Bible College Blistering Part I
It was the first time I ever lied on a job application. I had been out of work for six months and was beginning to get a little desperate. But what a lie to tell. I was applying for a job in the library at a local fundamentalist Bible College. The application asked if I were a Christian and if so, what church did I attend. It even asked for the name and phone number of the pastor. I hadn't seen the inside of a church since I was a kid, but for some reason it never occurred to me that the college would check up on such a thing. So I just opened the phone book, found the name of a church and put that down. What harm could it do? At worst, I would get fired because of it, but only after taking home a paycheck, which right now I needed desperately.
About a week later I was called in for an interview. In the parking lot I asked one of the students for directions to the library. He was clean cut with a marine hair cut, polite and glad to help. Did I mention he was also very cute, with a perfect bubble butt? I noticed as I walked toward the library that all the students were just as cute. Do all Christians have bubble butts, I wondered. None of the Christians I knew growing up did. It was an all male college. What a place to work, I thought. In the library, I stopped at the desk and asked for the head librarian. The student behind the desk went to get him and when he got up and turned around I thought, "One more bubble butt for Jesus." I tried to suppress the thought. I was interviewing for a Bible College, for Christ's sake. Get a grip. I tried to look serious. The student soon returned with the head librarian, Mr. John Redstern. He looked just like the classic librarian, about 5'10, dark hair, average build and glasses. He was dressed in a dark suit, white shirt and tie. But when he shook my hand, I noticed how strong he was. He might be a nerd, but he was a powerful nerd. I followed him into his office. He sat at his desk and asked me to take a seat.
"Before beginning the interview, I think a moment of prayer for the Lord's guidance would be in order, don't you, son?" I was taken aback at being called "son." I was 32, and he couldn't have been more than ten years older. There some flecks of gray in his hair, but there was no way I was his "son." He had a pleasing southern accent that made me think, Kentucky. He spoke softly but firmly. I had never prayed before a job interview before. I tried not to look startled. I was pretending to be a Christian after all. Mr. Redstern bowed his head and I did the same. He rattled off a short prayer for our mutual guidance. Somewhere in the prayer he asked for the "wisdom of Solomon" which made me want to giggle. Did Solomon interview for assistant librarians? When he said Amen, I mumbled the word after him. When we raised our heads, he fixed his penetrating gaze on me. It made me a little uncomfortable, and I squirmed slightly in the chair. It was a hard wooden chair and not terribly kind to my butt. (I hate it when my butt is uncomfortable.) He asked me about my previous experience working in libraries. I have been a librarian for about ten years. He seemed impressed and I breathed a sigh of relief. I thought I had a good chance of getting the job. Then the interview took a turn for the worse. He asked me about the church I attended. How long had I been there? Did I like it? What was the preaching like? I had no choice but to improvise. My family was never very religious. We went to church at Christmas some years but that was about all the religion I got growing up. I started to perspire and mumble. Mr. Redstern just kept fixing me with that penetrating gaze of his. His expression betrayed no emotion. I felt like a bad little boy, making up stories to avoid a spanking. I had no idea if he was buying my answers or not.
Finally, he put me out of my misery, telling me he had called the church and knew for a fact I was not a member there. He asked me why I had lied and I told him the whole miserable story, how I had lost my last job. I missed too many days work because of a drinking problem. I didn't hold anything back. I figured I had screwed up, so what was the point of not being honest. He listened with a look of compassionate, parental concern. For some reason, I wanted to tell him everything. I needed to pour my heart out to someone, and he was as good a person as any, better, if the vibes I was getting from him were genuine. He really seemed to care. I was so lonely and so unhappy.
