Matt was barely 18 years old, although he looked little more than 15 or 16. He was blond, with very short cropped hair. When stripped he resembled a young Adonis. He stood just 5 feet 8 inches high and weighed 150 lbs. But his well tanned body was solid muscle as a result of his enthusiasm for the gym.
His many hours in the gym had helped him develop a well defined chest. In addition he possessed a strong and firm backside with solid thighs. What little body hair the boy possessed was barely noticeable because of its light blond texture.
A more perfect specimen of young manhood would be hard to imagine! Both boys and girls constantly admired his fine physique.
Those twin orbs of his sturdy butt just begged for punishment and when he was younger the lad's father spared no mercy when the time came for discipline. Matt and his father both held the belief that a solid thrashing on a fairly regular basis was an essential path in the growth of manhood. On such occasions, Matt accepted, without question, the need for correction and he fully knew that the intense pain of a solid thrashing was for his own good.
Despite the fine build of this strapping young man, he did not last too long before he was crying and screaming whenever his father administered a good flogging to those buttocks. Yet after every thrashing the boy felt like a new man and yearned for his next visit to the woodshed where he would again be spreadeagled over the workbench for further punishment. He was a glutton for punishment!
But his father had long departed from home and it had been two years since he had experienced his last thrashing.
Matt decided it was high time he tested out his new found passage into adulthood and answered an advertisement on the internet for a live-in slave houseboy. His initial phone enquiries excited him. His master was to be a very strict man and would administer an initial thrashing to establish his authority. In addition, he would have no hesitation in whipping his young slave's ass at the slightest transgression. This is exactly what he wanted.
He agreed to spend a fortnight in his role as slave houseboy and left for his new temporary home in the hills. Knocking at his master's door, he was nevertheless a little apprehensive but at the same time looking forward to the experience.
The door was opened by a solidly built man in his mid 30s who instantly admired the sight before him. The cute young boy stood before him dressed in a mesh T shirt, two sizes too small, and a brief pair of torn and tight white shorts. His new master surveyed the scene intently. The boy's bronzed body and well toned pecs, visible through the tight mesh T shirt, beckoned him. He could hardly wait to get those shorts off the boy and, needless to say, he didn't have to wait long.
The lad was invited in and the rules of his two week long commitment were clearly outlined.
He was to be a houseboy, to keep the house clean, to wait upon any guests and to obey any instruction given to him.
"So, why have you decided to apply to be my slave houseboy?"
"Sir, because I need discipline and as your slave I hope you will give me that discipline."
"I'll surely do that for you; have no doubt about it."
"Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir," the boy replied.
"While you are here, if I am even slightly dissatisfied with your work, that butt of yours will be subject to some very strict punishment. Right, boy?"
"Yes, Sir," the boy again acknowledged.
"First instruction," his master commanded. "You may now strip to your underpants."
Matt obeyed instantly. First he removed his shoes and socks and then slipped his T shirt over his head. What a sight! The boy stood there dressed only in his string bikini briefs.
"You will not require the rest of your clothing for the coming week, young man. Whilst you are in my home you will wear nothing but those underpants. Do you understand?"
"I do. Yes, Sir."
"Right. Now let's get a better look at you. Hands behind your head. Now!"
As instructed, Matt firmly locked his hands in place as his master approached him, placed his hand inside the elastic and slowly lowered the boy's briefs. Walking behind the boy, he stood back and admired that firm, taught and solid pair of buttocks. He then squeezed each cheek with his hand and followed up with two mighty slaps, one to each buttock.
"Yes, I think you are going to make a fine young slave boy, Matt. And from the look of that butt of yours, I have no doubt you can withstand some fairly strong punishment. Wouldn't you agree?"
"Yes, Sir. All boys need strong punishment. It helps them to grow into manhood."
"And that's what we're going to do for the next week. Ensure that you grow into manhood. Correct?"
"Correct, Sir."
"Now to impress upon you the need for strict obedience and to establish my authority as your new master, I think we both agreed that an initial thrashing was in order. Is that not right?"
