As a 'top' I have enjoyed over the years many interesting encounters with an astonishingly diverse range of guys. As mutual trust has grown, I have learned that I have met and enjoyed interactions with judges, academics, professional sportsmen - on and on the somewhat staggering list goes.
But one 'one off' encounter might be of interest to guys sharing my 'quirk'.
The encounter in a sense began with an e-mailed response to an advertisement I had placed on the Net. I replied, providing my telephone number and suggesting that a telephone conversation establishing where each of us was 'coming from' might be helpful. I received the suggested telephone call.
It rapidly became clear that my caller's tastes and mine were congruent. Corporal punishment as an end in itself, not a prelude to or component of an overtly _s_e_x_ual encounter. A paper strap was out, but so was a permamently marking whip. Mutual discretion vital. And so on. I took the risky plunge and entrusted my caller with my address and arranged a time of meeting.
The only problem ws that my caller wanted me to engage in a role play. Within limits, I can live with role plays. Strict daddy or firm uncle. Severe headmster. But my caller wanted a military scene. Once only, he specified.
But the scene was tolerable. I, in his fantasy, was employed by a military college to chastise cadets sentenced to corporal punishment. Such administration was beneath the dignity of the College's staff. He would visit me and deliver a sealed letter, allegedly from his Commanding Officer. It was possible that said letter might specify simply that the cadet was shown the instruments of correction that could be prescribed by the Commanding Officer and used. It might, however, require the utilisation of said instruments upon the appropriate place of the cadet's anatomy. Indeed, a "severe thrashing" - his term - might be required.
We arranged a meeting. My visitor arrived. He was, I estimated, in his 20s (so much for some theories as to the origins of a desire to be spanked or otherwise subjected to corporal punishment). He was carrying one of those 'back-packs' so beloved of the young. He was clean shaven, well spoken, and almost embarrassingly courteous. I speculated as to whether he was a body-building freak or 'into' swimming, but did not ask. Physically fit he certainly was!
We had a cup of coffee. Then he said, "Might we get on with things? Here's the Commander's letter. I think you understood my scenbe. If I may, could I get dressed for the session in private?"
He dressed in my bathroom (not a circumlocation, as per the USA, for lavatory).
I was all but thrown when he knocked on my lounge-room door and, on my calling "Enter!", made his entry. Somewhere or other he had procured or had had made the uniform once worn by British cadets. Tight pants. "Bum Freezer" jacket. The whole lot! He stood at attention, saluted, said "I have delivered the Commander's letter and await instructions. Sir!"
I attempted to play my assigned role. "I take it you know what unpleasant task sometimes is mine?"
"Yes, sir".
"That task is...?"
"To administer corporal punishment if specified, sir. And done properly as it has to be done, sir."
"I intend having a nice cup of tea before reading the letter from your Commander which you gave me. It could be that you are merely to be shown the instruments of correction as a warning. So sit down and relax. You might care to join me in a cup of tea...."
"Thank you, sir. I would appreciate that. Although I think my record will mean I'm in for more than a warning. Might I pour the tea, sir?"
Half-way through my all but tasteless tea I opened the letter, allegedly penned by my visitor's 'Commander', and slowly read it.
"Bad news, I'm sorry to say. The Commander has specified a full thrashing."
"That's what I expected, sir."
"For good reason, I see."
"Yes sir. I was really out of hand, sir. Whatever's coming I deserve. I'll take it like a soldier should, sir. I know you've a job to do and will cooperate. Sir."
"The instruments are specified. The heavy strop and 'a suitable rattan cane'. You will have to take your stropping and caning on your bared buttocks. That is specified. Were you aware of that?"
"Yes, sir, I was told by a chap you dealt with that is what is usually the case. You do it best if the soldier is nude. Sir. That does not embarrass me. Sir. I will strip off when ordered. Sir."
"I will procure the instruments. When I return with them I expect that you will have readied yourself. Let's not beat about the bush. When I return you will be standing, nude, in front of the book case. You understand? And understand further that if I let you off lightly, you'll be sent back for a return visit and thrashing. The Commander will inspect your buttocks, one or two days from now. If they do not show evidence of correction, back you will have to come and I'll have to do the job all over again. I'll read you what the Commander says. 'I expect to see two very tender, black, blue and yellow bruised bum cheeks elegantly striped with weals he won't rub away under the shower.' If I treat you lightly, it will be worse in the long run. Do you understand what is coming, soldier...?"
"I understand sir, I really do. A thrashing is a thrashing. I came expecting a full thrashing. I'll try and make it easy for you to do your job. Sir."
