How many ways can I say it? I screwed up. After years of connubial bliss with my boyfriend, I got bored and started to play around a bit. He might never have realized if he hadn't come home early that night and found me in bed...our bed...with another guy.
He was so pissed...and he had a right to be. He hauled me out of bed and over to the chair in the corner of the room. While making my new "friend" watch, he proceeded to spank my bare behind mercilessly. His hand came down hard and fast for at least five minutes before he stopped, standing me in a corner while my friend left.
I had expected him to come back and finish the spanking right away, but five minutes went by with no sign of him. Then fifteen, then twenty. Listening carefully, I could hear him making several phone calls. Finally, after a while, I heard him call my name. "Jeff! Get downstairs now."
I shuffled downstairs, hanging my head like the penitent little boy he expected me to be, even though I mainly felt sorry for getting my ass beat than for what I had done. He was sitting on the couch, and I expected him to order me over his knee for another session, but to my surprise he just had me stand there.
"I hope you realize how much you hurt me" were the first words out of his mouth. "I know things have been a little rocky between us lately, but it was nothing we couldn't have worked out." His use of the past tense disturbed me. He continued, "I've made a few calls and I'm going to give you a choice. Either you can walk out that door in a half hour, never coming back, or we can leave together in about the same time and go to make sure you're disciplined correctly. Have you ever heard of the Reformatory?"
I had heard a few jokes and whispers around the gay bars I had taken to frequenting again, and seen a few mentions of it online, but had assumed it was a joke, or a fantasy. "A couple of times. I didn't think it was real."
"Oh, it's real, all right," he said. "It's this former boarding school upstate that a group of guys got together to buy and retrofit. I know one of the owners, and he told me that they have a few openings where they could take you right away. No need for the waiting list. It's expensive, but I'll spend our vacation fund and a little more, too, to make sure you're properly punished for what I just saw."
I was torn; while I knew that despite our difficulties I didn't really want the relationship to end, I was nervous about what to expect. Some of the rumors about the place were -- let's say a bit on the ridiculous side.
"What would happen to me there?"
"That would be up to me, somewhat. They have several different regimens, and I'd make a recommendation. Of course, I won't be making the final decision; you'll have to have a trial to decide."
A trial? Was he serious?
"It could be anywhere from the equivalent of a grounding with periodic spankings to a locked-down jail scenario. The one thing I do know is the length. I'm going to ship you away for a month. At the end of the month, you'll come home, and we'll wipe the slate clean."
I heard the fax machine ring, and paper start to come out of it. "Ah," he said, "that will be your commitment papers and instructions. Go stand in the corner for a few minutes." I did. He took his time studying the forms, then I heard him pull a chair out at the dining room table. "Come over here," he called to me, "I have a few questions."
I went over to the table. He had put on his glasses and was hovering over the sheets with a pen. "Sit down," he told me. I sat across from him, still a bit gingerly even though the spanking he had given me hadn't been all that severe.
"First, let's establish where we stand. Do you agree to a stay at the Reformatory, yes or no? If no, then you can go get dressed and leave right now. If yes, then from this point there is no turning back."
I thought about it for a few moments, then came to a decision. "Yes. I agree. I want to salvage this relationship."
"Good." He checked off a box on the form, which I later learned said "willingly." Lucky for me. I saw what happened to some of the guys who had "unwillingly" checked.
"Was this the first time you've slept around on me?"
"No," I admitted. "This was the fourth."
"Did you have oral _s_e_x_?"
"Yes," I admitted.
"Anal?"
"Yes."
He winced and checked two boxes.
"Protected?"
"Always."
"Well, that's a relief." He checked another box. "Have you been with more than one other partner?"
"Yes," I admitted. "He was the fourth. They were all one night stands."
He winced again, and wrote down a number, then read a few lines and checked a couple of boxes.
"I've got some bad news for you, then. It looks like I won't be making a recommendation. Under their rules, you're in for it. One partner or two could be considered an indiscretion. But three or more, and they brand you a _s_e_x_ offender for your stay." He paused and thought. "I'll give you one last chance to back out and leave me now. Are you sure you want to go through with this?"
"Yes," I confirmed adamantly. "I'll take my punishment."
"Very well, then." He checked another box, and signed one of the sheets. Then he loaded it into the fax machine, dialed a number, and sent it off. A few minutes later, another fax arrived, three pages long. "Well, there's no turning back. They're expecting you at five o'clock, which is when they start intake for this week. I have instructions on preparing you for transit, and we don't have much time. Let's go upstairs."
I slowly followed him up. He stopped at the linen closet to retrieve what looked like a butt plug and some lube. Then he went to my chest of drawers, and retrieved an old pair of boxer shorts, a white T-Shirt, and some jeans that I hadn't worn in a while, since they started to develop holes.
"Bend over as far as you can," he ordered me. I did so, and could feel his fingers pull my butt cheeks apart. A moment later, a small bit of lube was applied and the plug brutally rammed home. I couldn't help but yell out as I felt that piece of latex violate me. Then he stood me back up, and told me to get dressed. I dressed as quickly as I could. When I was finished, I saw that he had retrieved a pair of handcuffs we had used in play from time to time, and a roll of Scotch tape. He cuffed my hands behind my back, and taped one of the pages of the fax he had gotten to my chest. It had a large, five digit number on it: "78532." I assumed this was going to be my new ID number for the next month.
"Okay," he said giving me one more swat on the butt, "let's go."
(To be continued.)