Dear James,
This e-mail is too instantaneous. Your questions and notes are coming faster than I can reply! Sorry, but look, Pal, remember you were the one who screwed up and tracked it all into his Manor House, so what's so upsetting that he had his gardener spank you for it? My lad, calm down and get on with it before he catches on to your bitching and has the Gardener cane you the next time. You're bitching about what is in effect not yours to bitch about in the first place. You need someone closer in London to call you on the carpet and spank you more often, not less, until you get some direction and accept the fact that it's his decision and he doesn't give a _d_a_m_n_ if you think it was "fair" or not. Why should he?
Here? Well it's been relatively quiet since I returned. Raul's been edgy all week, but it's because his report's due in the mail. Mea's away on business. That leaves Paolo.
I know I haven't written much about Paolo, but, well, he's kind of special and private. Paolo's what maybe around 26 or so? He's fairly tall, light moreno skinned, unblemished and sharp chiselled facial features, huge deep black eyes and brows that immediately attract your attention, and very long, very black slightly wavy hair he pulls back in a pony tail. His pony tail reaches almost to the top of his slim thighs and when it's looses, cascades and covers him seductively, especially when he's bare and it's hanging down his slim but strong back and over his tight, firm little bare bottom. It's the longest hair I've ever seen on a male, but on him it fits and compliments his exotic looks and manner. We first met in Buenos Aires. He's born and raised on a huge but isolated spread a Spanish friend owns there. Paolo was judged undesirable for trying to organise fellow Indians (though he is apparently only part Indian). He was whipped by the men for it and more than once as he grew up and had started pointing out what he saw as unfairness in that system. To make a long story short, he ended up being parked with me when the Spaniard wanted him out of there. At first it was anything but easy and his adjustment was rough (when I was spending most of my time on the Continent); but he's adapted well to English and things and now runs the household and all things in it. He hasn't had a lot of opportunity, but he has a chance now. To my eyes, he's the most exotic and handsome (bordering on pretty), enticing male I've ever seen anywhere. He's also Raul's older brother (from a different father).
Before Raul arrived I thought a lot about how he would respond and what is would be like when I had to take Paolo's jeans down and spank him, as I occasionally still have to do. It's one thing to have a man spank you, even worse when you're told to drop your jeans and other guys or ever guests happen to be here; but it's a totally altogether different thing to have your younger brother watching when a man takes your jeans and briefs down himself, takes you over his lap and spanks you like a six year old! I didn't think it would be a good idea to have them both here. Would Paolo object if his younger brother was to be spanked?
Those issues were settled when Paolo himself explained to his brother how things were going to be and that was that. Remember I wrote you about it in Rome months ago? It hasn't been a problem, but both pay close attention when the other is leading up to one, that's for sure. In hindsight, I erred in holding off as long as I did before giving Raul his first spanking down on the Island that night.
Over the months, Paolo's always been completely dependable in taking care of all the domestic things and he's made my own life much more pleasurable. He's excelled at it. He's also studied and practised English every chance he could, but. . . well, Paolo's Paolo and I've still had to spank his nice little exotic bare bottom at times. Usually, but not all the time, I've done it in my study or in his bedroom, but I'll admit there have been times when he's done or said something and needed spanked immediately with others around. If Raul happened to be there, he always stood back a bit but watched carefully as his older brother was spanked over my lap and turned to tears.
This time it started a few nights ago. Paolo and I were the only ones around that evening and took off to one of the nicer restaurants around for a more leisurely evening, coat and tie style, with full crystal on the table and more silverware than they had on the whole ranch where he'd grow up in Argentina. Flowers, a combo with soft strings for background music and perfect service. After the second glass of wine, he mellowed out and started talking more about his life back on that ranch and the way he was treated. It's never sounded pleasant to me, but then "kids" who try to organise rural folk are never well treated anywhere. He began feeling sorry for himself. How long would I let him stay? Honestly the question hadn't dawned on me in months. He was part of the family, like a brother! Why did Mea get the best job? Obviously because he speaks the language! Why when the American comes (he meant Chris) did we always have to do things the American way? I hadn't realises we did. By the time we got to dessert, I was worn out trying to keep up with this conversation that had gotten deeper and deeper. We finally toasted the future, having genuinely had a great evening, but it had been much too deep and something seemed to be bothering him.
