(True story. Usual disclaimers apply).
I am usually on the receiving-end of corporal punishment, both when a boy and now as a man. However, where I live is isolated and opportunities are few and far between. So, when a local young man replied to one of my adverts, asking if I would introduce him to the cane, I agreed.
He was on time, courteous and respectful. When he stepped out of his jeans and underpants he revealed beautiful, firm buttocks and an impressive erection. He bent over.
I inflicted one hard 'cut' and watched as the white line I had slashed across his orbs quickly filled out into a purplish-red welt.
'Harder', he whispered.
I gave him twelve, with a thin, whippy rattan, as hard as I could lay them on. He yelped and wriggled after each one but then pushed his glorious bottom back up, eager for the next one.
He was disappointed when I told him that it was unsafe to give him any more because his bum was badly marked and there were a few pinpricks of blood.
I got him to walk over to an easy chair and bend over its padded cushion. I found a soothing lotion and rubbed it into his burning mounds. He sighed his appreciation.
'Bum me', he begged.
I hadn't expected that but who was I to deny him?
Suitably protected I gave my 'old fella' a good work-out. The guy was very loose back there so definitely no virgin. Still, the sensation of his inner-muscles swirling around my member was very agreeable and I soon shot my load into the sheath.
Afterwards, I stood up and he did the same. His dick still stuck out like a poker from its forest of black curly hairs. I slapped his hot bottom with one hand while stroking his nuts with the other. Eventually he ejacqulated, all over the carpet.
Once I'd cleaned that up and we were both dressed again I made him a cup of coffee.
His attitude changed from respect to anger. He called me every name under the sun. Told me I was a Q... C... - and he didn't mean Queen's Counsel.
He said I reminded him of his father who he said had given him a bare arse belting at least once a month. He had been forced to share a bedroom at home with an adult lodger who started bumming him while he was still at school.
He looked around my living room and was bitter about all the material posessions 'you old guys' have.
He confessed to being an addict who had 'sold his arse' to pay for his habit. I thought about his slack sphincter and realised he must have allowed a lot of men up him. Fear of having contracted an STD or worse, descended on me like a black cloud.
He told me he was now on the Methadone programme. His behaviour became more and more extreme. He threatened to show his flogged arse to the cops and tell them it was done against his will.
I suggested he better leave which, to my relief, he did. "I'll be back with the cops", he threatened as he stormed off down the street.
I was 57 and he was 23. The Police might have believed him because he looked like a cherub - when he wanted to.
Thankfully, no Police arrived and he didn't come back and burgle my place either. I had an anxious wait until the clinic declared that the blood test I'd had was negative.
Months later he was on the phone trying to arrange another session. I put him off.
That was two years ago. Yesterday I was waiting for a bus when he came out of the pharmacy where methadone is dispensed. He came over to me with a wide smile and told me cheerfully he was still very naughty and what was I going to do about it?
His bottom was tightly encased in snug-fitting trousers. I remembered the fun I'd had attending to his boyish hemispheres and was very tempted. However, I also remembered the worry afterwards so told him I'd had to give up the CP for health reasons. He was disappointed but then the bus arrived and we went our separate ways.
He obviously got off on CP and the rest. We could have met once a month or more for mutual satisfaction, but his demons and my fear made that impossible. What a shame!
From: UKboy