Matthew was so angry with me last Tuesday. Luckily I was in the nude when he marched in. I'm supposed to be always, but I do cheat a little. He caught hold of me and stood me with my arse towards my big black-framed mirror, and bellowed " See that arse, boy?" I could see it over my shoulder and it looked unusually pale and vulnerable. I knew what was coming. "I'm going to give you the thrashing of your life, boy!"
When he had first made me his plaything, delighting in spanking 'Grandpa' as he called me, that was what he did, spank me by hand, but this time I was 'boy' and he proceeded to take off his leather belt, the one with a death's-head buckle, and slashed and cut my bottom with it. He was breathing heavily, but I thought he was a little calmer now. "Over my knee, boy!" This was more usual, but the spanking he gave me was unusually vicious - it's Shane normally who's the vicious one - and each smack on my flesh sent a jab of pain along the weals left by the belt.
"Those sites are our property, not yours." I realised what had happened. He hadn't read my last episode, before submitting it to MMSA Stories. Often he didn't, leaving me pretty much to write what I liked, just taking over when I'd finished writing and asked his permission to do something else. Apparently my references to the sites where they had posted details of me they regarded as 'private' to them. I knew that. I was on them, but I had no access, because they held the passwords. All I did was talk about them. Oh, well!
"You need a lesson, boy!" I thought I'd just had one, but evidently more was in store. "Get your trackies on, and bring some money.
I just had time to throw on bottom and top and seize some money, before he had my arm behind my back and was marching me barefoot over the bridge, down town, through to a backstreet and propelling me through the door of Jack's. It was all done so quickly I scarcely had time to notice the peculiar looks from passers-by and the giggles.
Jack is a bit of a disgrace to the barber profession, a little greasy man with greasy hair that needs a shampoo or two itself. But he works on his own, the local low-life gets its hair cut here, and I suspect a lot of gear that has 'fallen off the back of a lorry' is disposed of by Jack, and he launders the money. No-one was there, thank God, except Jack himself.
"Give the boy a zero, Jack." And that's what happened. In his dirty mirror I could see my grey hair disappearing and an unhealthy-looking, knobly skull emerging. Fashionable at last, at my age. And then I had to pay Jack for the privilege - out of my pension!
Then someone else came in, a burly navvy-type with a thick black curly mop of hair. An Irishman, I thought. I looked again in the mirror at my shorn head. Matthew had a further inspiration. "It's national spanking day, and 'bonehead' here is the spankee."
The navvy seemed to accept this, lord knows why, and after a further explanation or two on Matthew's part the three of them, Matthew, Jack and the navvy, had my tracksuit bottoms right off (I hadn't had time to put on underpants) and there they were, with me, lily-white clean in comparison, stretched over the grime-encrusted basin and my buttocks swelling as Jack's greasy hand, Matthew's firm one, and the navvy's hambone of a hand smacked and slapped me till I was crying. It must have been fifty years since I had cried like that, but the pain of this spanking on top of the earlier belting was like nothing I had ever experienced - up till then. I was sobbing as Matthew appeared to relent a little and put my legs through the trackie legs and pulled the beige-coloured wool over my burning arse.
When we got outside the air felt chill on my head. "Please Matthew" I said, "can I buy a hat to put on?"
He said nothing, but he took off his own baseball cap with its sharp-curled peak and clapped it on my head, where little nodes were pulsating. His own smooth black hair was caught by the breeze, and to my eyes it swirled round his head like a halo.