I sat alone in silence in my small rented room listening carefully for the sound of my landlord’s car. He had told me he would come around to see me about the rent I had failed to pay.
It was true I had missed my monthly payment. It was the holiday season and there were more important things to pay for then the rent. He frowned when I told him I didn’t have the money. “You did sign the rental agreement didn’t you?” he asked me sharply.
Yes I had. “Did you actually read it?” he sneered. Had I? I didn’t think I had. I remembered checking on the amount of the rent and that was about all.
“You should have read it all the way to the end,” he told me. “To the part about what happens if you don’t pay the rent on time.”
I shrugged my shoulders. That annoyed him. He rasped, “The bit about being subjected to corporal punishment.”
“Corporal punishment?” I asked, genuinely not understanding.
“Corporal punishment,” he replied as if speaking to a person of limited intelligence, “You know. Spanking.”
“Spanking!” I was incredulous. “How? I don’t understand.”
He leaned into me and we were almost nose to nose. “You signed. You agreed. I have it in all my rental agreements. I’ve had lots of people like you. You kids, you think the world owes you a living. You don’t want to pay your way.”
That wasn’t true. I wasn’t like that. I did pay my way. And I wasn’t a kid. I was nineteen years old and I’d been out in the world since I left school and home three years previously. I had a steady job at a supermarket. It didn’t pay much, but I managed to get by. It was just, as I said, the holiday season can be very expensive.
My landlord shook his head, “It’s there in black and white. Signed and agreed by you. Corporal punishment. A spanking.” Then he told me he would come by next day and I must be sure to be at home.
I waited as instructed. I checked the agreement and Mr Rachlin was not lying, I had agreed to the clause. The room I rented was in a converted house and there were ten of us in all. Most of us were in our late teens and early twenties and I suppose we were all signed up in the same way. I was a bit too embarrassed to go knocking on doors to find out.
Anyway, I had agreed to the spanking clause and I am a man of my word. I had to submit myself to him. I could’ve said I wanted to leave and find somewhere else but that would have been madness. Small cheap rooms like mine were impossible to find, especially in a town like Brocklehurst.
Right on time I heard the purr of Mr Rachlin’s car. It was a Merc; he wasn’t short of a few bob. He himself lived in a grand house in a select street called The Avenue, a million miles from my tiny bed-sit. I heard the car door slam and I waited. My heart was running fast now. I had never been spanked in my life. I had no idea what to expect. It couldn’t hurt too much – could it?
My landlord rapped on my door and I stumbled over and opened it. He stood in the doorway looking into my room. He turned his nose up in the air, “What a mess. It looks like a rubbish tip in here.”
It wasn’t that bad. It’s difficult to keep such a small room tidy. Once you put the bed, a couch, a table and a rail for hanging clothes in it there wasn’t much space for anything else.
Mr Rachlin came in and closed the door behind him. He stood for a while with his feet spread. He was about fifty years old, I guess and like men of that age he had gone to seed a bit. He made a big figure and was perhaps ten centimetres taller than me. He wore no jacket and his belly ballooned over the waistband of his trousers. He carried a plastic bag from the same supermarket where I worked.
I mumbled a greeting. I wasn’t sure how this was going to play out. Was I supposed to offer him tea or coffee like this was some social visit? I stood awkwardly waiting for him to make the first move.
“Do you have the rent?” he asked casually. He knew darned well that I hadn’t – otherwise he wouldn’t be here. I confirmed what he already knew. That was when I saw the slight smile about his lips. It was late in the day and his face was covered with stubble which made his double chins bristle menacingly. It sent a shudder through my body.
His brown eyes shone. “Let’s get on with this shall we?” He smiled broadly. That was when I began to wonder if he might be enjoying this. Without moving, he surveyed the small room. His eye rested on the small couch, he had made up his mind.
“Come over here,” he said as he walked towards the two-seater settee. “Let’s get on with this. I don’t have all night,” and he added ominously, “I have other tenants to visit.”
He delved into the plastic bag and brought out what looked to me like a block of wood. It was almost square at one end and had a small handle. It reminded me of a smaller version of the blocks people use when cutting bread. Mr Rachlin must have seen my confusion. “It’s called a paddle. It’s what our American cousins use for spanking naughty boys’ butts – bottoms that is to me and you.” He brandished it in my face so I got a closer look. It was about a half-centimetre thick and from where I stood it looked very heavy. To demonstrate this point my landlord gripped the handle with one hand and smacked the blade end into the palm of the other. “Look,” he said showing me the red mark he had made on his hand. “That’ll be your backside in a minute.”
He let that sink in for a moment and then he sat down. He beckoned me to stand in front of him. “Put your hands on your head.” It was at this point that I forcefully reminded myself that I was the one who had decided not to pay the rent and instead had used the money on fun and partying. I had to face the consequences of my action. I should do whatever my landlord asked of me. I was surprised how wet my hair was. I had not realised I was sweating profusely, even though the room was quite cool.
“I always do this part myself,” he said evenly. I flinched as with both hands he took hold of my belt and began to unbuckle it. Instinctively I wriggled my hips. “Do not resist,” he said sternly. “Your job is to take your spanking calmly. Next time you’ll pay the rent on time.”
As he said this he had opened the front of my jeans and was calmly guiding them down my legs so they bunched at my shins. He leaned forward and I could smell sour tobacco smoke mingling with some greasy hair oil. It almost made me gag.
