The following is a very lengthly, true story that I composed some time back. It chronicles my own life in terms of my personal interest, facination and exploration with Corporal Punishment, Spanking, Bondage, Discipline, etc., which began when I was a toddler.
It begins with my very earliest memory in life. A particular day in nursery school when I experienced my my very first awareness of the use of corporal punishment in the school. Then moves forward through my childhood years describing how this initial spark of interest evolved and developed into my life-long fetish for this subject matter. Telling the various related experiences I had along the way.
Although It's probably a bit heavy reading for most, and not of interest to many, I thought that I'd include this work for those who might enjoy (or have nothing better to do than other than) plowing though this kind of stuff. You may find some common threads here with your own childhood development, perhaps not. At the least, and for those who are interested, it explains in much detail where my head is at with all this stuff and how it got here.
Lastly, as with all my written work, you will likely find no shortage of poor grammer, punctuation, spelling and difficult to read passages. This work was not only written spontaneously and mostly in a single sitting, but it is just too long for me to attempt to proof-read. As well, quite frankly, not important enough to me to do it. I never originally intended to publish this for a wide audience to read.
For those of you who choose to dive into this text, I hope that you find some interesting, if not amusing and otherwise entertaining anecdotes within these depths.
It all started for me in nursery school...my earliest memory in life. One day at nap time, when we were all supposed to be lying quietly on our cots, a bunch of us boys were acting overly disruptive to the rest of the class. The female teacher became agitated after several requests for us to behave went in one ear and out the other. Finally, she burst back to the room from her adjoining office and was clearly quite angry. She made a brief and quite serious promise to us boys. The next boy who made any noise what-so-ever, would be promptly taken into her office and given a good spanking. Not just a pat on the bottom either. She had a special leather spanking strap with a special stinger on the end of it that when applied to the bare-bottom would really sting...really, really bad ! Any boy that wanted to find out what this was like need only to talk out loud again! Well...the threat was enough and she never had to fulfill her promise.
I can remember the feeling I had as I listened to her threat of the spanking and that special thing she had in her office, just for spanking a boys bare-bottom. I had never been spanked before, at least not that I could remember. I was really scared of it and surely would do nothing to earn that. But at the same time I was strangely intrigued by the thought of having my bare-bottom spanked, especially with a special spanker that was made just for the purpose. Made to sting a boy's bare-butt really bad! I remember continually thinking about that every day afterward. What lay behind that office door, should I make the wrong mistake.
My next memory is from a year later, in kindergarten. At some point not long into the new school year, our female teacher, and faced with similar discipline problems, introduced the class to a wooden paddle that she had and would keep in full view up on a shelf. This again, as was the case in nursery school, was something that had been specially made just for spanking. I think that I only saw her take that down and use it once, on a boy in the class. She called him up to the front of the class and put him over her lap as she sat in her chair. It wasn't anything serious as I remember. More of a symbolic spanking and with only a relatively mild pop or two on the seat of his pants. Just enough to scare the heck out of him, making him cry and sending a message to the rest of the class. As best as I can remember, she never had to bring that paddle down again after that. Once again, I can remember how intrigued I was over the thought of being given a spanking. I was really scared of it and didn't want to find out what it was like...or did I ?
At home I was never spanked. I was actually a pretty good kid and didn't seem to do anything to get into trouble. I was certainly too scared to get into trouble I guess. There is one exception though when I was spanked by my dad. It was a terrible memory for me. Something that effected me the rest of my childhood. Not because of the spanking I got, but because of the circumstances that led to it. I don't like to get into the details of the story and they aren't important anyway. The bottom line is that I knew I didn't deserve it at the time and that it was un-called for. The spanking itself, was performed spontaneously in a fit of rage by my dad. I was physically yanked into my bedroom, thrown up on the bed, pajama bottoms yanked off and whipped hard and rather uncontrollably with his belt. It was a very traumatic thing at the age of around 5 or 6. But the real pain was in the feeling that I didn't even deserve it.
Of note is the fact that I was never spanked again by either of my parents. So my only actual exposure to corporal punishment was the references to it that were made in school (including those just mentioned) , tales from other kids experiences and the general media of books, t.v. and movies.
My next memories relating to spanking were again in school. In elementary school, I can remember two specific instances. The first of which happened in the school cafeteria during lunch. One of the boys at another table, a real trouble maker who was frequently causing problems, drew the attention of one of the female monitors who kept an eye on the kids. I don't remember what led up to it, only that I heard a brief verbal exchange between her and the boy. The lady was becoming angry over the repeated pranks and outbursts from this boy and threatened him with punishment if he didn't straighten up immediately. She warned that he would be taken to the principals office where they had special facilities for the spanking of boys like him! The threat was all it took for the boy to settle down as I remember. Once again for me, the thought of being punished with a spanking! Taken to some special place in the main offices where this was performed by the main administrators! The thought was ever intriguing in some way. I never again heard mention of this potential for being officially spanked in this school.
