It was a drizzly March Tuesday afternoon as one only finds in Ireland, with a soft fine rain falling from a grey, leaden, sky. The rain had been falling since early morning, and showed no sign of abating. I picked my way to the bus stop, smoking my pipe, after another lonely afternoon picking my way around the shops. I rarely bought anything, except at the bookshops, but it put your days in. At the bus stop, however, was a sight for sore eyes. I saw a yong man named Damian Lyons, who had been a pupil in the boys' secondary school I taught in for a few years before I retired. He was always friendly, even when he was at the age when most boys avoid teachers like lice, and had grown up to be a decent, friendly and successful young man. Unlike most twenty-somethings today, no doubt thanks to the mournful passing of corporal punishment in schools, he was hardworking, responsible and conscientious.
As he had grown older, I began to approve of him in a different way. He was a short but powerfully built young man, usually immaculately turned out for work, with an open face, bright eyes and a gorgeous smile. Better yet, it was rumoured that he was gay. As we lived on the same bus route, we met from time to time, and never did it fail to be the case that after our meetings on the bus he would be the subject of my fantasies later the same evening!
As he stood there in his chalk-stripe business suit, smoking a cigarette we began, as always to chat. I asked after his mother and how his career was going. We sat together on the bus, and I enjoyed the warmth of his arm and leg against mine as the crowded bus proceeded slowly through the rush hour traffic.
I knew there was no hope that he would fall for an old codger of seventy-five, but I still entertained my fantasies. I had better make a confession at this point. I do approve of the corporal punishment of children, both at home and in schools, but I have to admit that I also find _s_e_x_ually arousing. I am glad that I was never inflicted with a _s_e_x_ual attraction towards children so what went on in school never aroused me, although many a boy felt my hand, strap, cane or metre stick imposed on his outstretched palm or bent over backside. But a young man, a nice, decent, respectable young man like Damian who would submit to me as a mentee, under discipline... Ach, it was only a dream but you always had to live in hope.
I had to find out if he was gay or not. Although former colleagues told me he was quite open about it, I couldn't bring myself to ask straight out, if you'll pardon the pun. Nor could I come out to him - I had led a completely closeted life, where _s_e_x_ mostly consisted of chance encounters in the park, and an occasional 'dinner guest'.
So I decided to take the less direct route - curiosity had the better of me. "Do you have a girlfriend at the moment?", I asked more in hope than in expectation.
"No, I never seem to have any luck with girls. My Ma says none are mad enough to have anything to do with me!"
The sort of answer I'd expected, but not wished, to hear. Still, he didn't say he had a girlfriend and possibly he thought I, being rather elderly and rather Catholic, was homophobic. I wished I could pluck up the courage to tell him outright. I decided to risk dropping a fairly obvious hint - "Well, maybe you're just not the marrying type - I never was."
There was a reaction, there was definitely a reaction! He went very quiet and looked me in the eye, obviously wondering whether I meant what he thought I meant. I thought of having his broad young shoulders before me, and his arms wrapped tightly around me in bed. I thought of his muscular backside poking out into the air as he knelt submissively before me, with my stout strap painting it red, and for the first time in weeks I felt my penis becoming erect of its own accord.
The bus stopped and started as the rain had, rather fortuitously, slowed the traffic to a crawl. We made small talk, but as we neared his home stop I knew I had to make some bigger talk. I might not see him for months. It was now or never. I don't know how I managed not to stumble but I managed to ask him fairly measuredly, "Would you like to come to my house for dinner some night?"
"Oh, yes, that'd be lovely", he replied. I couldn't believe it! However, he then continued, "Tonight's my last free night before I go on holiday for three weeks, then on business straight away for a week afterwards, though. It'll have to wait for a while." Oh, so near and yet so far! I was almost about to cry as I continued, "It's a pity you couldn't come up tonight. I hardly ever have company for dinner, and I do get lonely sometimes. But I suppose you'll be out gallivanting."
He smiled back at me and said, "Actually, I wasn't planning anything. There's no reason why I have to go home just now, if you don't mind me accompanying you."
I beamed back at him, "Not at all. I'm delighted that you want to."