"Yes, Sir. We agreed to that."
"However, in addition to your initial punishment, you already need to be punished for your first act of disobedience. My last instruction was to put your hands behind your head. I have not told you to remove them. Yet, now they are back at your side. Any comment?"
"Sorry, Sir. Yes, I forgot to keep them there. I should be punished."
"Right. Now follow me to the back room."
Matt was led out to the back room. What was in sight there, was enough to fill any boy with trepidation. Prominently displayed on the wall were various instruments of punishment, including three canes of various thicknesses, four assorted leather straps, a whip, a riding crop and two paddles. It was explained to the boy that any discipline session could well result in a beating from several of those implements at any one time.
The three canes were of various thicknesses; the lighter one he was soon to find out would cause an excessive stinging sensation when flayed across his naked buttocks. But, unlike the thicker canes, the marks would fade fairly quickly.
Similarly, the straps varied in size and intensity. The two most lethal looking straps were the razor strop and the tawse. The tawse was split into three separate strands at the receiving end so that each stroke would deliver three distinct red welts across Matt's butt. The razor strop, about 3 feet in length and four inches wide, would redden a wide section of his butt with each stroke.
The riding crop would not only deliver a thin straight welt across the butt but the leather thong at the end would whack onto the flesh with a resounding thwack – and the resultant scream from its recipient.
But for a major effect, nothing withstood the severity of the pain from the butt whip. Just eighteen inches long but with seven separate strands of leather that would most certainly leave a lasting impression for several days.
"Well, young man. What are you thinking?"
"Sir, I think my butt is going to get some very strong punishment over the next week and that it will do me a great deal of good. It's what I need, I'm sure. But it's going to hurt, I know."
"I'm pleased to hear that, young man. I am impressed with your sense of maturity and understanding."
The master reached for the light cane and flexed it three times. Matt shuddered as it swished through the air.
"First, I'm going to punish you for your disobedience in dropping your hands before you were told. Centre stage, young man," his master intoned as he pointed to the centre of the room. "Bend over."
The naked boy bent into the prone position, those solid orbs tightening as he stretched forward and down as far as he could. The master positioned the cane across his butt and after two or three gentle taps to prepare the boy, he drew the cane back as far as he could and flayed it across those buttocks. A perfectly aimed stroke was laid across the top of both buttocks. Matt gasped.
There was a pause, not only to allow the sensation to take full effect but for the welt to rise. And then followed a second and third stroke. Again the boy gasped and the master paused. His aim was perfect. Three separate red welts were now clearly visible.
"Well, boy. How many do you think you deserve for your disobedience?"
"At least a dozen, Sir."
And with that, another nine strokes were positioned across his buttocks. The eleventh stroke brought forth a mighty scream as it cut across his lower buttocks near the upper thighs. The twelfth stroke was laid diagonally across the other eleven welts."
"You may get up."
"Thank you, Sir," the boy acknowledged as he rose and reached around to rub his tender and bruised backside.
"What have you got to say for yourself?" he asked the lad.
Between his tears the boy replied. "Yes, Sir, I deserved it. I agreed that if I was disobedient, I had to be punished. Thank you, Sir."
"Now I presume you realise you still have your initial punishment to take?"
"Yes, Sir. I realise that."
"You may choose the instrument for your next punishment. Go and get it and hand it to me please, Matt."
Matt approached the wall and took down the razor strop. He handed it to his new master.
"And why did you choose the razor strop, boy?" he was asked.
"Because that's what dad always used when he felt I needed a really strong punishment," the boy replied.
"Tell me, how many would your father give you when he wanted to give a strong punishment?"
"At least thirty or forty lashes, Sir."
"I see. And how old were you when you last had the strop?"
"Sixteen, Sir."
"Well, if a 16 year old can take thirty or forty lashes, an eighteen year old should be able to take 50 lashes. Don't you agree?"
"Yes, Sir."
"Well I think it might be an idea for you to take some 'corner time' to think about what's coming next. Stand in the corner. Face the wall and put your hands back behind your head."