The second specific time I heard discussion relating to corporal punishment in this school, and the one which I recall in crystal clarity happened about a year or two later. I think I was in about third or fourth grade. One day, we had a substitute teacher, a man, in for our regular woman teacher. I had never had a male teacher before, so this in itself was quite new and somewhat intimidating to me. This man explained that he was new to the US, having just moved up from Australia where he had been a teacher as well. One thing about this man is that he seemed to quickly bring up discussion about corporal punishment in the schools. He asked the class if kids were spanked here when misbehaving. Now surely he must have already know the answer to this question. Reacting to our response that this wasn't at all common for us, if at all, he seemed pleased to express his surprise to this, explaining that in Australia's schools it was very common practice to administer corporal punishment for many reasons. Briefly explaining that it typically came in the form of a cane applied to the palm of the hand. Not very intriguing to me, but I was intrigued by his overall course of discussion. I wanted to hear more, but he didn't pursue that particular train of thought much further.
What he did next, is particularly interesting. He told us that he was going to read to us from a book. This book was the autobiography of Sir Winston Churchill, someone whom he described, I think, as a famous government leader from Great Britain. A boring history lesson of some kind I assumed. He sat down in a chair at the front of the class, turned to a chapter and passage that he had previously bookmarked, and began reading. The passage dealt specifically with Churchill describing the use of corporal punishment in the schools he had attended as a boy in Britain. These were all-boy boarding schools, were boys were sent by their parents to live and be educated. The discipline was very, very strict and the day to day demands on academics and behavior, extremely high, in fact seemingly unreasonable and unattainable to us when compared to what we knew as kids now. I heard a tale of how boys were frequently punished for almost anything the authoritarian in charge felt like attaching it to. The form of punishment was routinely a spanking, but unlike anything I had ever heard of before. These were extremely SEVERE spankings. My ears quickly focused on every word he read as I intently listened to a detailed account of what was evidently a very common event in those old days. The example was that of a young boy, perhaps 8 to 10 years of age as I remember. He had failed to perform up to expected standards in the preparation of one of his daily lessons. Immediately after the dayís class he was ordered to the Head Masters quarters to be punished for this offense. The boy was taken into a room with an empty table or bench of some sort. The Head Master and two assistants were present in the room. The boy was made to take position over the table, face down. The assistants took his trousers and underwear down completely to his feet, and his shirt was pulled up high on his back, fully exposing his nude backside in between. One of the assistants took position at the foot of the table, firmly grasping the boys legs and holding them firmly in place. The other assistant took position at the opposite end of the table, grabbing firm hold of the boys arms. The Head Master would then administer the punishment to the boy, using something that was called a Birch. It was described as something like a bundle of freshly cut, green sapling rods from a tree, stripped of all their leaves. Perhaps a dozen or so of these switches all together at once. The nasty sounding rods were bumpy with the small buds and nodes left after the leaves were removed. The Head Master would proceed to violently whip the boys tender bottom with the rods, including many to his thighs. Not just a few moderate strokes, but a lengthily and truly brutal whipping that didn't stop until the boys bottom was severely blistered and bleeding. The boy would be screaming at the top of his lungs, his legs jerking and body twisting in an effort to escape the extremely painful lashes. But the assistants would hold him down securely so that he could do nothing.
My stomach twitched as I listened to the vivid description of what was clearly a very horrible punishment. An unbelievably brutal and extremely severe whipping of the boys bare-bottom and thighs. We learned that this punishment was very normal, considered quite acceptable and even expected to be administered in those days by most of adult society. That very few boys, if any, managed to go a school year without being subjected to it, many receiving it on numerous occasions. Indeed, It was a daily occurrence for one or more boys to be punished in this manner, by having his bare-bottom very severely whipped with those vicious rods.
I can only wonder why that teacher seemed to have such an interest in all this to have made it his major focus that day. As for me, the story he read, with the vivid description of how those boys were punished with such severe spankings, forever touched something inside of me. Or perhaps awakened something within me. I was struck with intense fascination over it. What it must have been like to be a boy growing up in those days. What would it be like to be given such a punishment. And for almost any, seemingly small reason. To be taken to a special room, have my pants taken down like that, held face down on a table by two strong assistants while a mean and strong authoritarian administered a very severe whipping to my bare-bottom with a handful of those vicious sounding rods, freshly cut from a nearby tree! How extremely painful it must be. How I would certainly be screaming and crying. Begging for it to stop. The very tender and sensitive flesh of my bare-butt severely lashed and blistered as punishment for something I had done. Now this, I knew, must be the mother of all spankings! I could only be glad that times had changed! But I constantly thought about this from then on. Constantly pondered what it would be like to experience this. The thought was terrifying, yet mysteriously titillating at the same time. Would this, could this, ever happen to me someday ?
