Last summer, I graduated from University and left for a job in London. This was quite a change for me as I had gone to my home town University in Northern Ireland, and had never lived away from my parents before. Not wanting to be alone in a strange city - especially not London which I had found in the past could be a desperately lonely place if one had no friends, I placed personals ads in several gay publications, and finally decided to shack up with Bill.

Bill was - and is - my ideal type of man. He is in his early seventies, and very much one of the old school. Bill regards the thought of dressing without putting on a shirt and tie with roughly the same horror that most of us regard the thought of spending a week in the Sahara without water. He is intelligent, witty, charming and incredibly elegant - combining the best features of a wartime English public schoolboy with comparatively few of their faults. He is about 6 feet tall (as opposed to my 5' 6"), tubby enough to be cuddly without being obese, and with ruggedly handsome with immaculate silvery white hair.

Despite our widely differing backgrounds - I was brought up on a public housing estate - we had similar interests in culture and travel and of course rugby, and got on like a house on fire. Bill also saw himself as something of a father figure to me, teaching me how to cook and clean (my mother had spoiled us rotten in those regards), and generally trying to 'make a man' out of me. He could be stern with me when he wanted to be, and when he gave you a lecture, he'd make your cheeks burn with embarrassment. He made a lot of sense, however, and I realised I needed some firm guidance over that crucial first period away from home.

I enjoyed my work for a large City accountancy firm, and those first few months were bliss. Unfortunately, one week I had rather too much fun. A few Tuesday evening drinks with work colleagues turned into a rather long boozing session, which resulted in me arriving home drunk at 3 am and waking up a rather annoyed Bill. The next morning multiple attempts by Bill failed to rouse me with the result that I was an hour late for work - earning me a thorough and deserved bollocking from my boss. Despite promising Bill I would be home for dinner by 8pm that evening, I again gave way to temptation that evening and went to the City of Quebec pub after work for a few drinks and a fumble around in the basement toilets. I arrived home at half past ten, though in a better state than the previous night.

When I opened the door, Bill was sitting in the living room, watching a sitcom on TV. The moment I entered the room, he switched it off and turned to me sharply, "Where were you until this time, boy?" His voice was deep and stern; he had never called me boy before, and if looks could kill, I'd have dropped dead on the spot. Bill was dressed in a black, pinstriped, three-piece suit, with his regimental tie and a white silk handkerchief. He never dressed this formally just to watch TV - something must be up.

"Sorry, Bill," I replied, attempting to keep my voice as light as possible, "I got delayed trying to catch up with stuff I missed this morning. Won't happen again." This answer did not please him one bit. "Come over here now!" he bellowed, "Let me smell your breath!" I duly complied, and my half-baked attempt to cover up my misdeed was discovered. Bill stood up and grabbed me by the ear. "So not content with breaking your word to me, you then make a pathetic little attempt at lying! We'll have to teach you a little lesson in what happens to liars and word-breakers, won't we boy?" I had had about as much as I could take, and fuelled by drink, brushed him off. "Piss off, Bill, I'm not a little boy. I'm sorry I came in late, and I'm sorry I told you a fib, and you'd be perfectly justified in throwing a strop at me, but please stop this mock public schoolmaster crap!"

There was deathly silence, and one could have cut the atmosphere with a knife. We stared each other out for a moment, then Bill fumbled in his jacket pocket for a one of his half coronas, lit it with much ceremony, and inhaled deeply - a sure sign his temper was well up. When he spoke his voice was quiet and measured, but it had a certain edge to it. "Young man", he began, "I am going to speak for some time, and you are going to listen. I am going to tell you some home truths, and you may very well not like what I have to say. Over the past few days you have been completely unreasonable with me. That it one thing, for a little tension between lovers is inevitable. However, you have also been irresponsible with your whole future today. You have a very good job, one which you enjoy, and one at which, from what I gather, you are very good. Yet, you risk all this by staying out to all hours drinking and turning up for work late. What in the name of God are you playing at lad? Moreover, you are at a very vulnerable stage in your life. You have never lived away from home before and, believe me boy, I know how easy it is to get distracted by the bright lights of the big city. You spend far too much energy socialising. I have nothing against you enjoying yourself - but you are pushing the boat out too far and you are jeopardising your future social position. I think that would be a tragic waste because I care about you. I am also of the opinion that a little corporal punishment will do you the world of good. You are an adult, and if you do not wish to submit to punishment, you are under no obligation to do so. However, if you take a moment to think about it you will realise how much you deserve it. For your own sake lad, take it."

