I pulled my paddle from the bottom drawer of my desk and let him see it. He trembled even more as he stared at the menacing instrument. I’d had it specially made for sessions like this; much like the backside of an oval shaped hairbrush, it was smooth, sleek and black.
“Have you been spanked recently?” I asked him.
“Were you as a child?”
I appreciated his naturally polite demeanor.
“Then you can think of this in much the same way as your parents’ discipline. Caroline only wants what is best for you, of course that being what’s best for her company. From what I gather, your untimely mistakes have cost her dearly in the past few weeks. I hope this puts you on the right track.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he replied.
“Remove your trousers,” I ordered him. (It’s a most tantalizing feeling giving them that order; it takes the punishment from the imagination to real life, and demonstrates my control over these poor souls.)
Jeff’s blush was nearly instantaneous; and he should blush, considering what I was about to do to him.
I watched him hesitate. His hands shook, though he finally found his way to his belt buckle, undoing the clasp. He couldn’t look at me for his embarrassment.
“You’re taking too much time, Jeffrey, the more you hesitate the longer I will use this paddle on your bottom.”
After that, he wasted no time in dropping his pants to the floor and stepping out of them. In just his shirt and underwear he looked all the more submissive.
“Come here,” I ordered and he was quick to stand in front of me as I assumed my place in the straight back chair I always use for such occasions. I briskly pulled the boy over my knee and noted the lovely roundness of his tight ass cheeks as I gazed at them through the fabric of his briefs. With a finger under the elastic, I slowly pulled them down, hearing Jeff gasp as I did.
As was normal, his manhood was rising, though I ignored that. At the moment, I preferred to consider the delicious sight of his creamy white buns . . . so round, so fresh, inviting the paddle to bring out a rosy blush. I could see how nervous Jeff was; his poor rear cheeks were clenched so tightly.
Raising my arm, I let the paddle fly with a resounding whack against his left ass cheek.
The blow wasn’t hard, I’m sure his response was shock more than pain.
The second blow landed on his right cheek, but without the accompanying cry. I then began leveling the instrument across his bottom in steady rhythmic whacks, though these first were not intended to be too biting. I’d save the most severe for later. I planned a long paddling, letting him get used to the treatment a little at a time.
“Yeow, ow ouch!” He began to cry out again.
After my initial round of whacks, I began another, increasing the intensity just a little, covering every inch of his delightful bouncing rear.
“Ouch ow, please!” he wailed. As the blows became more severe, so was the sting, and so was Jeff’s obvious distress. “Ouch, ow, oh gawd no!”
“Hush! You’re going to take every bit I have to give; if you think I’m stopping now, you’re in for a rude awakening.” And for good measure, I decided to give the center of his cheeks a special treatment, directing at least a half dozen whacks on each, one whack right on top of the last, so that those two fiery spots would burn like hell!