I spent my eighteenth summer at a private camp in the Adirondacks as a Counselor-In-Training. As a C. I.T. you got room and board, a great deal of free time, use of all the fabulous facilities, participation in any of the camp programs, and this being the last summer before college, being a C. I.T. seemed an ideal fit; here was some responsibility but also much opportunity for play. There was a surplus of pretty girls and hunky boy C. I.T. s and all in all it seemed a cushy deal for young men like me who were overflowing with energy, enthusiasm, and testosterone.
It was one of those private camps with an Indian name with a loyal following of overprivileged city kids. It had a great program of athletics and activities, and every summer concluded with a highly competitive Color War.
There was an orientation day held weeks before the beginning of camp. In the city, at the house of the director, I heard about Mathew. He had been the infamous counselor of the oldest boys' bunk for many summers and it was well known that each summer the dozen thirteen year old boys unlucky enough to be his campers were subject to his particular brand of discipline. Each day of the fifty-six days that comprised a summer season, demerits would be handed out during the day for wrongdoings: in the lake without a buddy=five demerits; late for lunch=two demerits; striking out at the baseball plate=one demerit; sloppy bed=six demerits; and so on. At the end of a day, the demerits would be added up and the camper with the greatest number of demerits would be paddled on the bare ass!
The summer that I arrived, Mathew was promoted from counselor of the oldest boys to the post of supervising the male C. I.T. s. That meant he was to be our overseer, our superior, our immediate boss. Matters of discipline regarding the C. I.T. s were to be his province and his alone. The rumor and speculation was that he planned to use the same demerit/paddle system on the C. I.T. boys. There were those that said that couldn't be. Mathew was bound to treat us differently, with more respect, more like equals. After all, the C. I.T. s were eighteen for the most part. Bare bottom paddling was for kids, these few maintained. How wrong they were.
Shortly before I was to go to camp I described Mathew's methods to my parents. I still remember Mom and Dad talking to my friend Ronnie's parents, who were German, and who shared my family's views about child rearing. Ronnie had had Mathew as a counselor some summers ago and got well acquainted with Mathew's spanking rituals at the end of every day. The adults extolled Mat's paddling system as giving us "the kind of discipline that boys needed!" In fact, my folks thoroughly approved. They made this abundantly clear to Mathew when they dropped me off on that fateful day in July. I was mortified. I still remember the gleam in Mat's eye when he playfully slapped my bare tush later that day when I was on the way to the showers.
To my utter amazement, that same first day demerits were handed out by Mathew to us C. I.T. s! We couldn't believe it. He was going to treat us the way he had dealt with the thirteen year olds. We protested, fervently, but Mathew said that each one of us could either accept his methods and his authority or we could pack up and go home. No one left. So began our summer with Mathew.
That first night, Kevin, without doubt the best looking guy among the eight of us, accrued the largest number of demerits. A few of the guys knew Kevin from previous summers as a real trouble maker as well as having the honor of being the most coveted boy by the girls in camp, many who had mad crushes on him. He had a really cute, atletic body, smooth, light blonde down covered from the waist down and virtually hairless above, and beautifully tanned, of course. Most especially, he was endowed with one of those round, succulently shaped behinds that you could die for. I was immediately infatuated with him and having the same tastes then that I do now, I was absolutely enchanted by his phenomenal bottom.
Right before "lights out", Kevin, as the Bare ass Target as it was called, grasped on to his bed rail and bent over, his pajama bottoms at his ankles. We all lined up behind him and as instructed, each one of us in turn smacked Kevin's bare rear end. Mathew had made a considerable implement for our eighteen year old backsides. It was made of oak, thin but a good twelve inches long and four inches wide with a double row of holes drilled into it, sixteen holes in all. Each of us gave Kevin's naked butt one swat with this ferocious paddle right across his huddling cheeks. The last in line was Mathew himself who gave Kevin's furiously red buns five mighty swats. We also learned that first night that if you didn't hit the Bare ass Target hard enough, Mathew would have you come over to him with the paddle in your hand and he would have you yank down your pajama bottoms or underpants, put you over his knee (!) and give you a couple of real hard swats on your own bare buttocks to show you what was expected. Believe me, we all learned that first night, to spank hard. By the time Mat was delivering his five swats, Kevin had started to squirm and his gorgeous, fuzzy, crimson bottom wriggled and heaved in such a way that I almost came without touching myself. As a matter of wondrous fact, Kevin was the Bare ass Target at least several times most weeks for the duration of the summer. There was a lot of laughter from everyone and groaning from Kevin, so in a way it was good natured roughhousing. In another way we had begun a systematic regimen of real intense spanking discipline applied to a group of young men as if they were still naughty little boys.