My mind was in a whirl after his soliloquy. Corporal punishment had neither been part of the régime at school or at home - those days of Irish Catholic education having long since departed. I didn't want to disappoint Bill and I realised what a _s_h_i_t_ I'd been over the previous 24 hours. I simply didn't know what to say, and stood staring at the floor.

After ten seconds or so, I felt Bill put his hand on my shoulder, and say gently, "Son, I'll go and get the cane. You'll feel better for it, honestly." Before I knew I had said it, I whispered, "OK." Bill slapped me gently across the back of the head and grinned. "OK, Sir, you mean." I looked at him, a look of pure confusion on my face. "Yes, Sir." I whispered again. Bill gave me a cuddle and disappeared upstairs.

I slumped down on the settee with my head in my hands. What the hell was I doing agreeing to be caned? Bill had gone mad - corporal punishment indeed! All the same I had agreed to it, and I wondered what emotion had possessed me to do so. I wasn't into that sort of kinky thing! Was Bill? Exactly what sort of loony relationship had I got myself into? I was much too fond of the old man to leave him now. Perhaps the shame I felt for my recent behaviour was making play along with this foolish nonsense.

While my thoughts continued to churn, Bill returned to the living room, fiercely burning cigar between his lips and cane in his hands. When I saw the cane I was quite relieved, for although it was maybe a metre long, it was thin and looked rather light. Bill swished it in the air and grinned. "Well, you seem to have calmed down a little." he said airily round his cigar, "I'm afraid I don't believe in going easy once I have decided to use the cane, and this will not tickle. Don't try any mock hero stuff. If you need to cry, let it out. There's no-one here but to witness it but I." "Actually", I replied, "it doesn't look too bad. Sir." He smiled evilly and patted me on the shoulder, "They'd banned caning by the time you got to grammar school, hadn't they, boy? Remember your A-Level Physics - pressure equals force over area. The cane's very thinness means it imparts more sting than a great stick. And I can assure you lad, that it will be wielded with some considerable force! Now go into the dining room, take your jacket off and put it over one of the chairs. Then bend over the chair, grip the seat and put your backside high into the air like a good lad." "Don't you want me to take off my trousers off or anything?" I asked. "Son, you've been watching too many Billy Bunter films on TV!" Bill replied, still jovial, "Let me assure you that the cane will be painful enough through your trousers, even for a strapping lad like you. If your subsequent behaviour shows that it isn't, we can always treat you to a bare-arsed whacking next time! Now stop dawdling and get into the dining room now!"

I took of my jacket and bent over one of the dining room chairs. It was quite comfortable, much to my surprise. Bill put his cigar it in an ashtray which he left quite close to my face, with cigar smoke irritating my nostrils. I thought this was deliberate, though somehow I'd already submitted myself psychologically and didn't argue about it. Something told me Bill was in total control now. Bill swished the cane through the air a few times and it made that wooshing sound they always do on TV programmes. This wasn't going to be too bad, I thought.

Bill's voice came again, this time the hard and commanding voice of a former Colonel in the Irish Guards. "Arse higher in the air, boy, I want to the seat of your trousers well stretched. That's better. Now for your irresponsible drunkenness last night you will receive three strokes, and your failure to keep your word on returning home a further two strokes. As I do not believe in awarding more than six strokes at a time except in exceptional circumstances, your lying about your whereabouts this evening will be punished later. I realise you have never been caned before, and this will hurt more than you seem to realise. However, if you attempt to get up at any point before I say so, we will start again at the beginning. Crying out is permissible, but swearing will result in one extra stroke each time it occurs. Do you understand me boy?"

"Yes, Sir!" I replied sullenly. I felt like I was in a different world already, my normally outgoing and even aggressive personality having been suppressed into that of a submissive boy.

I heard Bill take a breath and raise the cane. Four, five, maybe six seconds passed, then I heard the swishing and THWACK! I gasped in pain but didn't cry out. _s_h_i_t_! It hurt far more than I'd thought - just as Bill had warned! He had a good aim too, as the cane landed square in the seat of my pants. "Just be thankful, boy, that a good thrashing is the only consequence of your childishness and not something more serious." Bill crowed. He must have been a right old _s_h_i_t_ with his nephews when they were younger! I tried to turn round to see if his face was as I imagined it, impassive and in command. "Turn round lad", he barked as soon as I moved my head, "or you'll get an extra stroke." I sensed the cane being raised again, swish and then THWACK! I shrieked in pain. He had hit low - by accident or design I did not know - just below the backside, right on the soft, far upper reaches of the thighs. I had rather less protecting blubber there and God it hurt!