After I finished my story there were a few moments of silence as Mr. Redstern reflected. "Son, you need help. And I think I know how to help. It is the policy of this school only to hire professing Christians. But I believe that, even if right now you are still one of the unsaved, you would benefit from working in a Christian environment. I am willing to give you a chance." I was ecstatic. I started to blurt out my thanks when Mr. Redstern interrupted me. He leaned over his desk and looked straight into my eyes. "However, before you accept this job, there are certain facts you need to be aware of. I wonder how carefully you read the job application before you submitted it." I wasn't sure what he meant. My application was on his desk. He leafed through it for the passage he wanted to show me. It was contained in a paragraph of fine print toward the end that I had not noticed. He went through it with a yellow marker and handed it to me. It read, "All students and staff at this college are subject to the administration of the appropriate biblical discipline when that is deemed necessary. See Proverbs 13:24 for more details." I had no idea what it meant. Even if I had noticed it, it would have meant nothing to me. What was "biblical discipline?" What was Proverbs? Mr. Redstern saw my confusion and took a Bible out of one of his desk drawers and located the relevant passage. He handed it to me. I noticed that in his Bible it was underlined and starred. I thought my eyes would pop right out of my head when I read it. "He who spares the rod hates his son, but he who loves him is diligent to discipline him." I looked up and just stared at him speechless. The rod? What the hell did that mean?
"I see you are still confused. Well, let me explain. Here at Bathed in the Blood Bible College, we consider all the students and staff our children in the Lord, and when children stray from the right path, God expects us to use the rod for their correction. I use the rod regularly on all the librarians and student workers. Just this morning I applied the rod to Todd, the young student worker you spoke to a moment ago. He's been late for work two mornings in a row and I needed to impress on him the importance of being on time. I think I can safely state that he was suitably impressed." It suddenly occurred to me that I had noticed something odd when Todd stood up. He had been sitting on a small pillow, and when he walked, it was a bit stiffly. His eyes looked a bit red and puffy, as if he had been crying. But my mind still stubbornly refused to understand what Mr. Redstern was saying. "The rod?" I asked. "I don't know what that means."
"No son you don't, because you have never experienced the loving correction of a Christian man, have you?"
"What kind of correction are you talking about?" I was clueless. None of this made sense to me. Mr. Redstern got up from his desk and walk over to a cupboard near the window. He opened it and inside was the largest collection of paddles I had ever seen. There were ping pong paddles and fraternity paddles and every other size of paddle in between. Suddenly it dawned on me what he was talking about. Those were his rods! My butt cheeks clenched instinctively and my mouth went dry. I was been spanked as a kid. My parents didn't believe in it. Even though paddling was common in the schools I attended, I managed to make it through to graduation with unblistered butt, unlike a number of my friends. I used to be fascinated listening to them tell stories about their punishments and wonder what it was like, but not enough to risk it myself.
I was speechless at first, but finally found my voice. "You don't mean that if I accept this job you are going to paddle me when I screw up, do you? I am 32 years old."
"Son, let me make this clear. You have already screwed up. You lied on a job application. If you accept this job, I am going to apply the rod of correction to the seat of all your problems, right now, this morning. I am going to apply it so thoroughly that you will probably want to walk home afterward. I suspect you won't feel much like sitting down to drive. It might interest you to know that most of the students and staff here use their feet for transportation, for just that reason." (The parking lot HAD been awfully empty, now that I thought about it.) Furthermore, you will be subject to correction the whole time you work here. Before you leave us, your behind will be well acquainted with each and every one of the paddles in this cupboard. You will be able to teach a class on the subject, and believe me, most of the students here would be qualified to act as your student assistants. It is a rare young man who graduates from here without learning all about the rod. You see, every member of the faculty and administration has a cupboard, just like this one, and all of them are opened regularly and their contents put to good use where God intended them to be used. And you know where that is, son, don't you, because you are sitting on one of them, the temporarily lily white behinds of young men (and some not so young) in desperate need of guidance and correction. That's right, son. There is probably a butt being burned somewhere in this building even now as we speak." (Man, what a thought!) He paused for a moment to let his words sink in. "If those terms are not acceptable, we can terminate this interview now. So you see you have a choice. You can either receive a long hard butt paddling or you can continue to receive unemployment."
