I help good-looking boys with their computer problems at the University. Some willingly pay for extra help, outside of office hours, by taking a few swats, and I enjoy watching them rub their sore bottoms afterwards.
Earl was different.
He was eighteen years old, tall and gangly, with a pimply face and arms that were too long for a torso that was still growing. He came in one day and asked me for a very special favor.
'I've read the following books on computers,' he said, showing me an impressive list, 'but I realize I need access to a computer to really learn.'
'You're not a student?'
'I paint cars all day. My mother is a widow, and I help support her. Please let me use the computer after work. I promise I won't bother anyone.'
Strictly speaking, this was forbidden. But as we talked I studied his broad shoulders and narrow hips. He got up and began pacing about my office, trying to persuade me to help him. He wore a tight shirt which showed off his lanky muscles.
I decided to give him a chance.
'Provided you follow some very strict rules,' I told him, thinking of seeing his jeans down and his narrow bottom turned up to me. 'If you break any of these rules, you will be immediately and irrevocably denied access to the computer.'
The rules I gave him were so strict, I was sure Earl would fail, and not once but many times. I would permit him to redeem that 'irrevocably denied access' with a few good swats with a rough board I kept in my office.
Earl began coming in every day at five. To prepare him mentally I chatted with him about the importance of corporal punishment. A few swats in the arse, I contended, as much as they might hurt, were far more humane than putting a young man in prison, and had the advantage of not surrounding him with older and more experienced convicts.
'A properly administered beating, with no serious physical injury, is humiliating and will be a good lesson to the young offender,' I told Earl several times. 'Give the boy a choice between a beating and a police record, I'll bet most would prefer the beating!'
Thus I tried to prepare him for the day when I would catch him violating my rules. But the boy must have had eyes in the back of his head. Not once did I catch him!
From time to time he would come into my office and we would chat. He told me about his life, his family, and his dreams of getting out of his dreary job and becoming a computer programmer. We got to be good friends, and I invited him to call me Ernest.
But one day Earl took advantage of our friendship.
I had been out in the computer room consulting with someone, and when I came back Earl was talking on my office telephone. It was clear from the conversation that he had dialed my telephone at random, and was trying to pick up a girl that way!
'Earl, you're not going to use my telephone for anything!' 'Aw, Ernest, I was just getting into a chat with a really nice bird, and you spoiled it.'
'Maybe you think this is a joke, but I don't. If you ever touch my telephone again, your use of the computer is finished. You have been warned.'
Earl looked at me puzzled, unable to understand why I was so upset.
Some weeks passed, and then one day I walked back into my office, and there was Earl with the telephone receiver in his hand.
'Get out,' I said. 'You're finished. I'm cancelling your user privileges.'
'I didn't do anything.'
'Earl, I'm the boss here. I make the rules. I told you not to touch the telephone, and you have to be punished for breaking that rule.'
'Maybe I deserve to be punished,' said Earl. 'Although I don't think so. But being denied access permanently to the computer is not fair. That's too severe.'
I picked up that half-inch thick wooden board from behind my desk. 'Five swats with this on your bare bottom. Take that and I'll let you continue to use the computer.'
'Five swats, but not on the bare bottom.' 'I'm not punishing your clothing. Take it or leave it.' He paced about the room for a couple of minutes, swinging his long arms, his broad chest expanding and contracting as he breathed deeply.
'All right,' he said, facing me with anger in his face, 'but it's not fair.'
I locked the door. Since this was going to take some time, I decided to cover the window too. The window looked out on a heavily-shrubbed garden through which people never strolled. But sometimes a gardener worked in the shrubs, and one might look in. I took some computer paper and taped it over the window, covering every square inch.
Now no one could watch.
'Drop your trousers and bend over the side of that easy chair.' He turned his back to me, faced the chair. He pulled his tight jeans down a few inches, just exposing his narrow, white bottom, and bent over, putting his hands on the far arm of the chair.
I jerked his jeans down to his ankles. "Aw ...,' he said, I love to do that to the boys. Invariably, the first time I swat them, they only pull their trousers down part way. When I jerk the trousers down the rest of the way, they say 'Aw ....'
I pushed down on his back, and he bent deeply over, his face almost touching the seat of the chair, back and legs tensed. I grabbed the two foot long board with both hands and swung full weight. A really bright red stripe, four inches wide, went all across his bottom. I looked at it in amazement. He had very sensitive skin!
I stepped back a couple of feet, and swung again, full force. I saw him stiffen. Two overlapping red stripes now covered most of his bottom.
Again I stepped back and swung. Swat! Earl leaped up, his jeans still around his ankles, turned to face me, and rapidly hobbled several feet, sitting down on a simple chair. He had turned his back on me when he first lowered his jeans, but now in his anxiety to prevent me from hitting him again he was fully exposed. There was quite a bit to expose too.
Here is where I made my first mistake. If I were doing it again, I would let him rest a while, let his hot red bottom cool off, chat with him about other beatings that I had administered, and let him know that this was really nothing. Finally I would insist that he resume the punishment, adding one extra swat for his getting up in the middle.
After all, I had not told him that he mustn't get up. Instead, I said, 'Get back over there right now and take your remaining two swats,'
'No.'
'Then pick up your trousers and get out of here. Your computer career is finished. Earl left. I wondered if I would ever see him again.
Two days later he was back.
'Please let me use the computer. You know how important it is to me. What did I do? I wasn't using the telephone.' 'After I've given you five swats, you'll be allowed access to the computer. Not before.' He argued with me about it for a whole hour, and then finally left.
The following week Earl came back.
'Could you give me only four swats?' he pleaded. 'Sure,' I said. I really liked him. In fact I rather missed his daily visits. He had gotten three swats the week before, and I had seen how much it hurt him. Let it be four instead of five.