The next day he continued wanting to talk about his past and the way he thought things were. The unfairness in the way fate has provided some around us here with so much while others, like those from his own village, have absolutely nothing, seemed to be bothering him. The next day was not much better, but I thought he'd probably snap out of it. Unfortunately a couple of days later he didn't snap out of it. Then when an especially obnoxious Irish bloke I occasionally do a little bit of business with invited us to join him for a drink at his table at an outside cafe he favours and went on with his normally pompous exhortations as to what the world needed and how these poor people here all needed to be put on busses and sent back to the Provinces, Paolo snapped in front of everyone, stood up, his face red with anger, something I'd never seen, and told the bloke to get off his throne and go back to Ireland if he thought things were so much better there. Paolo's deep black eyes reeked rage. His body tensed with visible anger with his face and his muscles rigid. The Irish bloke rose to the occasion and, standing up also, demanded to Paolo that he immediately apologise "for your primitive temper!" Everyone was looking. Paolo stared him back in the eye and then flatted him with the quickest punch I'd ever seen landed with such precision. The Irish queen hit the floor, scattering chairs and lay screaming as the flood of cafe patrons scrambled everywhere and the German Proprietor threatened to call the Police!
I paid the check quickly and Paolo, Rual and I left. Paolo, with all of his gentleness that I'd come to appreciate, was mortified yet still angry. Raul kept watching. I limited myself to a simple pray of thanks as I'd wanted to flatted that queen many, many times over the past months myself, but always held my comments as business comes first and the Irish one throws business and cash around like water. So much for business. Three cheers for Paolo. On the other hand, you just cannot go through life flattening those obnoxious souls we all encounter daily. No one spoke as the three of us went home that night.
By noon the next day I'd had three calls with messages from "Ireland," who really did look and act like the Pillsbury Dough Boy though a bit more puffy and not nearly as cute. He was reacting like the IRA "demanding Paolo apologise for his outrageous behaviour" and threatening to cut off a small business project. So, let the project go, was my attitude; but then there was Paolo. Now it was my problem. I didn't think Paolo's behaviour was "outrageous" as I'd have loved to have done it myself, but I couldn't tell Paolo that. And, like it or not, you cannot go through life letting your temper, however justified, go loose and slugging folk.
At breakfast that morning, Paolo had told me he was sorry about last night and hoped I hadn't been embarrassed. I hadn't replied. I was thinking. The trouble was Paolo's been with me long enough to know what can sometime happen after I'm done thinking. He became quiet at the table and hardly responded to Raul at all. After work I told him I'd talk to him about it after dinner and that made him even more quiet. He hardly said a word at dinner, but Raul was all excited about a school sports days and nicely filled the room with laughter and exuberant conversation. Paolo wasn't listening or smiling, but rather looked ill through the whole meal.
Finally I broke in, "Raul, your brother and I have something to talk about tonight, so maybe you can just watch TV or something while we go into my study to talk?"
Raul immediately broke out with an extremely broad smile on his face, his eyes widely opening, and, as kids his age often do it seems, blurted out with it, "OH, you mean Paolo's going to get paddled tonight for hitting that guy last night?!?" He seemed close to laughter. His brother turned even paler, if that's possible and stared him down.
"I didn't say that," I interjected quickly. "But we do need some time to talk privately, if you can find something else to do for awhile?"
Ever the younger brother, Raul continued smiling, looking at his very uncomfortable brother. "Back in Argentina he'd be strapped for sure for fighting. He used to get it all the time. Lots of us did."
"Well, I appreciate that information, Raul, but if you don't mine excusing us."
"Ah, yea, sure, I mean sure." He stood up from the table and disappeared.
I was sipping a fruit tea, trying to warm my hands a bit with the cup from the blasted air conditioner. Paolo had his hands on his head, his elbows on the table, looking down at his plate.
"Was Raul right?" I started first.
Looking up he stared at me with those huge gorgeous black eyes, "Right about what, Cal?"
"About what you got for fighting back in Argentina?"
"Ah," he looked down again, "Yea, it was one of the major rules on the place, but it happened all the time, especially on weekends."
"And they strapped you for it?"
"Yea, yes, but in my case it was more likely because of what they'd accused me of in trying to talk sense into people."
"But they strapped you for fighting?"
"Yes, sometimes." He looked up at me questioningly. "But, I mean, it wasn't like last night or nothing."
I looked at him thinking. He looked so vulnerable sitting there looking at me like that.