All sorts of thoughts were going through my head. All those clean cut, polite, cute young students I had seen at the college, ALL of them were regularly paddled as part of their education? What kind of school was this? I was horrified, but I couldn't help noticing that the very thought of all those cute young butts being paddled every day gave me an embarrassing erection. The truth is that even though I had never been spanked, the subject fascinated me. I got the distinct impression Mr. Redstern was reading my mind, and I blushed. I suddenly realized that I REALLY wanted to work here at the same time I REALLY didn't want to be receive the "rod of correction." But I was desperate for a job. The economy was in bad shape and this was the first job offer I had received in six months of unemployment. And with my record, I had no idea how long it would be before I got another offer.
Finally, after a couple of minutes of sheer silence, I asked, "Where are you going to paddle me? In here?"
"No son. All punishments are administered in the punishment room, adjacent to the chapel. The walls of the punishment room are well padded to protect the privacy of those receiving correction, as well as not to disturb the devotions of those in the chapel. The rod makes quite a lot of noise, and so do those receiving it." All I could think to say was, "When do I start?" Mr. Redstern smiled, took a ping pong paddle and a fraternity paddle out of the cupboard and said, "Right now. Follow me."
I followed him like a zombie. There we were, walking through the library, Mr. Redstern and his paddles and me. I could feel the eyes of all the students on me. When we passed the circulation desk, Todd gave me a sympathetic glance, leaned over and whispered, "Jesus loves you."
"Thanks," I mumbled. Sure, Jesus loves me, but how does he feel about my poor butt? That was the question of the moment. I don't even remember the walk from the library to the punishment room. I was too spaced out. I have no idea how many people saw us, and knew what was about to happen. I learned later that it was such a common sight to see professors, paddle in hand, walking through the corridors with a student or students in tow that after a while you didn't even notice it. The fact that I was obviously not an undergraduate didn't matter much. There is a strict (and I mean STRICT) hierarchy at the college, and everyone has the right to paddle those who rank beneath them. Full professors paddle assistant professors, and the president of the college even paddles Mr. Redstern's fanny from time to time. (Another time I will tell you about when he screwed up am important book order and spent the whole morning in the punishment room with one very pissed off president. His rump didn't touch the seat of his desk for a whole week.) I guess God paddles the president, but don't know the details.
Just as Mr. Redstern said, the punishment room was a small padded room next door to the chapel. Passing the chapel, I saw several students inside on their knees in prayer. All of them had heads bowed and were rubbing their bubble behinds. Obviously, they had just spent time in the punishment room. The whole scene was surreal. Did I mention that my erection was gone now? The closer we got to the moment of truth, the less erotic the whole situation seemed.
We were not the only ones waiting to enter the punishment room. In fact, there was a long line of students and faculty waiting to enter. All of the faculty members carried paddles of various shapes and sizes, and all the students looked like they were sweating bullets. Some of the students were rubbing their butts as mournfully as the students in the chapel were rubbing theirs furiously. No one said a word and not a sound came from the room. It was obviously well padded. Over the door, a sign read, "This is holy ground. Those who are about to be corrected will first remove their shoes and socks." Mr. Redstern whispered to me that we would wait till all the others were finished, since our session would be considerably longer than theirs and he didn't want to monopolize the room. How considerate of him, I thought. I was on the verge of tears the whole time. Every few minutes or so the door would open and a faculty member would emerge with a recently punished student, or in some cases two or three students. The students were all bare foot, carrying their shoes and socks. Most of the paddlings did not take too long, since these students were obviously well trained and knew the routine all too well. All of them came out with tear stained faces, some of them sobbing openly and others trying to appear stoic. But it was obvious that all were in serious pain. It was quite a sight, all those Christian jocks and ROTC members, crying unashamedly like little babies after their spankings. After their paddlings, students were expected to spend time in the chapel, thanking God for sending them professors who cared enough about them to devote so much time and attention to their education. Since students were forbidden to rub their bottoms until entering the chapel, most of them were walking pretty fast.