During these many years of elementary school I remember hearing some tales of other kids around me that got spankings. Nothing in particular that I remember. Only that it happened to some kids and by some parents. That it was a normal thing. That they varied in method and severity to some extent.
Mostly though, I was exposed to the subject through watching t.v., movies and some childhood books. The occasional story line that included a boy being spanked in some way. I was always strangely interested in spankings but I didn't really realize the significance of it. I just knew that the thought was cool in some way for a deserving boy to have his bare-bottom spanked. And that I was increasingly feeling some strange desire to experience it myself. There was just something appealing to me about the thought of being punished with a spanking.
I can remember two first hand experiences during these early elementary school aged years. Both occurred at summer camps that I went to. The first was at a YMCA boys summer camp at Big Bear Lake in CA. One day, similar to an earlier story, all the boys were in the mess hall eating lunch. One of those boys, who just seemed to stick out and get into regular trouble, got the attention of the head camp councilor. He was very angry at this boy for something he had just done, but which I didn't witness. The room fell silent as the head councilor raised his angry voice to the boy and with a very mean and serious look on his face warned the boy that he was about to step over the line and if he did, the councilor would promptly take him back to his office and blister his bottom good! I can remember the boys face turned flush with fear as he realized what this would mean. He didn't say another word. I was awestruck by the outburst, but more significantly by the threat that had been made. That angry authoritative man would blister the boys bottom if necessary!
Another year, and at a different camp...I had injured my eye by poking it with a stick. Nothing too serious and It didn't warrant me being sent home, but it required that the camp nurse place this big gauze patch over my eye. I was embarassed to be seen with it and refused to leave my bunk house. When it came time for lunch at the mess hall, I refused to go. My bunkhouse leader initially tried to reason with me, but I refused. Soon I had buried myself down in my sleeping bag, refusing to come out. I was upset and crying and such. I was homesick and wanted to be sent home. No easy thing considering we were on Catalina Island about 20 miles off the So. CA mainland! The head councilor was summoned to try and resolve the situation. Boys had gathered around to see what the conflict was and their presence only upset me more. After trying to reason with me, which did no good, the man changed his tactics and decided to get tough, demanding that I come out. He tried momentarily to pull me out of the bag, but I was so clenched up in a ball inside it that he realized this could perhaps result in injury I guess if he pursued this. Then he did it, he threatened me with punishment. He told me that if I didn't come out and straighten up right away, he would take me to his bunk house and then use a leather strap on my bare-bottom. Well...that never happened and I eventually cooled down and came around. But that threat always stayed with me. If only I had pushed him to do that!
Of all the references to spankings that I was exposed to in one way or another as mentioned, I was clearly more interested in those of relative severity. I didn't think a whole lot about a boy being turned over a knee and being hand spanked on the seat of his pants. To the contrary, the scenarios that most interested and fascinated me, of those I heard of and saw on t.v. and in the movies, were those which involved a boy being taken to the woodshed or some other traditional boyhood spanking theme of a more serious nature. Where the boy would be given a REALLY HARD spanking...and on his bare-bottom. Having his bottom blistered with a wood paddle, or tanned with a leather strap. These thoughts were very titillating to me in some way. I could only imagine what it would be like to be one of these boys, being punished in this way. Strangely, something deep inside of me wanted to experience it. I knew that even I, who was a relatively well behaved kid, did occasionally knowingly do wrong, break rules or otherwise do things that I knew to be bad. That I was, at times, a bad-boy myself who probably deserved a good spanking. A good HARD SPANKING and that it would be well justified.
I never thought of these possible scenarios in terms of my own family...being spanked by my own parents. This thought was foreign to me. Perhaps because of the early experience I had with my dad. No, my particular fascination was with scenarios where a boy would be punished by some other non-family member, authoritarian figure. A school or camp official or something. Someone with no personal connection. I never related to the old cliché: this is going to hurt me, more than it's going to hurt you. That didn't make much sense to me. If this was true, why do it. And how could one really administer a hard spanking with this conflict of not really wanting to do it.
To the contrary, I was intrigued by the thought of some strict and angry authoritarian, with no personal relationship to the boy, having no bones about seriously blistering the boys bottom if that's what he deserved. Like that old Head Master who wielded the Birch in Churchillís school days. Or the camp councilor who wouldn't hesitate to blister a boy's bare-bottom with a wood paddle.