As we proceeded out into the suburbs the traffic thinned, and as we continued to chat I enjoyed the warmth of his thigh against mine. When we got back home, I disappeared off to the kitchen, leaving him with a glass of whisky, the remote control and the newspaper. I was tempted to try and get him drunk for a while, but soon felt rather ashamed of myself - I was genuinely fond of the lad, and would enjoy his company whether or not we had _s_e_x_ or I disciplined him. As I busied myself with preparing food, I muttered a silent prayer that he could be the young man I could dreamed of for so long, that he would want a real grandfather figure, a mentor, a tutor. And I hoped, beyond hope, that he might want an authority figure to impose some loving but stern chastisement upon him.
Over dinner, he began to open up to me a little more. He told me about his job, and I was proud of how he'd got himself on his own two feet so soon after leaving University. It was such a contrast to the depressing tendency to drift among so many young people today. He was conscious that his mother, who was divorced, had sacrificed much to see him educated and he was sure to stop being a burden on her as soon as he could manage it. I was proud that our school had produced such a fine young man.
However, the corollary of this soon became clear. I was disappointed, genuinely disappointed, that his struggle to establish himself has seemed to instil a certain hard-heartedness and over-drivenness. He had little patience when his staff at work if they weren't able to achieve the over-ambitious standards he set for them. I may have been a little overgenerous with whiskey but it seemed to relax him and he seemed to be genuinely glad to have someone to talk to about his difficulties. Moreover, he seemed to know when he was doing things that were wrong, and a young man like that can always be put back on the right path - with some firm encouragement.
As I smoked my after-dinner pipe, he went off to the loo and I noticed through his suit trousers that he had a raging erection. I knew I was taking a risk in losing him by pushing the punishment issue, but some instinct told me he would be willing. And besides, if I really believed that beating him would help him along, I owed it to him to offer it.
And, if I'm really honest, I have to admit that the old maxim that a standing prick has no conscience applied to me a little that evening.
I cleared the last plates, then quickly popped upstairs to change out of my jacket into a cardigan and to check that my strap, carefully looked after since the abolition of school corporal punishment, was in its accustomed place. Then I took a deep breath, and went back to the living room. I sat down on the settee, and said to him affectionately, "Son, I want you to sit down here beside me. Come, right by me." He looked serene as he came and sat beside me with his hard-on still bulging. "That's it, lad." I put my arm around his broad shoulders and he snuggled into my bosom.
Another deep breath. This was the moment of truth. Raising my voice a little and making it as avuncular as I could, I began, "I've always been fond of you, you know that don't you?", then gently running my hand along his back, "I'd love it if we could be special friends. I like helping young men and I'm really proud that you felt able to trust me with some of the things you told me tonight. I'd like to be a friend and a... and a tutor to you if that's not the wrong word. It's the part of teaching I miss most."
The words seemed clumsy to me but to my relief he replied, "I'd be honoured if you were."
"Do you like calling me Mr. O'Connor or would your rather call me Sean?", I asked. He looked a little uncertain, so I decided to encourage him a little. "It's OK if you want to keep calling me 'Mister', you can. You'd like that sort of friend wouldn't you? A friend you can look up to."
He smiled, a warm, rich, smile and slowly nodded his head.
Despite my best efforts, I could resist no more. It had been four years since I had _s_e_x_ and I pulled him to his feet along with myself, and undid his belt and fly. His _c_o_c_k_ was like a diamond-drill and semenal fluid had already started to form in it's eye. He moaned gently as I massaged him and with my other arm I pulled his face to mine and began to kiss him. His tongue slid gently into my mouth and we lumbered passionately.
I was about to lose control altogether and I knew I had to get myself together. Asserting one's authority with boys in the early days is the key to retaining it for a lifetime. With some effort I took my mouth from his and my hand from his prick. With my hand on his shoulder, I looked straight into his eyes and asked, "You want more of this, don't you?" He nodded, with a look so serious that he could have been agreeing to follow me into battle. "Well then", I continued, "we have a few things to discuss first."
I sat back down on the settee, as much to regain my composure than anything else. I put his lower legs across my lap and sat his rump down on the next seat. I again put my arm around his shoulders as he sat sideways on to me. I felt a rush of avuncular affection. He was a lovely lad, so sensuous and also so honest and sensitive. When I finally dared speak, I spoke from the heart.
