Bible College Blistering Part Deux Tawser rleehistory@yahoo. com
What some people won't do, just to get a job! Here I was, a 32 year old librarian, over the knees of a pissed of Christian fundamentalist, naked from the waist down and getting my bare butt blistered with the devil's own ping pong paddle, like a naughty ten year old. No, not like a naughty ten year old. No ten year old could ever take the punishment Mr. Redstern was inflicting on my poor backside. This man knew how to beat a butt! But then why shouldn't he? He had been warming the bare bottoms of students and co-workers for some time. He was a man who loved his job. Even in the midst of all my squirming, kicking, and yelling, I could not help but admire the sheer artistry with which he was taking all the skin off my rump.
The first crack of the paddle across my rear was a real revelation. I had never been spanked before and had no idea how much it was going to hurt. The ping pong paddle did not look all that formidable. But I learned quickly that a man's ass is lined with sensitive nerve endings that don't take it kindly when a piece of polished wood wallops them rapidly, repeatedly and at full force. (Mr. Redstern did not believe in warm ups.) MY nerve endings certainly didn't take it kindly. And their objections were voiced in loud shouts of pain and protest, begging Mr. Redstern for mercy. Thank God the punishment room at Bathed in the Blood Bible College is well padded. I'm not big on stoicism where pain is involved. The hard wood of the chair in Mr. Redstern's office made me squirm, for Christ's sake, and it wasn't playing a tune loudly on my bare behind! But mercy wasn't on Mr. Redstern's mind. The paddle just continued to rise and fall, never failing to reach its blistering target, no matter how much I tried to do the Twist across his lap. (My chubby cheeks, not Chubby Checker, were the entertainment for the morning. I have a big white butt, fleshy but not fat, and Mr. Redstern loved coloring the entire surface of it a deep, dark red.) He spanked my broad backside like a man with a mission, in this case demonstrating to me the error of lying on a job application. I could almost feel the blisters forming on the surface of my rear end.
"Please sir, for God's sake pity my poor ass!" SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! "OWWWWWWW!!!! ARRGGHHHH!!!! JEEEEEEEESUS!!!" I don't know if I was praying or blaspheming, probably a little of both. But Mr. Redstern paid no attention at all to my pleas or prayers. At that moment, my butt was the god of his idolatry, and he was worshipping it with all the fervor at his command.
In the beginning he paddled methodically, first the right cheek, then the left. He creamed one buttock, causing it to cringe from the pain, and then the other one would lift up as if on cue, in time to receive a hard wooden "kiss." OWWWWW!!! I was rocking back and forth on his lap throughout this whole painful, humiliating procedure. When both buttocks were nicely baked, he concentrated on one cheek at a time, smacking it again and again and again, then moving on to the next and repeating the procedure. Every time I thought I couldn't possibly be in greater pain, he proved me wrong, and he LOVED proving me wrong. The pain was excruciating, and my terror only served to increase it. "Relax son," he told me at one point. "Fighting it only makes it hurt worse." But I couldn't relax. I had never hurt like that before in my whole life. And yet, each time the paddle spanked them, my butt just seemed to bounce back, ready and waiting and even eager for the next "kiss" of the wood. Why, oh why had the good Lord given men rear ends that were able to take so much punishment?
Mr. Redstern's right arm was placed firmly around my waist. He was one hell of a powerful librarian. I tried to reach back with my right hand, but he let go of my waist just long enough to take firm hold of my hand, which he pressed down hard against the small of my back. He leaned down on me to keep me in place. I wasn't going anywhere, not until Mr. Redstern was convinced I was a new man, with a butt as multicolored as the sunset. My legs and bare feet kicked the air as if I were riding a bicycle, but no matter how hard I rode the air, I was still in the same place, the place I least wanted to be in the whole world. I was helpless, and unable to avert the escalating fire that now raged across my suffering rump. For the first couple of minutes of punishment, Mr. Redstern said nothing. He let his paddle do all the talking, and it was VERY communicative. Then he started to speak. He was huffing and puffing, but he maintained the same soft, firm polite tone I remembered from his office. Apart from the awful racket of the ping pong paddle smacking my fanny, and my howls, you would swear we were still in his office, discussing my future with the college.
