I was 19 years old and in my second semester of college. Since the drinking age was 18 at the time, i enjoyed going out and having several beers on campus from time to time.
One night (actually, the wee hours of the morning), after at least several beers, I was walking along the back of the maintenance building when I saw a can of spray paint lying on the ground. Obviously, I either wasn't thinking, or not thinking too well, because I picked up the can and started writing stuff on the wall of the building with the paint.
Suddenyl, I heard a voice behind me say: "What do you think you're doing?" I freaked, dropped the spray can and started to run. However the beers betrayed me and I stumbled and fell. Before I could get up, I felt a strong hand grab me by the shoullder, and he said : "Not so fast. Let's go see what you've been doing." His hand was like a vise, and quickly, I stopped strugling, and I walked back with him sheepishly towards the building.
I looked with him and saw the words "Jets # 1" written on the building.
"So, you like to draw on my building that I have to clean up." he said. In the light, I could see he had a university maintenance uniform on. I saw the name Bob written on his uniform shirt. He asked me for my Student ID, and I took out my wallet and handed it over to him.
He looked over my ID in the light, and said "Well, Howard, what do you have to say for yourself?"
I responded by asking lamely "When can I get my ID back?" By the reaction on his face, I knew I had mande a mistake.
"Maybe never!!" he said, in a very angry voice. "Wait till the Student Life people find out what you've done." I was shaken, and apologized, and offered to help clean it off. I also didn't want the embarrassment of having my parents find out about this. "You'll clean it?" he asked, a little less angry now.
"Sure." I responded, already feeling a little better.
"Well, the least you can do," he said "I'm usually the one having to clean up after you spoiled brats."
"Yeah, I will," I promised, "And I'll never do it again."
"Right." he said. He then offered to accept my offer and not refer me to the administration, as long as I cleaned up the mess, and would be willing to be disciplined by him instead. I asked him what that meant, and he said we'd go back to his office and discuss appropriate discipline. He asked me if I agreed to that.
Figuring it meant having to clean that up, and perhaps do other things to help out, I agreed by nodding my head. "Good" he said, and he nudged me gently ahead of him towards the front of the building. When we reached the entrance, he took out his keys and unlocked the door and turned on the ligth, and nudged me inside with a light tap on my rump. "My office is towards the back."he said.
It certainly looked like a maintance building. There was equipment all over the place and I could smell the oil and grease. There were some benches with tools on them and the floor was grimy with grease. I walked back through the buildiwith him behind me, and saw an enclosed office ahead. I felt an unease build as I walked through, and stopped to look at something. As I did, I felt him behind me say "Come on. let's get moving" and he prodded me forward with another light tap on my bottom. I immediately resumed walking and soon reached his office. He closed the door behind him as we entered. The office was neat, with a metal desk, an armless chair in front of the desk and a swivel chair in back. His desk was neat, with organized piles of papers on them.
He told me to stay standing, as he sat behind the desk. I saw the name plate "Robert Podiason, Maintenance Supervisor" on the desk. In the light, I was able to see him for the first time. He was soldily built, with dark hair and piercing dark eyes. He was clean shaven, and was probably in his mid to late '30's. His hair was short, in contrast to my longer hair.
"Well, Howard, what do yuo have to say for yourself?" he asked. His eyes drilled into me, and I looked at the floor. He quickly noticed that "I want you to look at me when I am talking to you, understand?" I felt like an errant child, and could feel myself blushing.
I'm sorry" I said in a soft voice. I'll clean it up."
"Yes you will," he said sternly, "and you'll work on some other projects for me as well."
"How much?" I asked
I'd say about 10 hours of work should be enough." he said. I was relieved, that wasn't too bad.
"OK" I said, "Just let me know when you need me." I gave him my dorm number and asked for my ID back. (I needed it to use the food service.)
"Well, we're not quite done yet," he said "There's something else that has to be done, and I think you know what that is."
My heart was pounding and my mouth was dry. This reminded me about when I was little and had done something really bad. "Do what?" I asked.
"Anyone who would do something like this at your age deserves a good sound spanking." He said, and he opened the drawer of his desk and took out a wooden hairbrush. He got up from his chair and walked around the desk and sat down on the other chair in front of the desk, after turning it around to face me.
I couldn't believe this was happening, a voice inside me was crying "But I'm too old for this!" Yet no words came from my lips. I felt like a spectator as I walked over to him when he motioned, and both watched and felt him loosen my belt, unbuckle my jeans, lower the zipper, and then firmly lower the jeans , and then just as helpless, as he placed his fingers under the waist of my briefs as they followed my jeans to my ankles.
Before I could even comprehend what had happened, my world went topsy turvey as I was turned over his knees and now saw the floow below me.. I was trying to hide my embarrassment, and then began to listen as Bob began to lecture me about my behavior. I felt his left hand around my waist, as he was talking to me like a little boy. My embarrassment was growing, but suddenly, his words stopped, and I felt a sting and heard a loud whack, as the first whack landed on my bottom. Before I could even react, a few more landed, and I began to struggle.
"Ow, that really hurts" I remember saying. A panic grew as I realized how much it hurt, and I didn't know when it would stop. I began to struggle, as the whacks continued, but he was so strong that my struggling was futile. I really wanted to keep my composure, but soon found it difficult, and I was begging him to stop.
"So it hurts?" he asked, as the whacks finally stopped.
"Yes." I said meekly.
"Its supposed to hurt, isn't it?" he asked
"I guess so," I responded. 'But this really hurts" I said
"Yes" he said and with words that made me panic "And its going to have to hurt alot more before we're done." As he finished the sentence, I felt the hairbrush resume its work on my now-sore bottom. This time, the whacks were even harder and faster than the first batch, and I lost any idea of being composed. Finally, in desperation, I reached my right hand back to stop the barrage, and to my relief, the whacks stopped. However, I felt Bob immendiately grab my right wrist with his left hand and hold it on the small of my back, just out of reach of my suffering bottom. Then the hairbrush resumed its painful journey on my bottom, and I was totally helpless. I was in real agony, and struggled harder to escape the endless onslaught. I was soon crying and realized that my legs were kicking and I was begging him to stop, and promising never to do it again.
Now he really began to talk to me about the behavior, and ask me what I had done, and I had to answer tearfully, and then if I would do it again. I kept telling him I was sorry and begging him to stop. He made me promise to be a good boy from then on. My bottom was on fire, and the hairbrush was whacking me everywhere, even my upper thighs. There wasn't an area there that didn't hurt. I couldn't believe it hurt so much, and I would promise anything for it to stop; all I could think about was my bottom.
Finally, he stopped, and I let out a sigh of relief. While I lay over his knees, he gently rubbed my bottom and asked if I had learned my lesson. I told him I was sorry and promised to not do it and fulfill my 10 hours of service. He then let me up and I gingerly pulled all my pants back on, and later performed my 10 hours of service. Believe me, i never wanted to look at another can of spray paint again!