Finally, the last sobbing, barefoot jock and the last pissed off professor evacuated the punishment room. It was my turn now. There was nothing in the punishment room but a chair. The emptiness of the room was eerie. Mr. Redstern walked over to the chair, dropped the two paddles beside it, took off his coat, draped it over the back of the chair, unbuttoned his sleeves and rolled them up. He told me to shut the door behind me. I was about to follow him into the room when he stopped me. "Don't forget to take off your shoes and socks and leave them at the door." Bending over to remove them, I thought of Moses and the burning bush, but it wasn't a bush that was going to be burning in the not too distant future. Bending over with my back to Mr. Redstern, I could feel his eyes on my still trousered backside. I padded over to him on bare feet. The wood floor felt cool beneath my feet. I remember thinking that this was probably the last pleasant physical sensation I would be feeling for a while. He was now seated in the chair and looking just like a dad about to take care of his disobedient son.
"Before we begin, I want to give you an exact notion of how this punishment is going to proceed. There will be no surprises, apart from your considerable surprise at learning how much a piece of wood hurts when applied to your naked rear end by someone who knows how to do it. First you are going to remove everything you are wearing from the waist down and get over my knee. Then, I am going to spank your bare bottom with my ping pong paddle till I feel that you have realized the seriousness of lying on a job application. I expect it is going to take quite some time for me to be satisfied that you have indeed seen the error of your ways. I won't even begin to consider that phase of your chastisement completed till I have broken down all your resistance and you are sobbing like a new born baby. You might have some doubts for now about whether a thing like a small ping pong paddle can really reduce a grown man to a blubbering baby, his face a mess of tears and snot, but you won't have those doubts for long. After that, there will be a short rest period, during which you will collect yourself and prepare for the next stage of your punishment. Then you will bend over this chair and I will get a chance to test my theory about the effectiveness of corporal punishment as a cure for alcoholism. You know all about 12 step programs I suspect? (He picked up the fraternity paddle.) Think of this as step number 13. Since you are 32, I think 32 licks applied at maximum force should constitute an adequate introduction to this particular form of the rod. If the ping pong paddle can make you cry like a baby, the fraternity paddle just might make you yell like a grown man whose butt is being torn up. And every time the wood hits your rump, just remember, your butt is mine for as long as you work here. This is just the beginning of a beautiful friendship."
There was a moment of awe inspiring silence. The nerd I met in the library had disappeared and something like an Old Testament prophet (a prophet with a paddle) had taken his place. "Now, do you understand what is about to happen, son?" I didn't know what to say. I just nodded dumbly. He picked the ping pong paddle off the floor, stared straight into my eyes and said, "Lower your trousers and your underwear and step out of them, son." I was going to protest but something stopped me. Having come this far, I saw so point in protesting now. I needed this job. I didn't doubt for a moment that it was going to hurt as much as he said it would, but I felt I had no choice. And who knows? There was even a little voice in the back of my head telling me that this might be just what I needed. I had no idea how to control myself. That was why I was reduced to taking a spanking in order to get a job. Maybe Mr. Redstern could control me and help me put my life back together. It was worth a shot. I took a deep breath, undid my belt, unzipped my trousers, lowered them and my briefs and removed them both, leaving them in a pile on the floor. My erection had returned (for the moment at least) but neither I nor Mr. Redstern seemed to be aware of it. He was staring me straight in the face the whole time. "Over my knee." I shuffled over to him and lowered myself over his knee. I was scared to death and felt like an idiot but I remember thinking that at least I have an attractive butt. From what I had seen I imagined Mr. Redstern was used to paddling some very choice bottoms, and even if I didn't have a bubble butt, what I had was nothing to be ashamed of. (Pride not only goeth before a fall, it goeth before a butt blistering apparently.) It was not a comfortable position. Mr. Redstern spent a minute ensuring I was in a satisfactory position (for his purposes, not mine). I ended up with my bare butt directly over his left thigh. The floor still felt cool beneath my toes, which were barely touching ! it. (I didn't know it yet, but my toes wouldn't be touching the floor for long, but kicking desperate windmills in the air, while my butt burned.) He placed his right arm firmly around my waist, held me tight, and raised the ping pong paddle high in the air. I couldn't help myself. Before it landed, I cried out, "Jesus!" Just my luck. He wasn't taking calls at that moment. Before I knew what was happening, the paddle bit into my right buttock, and my adventure in religious education got off to a roaring start, literally. And it was only the start.
To be continued.