I arrived at seven in the evening as my friend Jim had instructed. Others were already there. They had apparently enjoyed a meal and drinks before I arrived, but then they were members of the club and I was there only in the hope of joining. Jim had told me that they met once a week to exchange views about spanking and to observe demonstrations of the art, and that if I wished to join I would have to take an examination and be initiated into membership. Since spanking has always been one of my special interests, I was of course eager to participate.
The meeting was being held in a large house owned by one of the members. When I arrived the twelve of them moved from the dining room into the parlor where they told me to stand in the center of the room while they arranged chairs in a circle around me.
I was, of course, somewhat surprised when they told me, after I had agreed I would not reveal any of the events of the evening, to take off all my clothes for the examination. I had assumed it would be a written or verbal test, not a body inspection. But I complied because of my keen interest in joining the club.
Standing in the middle of the room as naked as I was the day I was born, I became somewhat embarrassed with twelve pairs of eyes staring at the most intimate parts of my body. No one said anything for some minutes and I began to shake a little from my nervousness. I had no idea what might happen next and rather bizarre images of fraternity hazings and prison violence came to my mind. I even began to wonder if I had made a terrible mistake in coming here that evening. My friend Jim was seated somewhere behind my back and so I couldn't even look at his face to get some reassurance.
Then one of the members sitting in front of me began to ask questions. "Why do you want to join this club?" was his first one.
I told him that spanking had long been an interest of mine, that I was fascinated by spanking scenes in books and movies, and that whenever conversations with friends turned to this subject my interest perked up. I also told him that I had never had any personal experience with being spanked because my parents were opposed to corporal punishment and that I, myself, would never inflict such on a child, but that as an adult, I would be quite willing to be spanked and that I was certainly interested in seeing other adults treated in this way.
He then began to ask me for specifics about what spanking scenes from literature and art were the most exciting to me and why. His questions pushed further and further into my half-forgotten childhood memories and the fantasies of spanking scenes that turned me on. The more questions I answered, the more surprised I became at how readily I was revealing such long-hidden thoughts. But, in my vulnerable nakedness before all the others, I also realized that I was probably becoming rather red in the face from embarrassment.
Eventually my interrogator asked the others if they had any questions for me and several of them began to probe even deeper into various areas about which I had already said something. By the time this examination was finished, I felt more than just naked. It was as if I had been stripped bare in my mind as well as my body by this group I had hardly even met yet. Smiles on some of the faces suggested that the others were enjoying my predicament.
Questions completed, one of the members rose from his seat and brought me a pencil and pad of paper. "Write down twelve things on this that you feel guilty about, or that you regret for some reason," he told me.
I started to do so and then began wonder how long this process could go on, as I racked my brain to hunt for twelve things I had done that made me feel guilty. The first few -- the time I stole some money from my mother's purse, the time I lied to my sister about where I was going, the time I smoked a cigarette behind the garage -- came easily. But by the sixth or seventh entry I was having a hard time coming up with any guilty moments. It was also not easy to try to write in a standing position, with no table on which to rest the pad. I knew I had to come up with the twelve items quickly because, as the moments ticked on, all eyes continued to stare at my exposed backside and loose-hanging _s_e_x_ organ.
Finally I finished putting down the twelve. I asked who I was to give them to, but was told to hold onto the list because I might need it eventually. The man who had given me the pad and pencil rose again to retrieve them from me, leaving me still standing there in my all-together holding the list.
Now the man who began the questioning -- later I found out that he was the president of the club -- told me that the examination was over and that I would next be initiated. He said that the initiation involved spanking and, because I had little real experience in this area, it was likely to be quite painful for me. He told me that I could postpone the initiation until the following week if I wished, but that there was no way I could join the club without undergoing such treatment.
I elected to continue the process that evening rather than wait another week. Then I was told that I would be whacked five times by each member while I was bent across his knees like a naughty little boy. A quick calculation showed me that this would add up to sixty whacks, a lot by anyone's standards. But I realized that all of the others had probably gone through this same kind of initiation and survived, so there was no reason that I couldn't.
I was instructed to kneel before one of the members, tell him one of the things I felt guilty about from my list, and ask him to spank me as my punishment. Then I was to climb across his lap and receive the five slaps of his hand, after which I was to get back on my knees and thank him punishing me. As soon as this was done, I was to crawl on my knees to the next person, tell him about another item on my list, and receive from him the same treatment, thus continuing around the room until my posterior had felt the palm strokes of each person in the room and I had thanked the last one.
Fun for them, but certainly not for me!
The very first slap that landed on my bare ass stung like crazy, much more than I had expected. The perpetrator obviously was not holding back any of his muscle power. Although it hurt terribly, I managed to hold back the scream I wanted to emit and only grunted a little. The second slap was no less painful than the first, but the third was the worst of all. I was sure it must have left a bruise that would be with me for some time, and I was beginning to have great difficulty holding back my need to yell out loud. Only two more and then this brute would be finished. Perhaps the next person would have more compassion and would not hit me so hard.