"Finally making an impact, are we." he sneered, "Well we'll have to make sure you remember this thrashing for a long time." He took me by surprise with this one - he cracked the cane down so it crashed into my backside just as he said the word 'time'. I hadn't prepared for it and I think he put more force into it than he had earlier. It hurt like mad but I didn't cry out this time. For some odd reason I noticed that the clock read 10.47pm. I ought to be watching Newsnight instead of being beaten like a schoolboy.

The cut had landed maybe a centimetre up from the first cut - Bill was obviously an expert at this, as all three cuts had been perfectly horizontal. I suppose someone who had been a prefect at Marlborough and later heavily involved with the Army Cadets in the days when beatings were a part of teenage life had plenty of experience.

He picked up his cigar and took a couple of puffs. Little did I know the respite would simply allow my body to relax a little so the last strokes would hurt all the more. "This is very pleasant, isn't it young man?" he barked. "No Sir", I replied demurely, "The time you hit me low down was particularly painful, Sir." "I hope you're not cheeking me boy!" he roared, giving me a bare hand slap across the ear as he replaced his cigar in the ashtray, "It isn't meant to tickle you know." "Sorry, Sir." Bill was truly expert. He landed the fourth stroke by surprise, before I had time to tense my body again. Once more I gave a little shout, louder this time. It was perfectly placed between the two previous mid-seat strokes, and I could feel three little lines of fire running across my backside. Bill roared again. I had never heard him quite like this before, even during the worst of his dressings down. "I said none of this mock hero foolishness! If it hurts it will do you much more good if you cry. Does it hurt, boy?" "Yes, Sir!" "Good. Are you going to act like a drunken fool again." "No, Sir." "And if you make promises to come home on time, when will you be home, boy?" "At the time I promised, Sir." "Good lad." He raised the cane again, and carried out a mock run on my backside - I tensed as I heard the can swish, this time obviously from a greater height than previously, but no stroke came. A second time the cane was raised and lowered with considerable force, but again Bill stopped it short of the target. Finally I felt Bill raise the cane a third time and he waited, waited. I counted fourteen seconds on the dining room clock. Then 'swiiiiish': the sound making me feel sick. It seemed to last forever. Was it another dummy run? THWACK "Aaaah! I'm sorry, Sir! I'm sorry, Sir!" I burst into tears, ashamed that I had not been able to take my punishment like a man, but the pain was just too great. The final stroke was not only delivered with considerable force, but it cut diagonally across the three mid-seat strokes, setting them ablaze all again. I felt like I was sitting on a heated barbeque. I cried and cried.

"Stand up boy, but don't rub your backside," Bill barked, "Do you wish to go through that in the future." "No, Sir!" I blubbered. "You know what you to do then, don't you lad." "Yes, Sir!" "Will this be a useful reminder of how to behave in the future?" "Yes, Sir!" "Well then, what do you say to someone who has just done you a favour, boy?" "Thank you very much Sir!" Tears were still running down my cheeks. My bum was still in agony!

He put his arms around me, ran his hands through my hair, and pressed my head against the soft material of his waistcoat. He spoke again, more gently now. "You see, it does you good to get the guilt out of your system. The slate is clean now, my boy, there's no need for me to resent you - or you me. Now off to bed with you. I want you in your pyjamas and in bed in ten minutes - or you'll get a good spanking over my knee! I'll be up later." He gave me a long, passionate kiss, then shoed me upstairs.

I got into bed fast, but couldn't sleep. I couldn't understand why I had let him beat me, but I knew that what he said was true - I did feel better for being caned. The crying had been cathartic, and the fearsome beating would certainly be an incentive to behave in the future. I lay wondering about my future with Bill - and about the state of my poor chastised rear! Moreover, I was hungry - Bill had sent me to bed without any supper and in my confusion I hadn't noticed.

