The verdict was in, the sentence was read. Judgment was final and my punishment forthcoming. I was 21 years old--old enough to know better but not too old to be punished like a boy half my age.
The bailiff summoned me to a small spanking woodshed behind the court house, where clothing was to be removed and the spanking position assumed. Close within reach, hanging on the wall, was a wide leather strap used dozens of times before. It was undoubtedly the perfect implement of punitive justice, smacking hard against the unsuspecting bare buttocks of countless naughty boys and young men whose behavior warranted such extreme corporal punishment.
Having assumed the position, with bare buns positioned high and legs slightly spread, I waited nervously as the bailiff grabbed the strap from the wall and snapped it a few times in the air. The sentence was read again with robotic precision: "25 strokes of the strap across bare buttocks."
The bailiff swung the strap up and back, and with full force it came crashing down against two vulnerable, white globes targeted below. SMACK! The stinging sensation was like a thousand bees converging on bare naked flesh. I'd been spanked before--even bare--but never like this before.
Again, the strap made a whoosh through the air and another SMACK landed squarely in the center of my buttocks. Upon impact they jiggled and quivered, quickly restoring their bubble shape once the strap was released. Angry marks evolved from pink to red to deep crimson as the strapping continued.
I swore I wouldnt cry, but after five smacks and the prospect of twenty more, the tears flowed. Cries for mercy, for a reduced sentence, fell on the bailiffs deaf ears. He was as determined to carry out a complete punishment as I was to have him truncate it.
By the 19th smack, I was screaming and crying like a baby. I was ashamed and embarrassed. I could only imagine what my bare bottom must look like. One final smack came down. The bailiff summoned me to stand and go find my clothing.
As I took my first step I felt a playful, but firm hand slap on my fiery roasted buns. It was the bailiff. I turned around, and with a twinkle in his eye he said: "I dont want to see you or your bare buttocks here again! Is that understood, young man?" I agreed it was, and left to nurse my wounded backside and release the raging hardon that had been building. The punishment was complete, and I would be a better boy because of it.