Eric came back the following week with some good news for Steve: "Professor Andrews said he'd be happy to deal with you. You are to present yourself at his house tomorrow evening at seven sharp". Steve was delighted, but at the same time a little irritated. This Professor Andrews did not even offer him a number of options, he was summoning Steve like a naughty schoolboy to appear before him at a specific time. Heck, how did he know that there wasn't some other pressing engagement that Steve needed attending to?
It was a few minutes past seven on a beautiful sunny October evening. Steve ambled up the long path that wound through the front garden of Professor Andrews house, hands in pockets whistling a pop tune. He was also chewing gum, a habit which the professor detested. Steve wanted to appear as nonchalant as possible, though inwardly he felt terrified about the beating he might receive that evening. Eric had shown him the marks on his own buttocks after the session he had had with the professor. He had taken some beating!
The door opened and Steve's mouth dropped. He wasn't sure what exactly he had been expecting to see. He hadn't asked Eric what kind of man John Andrews was. What met his gaze was a huge man about 6 foot 4 tall with an athletic build, iron grey hair and a pair of sparkling blue eyes. They were warm friendly eyes, but they radiated a natural authority which demanded respect. Steve immediately felt like the naughty teenager he in fact was. At only 5 foot 8, he felt very small in front of this man.
"Hi, I'm Steve" he said nervously.
"Hello, Steven, please step in. I've been expecting you. Come right through."
With a naturally masterful manner he ushered Steve into what was evidently the playroom Eric had mentioned. It was actually a lot better than he had described. There were six authentic 1950s school desks arranged in two rows with ink wells and old-fashioned dip pens with new shiny nibs. At the front was the teacher's desk and beside it a small punishment horse with straps. There was a blackboard with chalk on one wall, an ancient map of the pre-1914 world on another and a Bible verse on another with the stern meassage: "Withhold not correction from the child: for if thou beatest him with the rod, he shall not die. Thou shalt beat him with the rod, and shalt deliver his soul from hell. Proverbs 23:13-14". Underneath the verse hung a set of canes of various lengths and thicknesses. The room, incredibly, even had the smell of an old-fashioned school - that mixture of disinfect and body odour. Even the colours of the paint - off white for the walls and brown for the woodwork were spot on. On one of the desks lay a full school uniform: a cap, a blue blazer, a tie with black and royal blue stripes, an old-fashioned white shirt with collar studs and detachable collar, short grey trousers, white underpants, long grey socks with a black and blue band at the top and a pair of old-fashioned black shoes.
"Put that lot on - from Eric's description of you they ought to fit OK" ordered the professor.
"What?! Short trousers on me? I've turned eighteen!"
"Yes, but you never got what you really needed to get when you were ten or eleven, did you?"
Steve realised that was exactly what he needed. He had always wanted to go to a prep school where they still administered corporal punishment. Now he had his chance! The professor left the room and Steve quickly stripped off his jeans, leather jacket and T-shirt. With great difficulty he managed to attach the collar to the school shirt, which he then put on. He attempted to tie his tie, but as he had not often had occasion to wear one, the result did not look very good. He kicked off his trainers, removed his short socks and put on the long grey socks. Then he pulled up his grey shorts, which gripped his buttocks tightly, and squeezed his feet into the shoes. They were a tight fit, but not uncomfortable. Finally he donned the blazer and cap. The new pair of white underpants he simply threw to one side next to the untidy heap of clothes he had taken off. There was a full-length mirror in one corner of the room and Steve ran and had a look. He could hardly believe the transformation. He looked at least four years younger.
At that point Professor Andrews burst into the room wearing a long black academic gown and a mortarboard. "What are you doing, boy?" he thundered.
"I'm.. I'm just looking at m-myself in the mirror" stammered Steve.
"Vainly preening yourself, no doubt. Well, we must turn now to the matter of your misdemeanours."
"What misdemeanours?" said Steve with a cheeky grin on his face. He was still chewing gum rather noisily. He knew what was to follow and was deliberately acting up. Yet in many ways he was simply acting out his true character.
"Young man, I do not like brats and you seem to me to be very like the archetypal brat. For a start, you should address me as 'sir' - an omission which you have hitherto consistently maintained."
"Sorry ...sir" said Steve with an insolent emphasis on the word 'sir'.
"Secondly, you do not stand with your hands in your pockets when you are in my presence."
Steve removed his hands and stood to attention, though it was not long before one hand found its way into his pocket again.
"Thirdly, you do not arrive late for your lessons."
"I didn't arrive late, sir" protested Steve.
"What time were you told to come?"
"Seven o'clock" said Steve, quickly adding "sir".