About 11.30pm, Bill arrived upstairs changed into his smoking jacket. "Son," he said softly, "are you still awake." "Yes, Sir." "I've thought about your punishment for lying. I realise I've beaten you already, but I'd rather get it over with tonight. I'm sorry to ask you to do this, but please get up and get take off your pyjamas. Lie flat on the bed face down." Silently I rose to comply, and he looked at my naked figure with desire. From under his cardigan he produced a stout leather strap, about seventy centimetres in length, with a vicious looking triple tail. So I was to be tawsed! I was sick with anxiety. The cane had seemed puny, but had hurt like hell. This tawse looked formidable - and I was evidently to take it over my bare bum as well!

"Now the same rules apply, son," Bob was more gentle than previously, "No jerking out of the way or swearing. I'll get this over as quickly as possible - I just don't want it hanging over us. However, I'm not going any easier on you. Lying is a very serious matter and you will receive a very serious punishment - six strokes with the tawse. I am always honest with you, and I expect the same in return. A man who gets a reputation as a liar can never lose it. Do you understand me, boy?" "Yes, Sir. I'm very sorry, Sir. Please can't we leave this until tomorrow, Sir?" "No. I want to get it over and done with. I appreciate your contrition - and I think a good hiding now will make sure you stay contrite."

I felt the floorboards creak below him as he got himself into position for the stroke. THWACK! There was no swish of anticipation as there was with the cane - but it still hurt! Not as much as the cane I judged to my surprise, but enough to bring tears to my eyes where it reawakened the scars from the previous hour. A broad band across the centre of my backside felt raw as the three tails bruised by flesh. "What do you say lad?" "Thank you Sir!" Again creaking of floorboards, Bill's intake of breath and THWACK! "Ow!" Now I learned the secret of the tawse's efficiacy - with such a large impact are - and such a good shot as Bill - a huge part of my arse had had it's second bruising. Again I struggled to fight back the tears. "I told you boy, don't fight it. We've all night to bring the tears to your eyes if you do. Remember - if you hadn't lied, I wouldn't be beating you now." The third stroke crashed. THWACK! "Aaaagh!" My backside was well and truly spanked now - I not only felt the immediate pain of each stroke, but in between my backside felt red hot and the early cane strokes were becoming unbearable. I started to wriggle, but Bill cut in sharply, "Stop that! Take your punishment properly or we can begin from the beginning. I stopped wriggling, as the thought of ten whacks with that tawse was too much to take, and I began to weep. I turned my head slightly away to dry my eyes. I could now see the mirror and in it Bill's reflection stretching up over by naked body, swinging the tawse right around his shoulder. Everything seemed to slow down. Bill's face was hard and masculine, and in other circumstances I would have found him very arousing. But I felt sick as I saw the tawse descend through the air and THWACK! I began to cry for real now, and I saw Bill visibly relax at this. "That's it boy! Let it all out and we'll make a fresh start. Are you going to tell me lies in future boy?" "No, Sir." "And what will happen to you if you do?" "I'll get the tawse, Sir!" "You learn quick, lad"

He arched up again for the fifth, and I noticed how he positioned his right foot behind him to get extra swing. His face was determined and hard, but somehow I felt he got a certain satisfaction from punishing me. He tawse whipped through the air and THWACK! and without any ceremony a sixth, nerve jangling THWACK! I didn't know how I was going to be able to go to sleep that night with the pain. My bum throbbed and vibrated as if I was sitting on a machine of some sort. I cried and cried.

"Stand up now, there's a good lad!" He held me, naked, in his arms, and again cuddled me, kissed me, ran his hand through my hair. "I hope you have learned a lesson tonight! I will not tolerate misbehaviour from you - I love you too much for that. However, I hope I will never have to beat you again. Now put on your pyjamas and I'll bring you in supper."

He came in carrying a tray with milk and sandwiches. He went to get washed a changed into his pyjamas, and came in puffing his pipe and immediately put his arms around me sitting on the bed. Before long we were making mad passionate love. I'm still not into that kinky stuff, but somehow _s_e_x_ has been different since then. Someone else is in charge now and that's nice. For some even odder reason the red glow of my arse as Bill rode me that night was strangely....I don't know, sort of cosy, as well.

As you'll probably guess, this wasn't the last time Bill punished me. Bare hand spankings are fairly routine now, though they rarely worry me too much - except for the time Bill spanked me when his ninety-year-old aunt from Sus_s_e_x_ was visiting, right in front of her. And the odd time I've had a good belting with Bill's cane, tawse or belt. Once on holiday in France he even beat me with a martinet for local flavour! But that's a story for another time!