"I said I was proud you felt able to talk to me tonight they way you did, but I wasn't proud of some of the things you told me. Not from a young man I've always had a high opinion of, even in his schooldays. I know you're not proud of some of them either. I want you to consider a suggestion I'm going to make, which might seem a little strange at first, but I'm sure you'll appreciate the wisdom of it if you take me up on it."
Again, he looked back at me with utmost earnestness, "Mr. O'Connor, whatever you want me to consider, I will. I'm not proud of what I've done and I feel a million times better for having told you about it."
"Well then, if you go to the room immediately to your right at the top of the stairs, you'll see a desk with a typewriter and some trays on it. If you open the drawer in the centre of the desk, you'll find a leather strap like I used to use in school. I am going to punish you with it. As you are now a man of twenty-five it will be more severe than when you were at school."
"I was never strapped in school," he interjected.
_d_a_m_n_! I'd forgotten that he would have been too young for that. It would have done him the power of good if he had of been, of course. Unfortunately, this meant my proposal would sound even odder than I'd feared. Putting a little steel in my voice, I continued, "Of course, I forgot, you were too young. Well, just remember generations of men got a good dose of the strap when they were young, and many of them got it from me. It was the making of many of them and I don't think you're too old to benefit from it yourself. I know it sounds a bit odd, but you must trust me if I am to be your mentor. I wouldn't suggest it if I didn't think you'd thank me for it after. Besides, son, I know you are not closed to the idea yourself." I gently squeezed his dick, almost as if to remind him that he was attracted to me.
When he replied, it was with a nervous, shake in his voice, which had become very quiet. "I will", again the serious, almost determined, look, "I'll try to, anyway. I'll try to, Sir."
I replied quickly before he could change his mind, "Off you go then."
As I heard him slowly ascend the stairs, I thought about what punishment I should give him. He had obviously never been beaten before, and a small amount of corporal punishment could have a big effect on a youth like that. The strap was my extra-heavy special, and like most Irish school straps it had a lead weight in the lower end for added impact. If my technique was anything like what it was, I could leave quite a bruising with it, which would continue to show for some days. I wasn't sure I wanted to go that far. On the other hand, well into his twenties, he was hardly a youth and I couldn't exactly give him a few taps like a first year boy at school.
I relit my pipe and drew the smoke in deeply as I pondered. No, if I wanted to build up a relationship with this young man, he would have to understand what a proper whipping meant from the word go. There were a few incidents of youthful thoughtlessness that a few handers would take care of, but his behaviour at work was nothing short of bullying and that I had always despised. Holiday or not, he would have to receive a serve, bare-bottomed, strapping. After all, it was no more than he deserved. As his feet fell on the stairs again I watched the smoke drift slowly upward. _d_a_m_n_ it, he was my boy now and I'd make a man out of him if it killed me. I noted with pleasure his deferential posture as he handed me the strap, and as I took it in my hand my loins stirred again. As he stood before me with his head lowered I spoke to him in the slow, measured, lecturing tones of years gone by,
"Now, young man, as you have never had corporal punishment inflicted upon you, I must tell you this is going to hurt more than you imagine. Cry if you have to, but don't swear and don't move out of your position or I will impose further punishment. For forgetting your mother's birthday card you will receive two strokes on your hands. For your drunken foolishness, not malicious behaviour, but foolish nonetheless, you will receive a further two strokes on the hands. However, I must impose a more severe sentence for you disgraceful behaviour towards your staff at work, as bullying is something I detest, and your behaviour was in essence no better than an eleven year-old thug. You will receive twelve strokes on your backside, and you can thank the fact that this is your first strapping that it will not be considerably more.
"Now my boy, stand in front of the fire and stretch your arms straight out in front of you." He did as I asked somewhat gingerly. "That's a good lad. Now cross your left hand on top of your right hand." An obedient youth, I was pleased to note. He looked at the strap and how fragile it appeared, and seemed to settle. The poor boy had no idea what was coming to him. I felt the need to intone sternly, "Now, don't move them or I may hurt you more than I intend."