Throughout these childhood years, I had also experienced and realized another, somewhat parallel interest and fascination with another form of dominance/submission. That of being tied-up. Almost from as early as nursery school, I was highly intrigued by people being tied-up such as in war movies, medieval dungeon movies, and Tarzan movies. The thought of being restrained in some way so that one was helpless and at the mercy of their captor was as interesting to me as corporal punishment, and seemed to go hand in hand with it. As with spanking, I began to realize over the years, a strange interest and desire to be tied-up. Held hostage in some way. As kids, I got to experiment a little with this through the playing of normal neighborhood war games. Boys teaming up and acting out mock battles of one degree or another. One might be captured by the enemy when out alone and taken back to their fort. Often tied-up in some way and threatened with some form of devious torture. Perhaps being stripped naked as well. All in fun, of course, but to me there was a special titillation with it happening to me. I wanted to be captured, tied-up and tormented in some way, as long as I wasn't actually really hurt or anything.
As with the exposure to various spanking scenarios through my childhood years, I also became familiar with those medieval dungeons of centuries ago. How prisoners would be tied-up, chained-up, etc. How these dungeons were filled with creative and often very sophisticated devices and equipment for restraint, punishment and torture. I was fascinated by these examples of mans creativity in conceiving and designing these various methods for restraint and punishment. The racks and stocks that men were restrained with. And, of course, how corporal punishment was widely and heavily inflicted. Severe whippings administered, usually while the victim was securely and helplessly tied to some framework or suspended from the ceiling or something. I realized the parallel between this and those boys in school being held down for those Birchings. This concept of being securely restrained for a whipping, or a spanking was extremely intriguing to me. To be totally helpless to resist or escape the sting of the lash as it was mercilessly applied to the naked flesh, but most particularly of the buttocks.
So as my mysterious fascination with being spanked was evolving over these boyhood years, so was a similar intrigue I had with being tied-up. The two concepts seemed to fit together so well for me. Ever since that tale of those Birchings had been told to me, I more than anything, began to ponder what it would be like to be spanked while I was somehow restrained, perhaps tied-down in some way. So that I was totally helpless to resist or escape it.
All of these experiences of mine, thus far, happened in my pre-adolescent childhood years. Then...came Jr. High School...and puberty!
The year I went into 7th grade, and this new school, everything began to become clear to me. At the same time, I hit puberty and experienced the explosion of sexual energy. This was the first time I had ever experienced a locker room were naked boys were everywhere and I had to get naked in front of others. It was terrifying for me as I had been raised in a very private atmosphere were nobody in the family ever saw each other naked, except, of course, the parents in their own bedroom and bathroom. Now, for the first time I was exposed to countless naked boys in the locker room and I couldn't help but look at their butts. I was in some way deeply attracted to the sight of a boys butt. It was, after all, what a spanking was all about. I couldn't help but imagine what it would be like to witness a boy having his bare-butt spanked....hard! Those perfectly smooth, plump, round, milky white mounds of tender, young boy flesh being subjected to the hot sting of a wood paddle being applied to them!
There was something else quite new about this school and ultimately exciting to me. Unlike the elementary school I just graduated from months before, corporal punishment was widely used on boys. The wood paddle was everywhere. In the very first few days I heard various threats of it's use by different teachers. Most notable, in gym class. The coaches were quick to explain, as part of new student orientation, that there were rules to be followed, and that if broken there would be consequences. The paddle! It didn't take long before I witnessed a boy get paddled in front of a class I was in. But this turned out to be a rare thing to actually witness in this manner. Usually it was done behind closed doors. In gym class however, paddlings were frequent and the closed door was the coaches office directly inside the locker room. One couldn't see the paddling, but you could certainly hear them.
This use of the paddle in Jr. High was relatively mild though. Usually just a single swat as it was called, and always on the seat of the pants as far as I know. I would hear the occasional whack ring out from within the coaches office, and a boy shortly afterward walking out with hands on his butt and a flush color in his face. I received one such swat from my gym coach during my three years in this school. It was a very brief experience that was over before I knew it. It did sting a lot for a few brief seconds, but seemed more like something of a game than punishment to me. I had made some smart-ass comment about my coach to some friends...and he had heard me say it. I was immediately led into his office and the door closed behind me. Without even so much as a lecture, I was instructed to bend over and grab my ankles facing the closed door. All I remember is that he counted a few times and "Whack" he swatted me once good and hard across the seat of my jeans. My knee-jerk reaction to the intense sting made me bolt upward and hop a little as I grabbed my butt. He simply opened the door with a smile that said to me that I would be right back if I ever gave him another reason!
