Eddie's Embarrassing Christmas Surprise

Author : Eddie Knapps

An Eddie Knapps true life (mis)adventure

I went over to see Mr. Baker as ordered on a chilly December Monday at 5:00 p.m. My "sin" was not an unusual one for me, maybe not for many guys my age, which is 48--"PROCRASTINATION" But what IS unusual is the price I have to PAY for this kind of thing--a PAINFUL and HUMILIATING PRICE.. You see, when I get lazy, don't do the things I ought to, do things I shouldn't, and so on, there are those around me who don't simply let me "get away with it." Nope, when I screw up, I get PUNISHED! And HOW, you'd logically ask, do I get punished? Well, there's only one way to put it. Just the way I always have, ever since I was a boy. That's in the 'TRADITIONAL," maybe even "OLD-FASHIONED" way. Well WHAT!? you'll say. Just notice that word in the first sentence--"ORDERED." When I talked to Mr. Baker (and you might note that title "Mister," too!), it wasn't like he "asked me" to "drop by," "suggested" that I "visit." NO WAY! I was TOLD to be at his place at five o'clock sharp on Monday, where, for my misdeed, to quote his very words: "I'm going to PULL DOWN YOUR PANTS, put you OVER MY KNEE, and give you a GOOD, HARD, BARE BOTTOM SPANKING you'll NEVER forget!" WHAT! That's right. I may appear to be a grown man in my 40s--snappily dressed, professional even. However, to Mr. Baker, as well as a number of other strict disciplinarians in my area, I am nothing but a snot-nosed KID, and, believe me, they have no compunction about treating me JUST like one, and making me FEEL the part--in spades! For MEN like Mr. Baker, there are those of us, just like it says in "Peter Pan," who "never grow up," and for us, there's only one proper way to get to the "seat" of our problems. I guess now I don't have to tell you what THAT is!

Monday, 5:00 p.m. I arrived at Mr. Baker's place. Believe me, I was ON TIME. No need to make things worse than they already were. Christmas lights were twinkling on homes, and kids were bundled up and out playing in the streets. If only they knew what was in store for that "apparent" man standing there on Mr. Baker's porch! I rang the bell and waited in the cold, resigned to my fate. I knew Mr. Baker was as good as his word. The next couple hours would prove, I was certain, an embarrassing and quite painful reminder of that position I occupy in his eyes. I might as well have been one of those gloved and woolcapped youngsters ripping and racing from yard to yard. Indeed, in this day and age, I had to wonder if they themselves--even the youngest--were subject to discipline quite as intense and humiliating as mine! Mr. Baker came down and opened the door, a frown on his face. "Get in here, boy!" he barked loudly, heedless of those children in the street. "No need for us to waste time." He led me up the stairs to his living room, me following with my eyes to the floor, with that hangdog expression of somebody in BIG TROUBLE! Even so, I guess you could say I'd been "asking for it." A month before, Mr. Baker and I had discussed the fact I was always putting things off, not getting stuff done on time, and so on. My perpetually late Christmas cards had come up, and Mr. Baker made it very clear that getting those out with plenty of days to spare would be a test of my sincerity in promising to do better regarding procrastination. Well, my grade had obviously been an "F!" Mr. Baker crossed the threshold into his flat with me right behind. There, as I raised my gaze, I saw his arms chair, the coffee table, a small Christmas tree with some presents with bows beneath it, some cards on the mantlepiece and... What was THIS! There on the sofa, "What to my wondering eyes should appear" but somebody BESIDES Mr. Baker, just sitting there. He was blond with very short hair, about 6', slender but not skinny, a rather nice and conservative-looking fellow. AND he looked to be VERY young! As he caught sight of me, the guy gave me a kind of smirk, and I wondered what the hell was up. Mr. Baker introduced us: "Eddie, this is Tom. Tom, Eddie. You've heard about him." We shook hands--him grinning broadly now, and me blushing about 5 shades of red. Just what HAD Mr. Baker told this guy? Not that I had any business knowing! As soon as that little formality was done with, without any further explanations, Mr. Baker started lecturing me good about not having my Christmas cards out, about screwing around too much, not getting work done, etc. "I've told you and told you and TOLD