Matt did as instructed. As a reminder to the boy on what was in store for him the razor strop was deliberately draped over the boy's shoulder. The end of the strop was resting on Matt's buttocks. Although his master soon left the room, Matt, despite his anxiousness to rub his butt, dared not move his hands. He already had his punishment for disobedience and didn't want any more at this time.
Some considerable time later the master returned. He stood back and admired his handiwork on Matt's butt. Twelve distinct welts had now fully risen and were already turning into shades of purple.
"Drop your hands. Turn around and face me," he commanded his slave. "Now tell me, do you understand why you have been punished so far?" he asked.
"Because of my disobedience in dropping my hands before you told me, Sir."
"That's right. And now what is the next punishment for?"
"To establish your authority, Sir."
"Correct. Would you prefer to take the whole lot in one go or spread it out with some 'corner time' in between?"
"Sir, I'm already sore. Could I take half of the punishment and then have a break?"
"Yes, you may do that. Hand me the razor strop and get yourself over the workbench."
As instructed, Matt handed his master the strop and headed for the bench. He leant over as far as he could. As he did so, his master pressed him down firmly so that his chest was flat on the bench.
"Feet apart," was the order and the boy spread his feet. He grasped the other side of the bench firmly to hold himself down.
Those rounded orbs were now in position and ready for what was about to befall them. And he did not have long to wait. Almost instantly the first lash of the strop cut across his buttocks and the boy flinched.
"Count them aloud," he was commanded and the boy replied, "One, Sir."
And the flogging continued. "Two, Sir . . . Three, Sir . . . Four, Sir . . . Five, Sir . . . Six, Sir . . . Seven, Sir . . . Eight, Sir . . . Nine, Sir . . . Ten, Sir . . ."
By now the tears were streaming down the lad's face, but he maintained his position as the strop continued to slam across his bruised and battered butt. By the fifteenth stroke the boy was screaming with each lash.
"Do you want a break, boy?" his master enquired.
"No, Sir. Not until we get half way."
And the beating continued to the half way mark. When Matt was told to rise, he thanked his master and rubbed his butt furiously. It was little wonder that his bottom had such a severe burning sensation as his master had laid the strop on heavily.
As the strop was placed on the bench, Matt was told to face it as a reminder during his 'corner time' of the rest of the hiding that would soon follow. Some thirty minutes later his master returned and retrieved the leather strop.
"Resume the punishment position," he commanded.
The boy again spread himself over the bench and took the remainder of his beating. There was no doubt his new master had now well and truly established his authority.
"Thank you, Sir," the boy addressed his master. "That was a good whipping. I really needed it. It's a long time since I've punished like that. My dad always taught me that a beating has got to be hard or it doesn't do a boy any good."
"Yes, I can see that. Two years is far too long for a boy like you to go without a beating. Well, I can promise you it most certainly won't be another two years. You're likely to be taking quite a few good hidings in the next week, young man. I have no doubt I can help you grow up into manhood."
Matt was told to go and take a long cold shower to cool himself off and then to dress in his briefs and report for further instructions. He was then assigned his regular duties as a house boy. These included the usual household chores of vacuuming, making the beds, preparing meals and general yard duties.
None of the duties was particularly onerous but preparing meals was something with which the lad had little experience. Just two days later, Matt dropped and broke a whole pile of dishes. After cleaning the mess, he realised what he must do next. He must report the matter to his master without hesitation and be prepared to face the consequences of his actions.
But Sir had heard the crash and was already in the kitchen. The pair of them just stared at each other. Matt was the first to speak.
"I'm sorry, Sir. It was my fault. I was trying to carry too many plates at the one time."
"So what are we going to do about it?" his master enquired of the tanned young Adonis standing there before him in just his briefs. He was a sight to behold.
"I think you should punish me, Sir."
"Yes, I feel that would be in order, boy. Bring me the riding crop."
Without a word, Matt left the room to fetch the instrument of punishment. He quickly returned and handed the crop to his master.
