♥ Site recommended story ♥
A brand spanking new male discipline story by very special guest author Sukemnsee. Over 18s only!
I was relieved it was now late July. It meant I would have some four weeks of a more tolerable workload. Don’t get me wrong I enjoyed both of my jobs but the long days week after week coupled with increasingly hot weather had me getting a little frazzled. Now I only had my main employment to focus on, and soon I would even get two weeks away from that as well. I tutored teenagers to pass school examinations as an extra bit on the side, and was on a four week break, due to resume just before the academic year. It was four weeks where I could wear any clothes I wanted when finished for the day, a chance to kick back and have precious time to myself.
If truth be known, I enjoyed the part time tutoring more than my regular employment as it fulfilled my aspirations to be a teacher. If I wanted to earn the money to fund myself through a spell in University and so gain the degree I needed to gain full teacher status, this life had to continue.
It was soon into the second week when I got a letter advising me of my appointment with the new principal of the tuition centre. For Tuesday coming at 11:00. The letter was worded in very business-like terms of Contractual Review, Goal Setting and Offer of Continued Employment. It did not have a lot of other detail, it was like a summons, and I noticed the office I had to attend was on the far side of the city.
This was quite a change from previous years when it was more a presumption that we would make ourselves available for booked slots, mine usually being four evenings per week. I remembered a passing comment one colleague had made when news of the business changing hands had been received. He had aid he had encountered the new owner before in a previous post, and said we should expect several changes. He also said that as I was young and fit I would do well, which I did not dwell on but was rather an odd comment.
I duly went off to the appointment. It was quite a warm summery day and was expected to get very warm later that afternoon. I felt relaxed and looked forward to the day ahead.
I found the office block, one of these multi-purpose business centres, and located the office at the far end of the top floor. Was I as fit as thought? It was only nine floors, yet having rashly taken the stairs I was starting to feel it.
On entering the office, there was a small reception cubicle with desk, telephone and coat stand, then a rather imposing wooden door. To the left of the door and its highly- polished brass handle was a series of traffic light style indicators. These were used to show the status of the room. Red was for Engaged , Amber was for Wait and Green for Knock and Enter. All were mounted above a polished bell push with an imprinted “Call” on it. I pressed the push and firstly received the amber indication then after a few minutes of standing around the green light appeared. I had wondered whether to sit on the chair behind the desk as there was no other but that felt presumptuous.
I went into the room and was in the presence of the new principal. The interior was again different to my expectations. It really was an old fashioned study with solid desk, a large globe which would turn out to be a drinks cabinet, a standard lamp with dowdy shade, a gym horse off to one side in front of an old style blackboard with ledge, duster and chalks. A large bookcase also added to the atmosphere. Among many reference works I could see a beautifully bound set of what was a complete set of Dickens and not too far from that, and unusually in hardback, various series featuring Biggles, Bunter and William Brown. At this stage I had still not seen the principal as he was seated in a high back swivel leather armchair facing away from me. There was no formal chair my side of the desk, just a plain leather stool. Visits to this office were not designed to be long drawn out affairs, I suspected. I stood somewhat nervously in front of the desk awaiting my host. He slowly turned around and then stood up to offer me a handshake. I felt immediate reproach in his eyes as he took in the fact that I was casually dressed and in shorts. As he looked me up and down, it was not the kind of appraisal I liked to encourage. His distaste was evident. He was a real presence in his grey three-piece suit and an academic gown.
He opened the conversation with a comment that he had expected me for a serious interview, to review the results of my pupils that would be released two days later, to consider my suitability for the year ahead, to discuss curriculum and lesson planning and yet I had shown up dressed like an oaf! That was two demerits for starters! It got worse as he realised I had brought no preparatory material with me. I whinged a little that the invitation letter had not specified requirements. His reply was that for the calibre of staff he needed, there should be no lack of initiative. At one point, without raising his voice, he said something about needing to take me in hand if there was to be any future for me at all. At about this time, as I was still standing in front of the desk, I suddenly spotted some curious items to the right of the bookcase. A small coat rack fixed to the wall had items hanging from its pegs. I could see two types of cane, a leather strap with a handle and an old plimsoll. Were these just part of the atmospheric imagery of the study or something more, and why did I even wonder this?
I suddenly zeroed back to the main conversation. I had one last chance, I was told. I had to return at 5:30 pm the next day, properly prepared for the interview! That was it, I was dismissed from his room, and I felt deeply ashamed of myself.
I got home and started work on advance planning for the year ahead. After my shameful start I now needed to restore my reputation, otherwise I felt sure he would not only get rid of me, but also have his network of contacts ensure that I never made it into mainstream teaching. I was truly humbled. I dialed his number and as soon as he answered I launched into apology. I do not know what he thought but at least he said we would review this properly the following day, so I felt that all was not lost.