you, Eddie! And I just don't seem to get through! You know FULL WELL what this kind of thing gets you!" When Mr. Baker gives me a dressing down, one thing's for sure. It is LOUD! I could imagine, even with the house closed up, his voice echoing down on the street. I had to wonder if those kids outside playing could hear. As his yelling continued, even with the other guy there, I could feel myself sort of shrinking, just getting smaller and smaller, looking at the floor, shuffling my feet. "You know what you're in for, young man! I'm sick of this kind of behavior! Get that coat of yours off--and hang it up NEATLY on the rack--and get yourself back to the dining room and stand in that corner for a while. You know the routine! You just THINK about what you're in for for a while!" And then came the words that a boy of any age DREADS: "You've earned yourself one GOOD, HARD SPANKING, young man!" This is pretty much our usual situation, except, of course, this time it was being witnessed by someone, some KID, I had never met. I was a little freaked, standing there staring at my shoes, getting throughly scolded like some 10 year old in front of a guy obviously less than half my age! And certainly, I had to wonder what HE thought as those words "GOOD, HARD SPANKING!" reverberated through the house! With no further ado, Mr. Baker took me by the ear and led me back to the dining room. From where the kid was sitting, he had an unobstructed view through the archway of me, nose pressed in the corner, hands folded in front of me, slightly bent forward in that old "thinking about it" position, just before the "fireworks" start! After putting me in the corner, Mr. Baker said, "Like another Coke, Tom?" as he turned back to the living room. "Sure," the young guy said softly. Mr. Baker went into the kitchen for a minute, then paused as he came out. "Well, boy," he growled at me. "I hope you're PROUD of yourself." He paused. "No point in you having these up while you're standing here!" With that, he opened my belt, undid my fly, and unceremoniously YANKED my slacks down to my shoes. So, there I was standing with my jockey-covered rear sticking out from under my shirttail for all the world--and especially Tom--to see. Mr. Baker took the Coke to Tom, and they talked a little bit. He asked Tom how he liked college ( ! ), and they chatted about about what Tom was studying. "Sophomore year's tough," Tom said, "but not as bad as freshman." "It takes a while to adjust," Mr. Baker agreed. "You kind of hit your stride after a couple of terms." Standing there with my pants down in the corner, it hit me. I did a couple of calculations. Sophomore year? Tom was only three semesters out of high school! Tom was still a TEENAGER! Eighteen, maybe. NINETEEN at most! They chatted on. I could gather that Tom was from the western part of the state, and had driven more than 2 hours just to be here this afternoon to... To what? Observe somebody THIRTY YEARS OLDER THAN HE WAS with his nose to the wall after a good "talking to," about to... At that point, Mr. Baker got up again. He came up behind me and said: "You look pretty damn silly, Eddie, standing there like that! But not NEAR as silly as you're GONNA look!" You can imagine what happened then. You got it. He took hold of my underpants and--YANK!--down they went to puddle with my slacks around my shoes. Now I was BARE BOTTOM in the corner, just an overgrown boy about to get a good spanking, with some college kid sipping a Coke and taking it all in. The two of them talked a little more there in the living room. "Well, you'll need to get back up to school," Mr. Baker said finally, "so let's let you see what you come for." They both came into the dining room. Mr. Baker pulled out one of the dining chairs, and opened up his bag of spanking implements, which was sitting on the table. Then he came and took me by the ear again and marched me over to his chair, just like a bad little boy. Tom had pulled out another chair and sat down, his arms crossed and a small smile on his lips. Mr. Baker settled himself in his chair, scolding me constantly about my behavior--me standing there like an ass with my prick dangling between my legs. There I was in total disgrace as young Tom got a good view of my naked legs, my prick, my balls, and, of course, my bare, white behind! Well, not WHITE for long! Mr. Baker pulled me over his lap so that my fanny was facing directly toward Tom. He pushed my nose far toward the floor so my big rear was opened up, giving