Why was my school so big? I wondered, not for the first time. Why was the walk through the school to Coach's office so long? It felt like it took hours to get there.
Coach and I sat in chairs, facing each other. Coach was shaking his head.
"Spray painting lockers?" He asked me. "Please - that's so old. Couldn't you do something original?" He was trying to make it better with a joke. "But seriously, this is pretty bad. Vandalism makes you a loser, boy, never forget that. It makes you a cheap petty, low-class loser. Got that? Good. Now, as to your punishment . . . I could always call the cops. But I'd prefer to call your parents, have them deal with you."
He paused, to get my reaction. He saw my eyes bug out, and my hands clench. It was pretty obvious that I didn't want my parents involved.
"Or, we could work out a deal," Coach said. "You can stay after school and do some chores for me. And, to make it more of a punishment, I'd have you run laps, do push-ups, that sort of thing. Well?"
I looked at Coach. His legs were thick like trees, and his shorts barely covered them. His biceps were even bigger, they were monstrous. His crewcut glowed under the single light bulb.
"Coach," I said at last, "I've been bad. Really. I did the spray paint on purpose. I wanted to be a vandal, I wanted to wreck something."
"Boy, you know what that makes you, right?" Coach gently asked me. "It means you're not a valuable part of society. You're the weak link in the chain. And you did this on purpose?"
I nodded.
"Well," Coach said, "I've really got to punish you. Will you let me do it? Without your folks? I can have you do a hundred laps, a hundred push-ups. Every day for a week. We'll sweat that weak-link right out of you."
"Coach" I stammered, with dry throat, "Instead of that, could you . . . give me a spanking? As punishment?"
Coach was surprised. "Well, I'm not sure I could," he said, and "I really don't know if it's my job . . . "
"Please," I said. "It would really help me be a better person."
"How old are you?" he asked. "Fifteen, right? Of course, no one is ever too old for a spanking. Are you sure this is what you want? Ask me again."
"Please spank me, sir, I've been really bad."
A weird light came into Coach's eyes. He told me to stand up and remove my shoes and my jeans. Somewhat surprised, I did, slowly. Coach next reached into his desk and pulled out a jock strap.
"Take off your underwear, and put on this jock," he instructed.
Before I knew it, he was again sitting in the chair, this time pulling me over his lap. My head was swimming. I was wearing only my t-shirt, my socks, and the jock strap Coach had me wearing. Soon, my feet were off the floor, and Coach was lifting his right leg a bit, to get my rear into good position. I had asked for this, and here it was - a hand-spanking from Coach, who had me good and laid out across his warm lap.
"Okay," he said, "Just relax and take this like a man. You've been very naughty, you know, and now you're going to get the punishment you deserve."
And he quickly landed five sharp spanks to the center of my butt. They hurt, but not too badly. Was he going to make this easy? I had never been spanked by Coach before, even though he had punished me many times during the past year. I had always wondered, however, what it would be like to have him spank my bottom with his hand. And now here I was, over his lap like a kid. It felt weird, but good, too (which was also weird).
The next two slaps - spank! spank! - hit my right cheek. The next two were on the left. Coach got into a rythym, then - two to the right, two to the left. Spank! Spank! Spank! Spank! Each one hurt more than the last.
My rear was soon on fire, and I squirmed around on his lap, as little gasps and moans escaped me. Then Coach paused to rub his hand on his leg. I dreaded the next spank. When it came, it really stung, and it landed on the center of my rear. Coach began really laying into me, just spanking me hard as he could, giving me a half dozen more, all of them (spank!) in the middle.
There was another pause. My bottom was hurting, but it felt warm too, and I began to realize that the warmth felt good. It tingled, and spread into my stomach and into my, um, my privates. And so, I thought, this was a spanking from Coach. At last, I knew. I almost felt good, laying there over his lap - I knew I could take it, and from now on he could spank me for punishment.
"We're almost done," he said. (Almost? I wondered.)
And he slid down the jock strap and pulled it off. Before I knew it, Coach pulled my legs apart and started spanking me between the cheeks. Once again, a stinging fire began to build up, and once again I felt that funny warm feeling. But mostly I felt intense pain, as the sharp blows hit my raw flesh. Spank! Spank! spank! spank! spank! spank! A good half dozen blows between the cheeks, and then - SPANK! - one last blow to the center, as I clutched his legs and squirmed, and moaned loudly in agony.
And that was it. Coach's spanking. I lay across his lap, totally bare-bottom, like a kid, exhausted and very sore. And then I surprised myself.
"Please, sir, keep spanking me." I said, and I raised my stinging bottom up to meet his warm hand.
Coach almost said something, but instead he landed five more spanks to my bare bottom, his large solid hand striking me on both cheeks. I felt the blows coming, I heard the slapping noise as hand met rear and I felt such intense pain. Then I forced myself to relax and get ready for the next spank.
spank! spank! spank! spank! spank!
And it was, at last, over. Coach's bare bottom spanking was over. Well, this one was done. I knew there'd be others.