Author's note: Let me know what you think of the story. SpankSterling@aol. com
Letting go was the best thing right now. He gave up all resistance and control, and felt strangely relieved to let a man he wholly trusted decide his fate.
"Bend over," said a stern masculine voice from behind him.
Swallowing hard, he bent forward, placing his hands on the desk, and instinctively spread his legs wider. He felt the Sergeant firmly place a hand on his back, then bring the paddle to rest against his ass. The anticipation, he thought, had to be the worst part of it. He was tough. He could take the pain.
In one swift motion the Sergeant raised the paddle high, and brought it back down on the Private's backside. He saw his subordinate give a small jump. He had to smile; he'd been wanting to take control of matters like this for a long time. He laid another swat down on the Private, who didn't move this time.
Ten swats later, the Private thought how lucky he was that his pants were softening the blows substantially. The anticipation was the worst part, he considered, as this didn't hurt nearly as much as he thought it would. Suddenly the swats stopped.
"Pants off," said the deep voice of the disciplinarian.
The Private remained motionless for a moment, in disbelief of what he had just heard. Surely he hadn't been told to take off his pants -- he couldn't be expected to get a spanking in just his boxers.
"That's an order, Private!"
Feeling the resistance swelling within him, he stood up and turned around, facing his Sergeant, and protested. "But Sir, I --"
But before he could get anything else out, the Sergeant put him back in his place by adding, "You're a disgrace to your uniform, and you won't be allowed to use it to protect your ass from the punishment you deserve, now take your pants off!"
Feeling he'd just made matters much worse, he quickly obeyed, taking his shoes and pants off. He walked to a chair on the side of the room and laid his pants in it.
"Shirt too," the Sergeant ordered. Just because he was disciplining one of his men didn't mean he couldn't enjoy the beauty of the Private's well-defined chest and arms. Besides, he thought, it added humility and vulnerability to the punishment.
As the Private slowly unbuttoned his shirt and removed his undershirt, he again felt strangely freed by exposing himself almost completely to a man he greatly admired. As he walked back to the desk in nothing but his socks and boxers, the Sergeant watched him closely, scrutinously, and looked almost as if he was enjoying seeing the well-toned body of one of his men. Resuming the position, the Private was oddly starting to enjoy himself when...
THWACK! The next swat hit with twice as much force as the previous ones. "_d_a_m_n_," he thought, his uniform was giving him more protection than he realized. THWACK! Again the swat exploded with more force than the previous one, and he felt himself jump again uncontrollably. THWACK! One more time the swat came with unimaginably more pain than the last, and he arched his back in desperation.
The Sergeant pressed down on the Private's back to keep him from standing up on the next swat, which he delivered even harder than all the others. THWACK! THWACK! Fifteen swats later, the Private remained nearly motionless, as if determined to push through the unbearable pain he had to now be in. The Sergeant was silently impressed at his Private's willpower and pain threshold; however, impressed or not, if punishment is to be effective, he had to break the Private.
"Stand up," the Sergeant said.
"Finally," the Private thought, "it's over." He was sure he would not have been able to hold out much longer, but now it was over. He stood up and faced the Sergeant, standing at attention, and secretly hoping to be complimented on his ability to take pain.
The Sergeant stared into the Private's eyes, and felt anticipation in his stomach at what he was about to say. "Boxers off," he ordered.
The Private's eyes, which had been filled with pride at how well he had taken the ordeal, now widened in disbelief. The punishment wasn't over. In fact, there was more, except now he had to take the rest of his swats bare. He couldn't believe this! He wasn't a little boy anymore getting a spanking over his father's knee -- he was a man, and this whole thing had gone far enough.
"Sir, that's not fair! I accept that I need to be disciplined, but I don't deserve to get a bare-ass spanking like I was some kid." Though as he said this, he didn't really believe it. He did deserve a bare-ass spanking, and he had acted like a kid. He was torn between wanting to take the punishment he sorely deserved, and saving his ass from embarrassment and pain.
The Sergeant was angry at this insubordination, but not at all surprised. In his most authoritative voice, which never failed to put fear and respect into his men, he ordered again, simply, "Boxers off, Private."
Staring again into his Sergeant's eyes, he was struck with a renewed respect and trust for this man. He knew somehow that no matter how much this was going to hurt, it would be done out of pure concern for keeping him in line and out of trouble. He lowered his eyes to the floor, happening to notice his officer's raging hardon. He took great comfort in that sight, because he had been hard ever since bending over for the second part of his spanking.
He lowered his boxers to the floor, then placed them with the rest of his clothes on the chair, and again resumed the position, now feeling totally free, enjoyably vulnerable, and incredibly excited.
A firm hand on his back, and the paddle raised high in the air, he heard the THWACK! followed by a bolt of pain. THWACK! He winced as the next swat landed harder -- the cool wood of the paddle meeting his hot, reddened, bare ass. THWACK! THWACK! THWACK! The swats were coming quicker, but evenly. THWACK! THWACK! THWACK! He felt himself get even harder, and found himself longing for the next swat, but dreading it at the same time. THWACK! THWACK! The pain was beginning to be too much, and incredulously, he began to feel tears swelling in his eyes. "Oh no," he thought, "I can't cry...not in front of him...I can't." Looking upward he blinked furiously to keep back the tears.
Expertly observing the Private's every move, the Sergeant could feel that he was reaching the breaking point. "This is what it's about," he thought, "taking them to that point -- otherwise the entire ritual is worthless. Well...almost worthless," he thought as stared at the hard athletic body of his finest -- if not most rebellious -- man. From his thick neck, bulging biceps, and V-shaped back to his perfectly rounded ass, muscular legs, and incredibly beautiful face, he enjoyed every moment of seeing the Private bent over in willing submission. The Sergeant smiled as he laid on ten more swats with impeccable precision and force. "Looks like his body isn't the only thing that's hard," he thought.
He gave up -- the Private lowered his head and tears fell generously onto the table. THWACK! THWACK! THWACK! The paddle's crack echoed in the room as swat after swat landed on his ass, which felt as if it were on fire. His senses were overwhelmed -- the faint smell of sweat (both his and the Sergeant's), the feel of the paddle bearing down on him, the cool air around his naked body, the wetness of the tears on his face, and a surging, wonderful ache in his groin, begging and pleading for release.
THWACK! It was over. The last swat had been the hardest of all. With that last swat, the Private felt an incredible emotional release, like all the turmoil in him had suddenly become still. He felt a gentle hand stroke his head, and he stood up shakily to see his Sergeant smiling proudly at him. The Private fell gratifyingly into the arms of his Sergeant, who then gave his Private the physical release he needed.