Tom an unobstructed view up my hairy crack. He then reached over and picked up his wooden hairbrush. "Tom drove all this way just to see somebody get a good, hard spanking, Eddie, and I can tell you, I am NOT gonna disappoint him!" With that, Mr. Baker started smacking my bare bottom, hard from the very first, and you can bet after a couple dozen I was wiggling my backside plenty! THWACK! THWACK! THWACK! "OW! OW! OUCH!" Mr. Baker continued lecturing me loudly while I squirmed and yelped, and my legs were soon up off the ground and twisting in the air, my pants and underpants TRULY in a knot! He must have smacked me over 100 times (I lost count early on) and I squalled and squealed plenty. THWACK! THWACK! THWACK! "YEOW! OOHHH!! YIKE!" Tom didn't say a word as Mr. Baker spanked me. He just sat their watching my big behind buck and bounce as I thrashed around on Mr. Baker's lap. THWACK! THWACK! THWACK! "OW! OUCH! I'M SORRY! OUCH! OOWWW! I then got stood up, and Mr. Baker gave me a good shaking--"Not such a big man now, ARE YOU, Eddie!" Then he sent me stumbling to the corner---pants and underpants at my ankles--with a hard swat on my now pink rear to stand there ON DISPLAY--just one very naughty 48 year old who felt about 8! Meanwhile, Mr. Baker and Tom just kind of chatted: "Pretty much what you expected?" "Yeah, " Tom said, "But I never saw anybody get it with a hairbrush. Looks like it stings pretty bad." "It sure works on Eddie." Tom guffawed and agreed. "Sure seems to. He really squirms around a lot." "Oh, you ain't seen NOTHING yet!" "Ya know," Tom said, "he's older than my dad!" "Ha!" Mr. Baker chuckled. "Well, you SURE won't think he looks like it in a couple of minutes! Get your pants off, Eddie!" he ordered. I did as I was told, believe me. No reason to get Mr. Baker even MORE riled. I clumsily skinned out of my slacks and shorts (though then I put my shoes back on, because I know, as with many MEN WHO SPANK!, that's how Mr. Baker likes it). He then led me by the arm into the living room and put me over the back of his easy chair. Again, Tom came along and settled on the sofa so he got a really good view. When I'm in that position, my feet are totally off the floor, and that's where I get switched. Mr. Baker thrashed me but GOOD--swift stinging strokes that got my legs windmilling since I had no pants on to restrain them. He loves to use the switch on me, and he really went to town! I had stripes on my rear and my thighs four days later, darker red than the rest of my bottom, from that part of the session! I was making that "Uh-UH-UHH!" kind of noise when he was laying it on, and, if I'd thought about it, I was probably putting on quite a show for Tom: flashing hole and crack, struggling, trying to take it like a man. But that really wasn't where my head was at. More like where that goddamn switch was going to land next and how it burned like bee-stings on my misbehaving fanny! When he stopped, Mr. Baker simply shouted. "Eddie! Go back to the bedroom and lie on the bed!" I knew that meant the strap, and I got up and started down the hall with my fanny GLOWING. From past experience, I knew better than try to rub it. "Stop right there!" Mr. Baker said, "and bend over." I did as I was told and he came at me with this paddle he has. It is some kind of handball paddle that is wrapped in chicken wire and then covered with tape. With Tom leaning against the doorjamb, Mr. Baker gave me thirty hard shots which had me staggering a couple times, my poor naked rump on fire! "Now get in there!" You can imagine, by that time, my procrastinating behind was in MAJOR distress! With the paddling, I was beginning to get tears in my eyes, and my rear end didn't feel like it could take much more. Obediently, I got the bolster down from the head of the bed and spread myself over it, legs slightly apart. Mr. Baker and Tom came in, and Mr. Baker took the leather strap out of his bag of tricks. He laid it on heavy, and he had me yowling good and bouncing all over the bed. CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! "YEOW! OOOWWW!! NOOOO!" The strokes were slower than the ones with the cane, so each one had a good chance to sear my naked fannyflesh before the next one landed. I slipped off the bolster a couple times, which meant more rapid licks until I got my rear end back where it belonged. CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! "Get back up there! Get your bottom up there, boy!" "YEOUCH! YES, SIR! OOWWW! YES, SIR!" Finally, Mr. Baker