"Face the wall. Hands above your head on the wall."
The boy obeyed. Sir grabbed the boy's briefs and exposed his buttocks. They were still carrying the marks from his beatings two days ago. Nevertheless, fifteen lashes of the crop flayed across his naked butt. The punishment was severe and Matt yelped and cried with each stroke.
The following day Matt received yet another beating. He had been working in the yard when his master determined that his duties were not proceeding at a sufficient pace. Again the briefs were lowered. With the three separate strips of the leather tawse, a dozen strokes across the boy's butt filled the lad with renewed energy for his chores.
The tawse was like a strap and a cane all in one. It was an extremely supple instrument that wrapped and conformed to the skin on Matt's butt. It transferred liquid fire onto the boy's bare buttocks with the residual burn lasting several minutes.
As the days followed Matt took to his role of slave houseboy with renewed vigour and enthusiasm. He tried hard to impress his master and at the same time to avoid the need for further punishment until his buttocks had healed to some extent.
It was some days before Matt needed further encouragement to pursue his duties and it came from an entirely new source.
Matt, still clad in those string briefs, was to act as a servant for the evening with four of his master's best mates. His duties were to serve the food and drink. The male guests were just so impressed with the lad's fine physique. Rarely had they beheld such a perfectly developed young body and they were suitably entranced. Bronzed with such broad shoulders, well developed pecs and sturdy thighs, the lad was a sight to behold.
But as the night wore on and the drinks were consumed in such copious quantities, the guests became more and more loquacious and unsteady. As Matt was serving one of the guests, a sudden lurch resulted in the drink being spilled over the guest's trousers. The guest was not at all impressed, to say the least.
"I thought you were supposed to be a well trained houseboy," he yelled at the lad.
"I'm sorry, Sir. It was an accident."
"Yes, and you're about to be more sorry, boy," was the reply.
With that the guest jumped to his feet and grabbed the boy and threw him across the dining room table.
"Jack, give us your belt and come and help me," he called to his mate.
Jack slowly withdrew his belt from around his waist and handed it to his friend. It was an extremely wide and thick leather belt and Matt guessed what was in store for him.
"Hold him down," Jack instructed as the two large hands of his friend forced the boy into an unmovable position.
Jack pushed his fingers into the elastic of Matt's briefs and dropped the briefs to expose the lad's buttocks. He could see the results of the boy's earlier punishments.
"I can see that this lad hasn't yet learnt to be a good houseboy. You've been too gentle on him, haven't you?" he called to Matt's master. "Well, we'll soon fix that."
Drunk or not, that belt was wielded with incredible force and in no time had the boy screaming as each stroke landed across his butt. Matt soon lost count, but the belting seemed to go for ages. Every scream only seemed to encourage his disciplinarian to lay on with even greater severity.
The young lad was certainly achieving his goal of developing into manhood, even though it was so painful for him.
The beating only ceased when his punisher was eventually exhausted.
Matt's fortnight as a houseboy was coming to an end and the master was anxious to have yet another opportunity to warm the boy's buns. He observed his slave's house chores closely, awaiting the excuse he had been looking for. What made the situation even more enjoyable for him was the fact that Matt seemed to enjoy being punished. Not that the boy particularly enjoyed the punishment at the time he received it, but afterwards he seemed so much at ease. The lad was a masochist!
Eventually his master found the excuse for yet another beating. His slave had failed to close one of the windows the previous evening and the overnight rain had entered into the lounge room.
"Slave boy," he called.
"Yes, Sir," the boy responded from a nearby room and promptly came to his master's beckoning.
"What do you see all over the floor young man?"
"Water, Sir."
"And how do you think it got there?"
"I'm not sure."
"Well, look at that open window and think about it."
The boy gazed at the window and suddenly realised what had happened.
"Oh, Sir. I'm sorry. It's my fault. I forgot to close the windows last night."
"So, what do you think we should do about it?"
"I think I should clean it up first and then I deserve to be punished, Sir."