"I wouldn't be surprised if at first you expected me to whip your bare bottom with my 'bible belt.' But that is not the tradition here. We believe that there is nothing like wood to get a boy's attention. And it looks as if I have yours now, don't I, son? (SMACK!!! SMACK!!! SMACK!!! OWWWWWWW!!!) Don't think I don't know exactly what you are going through son. I do. I have been in the position you are in now many times, both as a boy and as a man. I don't think it is possible to give a good spanking unless you know what one feels like, and I do. My daddy was a preacher of the gospel, and his favorite text was from Proverbs. I think you know which one I mean. Frankly, he wasn't much of a preacher, except to us boys. He did his best sermonizing out in the woodshed on the farm, with me or one of my six brothers strapped down butt naked to a sawhorse. His razor strap made a mighty noise for the Lord, and we joined in too. Believe me, we joined in. Sometimes, he would strap all six of us down on separate sawhorses, and you would swear you were listening to a veritable Beethoven symphony of pain, pain mixed with praise to the good Lord for the effective chastening of his errant children. Yes indeed my daddy was a loser in most respects, but put a strap in his hand and he was anointed with the Holy Ghost. He anointed our butts too, but with the strap, not with the Spirit. You ever been "anointed" till the blood runs down your leg and you can't sit down for a week, son? It smarts a bit. I don't mind telling you."
"You think this ping pong paddle is a mite uncomfortable when it is used to beat some sense into your bare bottom? You should feel a razor strap across your naked tail. Compared to that, what you are going through now feels like a barefoot stroll through the daisies. Yes indeed. Some Sunday afternoon after church I will invite you over to my house. When my daddy died, I inherited that razor strap. None of my other brothers wanted it. I guess they just aren't as sentimental as I am. The two of us will have a nice sit down after church, just you and me, and after coffee and cake, I will take you down into my basement, strap you down over that sawhorse (I inherited that too you see) and wear your bare butt out with that razor strap until you CAN'T sit down. Not for a few days at least. I'll have you singing psalms you never even heard of, psalms that are nowhere to be found in the scriptures, but that every bad boy knows by heart. That should give you something to look forward to. You are SOOOO musical, son. I just love that about you."
"But judging from the way you are carrying on, I don't think you are ready for the razor strap. This ping pong paddle seems perfectly effective for the purpose of improving your morals. You have one of the most sensitive butts I have ever tanned, son. I never spanked such a big, sensitive butt before. And I have to confess, I LOVE tanning a big, sensitive butt. Its so much more rewarding when the boy lets me know how he feels about getting his butt blistered all to blazes. I can be sure I am making a real impression on his ....mind. What's the point of giving a spanking if you can't be sure it is doing some real good? Most of the students here try to keep it all bottled up inside, and I have to SPANK [OWWWW!!!!!] and SPANK [PLEEEAAAASE!!!] and SPANK [LORD, SAVE MY POOR BUTT FROM THIS FIERY HELL!!!] and SPANK [JEEESUS!!!], just to get a reaction. That requires so much time and effort. (Not that I am unwilling to making the effort when a young man's salvation is at stake.) There are students here who would be ashamed to make such a fuss over the light spanking you are getting now. Just last week I had Todd, that cute boy you met in the library, over my knee for at least a good half hour's lesson with the hairbrush, and he didn't make nearly as much noise as you are now. He thought he could take it like a man but I showed him otherwise. His little butt was black and blue afterwards, and he sat on my lap after his spanking crying on my shoulder and telling me how sorry he was for using a pen instead of a pencil in the library. Of course, he's been getting his butt whipped a lot longer than you have. His ass is like leather. His daddy is a preacher of the Word, just like mine was. Hell, you would think I was taking an electric cattle prod to your ass (which I would never do. That's abusive). I can see I am going to have to spend a lot of time putting a few layers of strong man hide on this sensitive butt of yours. But don't worry, son. I can do it. You have more than a boss, you have a daddy! now, a daddy who knows his duty and is not afraid to carry it out, as often as it takes and as long as it takes."
"I know that now it is probably hard for you to believe, but after a while you will get used to this little paddle. It won't scare you as much, and then it will be time to move on to more serious methods of correction, like the razor strap. Right now your delicate hind quarters are so sensitive that even these few love taps are enough to keep you in line, but as you become more accustomed to regular, bare bottomed, biblical discipline you will require sterner measures and more severe punishment. You'll understand me better when I take the fraternity paddle to your behind. I think you will agree that the pain it inflicts is very different from the pain of this ping pong paddle, and far more difficult to take. (But you WILL take it.) Every implement of correction inflicts its own special kind of pain. And I want you to learn about them all. You WILL learn about them all."
