I was on the waiting list to be a paperboy at the local newsagent for about two years, and it was only when one of the established boys moved out of the area in 1968 that my chance came up. I was nearly 13 by then, and desperate for some spending money. When David left, he gave me some wonderful tips on how to maximise the income (look cute on Saturdays when you collect the money, don't have enough change, have about four birthdays a year, give everyone a Christmas card, etc.), and one warning "watch out for the old major at 14 Walnut Lane - he complains about everything".
The weekday deliveries went fine, all done before school, and being June, mostly in pleasant conditions. For my first collection round on the Saturday, I wondered what would be "cute", and delved deep into my untidy wardrobe. A pair of pristinely ironed white tennis shorts were selected (a bit small, but without underwear seemed to fit) and then a matching white tee shirt, short socks and shiny black school shoes completed the selected attire. I combed my hair, practised smiling in the mirror, and deemed myself ready.
It was really easy making the extra money, most customers seemed to like me and gave me a reasonable tip - as much as a whole day's pay from one bloke (although he wasted ten minutes "using up an old film in his camera" taking pictures of me posing as a garden elf for his sculpture work); and the "sorry, I'm short of change" trick worked several times over too. But, then I came to 14 Walnut Lane.
I rode up the drive on my bicycle (as I had all the other houses with drives), swung the back wheel round so I could reach the bell push, and waited.
"Ah, hello new paperboy" he greeted me "I've been watching you ride up my drive all week, and I don't like the way you swing the bike around .... you're knocking the blooms off my roses, and endangering my prized potted plants!"
I was naturally taken aback by this rather aggressive welcome, and with a tremble in my voice replied "S s sorry Sir, I'll leave my bike outside from now on and walk up". "Good" he stated. "Now try again". I carefully reversed a few inches, put my hand under the saddle, and with a leg each side, lifted and swung the back wheel round again so that I was facing outwards. CRASH, WALLOP, TINKLE. My heart stopped, as bits of broken flower pot exploded behind me. "You stupid boy!" he roared "now look what you've done!"
This was a devastating situation, and I didn't know what to do. But he did. "Right, that's it boy, I'm calling the shop immediately .... I'm cancelling the papers, and I'll want this expensive pot replaced by your boss"
Without thinking first, but knowing I didn't want to lose my prized new job, I made an immediate offer "Please Sir, I will pay for the pot, please don't call the shop, I don't want to get fired in my first week"
"Boy" he shouted, "that pot was a classic Georgian urn ....it will cost more to replace than a year of your pay" and then he calmed down a bit "but I like your determination to sort out your own problems". He stopped to think whilst rubbing his chin. "OK, you've been naughty, and can't pay .... so lets settle this the old fashioned way .... "
"The old fashioned way, Sir?" I quizzed, "Whats that?". "A good spanking boy, that's what" he replied forcefully, "a few whacks, and its all forgotten". "Get inside".
I got off my bike, propped it against the wall, walked over the shattered pot (it looked pretty ordinary to me), and followed him inside. "Right boy .... shoes and socks off.... then follow me down to the dungeon". The dungeon!
He opened a door under the stairs, where I expected to find a gas meter or something, but his had a set of small twisting steps that led down to another door, which turned out to be for an old cellar. It was warm and dank and musty, without any windows, but reasonably spacious. Pride of place was a big iron bedstead with a double mattress, covered with one of those red rubber sheets like you see in hospitals, with two stout wooden poles laid on top. The poles were roped together and tied to the centre of the frame at the head end of the bed, then splayed open and overhung the toe end of the bed to make a sort of upside down "V" shape. And there was a series of small metal eyelet hoops in various places along each pole.
"Right, stand still boy, I'll get you ready" he demanded, then counted out a set of eight small leather straps from a cupboard, then started attaching them to me. They were simple small belts, each with a keyring style release clip hanging off, and he put one strap on each of my wrists, elbows, knees and ankles.
"OK boy, kneel on the edge of the bed between the poles" which I did (somewhat nervously, especially with no underwear), "then get down on all fours, with your arms between the poles too". He then swung the poles in towards me, and clipped the straps he had just tied to me, to the pole's eyelets. I was now loosely restrained, but not uncomfortable as all my weight was on the soft rubber covered mattress, with my feet dangling off the bottom of the bed.