"Let's you and I go down to my study and talk a bit more privately." I said. He nodded, sliding his chair back from the table and started to walk out of the kitchen. I followed him. As he walked down the hall and into my home office, I had a nice view of his bottom, moving as he walked in his somewhat snug jeans. The shirt tail of his white polo was out and hanging down over about half his bottom in the style most younger guys wore them around town here, but he was too tall for that shirt tail to protect them from my view as he walked. His low black pony tail swayed seductively around his bottom as well as he moved, as if to call attention to his exotic look and manner. Maybe this would be a good night to tan that bottom, I thought to myself as I watched him walking.
I closed the door behind us shutting out the world but he and I both knew the walls were thin and it would only be a matter of time before his brother was in the adjoining room trying to hear everything. The room's filled with lots of books, computers, and painting all over the walls. He was staring at a paddle lying there on the two-drawer wooden file cabinet. It had been lying there since the last time I had had to use it on one of them, but he didn't know it.
"Look, I know I shouldn't have hit the bastard last night," he was taking the initiative, "but well, you heard what a bitch he was. Who does it think is anyway?'
He was sitting on the couch. I was standing but leaning against my desk, my arms crossed, listening to him, looking down at him.
"OK, OK, maybe I shouldn't have hit him, but he was asking for it." He was talking with his hands, but he didn't look that sure of himself. His eyes kept darting from me to that paddle lying there off the right side. "I mean I don't think I did anything anyone wouldn't have done in my position. He was asking for it!"
I was showing no facial expressions nor moved at all as I leaned there, watching him. The longer and the stiller I leaned there the more agitated he became. "I mean like it wasn't like back in Argentina or anything."
Silence.
He couldn't handle it. His anxiety and frustration were getting to him. He was working himself up almost to a sweat. I wasn't saying anything. I was just listening, watching. "I don't DESERVE to be paddled, Cal! I DON'T DESERVE IT!" It came out loud and clear and all of a sudden .
Now I stepped in, "Deserve? You don't deserve? Who decided what you deserve in this house?"
He had stopped cold in his steps and was staring at me. "But it's not FAIR, Cal! Please, Cal, come on listen to me, it's not FAIR! IT'S NOT FAIR, CAL!"
"OK, guy, stop right there and listen carefully." I was very clear, concise and direct now. "Come here!"
He looked at me, surprised.
"I said, Come Here!" I'm not used to repeating myself.
He stood up and took those two steps until he was standing in front of me, looking at me curiously, his hands moving irregularly as if he expected I might slap him. With his standing directly in front of me and my still leaning, arms still folded across my chest, we were eye to eye.
"Listen careful to what I'm asking you, Paolo." I said slowly. "Who decides what you 'deserve' or what's 'fair' under this roof?"
"Ah, what do you mean?" he looked genuinely confused, beautiful, appealingly handsome up close, but also afraid.
I repeated myself. And was silent.
"Ah, you do, Cal. You do?" he finally got it out accurately.
"Then why are you telling me what you 'deserve' and what's 'fair,' son?"
He didn't catch it and we went through it twice more as he got more and more nervous, shifting on his feet, standing right in front of me and that close. Finally he seemed to get it. "Ah, I'm sorry, I didn't mean anything by that, I guess I just spoke without thinking."
"Like you swung at that guy last night without thinking."
He looked at me and paled even further. "Yes, Cal, but. . ."
I cut him off. "Who decides if you need that paddle laid across your bottom?"
"Ah, you do."
"and who decides if it's 'fair'?"
"You do, Cal. . . Cal I'm sorry but."
"Listen,, boy and listen carefully! You are never, ever to lose your temper like that again, ever. You understand that?"
"Yes, Cal. I'm sorry, but. . ."
"No 'but,' boy, are you listening?"
"Yes, Cal, Yes, I'm listening!" He looked about to cry.
"How many times have I had to turn you over my lap since you've been here, son?"
He looked astonished at the question. "Ah, I don't know, a lot."
"And tell me the honest truth, son, have you honestly always felt you deserved it or it was fair? The truth, son!"
"Ah, not always I guess, especially at first."
"But you got spanked anyway didn't you?"
"Yes, Sir."
"Don't you ever tell me what's 'fair' or what you 'deserve' ever again, son. You understand that?'