"Yes indeed son I know we just met, but I am already mighty fond of you. I think we are going to develop a close, even intimate, relationship, and I don't just mean here at work. I've got a spare room at home that would be just perfect for you. After work tonight we can go collect your things and I will help you get settled in. Son, I've spanked dozens of bare bottoms since I first took this job, but yours is special. I already think of you as a son, and who knows, maybe when I retire I will leave this job and the cupboard and the sawhorse and the razor strap to you, and you can carry on the godly tradition of beating the bare bottoms of bad boys and wicked men. Believe me, it is an honorable, not to mention satisfying, vocation. I can honestly state that I know very few people who enjoy their work as much as I do. You see, son, I am not very good at putting feelings into words, but the truth is, I believe I am falling in love with you." And to show me how much he cared, he took a deep breath, raised the paddle high above his head, and brought it down as hard as he could across my battered buns. I screamed in surprise at this declaration of affection. Yes indeed. Mr. Redstern was in love. And I had the blisters to prove it.
Throughout this little speech he continued to roast my rump, and I continued to howl and squirm and do the lap dance like a ten year old. It is hard to form thoughts while your ass is being pulverized, but I had the distinct impression Mr. Redstern was proposing marriage. I never considered myself the marrying kind, and even if I had, this was the strangest proposal I ever heard. But I was hardly in a position to refuse. At that moment, I would have done anything he asked, just to get him to stop frying my rear end. It was all too much to take.
Furthermore, something was going on inside of me during that spanking, something I never would have thought possible. As awful as it was, I have to admit that somehow it also felt natural, as if this were where I belonged. And I came to an important realization, one that would change my whole life forever. I wasn't a man at all, even if I was 32. I was a boy who had been pretending for far too long that he was a man, and Mr. Redstern was restoring me to my rightful place in the universe, bare bottomed over his knee, getting a long hard spanking. The combination of that light bulb going off in my head and the fire raging in my rear end (not to mention Mr. Redstern's declaration of love) finally brought me to the breaking point. I stopped kicking and shouting and just lay there, submitting to the punishment I now knew I needed and deserved. Soon, the howls turned into sobs, gut-wrenching sobs that seemed to come from deep down inside me, from a place I didn't even know existed. I can't remember the last time I cried like that, if I ever did before. Mr. Redstern recognized the change in me, and saw in it the opportunity he had been waiting for. He redoubled his efforts during the last agonizing minutes of the ping pong paddle spanking. With that little paddle of his, it was as if he were removing all traces of the person I had been when I arrived for the interview in the morning. When he finally let me up off his knee, I was his boy and he was my daddy, forever. I loved Mr. Redstern.
He let me up and I just sat on his lap and sobbed while he held me close and comforted me. As weird as it sounds, I had never felt so loved before in my whole life. My dad never paid much attention to me. Hell, no older man had ever paid as much attention to me as Mr. Redstern had that morning. It wasn't exactly the kind of support and affirmation I always dreamed of, but it sure beat neglect and indifference. And all the guilt I ever felt over being such a screw up disappeared too. It was like I was a new man about to get a new start in life. I felt so _d_a_m_n_ed good, at least from the waist up. I wanted to thank Mr. Redstern for what he had done for me and the next thing I knew, my tounge was deep down his throat. I have never felt that kind of raw passion before in my life, and I don't believe he had either. We kissed like animals in heat for several scorching minutes, right there in the punishment room next to the chapel of Bathed in the Blood Bible College. He threw the ping pong paddle down on the floor and his hands roughly massaged my tortured buns. The pain of his touch caused me to plunge my tounge even deeper down his throat. But Mr. Redstern wasn't quite through "courting" me yet. I still had the session with the fraternity paddle to live through. (If this is the courtship, what will the honeymoon be like? I shuddered at the thought, and clenched my blazing cheeks and kissed him harder.)
After a few minutes, Mr. Redstern removed his tounge reluctantly but firmly from my throat and very quietly told me to stand up and get ready for the remainder of my punishment. I got off his lap and he stood up. He picked up the fraternity paddle, turned the chair around, and told me to bend over it, as far as I could, with my legs spread wide apart. I did as I was told, even though I was cold with fear. He calmly announced that I was to receive thirty two licks with the fraternity paddle. I was to count them out, and after every one, I was to thank him and Jesus for loving me so much. The cool wood floor felt good beneath my bare feet again and the contrast with the blazing fire in my rear end was very _s_e_x_y. But I wasn't thinking about getting off at that moment. I was just wondering how I was going to make it through what promised to be the most agonizing minutes of my entire life. And I wasn't wrong about that either.
I presented my butt to Mr. Redstern as bravely as I could, but I was scared to death. A minute passed, as he pondered my rear end the way an artist ponders an empty canvas (which is usually white, unlike my ravaged backside) and then I heard him lift the paddle. The first crack of that enormous paddle across my bare bottom more than justified my fears. It made all the pain I had experienced earlier that morning feel like—what was Mr. Redstern's phrase—like a barefoot stroll through the daisies. The world went black, as if the pain were eliminating all traces of time and space. This was one hell of a way to test Einstein's theory of relativity. I couldn't even scream. I wanted to suck in all the air in the room, all the air in the whole world. My mind was a total blank. Reality was sheer pain. (Come to think of it, reality had always been pain for me, but not pain like this. This pain had love attached to it, and that made all the difference in the world.)