It was during this first 7th grade year that I hit puberty. Now, when I thought about a boy getting a spanking, I would get an erection. The thought of a boy being paddled by the coach gave me one. Just the sight of all those magnificent looking, picture perfect, teenage butts in the locker room made me quiver as I imagined them being spanked. I didn't realize at first what was happening. I was a late bloomer of sorts and didn't understand sexuality at all. The only thing I knew is that I was constantly getting boners as we called them, and usually as a result of thinking about boys butts and spankings. While most normal boys were thinking about girls, I didn't like them at all. I was attracted to boys, especially their bare butts. Soon, all I was thinking about was boys getting spankings. Getting paddled in school, or elsewhere. More than anything, I was thinking about me getting spanked. Having my own bare-butt paddled. I was somewhat narcissistic in that I soon found myself constantly looking at my own butt in the mirror every chance I got. I liked my butt a lot and it looked pretty good to me at this age. I would look at it and imagine what it would be like for it to get a good spanking. My dick would be standing up hard all the time I did this.
During this first year, in 7th grade, I took my fascination with the newly discovered jr. high school paddle home with me. There were a few other boys I played with on the block that were a year or two behind me in school. I soon found myself initiating fun and games that involved spankings, usually for the losers of whatever game or competition we were having. Often, there would be the requirement for the loser to take his clothes off for the swats with the paddle. I soon introduced forms of restraint into the games as well. Now, the loser would be stripped naked, tied-up and paddled! We'd all experience hard-ons during these games but didn't discuss it. I guess that we just accepted that it was normal. It seemed that I wanted to do nothing else but play games that involved nudity, being tied-up, and, of course, being spanked! I enjoyed paddling the other boys immensely, but my real craving was for them to spank me. I would sometimes intentionally loose or allow myself to end up being the one who had to be spanked.
During this first exciting year of puberty, I also began to explore another activity. One that I had long been involved with, only for other reasons. I had always been fond of woodworking and building things. I had an old neighbor next door with a large workshop fitted with all the tools of the trade. He had taken me under his wing as a younger boy and taught me how to use tools and to build things properly. I had spent hours at a time, day after day in his shop over several years. He'd help me build model boats, planes and other kid projects. Bookcases, gun cabinets and jewelry boxes.
By 7th grade, he had fallen ill in his old age and was no longer spending much time in his shop. I was allowed the privilege of going out into the shop any time of day or night and using it for whatever projects I was into. It was my shop now, as much anyone's. But I hadn't been doing much for a year or so along these lines. That is, until, I became enthralled with spanking paddles as a result of my exposure at this new school. I was soon spending hours in the shop, often late at night until my parents made me come in. My projects were all paddles. I would lie about what I was working on because I didn't want my parents or other adults to know that I was so interested in, and making spanking paddles. I would come up with one design after another. Using whatever different types of wood that I could find. The shop was loaded with years of misc. wood stock in pieces of all sizes and types. I'd carefully lay out the designs, cut them out, sand them and occasionally apply some finish coat to them. I would make some that were solid, and many with holes drilled through them. I knew that a truly good wood paddle must have holes drilled in it so that it would sting more! At least that's what the conventional wisdom was of course.
It was clear that I had a definite fetish for paddles, but I didn't really understand it in these terms yet.
I would bring out my various paddles when I played with my friends. Trying out the various ones to see how they worked. Less than happy with some designs...thrilled with others. At this point I first began to experiment with trying to paddle myself, just to see how it felt. In private, Iíd methodically try one paddle after another. Finding out how I could manage to administer a swat of sorts to myself, something which at first wasn't easy. Not only from a physical stand point, but from a mental point as well. The self-infliction of pain was a conflict with instinct. I wasn't ever able to really give myself a hard swat, but I would try. Usually getting a pretty good sting out of it and the resulting increased hardness of my constant erection during the process.
All this went on for a number of months I think without me ever realizing what the sexual ramifications of this all were. All I knew is that I was tremendously excited by the whole thing. I got great pleasure and fun, and a hard-on was just a part of being a boy. I didn't know what it really meant yet. But that all changed late one night!
I was in my bedroom on some school night. Watching t.v. before I went to sleep, from the lower level of my old fashioned bunk-bed that I slept in. I happened to catch one of those late night playing of an old Tarzan movie on my small B&W tube. I always liked Tarzan...what boy didn't? One aspect of these Tarzan movies was a constantly recurring plot that seemed to be the basis for so many of these stories. And one that I was particularly fond of.