I swished the strap through the air a few times, getting used to the feel of it after such a long absence. When I spoke, my voice was cold and hard, just as it should be, "Remember, boy, that this strapping is for things you yourself are ashamed of. You know how richly you deserve this and I want you to think of your disgraceful behaviour while I am punishing you. You will think of how much your thoughtlessness hurt your mother and you will be glad of the chastisement you are receiving."
I raised the strap over my right shoulder, then whipped it forwards. I hadn't quite found my range and it clipped him across the fingers. He gasped and looked shocked, then cried at the top of his voice, "_f_u_c_k_!"
How dare that cheeky twerp speak like that! I was furious and barked at him, "Young man, I will not tolerate such disgraceful language in my own home. You will apologise to me at once and you will receive an extra two strokes on the hands."
He looked like he was about to cry and be panted out, "I can't go on with this. I really thought I wanted to but I can't. I'm sorry."
Common sense would have told me to leave off at this point but common sense was not operating. I was disgusted to see this youth, who I wanted to be proud of, not only show such disrespect but also, first strapping or not, such weakness.
"It's irrelevant whether you want to or not", I spoke just below a shout, "You deserve this punishment and you will assuredly receive it. More than that, you know you deserve it. It hurts, but it's supposed to hurt, you silly boy. In my day an eight year old would have taken a strapping like this without flinching. The only trouble with you is that you didn't get this fifteen years ago. Now stand up and put your right hand above your left."
He looked at me imploringly, and I glared at him, but seemed to be about to gather himself to walk off. Then I heard myself shout, "Up I said, boy, before I throw you up against the wall and knock you to kingdom come!"
He looked startled and slowly stretched out into the position that had been demanded of him. My anger became a rush of pleasure as I realised I had won the battle with this boy. Now I was a feared young schoolmaster of twenty-five, ironically this youth's age, again. The nonsense would be beaten out of him until he cried for mercy.
"You will show gratitude to your mother in future, young man. You will not hurt her by neglecting her birthdays."
He screwed his eyes shut as I cracked the strap as hard as I could over his right hand. He bent over double clutching his hand but only for a second before I ordered, "Up, lad, left hand out."
Now he looked me with fear, but didn't try to wriggle out of it as he unsteadily stretched his left hand above his right.
"You will behave yourself responsibly when you drink."
Again a whoosh of air, a crack of leather on skin and a shocked gasp of pain.
"You will not put yourself at risk of ending up in court over a silly prank."
He quickly raised his right hand as I lashed him verbally and physically. I caught him off side and down onto his wrist. No matter, it would be more painful that way.
"You will also show respect to me and for my role as your tutor. You will not swear at me nor will you question the punishments you receive from me."
This time as I began to bring the strap down he gave a little high-pitched yelp and pulled his lips in terror. The calm, professional, _s_e_x_ually experienced man of only twenty minutes ago had disappeared. This was a naughty, submissive, frightened boy emotionally as much he was a man physically. The delight of unchallenged authority gave me a rush of lust.
"You will do as I ask when I ask. You will accept your punishments like a man of twenty-five, not a braying schoolgirl. And you will speak like a gentleman, not some corner boy."
He was still bent double, clasping his hands together and studying them intently. I would not stand such insolence. I slapped him firmly on the right cheek and growled, "Up boy, hurry up."
The last of the six handers was coming and it would have to count. He wouldn't be getting it had he not been such a Ginnie at the start. I brought it down very hard on the centre of his right hand and he yelped again.
"Up. Hands on your head. Stand in silence until I tell you otherwise."
Damian moved like a shot and I was pleased to know the slap had obviously had an impact. He looked at me with a mixture of awe and trepidation and I felt precum forming on my _c_o_c_k_. He was beautiful as he stood there, his powerful shoulders showing through his shirt and his firm biceps rippling by his neck. There was no erection rampant in his trousers any more, I was pleased to note. I might be a weak old man but I could still put a larger and stronger youth in his place.
I needed a smoke as the strapping had taken a lot out of me and the more demanding part was yet to come. I felt in my cardigan for my cigarettes as a pipe could be a little impractical at this point. I remembered a colleague, a priest who taught classics, who took particular pleasure in blowing smoke in the faces of boys who were being given a lashing for smoking. It was effective because it showed who was in charge - a boy couldn't smoke and a teacher could and there didn't need to be any rhyme or reason to that. With fond memories I faced the lad, inhaled deeply and to his irritation expelled the smoke right into his face.