Once again I locked the door and covered the window. This time when he turned his back to me he lowered his jeans all the way to his ankles. He had learned something (it was the same with all the boys).
His hands held the far arm of the chair. I pushed his shoulders, bending him deeply over. There were no signs of the previous week's beating.
'Spread your legs apart as far as you can.' He slid his feet on the floor until his jeans prevented him from spreading them any farther apart. A beautiful sight, his crack open and the bulges between the legs just below the crack. I felt this was the most embarrassing way to be beaten, exposed like that.
I took the board, stepped back, and whammed. The beautiful bright red stripe appeared, the same as the week before.
I hit him again, this time still harder. He lifted his left foot slightly, then his right, as if trying to release some of the pain.
I let him rest that way for a while, watching the red flush which glowed in two overlapping broad stripes. This time there was also a dark red line running down the right side of the crack.
I walked back, and really laid the third swat on, taking a running start and putting everything I had into it. I was surprised at how hard I was hitting him. I really wanted to hurt him.
His right hand jerked up in the air, then back down to the arm of the chair. Although neither this time nor the previous time had he cried out, or even gasped, that rising hand told me what I wanted to know. He hurt!
But now I made another mistake. I should have warned him that he musn't lift his hands or head, or move in any way until I finished. That rising hand was a clear sign that trouble was in store, and I should have heeded the warning.
I stepped back and swung again. Earl leaped up, bringing his right hand around his back, and caught the full force of that widely swung board on his bare arm!
Then, just as he had a week before, he faced me, hobbled across the room, jeans still around his ankles, and sat down in the same chair.
'Get up,' I said. 'You have one more swat to take.' He raised his arm to me. There was a bright red area, roughed and dented. His arm was in pain. 'I got four swats.' 'That doesn't count,' I said. 'You have to get it on the arse.'
'No.'
I was furious. He was repeating his stunt of the week before. And after I had agreed that he get only four swats!
'Pick your trousers up and get out of here. You're off the computer until you take those five swats.'
He left. I stood there for a couple of minutes thinking. I really liked him. He had by now taken six swats on the bottom, in two sessions, and a good hard blow on the arm. Wasn't that enough? I really didn't want him to stop coming.
I ran after him and caught up with him on the street.
'Listen, Earl. I've decided you've been punished enough. You can use the computer.'
He looked at me with pain in his eyes. 'Thanks, mate,' he said.
The next afternoon Earl came into my office about six, somewhat later than usual. He closed the door to my office. 'You know what _s_e_x_ual blackmail is?' he asked me. 'Where did you hear that term?'
'I've been reading the University newspaper. They're trying some famous professor for getting girls to sleep with him. You know, giving them higher grades than they deserved in return for a little _s_e_x_.'
'So.'
'I think what you did with me is _s_e_x_ual blackmail.' Oh, oh. 'There wasn't anything _s_e_x_ual about it.' 'No?' he said, looking at me sideways. 'Pulling my trousers to the floor, and making my spread my legs apart? Think the University would agree with you? You're giving me something you have no right to give -- a chance to use the computer -- in exchange for making me expose myself to you. And I've still got the marks to prove it. I think maybe even the police might be interested.'
'What do you want? I warn you that I won't be blackmailed. If you want money, then you'd better go to the police.'
'Now you're insulting me. I earn my money honestly. No, mate. You're going to take off your trousers and bend over. I'm giving you three swats with this board!'
Wonders from Heaven! Only three! 'I'll have to lock the door,' I said, starting in that direction. 'You give ME the key.' He locked the door, and then put my keys in his pocket. 'The window!' I said.
'I'll do it.' He took computer paper, and covered the lower two thirds of the window.
'Get your trousers off, now, fast, or I go straight to the police!'
'Let me cover up the rest of the window. Someone might look in.'
'I don't care!'
I have to admit that I was quite excited. Too bad I was only going to get three swats! I don't know why he went so easy on me.
But I didn't want anyone looking in the partially covered window. Someone might see me with my trousers down!
I looked around for the best spot where I could bend over and not be seen from outside. There was a bare space next to the wall on the same side as the window. I went over there, stripped off my trousers and underpants and dropped them on the floor, spread my legs apart and bent my head down.
'Grab your ankles.'
I put my hands on my legs just below the knees.
'No. Bend your knees, and get your hands around your ankles. Don't let go of your ankles until I'm done! If you do, I'll start all over again.'
He was smarter than I had been: he warned me not to get up. The skin on my bottom was stretched taut. Bent so deeply over, I was completely exposed. From behind he could see everything, even my face.
He stepped back and swung that board, hitting me flat across the bottom. The board pushed the arse muscles flat, and bottomed out in the crack, turning everything into a raging fire.
He swung again, and the pain was so intense I wanted to leap up and turn myself away from him, to protect my bottom until it had cooled off. That was why he got up when I beat him, I now understood. But I remembered his warning.
Suddenly a brilliant idea came to me. 'Don't let go of your ankles,' Earl had said to me. Ok.
I bent my knees completely and squatted down Indian fashion. Still holding on to my ankles, my bottom was now only a few inches from the floor. I could feel the swinging motion between my well-spread out legs. It was very humiliating, but at least I could rest a bit, he couldn't get at my bare bottom!
For about fifteen seconds I remained that way, while the fire cooled off in my bottom and in the crack. Then I straightened my legs and raised by bottom back up into the air as high as I could, ready to get the next and last swat.
Whack! I leaped up, grabbed my clothes and put them on. Then I turned towards Earl, my face red.
Earl unlocked the door, put the keys on my desk, and went out.
The incident was never mentioned, although we had many friendly chats after that. Earl continued to use the computer every day for several months.
And every few days he used my telephone, but I never said a word.