The ostensibly innocent white explorers from the civilized world would be on some deep jungle expedition. They would certainly trespass on some sacred native territory and be attacked by the jungle natives. A few of them would always be captured and taken back to the jungle village. (So that Tarzan could come and rescue them just before they were cooked in a big stew pot) Of course they wouldn't be cooked right away. Tarzan had to have time to learn of their capture and locate them...and traveling by tree vines was slow! In the mean time, the jungle natives would hold their captives in bondage of some sort. Stringing them up with ropes, and to bamboo frames in the village square. These captives would be spread-eagled across large racks with hemp ropes. Or suspended from a cross beam or tree or something. Then...Tarzan to the rescue just in the nick of time, before they suffered some terrible fate.
I was, as I had long been as a boy, particularly fascinated and intrigued by seeing the heavy, creative restraint and bondage. On this particular night, as this movie ended I found myself once again pondering what it would be like to be strung up like that. A helpless captive...at the mercy of the captors. The thought was titillating to me. I wanted to know what it was like to be tied up really tight...spread-eagled on a large frame...tightly stretched with my wrists and ankles tightly anchored. Escape impossible!
I wasn't tired at all and my mind began to fantasize about this. It wasn't long and I decided that I could easily experiment by myself. I had this great bunk-bed with four sturdy corner posts! I laid face down on the lower bunk and extended my arms and legs to the four corners, pretending to myself that I was tied to them. I got an instant feeling of excitement as I imagined the feeling of my hands and feet actually being tied to these posts with rope. I had rope! Plenty of it! So I quickly set upon the project of seeing if I could simulate to some extent, what it would be like to be tied to the bed. I cut a rope into four equal lengths and secured one to each corner post. Just the sight of this was getting me more and more excited. I then tied four loops, one with each corner rope. I again laid on the bed and put my ankles into these loops. Wow...how cool I thought! I hardly noticed the hard-on I had sticking straight out of my boxer shorts. I tried to extend out and get my hands through the other two loops which I did easily. I was hooked! But the loops were too big and loose and I wanted to feel them cinched around my ankles. I converted them to slip-knots, loops that I could pull closed after I got my ankles into them. But I had another problem that I didn't like. The ropes were too long and loose once I was in them. I needed to make them as short as possible on the posts in order to really have to stretch-out to the four corners.
This went on for hours I think. Constantly re-doing the layout, the knots, the lengths. I wanted it to be perfect. So that I could simulate being as stretched out to the limit as possible. At some point my shorts came off and I was playing with all this in the nude...and with a big hard-on as well. I would lay down...try to get into the loops at all four corners and find that it wasn't quite right yet. More adjusting! I wanted it perfect. Finally, after several hours that seemed to just float by as I was having so much fun, I got it perfect. I had figured out how to make small slip-knot loops at all four corners. The ankles were easy. Make them just big enough to get my feet through and pull them down snug around the ankles. On the shortest of leads this had my feet touching each foot post which had my legs pretty wide spread. Something that I found quite stimulating. Once my ankles were in and the loops were slipped snug, I could pull myself upward on the bed till I couldn't anymore due to my ankles being anchored to the foot posts. I had then set the two wrist loops at the head of the bed so that I could just barely reach them. Using a free hand I could just get my first hand through one of the loops and pull backward a little which would cause the slip-loop to close down around my wrist. I was 3/4ths of the way there ! This was a stretch at this point, even with one hand free, one that I could just barely make and I loved it. But it wasn't complete...I had to go all the way and get my other wrist in that last loop, just to feel what it would be like to be completely spread-eagled.
I should mention at this point that I was positioning myself face down on my stomach rather than on my back. This was my only interest and for a specific reason. I had a fantasy going...my first real sexual fantasy in my life. I was hard and I was constantly handling my stiff cock and rubbing it as I played. It felt so good. The fantasy wasn't just bondage, it was spanking. I was fantasizing that I was being tied down like this for a spanking. A good spanking. A GOOD HARD SPANKING! I was thinking about that boy in the head masters office, held down for a severe whipping of his bare-bottom. I was now the bad-boy who needed to be punished. I needed a sound spanking!
The mood in the room was sensual. I had an orange-red shaded lamp on a dimmer and I had it down low. There was a soft, warm glowing orange color in the room. I was a completely nude 13 year old boy with a raging hard-on. Having the time of his life!