"OK. We will start again, son. You forgot to count or to thank me and Jesus."
Oh God. Please let me live through this. I couldn't believe I was actually praying. Nothing makes a believer out of a man like a bare bottomed spanking with a fraternity paddle. I am surprised the missionaries still haven't learned that.
WHACK!! "One sir. Thank you sir. Thank you Jesus."
WHACK!! "Two sir. Thank you sir. Thank you Jesus."
WHACK!! "Three sir. Thank you sir. Thank you Jesus."
KER-WAHACK!!! "Four sir. Thank you sir. Thank you Jesus."
And on it went till I had received all thirty two terrible whacks. The skin was broken in several places on my butt, and there were flecks of blood on the floor and on the blade of the paddle. By the end, my whole face was just a mass of tears and snot and drool. I was completely incoherent. I must have sounded as if I were speaking in tounges. (But I couldn't have been. Mr. Redstern was a strict evangelical, and considered Pentecostals perverted.) I don't know how I lived through it, how I managed to remain bent over with my butt sticking out for such horrible punishment, apart from the sheer determination not to make a mistake and have to start over. The only explanation I can offer is that I had no choice. There was nothing else for me to do but bend over and take it. Mr. Redstern owned me, body and soul. Furthermore, I wanted him to own me, I wanted to prove to him how much I loved him. His paddle was my god as surely as my butt was his divinity. We were both caught up in an act of worship that would change us for the rest of our lives, that would make us one forever. "You may kiss the bride now." KER-WHACK!!!
It was one hell of a way to say "I do," but we both "did" and would go on "doing" it for the next thirty years. Mr. Redstern was a better prophet than he knew. That evening, I moved into the spare room in his house. Actually, I never did sleep in the spare room. That became my punishment room. After giving me the hidings I needed, we would make passionate love in his bedroom. (There is nothing in this whole wide world like _s_e_x_ after a hard spanking.) He had a heart attack one night in the punishment room while whipping me with his daddy's old razor strap. Unfortunately, I was strapped to the sawhorse at the time. It was Todd, now a well-respected minister with three grown sons of his own, all of whom attended the college and were regular visitors to the punishment room, who found me the next day and untied me.
Mr. Redstern's memorial service was very moving. We decided to bury him with the razor strap. I just didn't have the heart to use it again after what had happened. All the men and boys at the service were in tears. There wasn't a single bottom in a single pew that didn't know how much the dearly departed had loved his work, not even the president of the college, whom Mr. Redstern had discovered in some rather dubious financial dealings. That particular punishment session was somehow captured on videotape, no one knows how to this day, and still commands a steep price whenever it shows up on e-bay, which it does from time to time. In fact, over the years, a whole series of spankings from Bathed in the Blood were filmed and sold on the net. There was a certain amount of embarrassment about this at first, until it was discovered that enrollment doubled every time a new film appeared. Now, a picture of the president's battered, bleeding bare butt, with Mr. Redstern's fraternity paddle in the process of punishing it, is on the cover of the college catalog. We get lots of requests for that catalog, and from some very strange places, like Iraq and Singapore. (God works in mysterious ways, his wonders to perform.) William Bennett even spoke at the college as a result of all the publicity, praising us for helping to save western civilization, with our firm commitment to traditional values. Mr. Bennett and Mr. Redstern had a long heart to heart in the punishment room after his speech, and when he came out, Mr. Bennett was crying like a baby, he was so moved, and walking very fast in the direction of the chapel. Mr. Redstern could be such a persuasive spank .... I mean, speaker.
The college agreed that I was the ideal candidate to take Mr. Redstern's place. I am still the head librarian at Bathed in the Blood Bible College, and still carry on the godly tradition of spanking bad boys and wicked men, just like Mr. Redstern said I would. And as he also said, nobody can give a spanking like a man who knows how to take a spanking. Amen. I am doing the Lord's work, raising up a new generation of blistered bubble butts to do His will. Now I am training one of Todd's sons to follow in my footsteps when the time comes for me to be reunited with Mr. Redstern, in that great big punishment room in the sky. Like Todd he has a bubble butt made of leather, and requires patient hours of stern bare bottomed biblical discipline, but I am gradually breaking him and teaching him to pass on the tradition. Let the circle, and the paddle, be unbroken.