I promised to clean up the place before he let me up.
Well, the next night came and I thought I did a good job of cleaning up the apartment. I put all the dishes away, and the papers and all that stuff. Bob came home and started inspecting the place like a drill sergant. He walked through the living room and kitchen and they were apparently to his satisfaction, because he didn't say anything. Then he walked into my bedroom. I hadn't done anything to clean my bedroom up. My bed was umade and there were clothers all over the place. Bob looked at me and asked me if I thought this was clean. I said, no. He asked if I understood that the apartment was supposed to be clean when he got home. I said, I thought it was pretty clean.
Bob started getting angry because he thought I was being a wise guy. I asked if he wanted me to get the pancake turner. Bob shook his head. "I don't think the pancake turner is making the impression I hoped it would." With that, Bob unbuckled his belt and pulled it off. He was wearing a black dress belt but it was about 1 1/2 inches wide and pretty thick for a dress belt. Bob doubled it up and sat on my bed, telling me to drop trou and bend over his knees. After a little initial argument, I did what he said, and I was soon in position, just like the previous two nights, with my butt laid just across his right thigh. At least he didn't pull my underwear down, since he probably thought that using a belt would make up for it. Then Bob took his doubled up belt and started whipping me really hard. I was surprised how much more it stung than the pancake turner and after only a half dozen good swats, I was yelling "Bobby, bobby, please!" But it did no good, Bob just kept laying into me with that _d_a_m_n_ belt, whacking me again and again, until I started to cry a bit. Then he looked angrily at me, and laid the belt on the bed. "are you doing to get this place cleaned up and keep it clean?" I was crying and I nodded my head. With that, Bob let me up and picked up his belt and left the room.
Well, I did keep the whole place pretty clean for a few weeks but I guess we all fall back on old habits. I did notice that the place was sort of messy again but Bob and I were going on a fishing trip with some other guys and I figured he would not pay too close attention to the condition of the apartment. I was really wrong. As soon as he got home from work, he was angry that the place was a mess. He told me he couldn't decide whether to use the pancake turner or the belt, maybe both. With that, he went into the kitchen and got the pancake turner and started to come out to the living room. Just then, the phone rang and it was our friends asking where we were. Bob put the phone down and told me I was saved by the bell but that I was going to get a real spanking when we got back.
We have a good time for a few days, drinking beers and fishing, and got along real well. Bob never mentioned anything about what was going to happen until we were driving home. We were in the shell of a pickup by ourselves, with our other friends in the cab, when Bob said, "Don't forget, as soon as we get home, you're going to get the spanking I was going to start when we left." I tried to convince him not to do it but he just shook his head. "No, I am going to spank you harder than I did before so that you won't even think for a second about not keeping the apartment clean. So drop it, or you'll get some more for arguing with me." I didn't want anything more so I dropped it.
When our friends dropped us off at our apartment, we went in and put our stuff away. Since we had drunk a good number of beers on the way home, I hoped that maybe Bob had forgotten about his promise. I realized that he didn't when he appeared in the hallway with the trustworthy pancake turner. .He gestured for me to come into his room and he sat on his bed. I knew the routine, pulled my jeans down, and laid across Bob's knees in just my jockey shorts. Once I was in position, I was stunned when Bob slipped his fingers under the band of my jockey shorts and pulled them down to my knees. Then he started spanking my bare butt with the hard metal turner. It stung a lot more than before and he gave me maybe forty swats . Then he laid the pancake turner on the bed. I started to get up but Bob told me to hold still. Then he started to unbuckle his belt. This was not a dress belt like the last time. Bob was wearing the belt he wore when he went camping or backpacking and it was a pretty heavy brown leather belt. Laying there, I could hear the tinkle of the belt buckle and I could hear it being pulled out from the loops on Bobs jeans. I was really scared. I remember a few times when we were on the trip that I had noticed the belt that Bob was wearing and was glad he was probably not going to spank me with it. Bob pulled off his old belt and doubled it up. Then he started applying it with great force to my bare butt. It made a really loud CRACK and I sort of jumped around but Bob told me to stay in place. With that, Bob began a methodical whipping, driving the belt as hard as he could into my butt. Each WHACK was followed by an "ow" or plea from me. I kept saying, Please stop, Bobby, please Bobby. But Bob didn't stop. He just kept spanking away. 25 swats. 30 swats. At this point, I was really crying and could hardly believe it was going on this long. After he got to 40 swats, I was hollering and jumping all over Bob's knee. Finally, he dropped the belt on the bed but still held me in place. "are you going to keep this place as clean as a whistle, Tim" I nodded and he let me up. I kept the apartment real clean after that.