After hours of experimentation and adjustment I had everything just the way I wanted it. The set-up was perfect and it was time to go all the way with it. For the final time I crawled into the lower bunk and got on my knees at the foot of the bed. My legs spread apart so that my feet were at the posts. I carefully worked each foot through it's loop and slipped it closed around the ankles. Then laying forward down onto my stomach, I worked myself forward as far as I could, my legs out stretched as far as possible. My hands could just barely reach the wrist loops that I had readied on each of the head posts. It took a little stretching but I got my left hand into it's loop and relaxed my stretched out arm allowing it to retract a bit. This caused the loop to slip down closed around my wrist. Almost there. My hard-on was raging and throbbing beneath me and as I was moving around slightly on the soft blanket that I laid on. I was inadvertently stroking it softly without realizing it. It just felt so good. I was so wound up sexually and excited by this whole new experience that I was letting my good judgment slip. I only briefly considered that it may be difficult to get back out if I let my last wrist become tightly caught in the last loop. Oh hell...this is too much fun...Iíve got to feel the real thing...got to go all the way! Surely Iíll find a way to get loose when I need to. I could no longer resist the temptation. It took all the stretch I could muster and it wasn't easy. It took a few tries but I finally succeeded in wiggling my last hand into it's loop a few fingers at a time. Then I was there. Whew! the last loop slipped closed around my right wrist. I was there...this was it! I tugged at the four corners which I was really very well stretched between. I could barely move much. I was tightly spread-eagled just as I wanted to be. My mind-set quickly turned completely to my fantasy. I was a very bad boy! I needed to be punished and punished good! I needed a good, hard spanking! Just like they gave to boys in the old days! I needed to have my bare-bottom blistered good! I needed to be tied down tight for it because it would be so hard and I would have to be securely restrained for it. So that I couldn't possible wiggle around and try to get my bottom out of the way. So that I couldn't escape it!
I slowly tugged at the restraints that I had so effectively constructed. It was perfect. I was in a full spread-eagle, unable to wiggle around hardly an inch. The loops of large, strong rope, snugly fitted around my wrists and ankles were securely anchored to the solid corner posts of the sturdy bed frame. There was no escaping this! I was completely nude. Totally vulnerable and completely exposed! Most importantly, my bare, upturned, teenage boy butt was helplessly held in place and unable to go anywhere. I could now be spanked good and hard like I deserved and there was absolutely nothing I could do about it!
The strict authoritarian that would punish me was now in position. Holding a thick leather spanking strap in his strong hand. He declares that: You've been a very bad boy, and you're going to be punished for it! You're going to get a good, hard spanking! I beg him not to but he only says that it's too late for that now. Crack! the first lash lands across my bare butt, stinging it really bad! Please no...please no! Crack! Crack! Crack!
As I fantasize about the hard spanking Iím being given, I tug at the restraints. Feeling the very real helplessness! As I tug and roll slightly back and forth my hard cock is being rubbed by the warm blanket under me. I'm humping the mattress without even realizing it. I'm masturbating for the first time in my life and I don't know it. My fantasy intensifies. The spanking is very hard...I'm screaming and begging but it isn't doing any good. The strict disciplinarian is continuing to spank me really hard because I deserve it and need it! My cries are going ignored. He wants it to hurt and hurt bad. That's what a good spanking is supposed to do...to hurt bad! It has to if I am going to learn my lesson! I need some blisters on my bare fanny to remember this with!
The wild frenzy Iím in eventually explodes into a mental and physical rush that Iíve never experienced before in my life. I hardly notice the gush of warm, milky fluid that is pumping freely from my cock. This is my first real, true orgasm Iíve ever had. My body goes limp in a totally relaxed cloud of ecstasy. A few seconds pass as I begin to come back to reality. Wow! What happened? What is this warm, wet puddle under my stomach? Well...that sure was cool, whatever happened, but it seems to be over and I guess it's time to get up! NOT!!!
My first attempt to wiggle a hand free is unsuccessful but I don't panic yet. Surely I'll get it out, I just need to work at it. And work I did! After a minute or two, I became very anxious as I began to realize that I had done TOO good a job at restraining myself. Numerous attempts and to no avail. I was stuck! Oh Shit ! What now ? The fun was now gone as terror became the reality. There was no way I was ever going to get loose from this. No way. Period. Not without help anyway. Oh shit! Although I briefly considered some worthless alternatives, there was only one answer. I would have to summon my parents to my room to set me free. Of course that's the last thing I wanted to do, but there was no alternative. I put if off as long as I could, trying to come up with the explanation I would use for how I ended up this way. I couldn't put it off for ever though and the time was now. The restraints were getting very uncomfortable. I was loosing circulation in my wrists and feeling the numbness setting in from the tight loops which I had only made tighter through my frantic struggle to escape. So I began to call out for my dad. It was late and they were in bed, probably asleep. I called several times at the top of my lungs. Then I heard the footsteps coming down the hall. What's wrong? I heard. Wait dad!...don't come in yet, I need to explain something. So I tried to explain, talking through the door some stupid story about why I had tied myself to my bed and couldn't get loose. I just needed him to come in and set one of my hands free and Iíd do the rest. He came in the room to find his 13 year old boy securely bound in the nude to the four corners of the bed. He looked puzzled but not upset. I just said...don't worry about it, just let my right hand free and leave and everything will be cool. He hesitated for just a second as he looked at me in this position. Then he smiled and jokingly said: wait, let me go get my camera and turned to walk out of the room. I yelled: 'NO! Well...he was only joking and quickly turned back and untied my one wrist and left the room. He never again brought up what had happened that night. I can only wonder, now that he is gone, what he imagined was going on with me that night!