let the strap drop to his side. "Get back to the corner." By that time, I was hyperventilating and snuffling good. I scooted past one broadly grinning college student on my way back to the dining room, sticking out my stinging rear with my face pressed to the wall. "Feel it if you want," Mr. Baker told Tom. The young man casually came over beside me. He put his hand on my bottom and stroked it, then squeezed lightly. "Pretty hot," he said as he kneaded my blazing rump. "Are you going to spank him some more?" "Hell, yes!" Mr. Baker laughed. "This was just a warm-up. He still has to go back across my knee for the hairbrush again." He paused. "Or do you want to finish him off?" There was another, longer pause. "No, that's okay, you do it." Tom said finally. "I just want to watch this time." Again, Mr. B took me by the ear like a naughty little schoolboy and guided me over to the dining chair. He turned me over his knee, again with Tom with a ringside seat, though this time he was standing with a big smile on his face, looking down on me in my humiliated state. I knew my rear end must be RED as FIRE, and it was sure to get a lot REDDER in the next few minutes, as would my FACE as well. Tom did a slow 360 around Mr. Baker's chair, taking in the sight of me there from every angle. Mr. Baker twisted my arm around my back, raised the hairbrush, and then, he just whaled! That's usually how I end up with Mr. Baker, just like it used to be with my dad,. Everything prior to this was just to get me in the right "frame of mind," push me farther and farther "back to boyhood" so that he can give me REAL spanking--just like bad boys DESERVE--and so I'll RESPOND just like a boy: BLUBBING and BAWLING MY EYES OUT! THWACK! THWACK! THWACK! THWACK! "YEOW! OW! OUCH! AHHH! OHHH! OWWWW!" It was probably only after 40 or 50 swats that I finally broke down entirely, starting to truly blubber and really kick hard, legs pumping frantically every which way--SLICING the air not just UP and DOWN, but SCISSORING back and forth as that hairbrush lit a BLAZE in my bouncing bottom, which twitched and squirmed and wiggled helplessly over Mr. Baker's knee. THWACK! THWACK! THWACK! THWACK! "OWWW!! NOOO!!! PLEASE! NO MORE! OWWW!! NOOOO!!" That did NO good, of course. Indeed, that was EXACTLY what Mr. Baker was looking for. He had promised me a GOOD, HARD SPANKING for my procrastination, and a GOOD, HARD SPANKING is what I was getting. Beyond that, he was obviously determined that I was going to make a COMPLETE and UTTER SPECTACLE of myself in front of this 19 year old college sophomore. Tom, after all, had driven two hours some REAL and TOTALLY HUMILIATING PUNISHMENT, and THAT was what he was going to observe! THWACK! THWACK! THWACK! THWACK! "OWWW!! NOOO!!! PLEASE!" Mr. B kept those licks coming fast and furious and I was COMPLETELY beside myself, bawling like there was no tomorrow, begging and pleading and promising amid my sobs, transformed there before Tom's eyes from a grown man into squirming, blithering, kicking, bare bottomed, and VERY SORRY little BRAT! THWACK! THWACK! THWACK! THWACK! "OOOOWWW!!! WAA-AAAHHH!! I'LL BE A GOOD BOY! NOOOOO! WAA-AA-AAAHHHHH! I WILL! OOOHHHHH!! WAA-AA-AAAHHHHH!" "You can BET you will be, Eddie!' THWACK! THWACK! THWACK! THWACK! "YAAAHHH!! WAA-AAAHHHH!! OOOWWWW!!" "You're nothing but a bad little boy, are you, Eddie!" THWACK! THWACK! THWACK! THWACK! "WAA-AAAHHH!! OWWW!! NOOO!!! PLEASE!" THWACK! THWACK! THWACK! THWACK! "YES, SIR! WAA-AA-AAAHHHHH! YES, SIR!" THWACK! THWACK! THWACK! THWACK! "WHAT are you?" "OOOOWWWW!!! A bad little boy!" Even through my whaling, I heard Tom let out a little yip at THAT! THWACK! THWACK! THWACK! THWACK! "And what happens to bad little boys like you?" "WAA-AAAHHH!!! OWWWW!! We get SPANKED!" THWACK! THWACK! THWACK! THWACK! "And HOW do you spanked, Eddie!" SMACK! SMACK! " WAA-AA-AAAHHHHH! On my bare bottom!" I howled. "WAA-AAAAHHH!!" Tom let out a fullthroated HORSELAUGH at that point! "HA! HA! HA!" "You BET you do!" Mr. B yelled. "And you're going to get spanked till I think you've learned your lesson!" And he simply went on just BLISTERING my squirming rumpus as I cried. You would think my humiliation was about as total as it could be--no pants or underpants on, my shoes flying in the air, my red, blistered bottom (I had no doubt it was blistered, and that it both looked and felt like nothing but a bottom!) bouncing up and down, turned over a man's knee getting a good, hard SPANKING with the wooden hairbrush as I blubbered and begged like a 9 year old! There I was, having to ADMIT I was a bad little boy who needed a good spanking on my bare bottom for my bad behavior!