Visiting Sir

This is an account about one visit I made to Sir.   I visit him abut once a month ar whenever   feel the need.  Sir is in his late 40s. I am 29.  This happened almost a month ago but I still have the faint bruises on my bottom to remind me of it.

I am driving  frantically down the M4.  I am late.  My heart is pounding for I know what the consequences will be.  All morning I have been trying to get away but it has been  impossible, and then the traffic has been awful.  But I know no excuses will be accepted and that Sir is going to punish me severely.

Heart still pounding I ring the bell and am buzzed in.  Before I have reached the top step I hear Sir’s angry words, "You’re late, lad!"

I begin to mutter apologies but they are brushed aside.  I am directed into Sir’s spare bedroom straight away.  No little chats today, just punishment.

"I won’t have any excuses.  I know my rule.  How many strokes per minute for lateness ?"

"Five, Sir."

"And how many minutes are you late ?"

I glance at my watch. "Twenty, Sir"

"That makes how many strokes ?"

"A hundred, Sir."

Yes, boy, a hundred.   Strip!"

I begin to undress while Sir stares at me.  I fold my trousers and as I do  so I catch a glimpse  of Sir’s slipper-sole and of his paddles and his strap!    My heart pounds.  Can I take a hundred ?  I wonder. I know, though, that I have no choice.  I have stripped right down to my underpants and give Sir a pleading look.
"Everything, I said.  Strip NAKED!  Now!!"

I slide my thumbs into the waistband of my briefs and pull them down and off. I am very conscious of standing before Sir like the naughty small boy I have been made to seem.  But my thoughts are cut short.
"Right lad, over the table."

I stand at one end of the writing table and bend  across it, stretching to the other side and gripping the far edge.  My bottom is now bent, bare and waiting.

WHACK!  WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK!   The slipper strokes hit home.  And they are SO SORE.  Sir hasn’t allowed me  any warm-up at all. He has  started off really hard and is showing me no mercy at all. WHACK!  WHACK!  WHACK! WHACK! WHACK!  The first ten.  Just a tenth and already my bottom is blazing.  My breath comes in gasps and my heart is pounding. "Sir, I’m sorry..." I plead  in the hope of some lessening of the pain.

"Good,  I’m glad you’re sorry.  But being sorry is not enough. You must be PUNISHED! You will NEVER be late for me again." 

WHACK!  WHACK!  WHACK! WHACK! WHACK!

The slipper rises and falls, rises and falls and goes on and on and on in spite of my gasps, pleas, whimpers yelps, yells and finally tears.

Finally there comes a break.  "Stand up," I am told and do so.  I stand  with my hands at my sides. "Turn round.  Look at yourself in the mirror."  I see my bottom. It is deep fiery red.

"That’s half way.   Are I learning my lesson ?" 

"Yes, Sir.  Yes, I am Sir ... please...."

"Be quiet, boy.  Kneel down.  Show me that bottom.  Show me my bare, red bottom .... and get ready for the second half of your punishment."

I kneel down. I  can see my glowing bottom in the long mirror.   I see Sir pick up the wooden paddle.  It is a small paddle and not thick either but it does STING.

CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!   It imparts a new kind of sting and takes my breath away.  I begin to yelp again with each swat.  I can’t believe how sore this is on an already raw bottom.

On and on and on till I’ve  had forty strokes and can’t believe I can bear another.

"Stand up again.  Look at yourself.  Look at your bottom."  As I look at my glowing bum I feel Sir’s hand go to it but not to smack it.  In stead Sir begins to rub it gently. It is red hot to touch and so so tender.  But it’s lovely to have this gentle rubbing and my young boy-cock begins to stiffen.

"Not over yet.  How many have you still to come ?"

"Ten, Sir. Please ...."

"Quiet!  Ten with the leather strap.   Ten really hard strokes."  The strap is an inch and a half wide and fifteen inches long.  It is Sir’s sorest instrument.  I give a little gasp at the thought.
"Yes, lad, you  know how this stings.  But you have deserved it and will learn your lesson from it.  Now, back over that table.  Put that bottom right up – right up – I want to see your glowing, bare, red young bottom offered for ten hard strokes.  Now stay down, lad or I’ll make it twenty."

CRACK!!!!!    I shout out with the pain.  Tears spring to my eyes now.  I can’t endure it.  CRACK!!!!  I yell out but only feel Sir’s hand pressing on my back.  CRACK!!!    And so it goes on until somehow I have taken ten slow hard strokes.   The bottom of my bum, just where my thighs join my bum-cheeks is a two-inch band of red-raw flesh.  I lie flat across the table sobbing.

I lie there for I don’t know how  long, until I feel something cold being soothed onto my welted bottom.  Sir’s hand with some cooling cream  His hands rub some of the heat and pain out of me. His hands rub and stroke my hot cheeks and gradually centre in to my young butt-hole.  I feel Sir’s fingers across my anus, teasing the tight little hole.  Sir rubs the cream gently all over my welted bottom.  It is SO good after all the pain.

Sir lifts me up.  I stand I before the mirror and I see my scarlet and slightly bruised bottom.

"Now, boy, will you be late again ?"

Thrashed, I hang my head. "No Sir."

"Good boy."  Sir gives me a hug  and sends me off.