That evening I also polished up my shoes, grateful for my training in the cadet corps, and laid out a wardrobe of clothes for use the next day. Eventually, at about 3 pm I set off for the new appointment with sdialledatchel in hand. I had time to spare but timed it so that I was pressing the call button at 5:29. The whole building felt much emptier, maybe no-one else was actually still around. The green light came on, so I knocked and entered.
I believed my efforts on presentation were noted and we soon got into deep dialogue about the nature of tutorial culture and how it needed to be applied. This gentleman certainly was knowledgeable and although this time would require me to do yet more preparation, I soon understood his more professional and business-like approach to ensuring tutors were properly equipped. He then opened a brown envelope and after some reflection asked for my perception of current exam pass rates of the pupils I had recently tutored. Of my 26 pupils, I reckoned three might have failed their examinations. His face was like thunder. All the more so when he asked me to name my highest achievers and I was unable to respond.
He revealed to me that my actual results were all passes, with 2 at A grade, 3 at B grade and the remaining 21 reaching the C grade. I was relieved and told him they had been a good set then. His face was still stern. He told me that if he was even to consider keeping me as a tutor I had a lot of adjustments to make, these results were totally unsatisfactory, especially on top of the demerits already earned the day before. I was shocked, it had not even entered my head that he would withdraw my tutor contract. I needed that income and the experience to progress to full-time teaching. I might not find another position easily or with the limited amount of work I wanted to undertake.
He watched my countenance fall, my eyes betraying bewilderment and panic. My body language was easy to read. He stayed silent for a while as I tried to formulate a response. I suppressed an urge to be belligerent. I told him meekly that I needed to keep this work and that after the conversation already, I felt there were better prospects ahead. He was slow to respond which increased my inner turmoil. Finally he told me that his ways were not mainstream but were always effective. If I submitted to his methodology and did not repeat my poor practice, he would consider my position. I jumped at this lifeline telling him that I was ready to change, that I would reward his faith in me, and so on. I was not far short of grovelling!
He told me to stand up and move to one side of the desk. He himself also stood and then swept around his desk, gown flying, and then perched on the leather stool I had just vacated. He looked at me and said sternly,
“Over my knee!”
I gawped. This was not anything I expected, it was the stuff of stories and yesteryear, it was not modern 21st Century living!
“Be quick about it, or you’re out of the door!”
I had nowhere to go, I paused, I shuffled and then I responded, drawn like a magnet, I tried to lean over his knees with my hands touching the floor ahead. It felt so ungainly. He moved me slightly and then reaching into my back pocket pulled out my wallet and comb, and then he pulled my waistband taut. He told me that for this first session he would deal with my demerits and my lack of preparation. The exam results would follow later.
Slap! He brought his hand down firmly on my bottom, starting with the left cheek. It hurt instantly but as fast as I was processing this feeling his hand was raining down time after time. I must have wriggled and squirmed as the heat and pain rapidly built up. I never imagined this could hurt like this. He told me to stand and remove my shoes, socks, trousers and shirt. I was soon stood before him in my vest and underpants, which fortunately were white, clean and a matching set. He directed me to move around to his other side and lay over again.
Slap! Slap! Slap! The hand was active again and it hurt even more now that a layer of clothing was gone. The only minor consolation was that at first my right cheek, was not hurting as much as the left but that soon vanished as it all evened out. By now I was gasping grunting and squealing a little. I tried to bring my hand back to block him but was pushed away. At some point he stopped. Silence reigned and then I felt him peeling my vest up towards my shoulders and in a swift movement tugging my underpants down past my knees! I tried to stand but was held down. He told me that if I gave up now I gave up everything. It was better to endure my deserved punishment. I knew by now that he was right, even if it would have been difficult to say so. I stayed down as directed and tried to stop moving. His hand slapping my bare skin, my fleshy red bottom, made a lot of noise and gave intense pain. I wondered if it would ever stop. Finally it did and then there was silence. I knew better than to get up. I just lay there feeling wave after wave of pain pulsating in my rear. Now there was a new and strange experience. He was gently trailing his fingertips all around my bottom and along my private furrow. It was a relief from the spanking but it felt awkward as it provoked some sexual excitement in me. I started to squirm on his lap again. He told me to stand over by the wall facing outward with hands on my head. I did so, but I was acutely aware that I now had a rock-solid erection jutting ahead of me. Gradually it drooped and retreated. He went back behind his desk and started writing, doing his work while I waited. Eventually he told me to come and sit back on the stool. The leather was cool but he gave no indication that I should dress, although my vest sort of fell back to position. We started talking in more detail about the curriculum, resources required, making time-sensitive action points, how I prepared existing lesson planning and how I would use technology. We also touched on the fact that the minimum real standard aimed for was not about passing the examination, but to achieve at least grade B for every customer. To have a high percentage of top grades and to promote that distinctive achievement prizes should be a regular target. And then he brought me back down to earth with a reminder that I had to account for the lack of real success this year.