He then fetched some rope. He tied this around an unused hoop in the left pole first (just in front of my knee), and tossed the rest of the rope under the bed. He walked round to the other side, picked it up and tugged. The left pole (and all the parts of me attached to it) jerked outwards - then he threaded the rope around the right pole hoop and tugged again. The "V" opened up, and so did I. My hands were fairly close together (making a cradle to rest my head in), but my feet were now stretched wide apart, my bum stuck vulnerably up in the air, and my crack felt strangely spread. "Good" he muttered "Lets get started".
"As its your first time boy, I'm only going to use things from the soft box", "none of these hurt much, so maybe a hundred strokes or so". A hundred strokes!! The most I've ever had before was six!!
He opened a small wooden box and laid out some implements - some I recognised (a fly swat, a 12" wooden ruler) and some I didn't, but to start with he used his hands anyway. Some light slaps to my bare legs, a few gentle smacks on the bum .... and then, surprisingly, some rubbing better. The rubs were circular and really soft, and with my thigh muscles being a bit strained, felt more like a tickle .... so I came out in goosebumps! "Good boy" he said quietly, "nice smooth skin and getting relaxed".
"Now, let me introduce you to my hot and cold whackers" he said. I turned my head to look. They appeared to be bits of bicycle inner tube, cut and tied about a foot long, pumped up and joined to a handle. "These have got water in .... ones been in the fridge all week, and the others been heated up in a saucepan". Then he laid the cold one on my left naked sole, and the hot one on the right. My feet jerked immediately, but being tied up, couldn't get away from the surprise contact .... and when he started smacking them up and down my bare legs, the sensation was electric. I initially thought it was pain, but settled down to feeling the "can't escape" excitement that you get when being held and tickled at the same time. I squirmed and wriggled to no avail, as the whackers wondered freely around my constrained body, ending up being spanked alternately into my stretched shorts. Another period of rubbing better followed, and then my earlier crime was discovered. "Have you come out without pants on boy?"
"Sorry, yes sir .... I was in a rush", "I didn't mean to". "Bloody disgrace .... " he stammered, "OK, its in the bare from now on .. " He put the whackers down, stood in the gap between my splayed legs, and reached under to the front of my shorts and started fumbling with the buttons (each one took ages, and that tickled too), and then he tugged them dramatically down to my knees (they just about stretched that far, but couldn't go down any further because of the knee straps). My bum felt even more vulnerable, and my privates dangled freely in the warm air.
"OK, it's the ruler next". But instead of using it like a cane, he used it as a flicking device, bending it back and aiming the impacts at my most sensitive spots. From the soles of my feet (again!), to the back of my knees, up the inside of my stretched thighs, out to the crease where my legs join my bum (ouch!), and then, most alarming of all, towards the insides of my crack. As he concentrated the aiming ever nearer my hole (and got softer with the smacks), my bum suddenly started a series of uncontrollable contractions, and as this became more rhythmic, a new horror arrived in view, as I saw my member begin to swell in sympathy!
Luckily he didn't see my embarrassment, and complimented me on "being good and quiet" and "having nice reflexes". Then he put the ruler back in the box and said "Now you just wait here, while I get changed .... it's getting a bit hot down here".
Well, there was obviously nowhere I could go, and with him gone I was able to think about Geography homework and other horrid problems, which meant my bum could have a rest from its reflexes, and I achieved a welcome reduction in frontal stiffness.
When he came back (and locked the door), he was wearing army shorts - neat khaki ones with a black belt (and something in his front pocket?) - no shoes or socks (like me) and bare up top too (showing off surprisingly muscular arms for someone who I thought was probably as old my granddad).