"And what time did you in fact arrive?"
"Five past seven, sir, but -"
"No buts. There are always consequences in being late. If you are five minutes late for a train, what happens? You miss the train. If you are five minutes late to one of my lessons, what happens? You get punished."
"So I forgot to call you sir, sir, I was a measly five minutes late and I had my hands in my pockets. Is that all?" said Steve, hands defiantly on hips.
Professor Andrews chuckled. "You really are a cheeky brat, aren't you? 'Is that all?' No, my young friend, that is not all. You are slovenly dressed - look at that tie and collar! - and you have left your clothes in an untidy heap. And what are these underpants doing - you should be wearing them! You came whistling up my garden path, made the most infernal racket with my door knocker and here you are standing with one hand still in your pocket and - have you got chewing gum in your mouth?"
"Yes, sir" giggled Steve.
"Take it out this instant and put it in the bin over there!"
Steve obeyed and stood smirking in front of the bin. This was fun.
"You need teaching a lesson very badly, young man, very badly indeed" said the professor, striding over to where Steve was standing. The difference in their heights was striking. Professor Andrews calmly picked up one of the school chairs and set it down. Then he took Steve by the ear and before he knew it, he had him over his knee. Steve was shocked at how suddenly it all happened, but that was nothing to the shock he felt as a strong hand started to spank his bottom. WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! On and on it went and before long Steve was howling. He had thought it was all going to be a giggle, but this was real punishment. His buttocks ached and if he could have seen them, they were turning a bright tomato colour. Down went the shorts and underpants and he felt a huge hand parting his cheeks. "Not very clean down there, is it? When was the last time you washed your arse, young man?"
"I - I- what business is it of yours?"
WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! YEEOOW!
"Insolent youth! You came here because you enjoy fantasising about spanking. I am beating you in order to correct your bad habits, not to give you _s_e_x_ual satisfaction. In fact, if you have the impudence to 'cum' while I'm spanking you, I'll put you over the horse and cane you." With that the professor began spanking Steve's legs. The pain was intense, but thrilling.
The humiliation of being spanked at 18, the intimate inspection of the area between his cheeks and the hot glow spreading over his buttocks were too much for Steve and his hugely erect penis suddenly spurted cum all over the professor's trousers.
"You filthy brat!" said the professor half jokingly, "I warned you what would happen if you did this" and seizing Steve once again by the ear, he led him to the horse. "Bend over!" he thundered. Steve was by now terrified about what was going to happen. "Please sir! You've already spanked me more than I thought I could ever take. I couldn't take the cane, sir."
"Very well, Steven. I will not punish you more than your limits. We'll leave the cane till another time. But you must be punished for your misdemeanours. You will receive 6 strokes of my strap for cumming when I expressly told you not to, 4 for failing to put on your school underpants, 4 for leaving your clothes in a heap, 6 for failing to call me sir, 6 for chewing gum, 4 for your slovenly dress and 6 for your generally poor attitude. How many strokes is that altogether?"
"Thirty-six, sir" said Steve rather sullenly.
"Very well. Assume the position and I will fasten you to the horse."
Steve bent over and the professor fastened his wrists and ankles to the legs. of the horse. This piece of equipment had been very well designed and Steve's buttocks were beautifully raised so that they were just in the right position for chastisement. Knowing that Steve was a novice at spanking, the professor selected one of his milder straps and did a few practice strokes on the back of the sofa. "Are you ready, boy?"
"Yes, sir" said Steve with fake meekness, a big smile on his face.
"I want you to count each stroke and say 'One sir!', 'Two sir!' and I want you to thank me properly at the end of the beating. If I do not think your attitude is right, I will continue to beat you until it is. Do you understand?"
"Yes, sir" said Steve, suppressing a giggle.
"Very well. Number one coming up!" With that the professor brought the strap down with a expert flick of the wrist onto Steve's quivering bottom. It was a beautiful stroke which caught both buttocks with equal force. Steve gasped and before he had time to think, there was another CRACK! as the strap connected once again with his bare arse. YEOOW! The pain grew worse and worse and Steve began screaming. No more giggling now - this was serious! But as the professor reached the 20th stroke, Steve felt his body relax. The endorphins began to kick in and though the strap was still painful, he realised the worst was over and that he would be able to endure this punishment. So he took the rest of his strokes 'like a man' with relatively little noise. When the professor released him from the horse, Steve spontaneously said: "Thank you for beating me, sir. I am a complete brat and deserved every stroke and more. I would consider it a great honour if you would discipline me on a regular basis." He then took the strap in his hands, kissed it and returned it to the professor.
"You're learning, young man!" said the professor with a twinkle in his eye.