"Dear Paul,
It's great to find a secure way to be in touch at last. At least I hope it's secure.
The world is changing around us - and I don't like the directions it's taking. When I was a boy, my father was a loving and kind man, but if you stepped out of line, you knew what you were in for. You were sent upstairs, where you had to have a bath, go to your room and put on your punishment vest, nothing else.
The punishment vest was just that, a white cotton vest reserved for spankings. It was generally just long enough to cover your stomach, but your bottom and front bits were always in the open. You had to stand in the bedroom in your vest, hands on your head, for about thirty minutes, the bedroom door open so dad could check. Then he'd come up, lecture you, turn you over his knee, and spank hard. Later, it was the strap.
As I grew older and after mother passed away, Dad would sometimes spank me in front of my uncle or even the card school that came to our house each week. Looking back, I suppose this would now be seen as something really bad. But dad and I stayed good friends to his dying day and I know he taught me self-discipline.
When the time came, I decided to rear my own children the same way. In the event, I only had one son, Alex, before his mother left me when Alex was five, so I have had to rear him. He is thirteen now.
I have used similar methods with Alex. But we're at the stage I was once at, where he's got too used to me on my own. So it would be great if you could come next Friday night. To find me you...."
It was not the first time I had received this kind of mail, but they have not been common over the years. Opportunities to operate in the older ways have mostly come to me on the grapevine through my tutoring work. All the same, I read the letter with pleasure and interest. A loving father who wanted some assistance.
I arrived at their house at eight, as Sam had requested. He opened the door to me and told me that Alex was upstairs bathing.
"One part of the operation you have kept the same."
"Yes, I prefer to spank a fresh, clean bottom," Sam said.
He led me to his front room and very soon, Alex was with us, clad pristinely in white vest tucked into white briefs, with short white cotton socks.
He looked at me with shock.
I looked at him with interest, the interest one always has in a boy about to be disrobed and spanked.
He was a comely thirteen year old. Slender and well-proportioned, with glossy brown hair, very smooth and boyish, yet beginning intangibly his journey into adolescence.
"I did warn you," his father said.
Alex bowed his head.
"Go to Paul and make your request."
He came to me, where I was sitting, and turned away from me, giving me my first view of his neat and rounded bottom.
"Please take my underpants down," he said, I thought a little nervously.
I grasped the elasticated waistband of his briefs and tugged them to his ankles. In family tradition, his vest hid nothing of his smooth cheeks.
He stooped, removed his briefs, turned and passed them to me. I noted that his penis was well-developed but still hairless. He was clearly embarrassed, judging by his reddening face.
"Into position," Sam said.
Alex went to a black leather pouffe and tugged it into the centre of the room, before lifting it onto one end of the heavy oak coffee table. He climbed up onto the pouffe, sitting astride it, then bent right forward, his hands grasping the sides of the table, his bottom canted upwards, his cheeks spread.
Sam took a strap from a cupboard by his chair.
He pulled off the boy's socks.
He proceded to strap him until he was begging Sam to stop and promising he would not offend again.
This was the only time I was asked to be there. Presumably my presence had a lasting effect.