He gestured to the coat hooks that I had seen earlier and told me to choose two implements. I gulped and selected a thin cane and the old plimsoll. Now he told me how he would calculate the strokes. B grade was neutral, C grade incurred a penalty of 2 strokes, which could be offset by A grades for which would give a credit of 4! I was due 34 strokes by this reckoning. He would judge how the strokes were to be administered. I was terrified at this prospect but felt resigned to what lay ahead. He stated I was a fit young man so that when he said I was to receive the plimsoll, I would bend fully over and touch my toes. When I was to receive the cane, I was to bend fully over but rest my hands on the stool and to widen my stance considerably, so that there was about a cane length between my ankles! I offered to take off the vest but he was keen to leave it on as it would fall about my head and stop me seeing everything.
I assumed the position for the plimsoll as directed, just about keeping my balance. He brought it down very firmly, swiftly swiping each cheek and making me feel I was being pushed forward. It hurt far more than I ever expected and this was only two of the total.
He had me change position ready for the cane, making sure I knew just how wide my legs should be.
Two fiendish lines of fire attacked me, making my whole bottom feel ablaze. It hurt like mad on top of the earlier hand and plimsoll spankings. Then he put the cane down and picked up the plimsoll again. Straight away the new taut position made stretched the cane marks, enhancing the pain.
Three more swipes of the plimsoll had me yelling. They came very fast. My whole bottom was fiercely ablaze, there was no way I could endure this session! I wondered if I should just stand up and leave but while I was thinking he was reaching stroke five which made me unsteady and then on number six I fell forward as I lost my balance and was in a heap on the floor. He merely looked at me and told me to get ready for the cane. As I stood up I rubbed my very hot bottom and could already trace two lines where the cane had been. Now there was more to come. I got in place and was glad the stool gave me some stability.
I cried out with each stroke. Each time it made my whole bottom convulse with pain. I began to understand now why this was a feared punishment in older times at schools.
By the fourth stroke I was convinced my bottom was a lacerated mess, this of course meant I now had six strokes in total so far. The famous and feared six of the best! There was every indication however that I had far more strokes to endure, if I could.
I don’t know what he did with that last stroke but it seemed to ignite every inch of my bottom.
I let out a lusty scream. I could not help it. My self-control was evaporating as the line of fire built up. This one in particular felt like it was low down as the tops of my legs were throbbing as well.
These later two seemed to come so close together that my reaction blurred into one. I had slumped down now against the stool but was being told to get back into the proper position and to take my punishment manfully. I felt like it was impossible to make my body do anything right then. I was in pain and I protested that I could not take any more. This was met with a statement of nonsense and that failure to present myself adequately would lead to additional punishment and simply reinforce a view that I was not of the right calibre needed to bring out the best in low achievers, who would pay expensively for the opportunity to improve.
I made a supreme effort and put my bottom back into a highly vulnerable position. He had stung me by his comments that I was not suitable. I had a point to prove. Whatever it took I would endure this torment.
Apart from a scream on each impact, I did my best not to over-react. I felt like my bottom must be terribly swollen by now. Even my hands were not keeping still on the stool but shaking.
I let out the strongest yell yet as this landed and careered off the stool to lie on the floor nearby in a foetal position. My tears were real. I could not help myself. I might have been a grown man but those tears were flooding out of me. I tried to say something but was merely babbling. There was silence. Eventually as I recovered some composure he told me to stand facing the wall for a few minutes. I did as I was told, again with hands up at the back of my head. I could feel his presence behind me, looking at the damage that must be there after this. After a while his fingers were tracing the marks, marks that I would later feel up myself. He was touching me lightly even in the furrow but unlike before there was no chance of reaction. Then there was just silence and I reckoned he was back working at the desk. I dreaded another call to resume either of the positions.
He called me to come and stand in front of the desk, which I did. At this point he told me that I was at least trustworthy as he did feel today was my first exposure to his ways of punishment and my demeanour suggested I had truly felt remorse and would learn from it. He issued me another appointment for two weeks time, at the same time, just two days before the new series of tutorials. For that meeting I was told I should bring a full set of lesson plans and any creative ideas I had to encourage learning in my new intake. I still owed him 14 strokes from today, merely postponed and it was in my hands to determine if I would earn any other penalty to follow. I could now get dressed.
I thanked him and dressed gingerly, my underpants felt too tight so I wore my trousers without. I did not question that there would be more reckoning on the next appointment, I was more concerned that I should behave properly. I left on his command.
On reaching home I stripped down completely. I viewed my bottom in a full-length mirror, it was a mass of deep red ridges. He had chastised me but now already I was justifying his actions to myself. It was a wake up call, I’d been complacent. It was a spur to better achievement, to become a fantastic tutor. I foresaw that my next sets of results would show a real improvment. I took myself to lie down on my bed, face downward, occasionally reaching around to feel my marks. I was satisfied.
D I S C L A I M E R
All characters appearing in this story are fictitious. Any resemblance to real businesses or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Story © MMXV by Sukemnsee, used here by very kind permission
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