I had never been undressed by a man before; and not often by a woman either. My face blazed with embarrassment, but that wasn’t half my problem. Without warning Mr Rachlin took a firm grip on the waistband of my boxer shorts and with a flourish like a magician pulling a rabbit out of a hat he tugged them down my buttocks. I only wore a short t-shirt so my cock flapped up and down in front of his face. I was mortified. I closed my eyes tight and tried to pretend this was not happening.
It couldn’t be true. Here I was a nineteen-year-old shopworker standing in his rented room in front of his landlord with his jeans and his underwear at his shins with his arse bared to the wind. Waiting to be spanked on that naked bottom with a heavy wooden paddle. You couldn’t make it up.
Because he carried so much weight in the belly department, Mr Rachlin had sank back into the cushions of the couch and had a problem getting back on his feet. He wheezed with the effort but I had no intention of helping him up. At last he stood beside me. He leaned down again and picked up the paddle. He was good to go.
Without a further word he placed a cushion on top of one arm of the couch. It wobbled and nearly toppled to the floor. He waved his paddle at it and sternly said, “Bend over the couch.” Ice ran down my back.
I looked down at the couch. It seemed very low. It wouldn’t be that easy. I was a virgin to spanking but even I could see bending across the back of the couch would have been a better proposition. I said nothing. Instead I stumbled forward and did my best to lay across the arm. I rested my stomach on it and had to bend my legs behind me so that my feet could rest on the floor. To my front I leaned on my elbows and this meant I had the choice of staring down at the dusty cushion only centimetres from my face or to stare into the distance at the far wall. My back was arched and like this I awaited Mr Rachlin’s next move.
What I couldn’t know because I couldn’t see was that my bottom was raised high at an angle and offered my landlord a terrific target. I’m a long way from being fat – not like Mr Rachlin – but my bum is well covered. I had no idea whether this was a good or a bad thing. Does the more padding a fellow has offer more protection from the paddle? Or does it mean the bum is bigger and there are therefore more nerve ends to set on fire? I didn’t know then and I still don’t.
The floorboards creaked when my landlord took up his position behind me and to my left. I could smell him. Had he showered that day? I shut my eyes tight and my bottom tightened. I braced myself for the pain I expected to start at any moment. I felt Mr Rachlin’s hand press hard into my shoulder blades. There was a pause. I felt a movement in his body. Then, CRACK! the paddle connected with my left buttock cheek. I gasped and the impact was so great my arms collapsed so that my head sank into the cushion. My lips formed a perfect “O” shape and I let out a silent “ouch.”
There was no time to do more before the paddle pounded into my other cheek. My bum was ablaze. Suddenly two more swats hammered into the underside of my cheeks. The pain was indescribable. Was this how it felt if you stood too close to an open roaring coal fire? My back bucked and my legs kicked out.
“Stay in position,” my landlord barked and paddle slammed into my bare bum again. The noise was horrific. The room echoed as though a bomb had gone off. I wondered if the young Asian guy in the next room could hear.
The paddle slammed again and again. I was really feeling it. I writhed and moaned, kicking my feet. I still had enough dignity not to beg Mr Rachlin to stop. Besides, looking back on it I know he had the right to spank me. I had not paid the rent and I had signed the contract.
My bum was hot and sweaty and the paddle was warm. My backside was roasted.
Bent over the arm of the couch like that I was uncomfortably conscious of my bare arse pointing to the ceiling. It seemed like a huge target, completely vulnerable to the big wooden paddle.
Only then did I panic: could Mr Rachlin see up my crack? The embarrassment of offering my bared-buttocks to the older man to spank was intense, but what a humiliation if he was gazing down at my hole?
My landlord couldn’t have been bothered by that because he didn’t slow down with the paddling, in fact he accelerated the assault. Every smack felt like a hot frying pan pressing against my flesh. Steamy tears ran down my face. There was a plump scatter cushion within reach, I grabbed it and buried my head, choking on the dust it held.
Other blows pushed me against the arm, crushing my penis against the couch, adding to the flow of my tears.
I lost all sense of time. Was it a minute, was it an hour? I really don’t know. The sound of the paddle connecting with naked flesh continued to travel around the room. My bum was numb. The pain had reached a plateau. It didn’t matter how many more times he swatted me I wouldn’t feel a thing.
Mr Rachlin might have known this; suddenly he stopped. “That’s it,” he wheezed, “Get up. Get dressed.”
I stumbled to my feet and ran up and down on the spot, like footballers do when they get a kick and try to run-off the pain. It didn’t work. I clutched my bare bum horrified that the flesh felt like leather. I didn’t care that my cock and balls were bouncing in front of my landlord’s face.
“Get dressed,” he repeated. I bent down to retrieve my boxers, my bum burnt some more as I stretched down. The effort of bending made me gasp for breath, I hadn’t realised how shot my body was. At last I had my jeans in place. My backside throbbed like crazy.
Mr Rachlin was ready to go. Before he opened the door he turned to me and snorted, “Don’t forget you still owe me the rent. If I have to come back again next month and you haven’t paid me up, you’ll get double.”
With that he was gone. I heard footsteps as he crossed the hall and then the sound of his knuckles rapping on another door.
Picture credit: Unknown
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More stories from Charles Hamilton II are on the MMSA website
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Charles Hamilton the Second