He nodded positively. I unfolded my arms for the first time since we'd been in the room and reached out and pulled him closer to me. I took him into my arms, forcing his head on my shoulder, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I'm sorry" he was speaking almost in a whisper. "He got the best of me with his stupid comments." He was shaking, his arms reached around and he was hugging me very, very tightly, his body pressed against mine. My hand reached behind him and undid his tail, allowing his hair to flow freely everywhere. My other hand was on his bottom. Paolo had been real good and real professional, too adult, for too long a time now. As I felt his firm cheeks through his jeans I knew it had been too long. He needed a reminder and he needed to know who remains in charge. I made a decision on the spot in that moment.
I pushed him gently back, ever so slightly, and lifting those polo tails, unbuckled his belt, pulling it through the loops and tossing it aside. Next came the buckles and buttons on his jeans. I tugged them down off his thin but nicely sculpted thighs and ran my hands over them.
"Take these off, son." He looked at me, his eyes watering, his long hair flowing, but he bent down and did as I told him to, returning to me in his white cotton briefs.
"The Polo too." He grabbed the bottom with both hands and pulled it over his head, tossing it aside. As he raised it and the shirt itself parted his long hair, his thin but very well defined and hairless abdomen muscles were exposed first, then his completely hairless chest and firm nipples. As he stood there looking, I noticed the bulge in his basket in the clean white cotton brief. He could be a Calvin Klein model and attract the best of them but he was shy. His hands moved around to protect where I was looking before I took him back into my arms and hugged him as my own hands travelled inside those briefs, resting firmly but securely on the bare skin of his bottom with one of my fingers out extended enough to press the base of his balls. He was holding me tightly again, leaning his body against mine, still propped on the wooden desk.
We held like that for a long time. He was nuzzling, maybe even whimpering a bit and then I realise he was extending too from the way I was holding him under his briefs.
"Maybe I've been neglecting you, Son. It's been a long time, too long, since I've had to take this little bottom over my lap, now hasn't it?"
"Yes." He spoke very very quietly and I hardly heard him even though his head was on my shoulder.
"Well, that's going to change, boy." I patted him. "I don't want you fighting period, but I don't question what you did and I'd have liked to do it myself. Believe me, that guy gets to me to, but I have a feeling you've taking care of it for me and I'll not have to listen to his going on again. But I don't want you ever to forget I'm still going to decide what you need and what's fair for you for a long, long time to come. You hear that, boy?"
"Yes, Cal. I'm sorry. I knew the moment I hit him I shouldn't have. I was angry at myself. I hadn't meant to embarrass you in front of all those people. But, I've never doubted you're here for me." He was looking directly at me, tears in his eyes. I kissed him gently.
Then the straight chair came out and Paolo lost his clean white cotton briefs. I pulled them down for him myself. As I guided him over my lap and swished his long black hair around to get it out of my way, the appeal of his beautifully lithe physique, strong back, and hairless body, was only highlighted by those nice round and sculpted bare buns there over my lap. He was clenching them tightly, embarrassed at knowing what I was seeing, both his hands were tight on my left ankle and leg. I adjusted him further until I had what I wanted right up and a perfect target, but there was no hurry as he wiggled and assured himself of his balance there. I knew he wanted it to be over quickly. I also knew that was not going to happen, not tonight, not with this one. My right hand rested on his bare bottom, feeling it.
"Relax down here, son." I was speaking more softly now. No real orders were necessary. He relaxed his buns and my hands and fingers went more intimately over him, adding some pressure to that especially sensitive point where his upper thigh, cheeks and balls all come together. My left hand was around his _c_o_c_k_ and balls, positioning them exactly as I wanted them.
I raise my hand and spanked him. From the first slap on the very underside of his right cheek and the immediate rhythm that began in that very personal male to male ritual you can never appreciate unless you've felt it for real, my boy was being spanked. Those buns turned white, then rose, he began to whimper more, the "AH's" turned to "Please" then "ouch" and then after a long, long time with that bare bottom very hot and red over my lap, his body jerked and his tears streamed freely. There after his body slumped, his promises and pleases increased, but he knew I would continue until I and I alone made the decision to stop. On and on I went.
The ritual between us was only interrupted briefly, "Raul!" I'd yelled suddenly. Paolo over my lap tensed at my voice but his tears continued. In a moment or so a very quiet and pale looking Raul open the door and stuck his head it, obviously delighted to be invited from having his ear against the door or wall. He looked at his brother there and immediately looked from his very red ass where my hand was resting to his head on the floor sobbing. "Go get me you brother's thermometer in the drawer beside his bed."