--all this before the eyes of a young stranger less than 1/2 my age--a TEENAGER--laughingly observing this 48 year old's embarrassing and painful predicament! THWACK! THWACK! THWACK! THWACK! "WAAA-AAAHHH!!! NNOOOO!! WAAA-AAAHHHHH!!" Yawing and bucking there over Mr. Baker's lap, twisting my torso from side to side, my legs pumping a mile a minute, I raised my face as tears rivered down my cheeks, and there he was--Tom the college sophomore, his hands on his hips, standing there as my punishment continued with a HUGE SMILE on his face, obviously thoroughly AMUSED by the spectacle he was witnessing! THWACK! THWACK! THWACK! THWACK! "WAAA-AAAHHH!!! WAAA-AAA--AAAHHHHH!!" THEN, there was a pause. I heard Mr. Baker say, "Hold his legs." I felt Tom grab hold of my ankles, FIRMLY. He had a VERY strong grip, that was for sure! My God, I thought, his face can't be more than a couple FEET from that rosy rumpus of mine! Then, Mr. Baker went back to whacking as I cried and squirmed wildly. Tom was kneeling there, watching my fanny get SOUNDLY SPANKED--opening and shutting to show him my hole, the back of my nuts, and everything else, and hearing me wail like a four year old--actually HELPING Mr. B discipline my naked misbehaving behind! THWACK! THWACK! THWACK! THWACK! "WAAA-AAAAHHHHH!!! WAA-AAA-AAA-AAAHHHHHH!!!" Unable to kick my legs, I think that hairbrush BURNED even more. As a boy of any age knows, wiggling and kicking helps somehow to deal with the REAL pain of a SOUND SPANKING. But with Tom restricting my movements, all I could so was shake and shimmy my well-toasted tail. Finally, FINALLY, Mr. Baker said: "Are we going to have any more procrastinating, Eddie?" THWACK! "BUU-WHUH! No, Sir. No, SIR!" THWACK! "Are those cards going out TONIGHT!" "WAA-HUH! Yes, Sir! YES!" "All right then. You come with me." With that, Tom released my ankles, and Mr. Baker paraded my red face and even REDDER rear into the living room. "Get your nose down there with the presents!" he ordered, pointing under the Christmas tree. I didn't know what was up, but, believe me, I was NOT going to argue. I got down on my knees and stuck my face there amid the boxes and bags. "Get that fanny up in the air!" Mr. Baker barked. "I want Tom to get a real good look at it." I raised my rear higher. What a sight I must have made! From the corner of my eye, I saw Mr. Baker pulled a green bow with a sticky back off one of the presents, which he then affixed to my blistered bottom! "Now, there's a real Christmas present," Mr. Baker chuckled. And Tom laughed. Of course, I probably DID look pretty ridiculous! Face to the floor, on my knees, no pants or underpants on, nuts and prick hanging between my thighs, my bottom SCREAMING SCARLET, with a big bow planted on it! Quite a Christmas package, and in all the right colors--red and green with a little white "snow" of blisters! And there I remained, sniffling like a kid, as Tom and Mister Baker settled down and chatted some more. It was there I found out that the two of them had been corresponding by mail for a couple months. Tom wasn't entirely sure he was into spanking, and, even if he was, he wasn't certain what role he wanted to play, and whether he'd prefer to spank boys or girls. Mr. Baker then suggested that the best thing to do might be for him to come on down and actually WATCH a REAL spanking. That seemed to Tom a good idea, and he was apparently even MORE interested when Mr. Baker brought up the idea of his watching ME get it--somebody older getting turned over the knee and spanked to tears. "I didn't believe guy his age would kick like that, and CRY that much!" Tom said delightedly. "Oh, there's no point in spanking Eddie unless he's kicking and bawling like a baby," Mr. Baker said. "Well," Tom guffawed, "that's sure what he looked and sounded like!" As it turned out, Tom went to a Christian college out in the western part of the state someplace. Though he himself hadn't been spanked since he went off to school, he apparently was still under the threat of it. His dad had just turned 40. They are all Dutchies out there, who are real conservative, and Tom said that he has classmates in college who still were still getting it for bad grades, etc. "Was it pretty much what you expected?" Mr. Baker asked him. "It was hot!" Tom said. "Boy, you really made that ass of his RED!" Mr. Baker corrected him, "Well, in