I took my time taking possession of the strop and what I deemed to be a suitable cane. When I made my way back to the front-room my "misbehaving cadet" was standing where I had specified. His uniform had been neatly folded and piled to his right. He was stark naked, as required, and I must say that his firm, startlingly white, rounded buttocks invited the punishment he, in truth, had prescribed for himself. He was slightly trembling. For a moment I simply observed him, particularly his shaking, white bottom.
Then I spoke. "Come here, soldier" I said, moving to a couch.
Without protest, the 'cadet' moved towards me.
"Now just bend over this couch, making the target area conveniently accessible to me. Good man. Good soldier. You have only to keep your bottom still. I have to do the work. Slightly spread your legs. Good soldier. That's just right. Just keep still. No grabbing you bum. Unless you have something to say, I will now start executint your sentence. It will hurt. But you'll survive. They all do...."
"I'm ready, sir. I'll take it like and man and a soldier should. Power to your right arm, sir. But let's get it over and done with. Sir. Is my bum how you a guy's bum placed for thrashing it? Sir."
I had not asked, and did not subsequently ask, how frequently my visitor had lived out his fantasy. But he certainly knew how to present his bottom for the strop and cane!
I will not go into graphic details. Suffice to say he took twelve slow strokes with the strop across both centre buttocks, those buttocks pleasingly quivering after each stroke. Then fifteen rapid strokes. During this component of his punishment, he began articulating his obvious discomfort, a sort of "Eeeeh!' rising in volume as the fifteen were quickly delivered. His hands, I observed, clutched the couch with ever-increasing tension. But he held his position, and his hands stayed where they were, not used in a vain attempt to protect his bared bum.
A pause. Then a further fifteen rapid lashes, and again the rising 'Eeeeh!' I then again paused. His rump, startlingly reddened, was quivering. But as before he hel dposition. "Good man, good soldier!" I said, rembering my role. A few hard hand slaps. "Just 30 more with the strop and then that part is all over. Then a good caning, but the stropping will soon be over. Tell me when you are ready to take your first lot of another 15 with the strop. But do not keep me waiting too long,..."
"Whenever - whenever - you think I'm ready, sir. I'm holding my bum in position, sir. Whenever...."
Fifteen, a few more hard smacks with the hand, then the final fifteen. I have never before seen such a bouncing, quivering pair of reddening - really, fast becoming crimson, bum cheeks during and after punishment.
I let him wait, then utilised the cane. Slowly. Twelve cuts only, but precisely positioned and delivered with full force. Three of the cuts I administered not across his shaking buttocks but on the fleshy component of his upper legs, and these cuts clearly hit home andhurt, going by his gasps, as well as leaving their mark.
I required him to hold position and squirm for five minutes or so, then said, "The punishment is complete; you may break." I have never before witnessed such a sight. He stood, arched his back, and grasped his reddened and striped buttocks, squeezing them as though so doing might lessen his obvious discomfort and all but 'hopped' around the room! "Oh sir! My bum, my poor bum. It hurts sir, but I hope I took it like a good soldier should and please tell the Commander I took it properly with class...."
"Get dressed!", I snapped.
"But sir, you have not examined me yet. To see if I've been punished enough. But if you wish to omit that, it is for you to say...."
I did not quite know what was being requested.
"Examine you I will! You are fortunate that you remembered this part of the punishment! I was testing you. Let us get it over with!" What was coming I could not guess.
The lad winced his way towards me, turned, and bent slightly over, presenting his reddened and wealed rump. Observing his weals, I actually felt slightly guilty. I think, however, that I knew what he wanted. Somewhat brutally, I repeatedly smacked his rump, and then squeezed each bum cheek, registering his gasps as I found tender areas and on the verge of bleeding weals to 'pinch'. I again think I sensed what he wanted. "Get over my knee!", I ordered. I then spanked his reddened and striped bouncing buttocks until my hand was too sore to continue.
"Now get dressed!" I said.
The game was clearly over. My visitor picked up the bits and pieces of his uniform and retired to the bathroom. He emerged in the 'civies' he was wearing on arrival. "Thank you so much, that was utterly magnificent. But I need a new chastiser each time. I won't see you again, but that was my best yet. For you, would you like to look at my bare bum again and check out the job you did?"
I was speechless. Perhaps my silence was misunderstood. But a pair of pants were lowered, as were a pair of underpants. A shirt was tucked up and a ravaged bottom exposed. My feelings were ambiguous. That bottom, but 35 minutes or so previously, had been enchantingly white, set off by a tanned back and legs. It now was still quivering and, well.... I was tempted to administer a final spanking, but desisted.
"I am satisfied. I hope the Commander is. Get dressed!" He stood, pulled up his underpants and pants, and tucked in his shirt.
We shook hands. He spoke. "Thank you sir, for an unpleasant job well done. My best yet. I've never had such a throbbing bum before. Thank you sir. Goodbye."
I have never seen him again.