"And what should I use this time, boy? The cane, the strap, the belt, the tawse . . . what do you think?"
"You haven't used the whip on me yet, Sir. Dad used to whip me when I was bad. I think you should do the same."
"Fair enough. Then clean up the mess and report out to the back room."
"Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir."
And this is when the boy got the major hiding of his time as slave houseboy.
After cleaning the mess in the dining room, Matt reported for punishment. His master was waiting, whip in hand, and ready to administer the punishment. After personally stripping those string bikini briefs from the lad, he led him to the punishment horse, bent him over it and strapped the boy down. Feet and hands were strapped to prevent the lad from flinching or jerking around during his whipping.
"Thirty lashes coming up, boy!" his master declared.
"Thirty lashes. Seven strands of leather with each lash," the boy thought to himself. "This will be a punishment I probably won't forget in a hurry."
And when that first lash cut across his bare buttocks, he knew for sure that he wouldn't forget this punishment in a long, long time. The master paused and allowed time for the seven welts to rise and for the pain to reach its zenith. With full force, he then laid on the rest of the punishment, pausing for a full thirty seconds or more between each lash.
As expected, the boy cried and then screamed throughout his beating, tears running constantly down his face. It seemed like an eternity as he awaited each successive stroke. But to the boy, this was the type of punishment that would really help him grow into manhood.
As he was released from his restraints, the boy stood and faced his master.
"Thank you, Sir. I deserved every bit of that punishment," the lad acknowledged. "You sure know how to lay it on solidly."
"Then I hope it's done you good."
"Yes, Sir, but . . ."
"But what?"
"But, Sir, I don't think I've been punished enough to learn my lesson properly."
"Oh, what more do you think you should have?"
"I think, perhaps, I also deserve another twelve cuts of the crop, please, Sir."
"You think?"
"I'm sure."
"All right, but seeing tomorrow is your last day with me, I think we might leave it to then. All right?"
"Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir."
The next morning the near naked, as usual, Matt was up early and out in the kitchen preparing a cooked breakfast. He did not hear his master enter but felt his heavy hand slap across his butt.
"Well, young man. Do we still need the twelve strokes of the riding crop on those buttocks this morning?"
"Yes please, Sir."
"Well let's have breakfast first, all right? It smells good."
As the pair of them sat down to breakfast, the boy's master gazed across the table at that magnificently developed torso. The boy's time in the gymnasium had been good for him. He was going to miss this slave around the house. But he need not have been concerned too long.
"Sir, thank you for having me this past fortnight and thank you for all the discipline. You really hurt when you lay it on, but I know it's good for me and I feel so much better for it. Can I come back again some time, please?"
"Sure. You just call me when you're ready, even if you just want to drop in for a good hiding to keep you on track."
"Thanks."
The breakfast dishes were cleared away and Matt retrieved the crop and brought it to his master.
"I'm ready, Sir."
Without further instruction, he knew what to do. He dropped his briefs and assumed the position – two feet back from the wall, his feet apart and his hands above his head against the wall. His already welted buttocks were ready for a further lashing.
The master flexed the crop and positioned it across those well rounded buns. After a couple of light taps he drew the crop back as far as he could and with maximum force flayed it across both cheeks. The lad inhaled but did not scream. His tolerance level had increased over the past fortnight. But by the eighth stroke he could not hold himself back any longer.
"Do you still want the last four, boy?"
"Yes please, Sir."
And the last four left a lasting impression in more ways than one. The first two strokes landed on Matt's upper thighs whilst the eleventh and twelfth strokes were placed diagonally across the butt.
"When you've composed yourself, boy, get yourself dressed and I'll see you off home."
Fifteen minutes later, the cute young boy again stood before his master dressed as he was when he first arrived, in a mesh T shirt, two sizes too small, and a brief pair of torn and tight white shorts. The boy's bronzed body and well toned pecs, were again clearly visible through that tight mesh T shirt. What a sight!
The pair of them shook hands and Matt left, with his master wondering how long it would be before the lad was back and ready to take further punishment.