"OK boy, this stage really won't hurt, its just a flipper" he said, and showed me the next implement, which was two strips of the red rubber sheet. However, instead of hitting me with both, he tied the widest one round my eyes! It was now very dark, and fairly pungent, as he started spanking me with the remaining narrower strip - following the same route as the ruler, but being more lightweight it was hardly noticeable as a smack, just a flip and a "thwacking" noise as it hit my skin. However, it was the anticipation this time that made me react. The major's ability to catch me out with the timing between strokes now that I couldn't see was very evident - so by the time the thwacks had reached my naked bum, my hole was pumping more vigorously than ever, as if yearning for the next hit. In fact, as the well aimed flips got close to the middle spot, I instinctively pushed back several times (which opened me even further) at false guesses of when the hit was coming. These straining pushes, combined with the increasing warmth and the smell of the rubber sheeting around my head, all joined forces to bring my member back up to maximum rigidity, and worse, I could feel it bobbing up and down in time to the now immensely strong rear contractions.
Then suddenly a change of mood: "What's that boy?" he demanded, "have you given yourself a disgusting erection now?"
"Er, sorry, sir, it just came up by itself, I didn't mean to" I muttered from under the rubber.
"Well, its outrageous .... I'm going to tie it up out of the way .... "
I then heard his buckle being undone and the belt pulled out from his shorts (I wondered what then held them up?), and as he stood in the gap between my restrained legs, he slid my tee shirt up my back and pulled it mostly over my head (I was even more smothered now!) and then he wrapped the leather belt under my belly enclosing my stiffy and did the buckle up (loosely) on my back. The belt was about 3" wide, so covered most of my shaft, but left the circumcised end poking out - which, due to the lack of belt tightness - was still able to twitch up and down, but now even more sensitised as the rough leather made contact with the edge of my knob during its movement.
"OK boy, its another whacking tube now .... "
I guessed it was another hot one that had cooled down a bit, as it started a new route of spanking. This one bashed from side to side inside my thighs, then rubbed up and down my spread crack, before being smacked up under my bottom a few times (where it made me jump when it accidentally prodded into my dangling balls).
The major seemed a bit breathless as he explained he was now going to use the new whacking tube even more gently than the flipper, as he thought "my bottom reflexes" were very interesting. I moaned an acknowledgement, as another twinge of excitement rushed to my bum. Then he suddenly did the belt up very tight - compressing my member into my belly - giving it an enormous surge of power as the shaft fought back against the pressure with every heartbeat, and the squeezed (but free, and rock hard) end released a string of precum down to the waiting sheet.
With the anticipation stakes now even more extreme, I waited impatiently for the first touch of the whacking tube - my puckering hole anxious for the contact. But instead of a hit, I felt the majors trembling hands ever so lightly drag up the back of my legs and then around my bum (which brought out the goosebumps again), then open my cheeks some more (quicker pulsations, and another precum dribble), then the warm tube touched my hole straight on (a virtual explosion of sensitivity). Then, just as the intensity was about to climax .... he took it away.
As I sighed into my tee shirt, another round of extreme anticipation began, this time I'm already goosebumped, pumping urgently, and oozing precum, before the major starts his journey up my legs .... and when he does, my whole body strains against its straps as the tension is so great .... waiting .... waiting .... and yes, the tube touches my frantic hole .... I squirm and pump .... then the magic starts, each pump of my hole reaches out for a touch, and each relax lets go, the pace quickens, the tingling is intense .... then just as I am rising to a crescendo of delight .... the whacking tube burst and sprayed its hot water all over my bum .... the major gave a huge groan, but I couldn't stop, and as the water ran slowly down my legs (getting colder), my shuddering climax arrived and I shot spurt after spurt of cum plip-plopping all over the rubber sheet .... all the more powerfully for being squeezed by the belt. Then as the convulsions in my shaft subsided, I notice the major was rubbing the spilt water in circles up my still pumping hole (probably to calm it down - which felt good).
"Wow" he said. "That wasn't so bad was it?" He undid the belt, and my still dripping willy flopped down into the air again. "I'll just put my shorts back on, then I'll get you cleaned up". I was still blindfolded as a nice fluffy towel was used to wipe me clean, then he undid the straps, and helped me off the bed and back on with my tennis shorts, then finally, vision was restored.
"Well done chap" he smiled. "Now here's ten bob (50p these days, but worth about £20 at the time) .... see you next week".