"That was very pleasant, was it not?", I asked sarcastically.
"No, Sir, it was very sore." Damian was almost whimpering as he looked at the floor.
With a sour grin I sneered, "Well remember, if it isn't hurting it isn't working. I've never met a boy yet who didn't benefit from a good whipping." I pulled on the cigarette, then continued, "I'm afraid that the rest of your punishment will hurt rather more. I will not tolerate bullies. You may be a big-shot in your job, but your disgusting treatment of junior staff shows you up as not having developed beyond the playground hooligan stage. I am thoroughly ashamed of you and I hope you are thoroughly ashamed of yourself."
He winced as I said that and I knew he was. "You will kneel on the settee and you will cross your hands behind your neck." As he looked at mr rather dumbly, I took another drag. "You will stick your backside out as far as it will go. And you will not get up or swear or I shall cane you. Do you understand?"
"Yes, Sir."
"Well don't just gawp there. Drop your trousers and your underpants. This instant."
I was about to take the strap to his legs but he moved quickly enough when I raised my voice.
"Good lad. Now assume the position."
As he knelt prone, I felt round him to make sure all was in order, adjusting his shirt, tie and pullover. I kept my cigarette in my mouth and blew more smoke round him. I 'checked' that his penis - now completely flaccid - was 'protected' with some pleasure, and made sure his gorgeous taught back and thighs were in the right position. I put my cigarette aside and decided to take a run up to each stroke, hoping I was still up to it. I would give him a few forehands, then when I was more comfortable alternate with my backhand. To my great pleasure, the first stroke landed square across the centre of his bottom.
"If you abuse your position, I will abuse you, understand that boy."
I repeated the procedure, cracking the strap with all my might. His hands clasped together and gasped as the strap impacted but he remained silent. The boy would have to understand that he could not expect to behave so high-handedly without consequences.
"Whatever cruelty you inflict on others, I will inflict tenfold on you."
I missed my aim this time and caught him above the tailbone. He moaned with the pain, but I was glad to see he stayed in position. A good young man in many ways. It was a pity he had brought this on himself.
"Bullies always find out there is a bigger bully than them. And for you, young man, I am that bully."
As I said this I felt another thrill of lust. This was the first back-hander and he cried out loud for the first time. I noticed that where the lead had hit the skin a succession of bruises were starting to form, while the rest of his bottom was a pleasing sunset red.
"Think of why this is happening. Think how awful you awful you would have felt if you were in your first job straight out of school and a manager had used such horrible names about you. He couldn't answer back and, now, neither can..."
I never finished the sentence as the surprise stroke was another dead centre bullseye. His legs tensed and only sheer force of will seemed to keep him in position. "I'm sorry, Sir. I really am", he moaned. We were finally making an impact.
"No doubt, boy, but not half as sorry as you will be when I'm finished with you. Think of the way you treated the girl on the advertising desk? Was that a proper way to speak to a lady?"
I now moved on to his thighs and after another vicious stroke he began, for the fist time to sob. I decided to take a little break and let him wallow in his tears for a second. I was worried about losing count now - seven strokes so far, I recalled with some effort. "I'm glad to see we're getting through a little now", I said through his sobs. I was sweating with the exertion, and had to mop my brow. As I went to check that he looked OK from his front, I took a draw of my cigarette and blew a smoke ring at his face.
He looked distressed, but I wasn't sure he remembered why he was being punished. I spoke sternly looking straight in his eyes, trying to shame him, "But I think only the pain is getting through. Not the reality of your misdeeds."
I flexed the strap again and put the cigarette back in the ashtray. I let fly with another powerful backhand. Damian began to bawl now, and the started to beg me, "Sir, please stop. I've learned my lesson. I know what I did was wrong. Please, Sir, no more."
Acknowledgement of the sin is the first step to a chastisement which really benefits the boy. But I hoped, before I finished, that he would acknowledge the benefit of the punishment. "You obviously haven't learned your lesson, or you wouldn't be asking for me to stop. You must know how wrong you were, and I will keep giving you tuition until you do."