The eighth evening it was decreed that I was to be the Bare ass Target. My demerit score had brought me close a number of times already but on this Sunday night I was the clear winner. Not only had I been found in the water after the lake was closed, but I was caught smoking pot! Mathew said that I was going to get a "jumbo" paddling because I had been so bad. What that meant was that I was to get five swats from each of the other seven C. I.T. s and then fifteen from him. I begged and pleaded that it be a regular paddling not a jumbo one. I even asked that he paddle me five nights in a row but not all at once. The first seven nights I had seen the other guys straighten up after their paddling, blushing furiously, a few with tears in their eyes, even though the whole thing was supposedly done in good fun with a lot of ragging.
The idea of fifty swats from that nasty paddle really scared me, even though I was well acquainted with corporal punishment from Dad. This was different. This wasn't a severe bare bottom spanking in the privacy of my bedroom. (Dad believed that as long as I was financially dependent on him I wasn't too old or too big to be taken over his knee.) This was a bare bottom paddling in front of the guys before whom I wanted to be accepted as a real man amongst men.
There was no reprieve; Mathew was steadfast. He wanted to make an example of me. Retrospectively, I'm sure he was turned on by spanking us. He took advantage of my bad behavior to really get into some serious paddling maybe because he had gotten the go ahead from my parents when they dropped me off. My Dad had said to Mathew, "Give it to the boy if he needs it. Don't be easy on him. He can be a real brat."
I had to drop my jockey shorts, lean over, and grasp onto the rail at the foot of my bed. My chums whistled and hooted. I can still remember how bare my tender buns felt, bent over like that, the cold country air blowing across them. I was well aware that my low hanging balls were visible between my spread legs and that bent over as I was my little ass hole was winking at everybody. I felt absolutely ridiculous.
Boy did that paddle sting! Mathew had the first two guys who paddled me howling from demonstration strokes on their own bare fannies to get the swats for this jumbo paddling hard enough. The third spanker was Kevin the little _f_u_c_k_er. After he had paddled me five times especially hard and right across the base of my rump, right where the thighs meet the cheeks, I jumped up rubbing my sore butt which was a distinct no-no. I pleaded with Mathew and said I couldn't take any more and "No kidding around" or something inane like that. Mathew's response was to come up to me and hold me down under his powerful arms for the four C. I.T. s that had yet to punish me with twenty more swats. As these twenty were delivered I danced around and wriggled madly; after each swat Mathew's arms grasped me and firmly held me back down in position for the next smack. The good humor that usually accompanied these affairs had evaporated. My now silent buddies were clearly stunned by the severity of what was happening and somehow turned on. There was just the sound of my pleading and the whacks like pistol shots as the paddle rose and fell on my naked buns.
Mathew put me over his knee and held me down with his free leg for his fifteen swats. He put his full strength behind that paddle and took his sweet time, pausing a good thirty seconds to a minute between smacks. These pauses made things even more excruciating: the extended humiliation of being over his lap for what felt like forever, dreading and waiting helplessly for each whack of the paddle, with the time to fully experience the shocking, agonizing pain spreading throughout my butt and body when it finally came, only to wait for another. I actually had started to cry by then. I was bawling like a baby when he finally finished. You have no idea, absolutely no idea how humiliating it was for me at the age of eighteen to be reduced to tears in front of the other guys. Talk about losing face!
By the time Mathew eventually left, I had regained my composure but still was overcome with shame. I couldn't bear to look at anyone. Nonetheless, I could feel the respect and compassion from the others for having earned and endured such heavy chastisement even though it was unspoken. It was like they sensed my injured pride as well as my injured rear end and felt that the less said the better I'd feel. They were right.
Their concern for my pride was short lived. After lights out, the little Italian bastard Ralphie said he wanted to look at the condition of my bottom. Said he never saw such a hard beating. Others chimed in. They all wanted to see. In spite of all my protests, I finally relented and to the cheers of my buddies, I again exposed my behind to them. Flashlights were pointed at my rump. A few of the guys came up and touched my burning fanny and rubbed it. Kevin, to my amazement and amidst the raucous laughter and jeering of the others, got into kissing my freshly spanked behind! It was as if he mistook my crimson buns for the budding breasts of his girlfriend, so tender was his ardor. I was so turned on I thought I was going to shoot. After the last flashlight went out I could hear that I was not the only guy who was jerking off. I suspected and hoped that the other boy beating his meat in the dark was Kevin. What a summer that turned out to be!
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This story was on the Foxxnet BBS in the mid-90s (author Bunburn).