Eddie's case, you're talking about his bottom." Tom laughed again. "Yeah, I guess you're right" and, from that point on, "bottom" was the word he employed as he and Mr. Baker discussed the effect of the various instruments that had been employed to discipline me. I don't know how long I sayed there with my rear in the air under that tree. They talked for quite a while. Eventually, Mr. Baker said: "Well, Eddie, get up." I did as I was told, crawling our from under the Christmas tree and standing there before the two of them. I cupped my hands over my prick. My FACE was probably as crimson as my fanny! Mr. Baker smiled. "No need for you to be modest, Eddie. I think Tom here's seem about ALL you have to offer." Tom laughed at that one, too. "Well," Mr. Baker said, "I hope the both of you have enjoyed your Christmas present!" He turned to Tom and told him how he had thought it would do him good to see how a TRUE spanking was administered, NO fooling around, and how he needed to see that "even the biggest boy" could really be "put in his place" with enough time and effort spent blistering his bottom. Then, he turned to me. "I think this was good for you, too, Eddie. Maybe YOU needed a little reminder that ANY man, I don't care HOW old, has a perfect right to see you get those drawers of yours yanked down and get a good spanking when you don't do what you're told!"

It was a very memorable session for precisely that reason. There I was, 48 years old and was getting truly WHALED on my bare bottom in front of a 19 year old! Tom remarked it was "real funny" when I was kicking my legs, and that he "couldn't believe" how wildly I had "wiggled my bottom" during the last spanking. All this occurred, of course, with me standing there like a dope in boots, socks, and shirt before them, my prick a little nub beneath my hands with both a VERY red bottom and a VERY red face, and that bow still stuck to my behind! From the looks of things that evening, I figure Tom's probably destined to smack naked tails as a MAN WHO SPANKS for the rest of his life. There's no question had a TRULY enjoyed what he had witnessed. And, as a brat, I guess I'd have no problem crawling over his lap, and, hell, I would have had no CHOICE anyhow if Mr. Baker had anything to say about it! Not too long after, Mr. Baker told me to "get that silly bow" off my bottom and get my pants on. As I returned to the living room, Tom was still sitting there. "Get yourself home, Eddie," Mr. Baker said. "I think you've got some Christmas cards to get out." "Yes, Sir," I said. I put on my coat, and, as I left, Tom stood. We shook hands. "Take care," I said. Tom grinned broadly. "You, too. And BEHAVE YOURSELF, Eddie!" he added. That pretty much sealed, I guess, who were the grown-ups and who was a boy in THAT room that day!

Out on the street, the kids had all gone in to eat, I guess. Walking to my car through the cold with one VERY sore bottom, I had a chance to reflect on what had just happend. And, believe me, I had to blush. Here I was, 48 years old, and a teenager I had never met before had just spent a couple of hours watching as I was THOROUGHLY scolded, SOUNDLY shaken, STOOD in the corner, and had BOTH my pants AND my underpants pulled down. And then that college kid has casually watched as my naked behind was SWITCHED, PADDLED, STRAPPED, and BLISTERINGLY SPANKED with a wooden hairbrush till I was KICKING wildly and CRYING my eyes out! I recalled the sound of his laughter as I admitted to being just "a bad little boy" as I flailed around FRANTICALLY on Mr. Baker's lap. The BIG SMILE of amusement he had had on his face as I kicked and wiggled WILDLY as I was getting SPANKED! And what a close-up view of my ROASTED RUMP he must have gotten when he was holding my legs. Good God, I thought, a COLLEGE BOY had just witnessed me reduced to a sniveling, blubbing, pleading, promising, squirming, wailing, bare bottom little BRAT! I had to wonder if he would tell anybody what he had seen. And, too, if, when he went back to college, he would find a room mate or even some guy my age to discipline like he had seen happen to me. As I got in my car, I couldn't shake that image of the grin on Tom's face--a MAN thirty years my junior!--as he watched me get a GOOD, OLD-FASHIONED, OVER THE KNEE SPANKING on my BARE BOTTOM. Jeez! What greater humiliation could a grown man endure! Sitting gingerly on the seat, I had to think that, where Mr. Baker was concerned, he was certain to think of something!

MERRY CHRISTMAS!