I took a longer run up this time. The youth could take it and it might push him over the edge to true contrition. I thrilled that the bruises were starting to turn a rainbow of purple and yellow. I decided to remind him of the shamefulness of his behaviour.
"Making fun of someone's religious views, even if you disagree with them, is extremely unpleasant. You must have caused a great deal of pain and distress. Which is why I am causing you a great deal of pain and distress."
Another long run up, and I again connected with the very top of his bottom. Damian screamed as the thick leather connected with the worst of his earlier bruises.
"Did you deserve that?" Mr. O'Connor asked.
"Yes, Sir", I sobbed, "I know I did."
"Maybe we are slowly making an impression. Now be a brave lad, the last ones will be worse yet."
I was puffed and needed a breather. Only two more. I would take my run up from the far end of the room. I had a few trial runs, swishing the strap as fast as I could without losing control, and noticed that he had started to shake. I laid the strap on his upper thigh as a marker then slowly paced backwards. After a few seconds, I asked him, "Ready lad?"
"Sir." he squeaked, almost inaudibly.
I trotted across the room with my brow furrowed in concentration. With an almighty whizz the strap flashed through the air and connected just where I had intended it to. Damian screamed and for the first time came out of his position, but resumed it almost as quickly again. I was shaking with adrenaline. The cigarette was nearing the butt and I took two deep pulls, settling my nerves, before putting it out. I walked to the other end of the room, then waited to the let the tension build. Again I took of at a trot. The lad screamed, "Please, Sir, no!", as I cantered. I laid a vicious backhand with the weight landing on the other thigh and the strap landing along the length of his crack. He jerked up and began a stuttering, choking, series of sobs.
I left him for a few seconds, as much to catch my breath as anything else, then ordered, "Resume your position boy, or we can start over again." Once he had complied, I continued, "Stand up and put your hands on top of your head. Walk to the corner and face the wall."
I admired his technicolour backside as he stood meekly in the corner with his back to me. I examined his bruises - I had given worse in my time, especially to older lads, but for a first punishment it had been quite severe. I examined his backside, enjoying the warmth of the skin and the softness of the bruises. He winced and fidgeted when I pressed his bruises but didn't talk back. A fine, obedient, young man indeed. I spoke to him now more severely than I felt towards him, "Now turn round and face me. What do you say?"
Tears continued to stream down his face, and he trembled between sniffles, "Thank you, Sir. I mean it thank you. I'm sorry I made you beat me and I'll try not to do those things again." His eyes were so honest that I knew that he meant it. I felt a rush of love and pride towards him, and stretched out my hand. When he took it, I could no longer keep my expression stern and I beamed at him.
"You're a very brave young man to take a first flogging as severe as that so well. I'm proud of you. You've been punished properly and there's nothing to be ashamed of any more."
I reached over to give him a little peck but he hugged me so tightly and cried on my cheek so softly that the kiss turned passionate very quickly. Soon he was expertly massaging my _c_o_c_k_ and balls with his tongue and before long I shot into his mouth with a long moan of joy.
But I still wanted him near me and I stripped him completely even as I pulled my trousers on. I sat him across my lap, and he asked me to light my pipe as he liked the smell of it - to be honest I needed one - and as he pressed his youthful, strong body against me I wanked him until he began panting and moaning and thick, fresh spunk poured over his belly.
It was only nine o'clock but he wanted to go to bed with me, so I found him some pyjamas and we lay in the afterglow for blissful hours.
He promised to come and visit regularly. I laid down the house rules. He would get a beating if he deserved it, but I wouldn't do it just as a game. He was to tell me if there was anything he thought might deserve a beating, and I hoped he would tell me anything that was on his chest at all. He promised that he would.
And I promised him, although I hoped that it would never happen, that if he let himself down so much that he deserved it, I would cane him until the blood ran freely.
To soften my words, which I genuinely hoped would never come true, I rested his head against my chest and stroked him. And I had to fight back tears as I said from the bottom of my heart, "I'll be honest with you, my dear, dear lad, I enjoy beating you. But I'll never beat you unless you deserve it. And I do honestly think you'll be a better man for it. I beat you because I love you and I want you to be a man I'll be proud of."
"I know you want what's best for me, Sir. And I love you for it."
And I thought to myself, I love you so much, my boy, that it was worth waiting seventy-five years for.