"NO! PLEASE, OH NO!" screamed Paolo, which only earned him the wrath of my palm once again spanking his bare bottom. I continued while directing Raul, "Go get it now, Raul, and some Vaseline."
Raul, of course, was delighted and returned almost immediately with that thin small glass tube Paolo dreads more than anything. Paolo looked up at it when his younger brother entered holding it up high in his hand proudly displaying what he knew his brother was going to soon get slid up his bare bottom that was still being spanked as he entered with it. Paolo was bawling like a baby.
His brother stood there fixated at what he was seeing as I took the thermometer from his hands. "You can sit here. Stay, watch if you want," I said to a shocked Raul and an even more shocked boy across my lap. I had never permitted anyone to watch Paolo get it. It had always been inserted privately before, but he had had it before and had needed it a lot when he first had arrived to calm him down.
"PLEASE, PLEASE. PLEASE DON'T LET HIM STAY!" The boy over my lap had cried out and then gone limp when I slap his bare bottom forcefully.
"You still haven't learned who makes these decisions, have you?" With that I continued spanking him. "What does it take to teach you something so, so simple?"
Finally with his bare bottom on fire and very red, almost as red as I'd ever taken it before, he hung there sobbing as I gentle spread his tight buns, dipped his slender tube in some lubricant and running it along him while I held his _c_o_c_k_ and balls very firmly, slowly. . . very very slowly and carefully, slid it slowly up into him. "Calm down, son. . . that a boy. Calm now. . .." As it went in and I held it firmly but carefully against his most intimate parts of his bare bottom continuing to talk to him quietly.
Raul, sitting close with his eyes very wide opened, watched me carefully, very carefully, insert it, causing his brother to restrain his wiggling and work hard to get himself back under self control. That slender tube has always had a good, positive effect with Paolo, who hates the humiliation of my deciding it's time for it's insertion by my own fingers with him over my own lap, but it always causes him to talk intimately and freely about all those things that he's been worrying or concerned about. It's a real confessional for him. Paolo soon forgot the embarrassment of his brother's presence there and, crying it out, told me his feelings, his reactions to what he'd perceived at my ignoring him sometime when Mea was around. He promised, he promised, and he opened up, just as I intended him to do.
Still, I held it in firmly. He whimpered, but the two of us were at that deepest level of communication and trust. It stayed it a good fifteen or more and when it finally came out slowly, I lifted him off my lap and moved him on his knees, his head in my lap, his arms tightly on me.
"Why don't you let us alone, now Raul. You go to bed. Your brother and I have some things to finish."
Raul actually seemed to understand and backed out quietly. "Turn off all the lights and lock up before you go to bed," I'd spoken after him. The house thereafter became quiet. I took Paolo and raised his bare body up, standing him tall and then into my arms.
"I'm sorry. . ." he started, but I put my right index finger on his wet fleshy lips, bring back his silence. And held him. His bare bottom was extremely hot to the touch and his body was bathed in a thin film of sweat, his long long hair flowing everywhere. There is no question he's most attractive in these rare moment when it's just the two of us and all else is in silence. He's been spanked and he's in my hands again.
With a swoop causing a startled look on his face, I lifted him up in my arms and carried him like that out into the hall and into my own room. That night he fell asleep on my chest, his warm body tight against me, my arm around him, and often resting on his bottom. He cried gently, ever so softly, still a bit more as we lay there together but he was secure in my arms. When the sun faintly entered the room the next morning and caused me to stir, he was still exactly in the same position. Neither of us had moved.
The last couple of days have brought us closer than before. He's talked more about what he wants for his own life and I'm listening. His English is good enough that he can express himself now much more deeply, though not completely. What I hadn't realised, but what I know now is that he'd resented Raul's going off to school full time (even though that had been his idea initially) and his having fallen into the role of housekeeper. It's too much the stereotype of the moreno maid for the white man's family. I hadn't picked up on any of that, but it all started to be released that night I'd spanked him. I've heard him and we are making plans, gathering his papers for him to go back to school and finish his education. We are closer than ever. He's a beautiful human being!
So, why am I telling you all this, James? To encourage you to be more open with your own country Gentleman and urge you to cut the games and get real. Quit the "it cannot be true's" and just let things happen, James. After all he and he alone is gong to decide when, if, and how to spank you anyway and if he decides you're going to get it from that Gardener, it's his decision, not yours!
Cal