Faint hope. After I had thanked the first one, divulged my event of guilt to the second, and climbed on the second's knee, I found that he had just as healthy an arm. This person spanked me excruciatingly slowly. I could feel my flesh squeezed under the impact, the stabbing stinging peak at which I jerked and struggled, and the long slow after fire burning away as he poised for the next strike. I was not sure my bottom could take much more of this punishment and there were still ten more spankers to confront. Even my friend Jim, when I got to him, spared no effort in showing me that he was not gentle either. By the seventh lap tears were pouring down my cheeks and by the ninth I was openly crying. But the members were merciless in making sure that I knew what a solid experience of spanking was like.
They allowed me to calm down and put my clothes back on after I thanked the last member. But I found it rather difficult to pull my trousers over my now much-too-sore buttocks. Then they brought a chair for me and welcomed me to the club. I preferred to remain standing as I was introduced to each member and they told me about their meetings and services. They told me they had a library of books and video tapes that featured spanking, available on loan to all members. They also had a collection of spanking implements -- canes, paddles, whips, handcuffs, etc., even a Scottish tawse -- and they had some costumes that they used to enliven spanking scenes -- short pants, military uniforms, hospital gowns, and kilts.
They told me that they had a meal together every week before the evening festivities began. At each meal the members drew lots to determine who would be spanked that night. Once a name had been drawn and the punishment inflicted, the individual chosen dropped out of future drawings until everyone else had been through the ordeal. They told me that because of the initiation that night I would be exempt from the drawing for at least the next four weeks in order to let my butt return to normal. Each spanking session was also designed to be a drama with the spanker and spankee playing their individual roles, such as that of a teacher and a disciplined student or of a judge and a prisoner.
They further had rules as to the limits of pain that could be inflicted and guidelines regarding what the victim might be forced to do so that they would never go beyond the bounds of propriety. It was clear to me that I was going to enjoy the sessions of this club.
The following week I came at six for the pizza and beer before the formal part of the evening began. During the meal a hat with marbles in it was passed around the room. Michael Smith drew out the black one, which designated him as the spankee for that evening. He was subsequently sent out of the room so that the rest of us could decide on the scene that was to be set up that evening. We agreed that a caning in a Saudi Arabian jail would be best, selected one of the members to act as the judge, another to inflict the punishment, and two others to act as the guards. The rest of us would stand by to watch the fun.
The selected ones left the room to describe the scene to Smith and to put on their costumes. When they returned, the judge was dressed in a long white robe, the punisher was naked to the waist and holding a mean-looking cane. It was not of the "traditional" hook handle variety. Though rattan, it was straight, thick and heavy. It was flexible enough to bend a little, but not over much. The spankee, also stripped to the waist, was being pulled forward reluctantly into the room by the two guards. He was forced to kneel before the judge, who pronounced his sentence.
The judge said to him, "As you well know the usual sentence for stealing here in Saudi Arabia is to have your hand cut off. But I am going to be lenient because this is your first offence and because all you stole was a box of matches. You are therefore sentenced to a caning of six strokes to be carried out immediately."
Smith played his part well. He began to plead with the judge to let him go, saying that he never again would take anything from anybody, and would do anything to avoid the caning. But the judge was adamant.
Smith was lifted to his feet by the two guards and taken over to a hassock that had been placed near the center of the room. There the guards pulled off his trousers and told him to bend over this object. Then they stretched his arms out and handcuffed them to a metal pole lying on the floor in front of the hassock. Another metal pole was produced to which they cuffed his ankles, again stretching his legs apart to do so. In this position he could do little but raise the pole to which his hands were attached about a foot into the air and no more. The same was true for his feet. And his bare buttocks were held higher than the rest of his body by the hassock. All in all, it was a most awkward position to be bound in.
The spanker now came forward holding his cane in the air and swishing it around for effect. (describe the cane) Smith was visibly shaking at this point and I don't think he was still acting.
The judge then announced "stroke one." The cane landed with an audible crack, Smith yelped, and I could see a nasty red stripe that soon grew a little darker lying across both of Smith's nether cheeks.
About thirty seconds elapsed before the judge announced "stroke two." Again the crack and scream, and there was another red line across both cheeks and below the first. There were tears flowing from Smith's eyes as the next four strokes were applied and he yelled as each one struck. But then it was over. The judge left the room to change back into his normal clothing, as did the spanker and the two guards. But Smith was left in his awkward position so that all the members could have a good look at the damage done and discuss this and various other canings they knew about or had experienced.
Not until the end of the meeting was Smith finally released. I can assure you that I have never missed a single session of the club since my first evening there.