That night was the real beginning for me. My coming of age of sorts. My first masturbation and orgasm. All over the thought of being tied down and given a hard spanking! From then on I was hooked. It's all that I thought about! Being tied up and spanked! That's what I would fantasize about night after night. Playing with my paddles and finding newer (and safer) ways to tie myself up. I learned my lesson well that humiliating night! Always leave yourself an out Cuff!
Over the next few years I learned through some mainstream adult magazines that there was a whole subculture of folks into being tied-up and also being spanked, as well as other peculiar things to me. It was called B&D and S&M. I learned of adult dungeons loaded with the medieval devices and equipment that I had long been fascinated by. Where people who were into this stuff would play and act out their fantasies.
I realized that I not only had a real fetish for spanking paddles, but also restraint equipment and devices. Leather cuffs, collars, gags, blindfolds, hoods, etc. I was especially intrigued by the heavy duty stuff like torture racks for stretching, stocks and pillories, whipping benches and horses. It was my dream and fantasy to experience a real dungeon. To be tied-up in heavy bondage. Elaborate and extensive restraints that would provide complete immobilization. I wanted to be stretched out, spread-eagled on a real heavy-duty wooden rack. I wanted to be locked into heavy wooden stocks. I wanted to be shackled and chained. Gagged and hooded. I wanted to be suspended from the ceiling by my wrists, with my feet off the floor. Swinging helplessly in the air. And also by my ankles upside-down. I wanted to be thoroughly bound and gagged in as many totally immobilizing ways as could be thought of. The most creative and devious methods using lots of ropes and restraints, sturdy wooden frameworks, pulleys, etc.
I knew that what I wanted was to feel totally helpless. Escape impossible! At the complete mercy of my captor(s). I wanted to be locked away like a prisoner in the dungeon...in heavy bondage and totally nude. To feel as helpless and vulnerable as possible. I wanted to be treated like a prisoner of sorts. I wanted to be dominated.
But all the bondage stuff was only half of the picture. First and foremost, I wanted to be punished. I wanted to be SPANKED! All my fantasies were based on punishment. On me being punished. Because I deserved it. Just like a bad boy does! All my fantasies were, in fact, based on a combination of heavy restraint and a hard spanking. I wanted to be tied down really tight so that I was totally helpless to resist or escape, and then punished with a good old-fashioned spanking.
As I mentioned earlier, I wasn't at all interested in the relatively mild, mostly symbolic over the knee spankings with a hand, or on the pants. What I had always been into were, as spankings go, on the more severe end of the spectrum. The stories that had always intrigued me the most were those of boys getting really severe spankings. Those honest-to-God blisterings that I associated with trips to the woodshed. Those old fashioned spankings that used to happen in the old days. I could never get that birching story out of my mind. That was the ultimate in spanking to me! A boy securely restrained and then spanked very severely!
Once when I was in elementary school, I spent a night at my best friends house. Late in the evening, when we were in our pajamas in his room and supposed to be going to bed, his dad came in to the room. He was mildly agitated that we weren't going to bed like he had told us repeatedly. So, he said, Iím going to have to give you boys a spanking! Oh no, I thought. Yes, but don't worry it won't be hard, he assured us rather playfully. He really had no intention of giving us a real spanking, he just wanted to send a message I think. Anyway, he took us both one at a time, rolled us on to our stomachs on the bed and administered a few loving whacks to our little pajama butts with his open palm. They didn't really even sting. But what I remember the most about this little scene was something he said as he was doing it. He said: you boys are lucky now-a-days...when I was a boy spankings were very, very severe! Once again, I was hearing how in the old days, when a boy was spanked, it wasn't just a few whacks with the hand, it was usually a very hard and extremely painful whipping that raised blisters on his bottom! Now that, was a REAL spanking! That's what a bad boy should really get!
Something that had really always fascinated me was how the whole concept of corporal punishment had been approached throughout history. There was a specific need that was identified. Simply put, to punish an individual through the infliction of severe physical pain. From the earliest recorded history this need had been approached with pragmatic endeavor. People put great thought into the best ways, the most effective ways to inflict the punishment. They invented tools of the trade to use. As with any job, you have to have the right tools. Tools that are specially designed for the job and people came up with them. One only has to look at the medieval dungeons and all the devious and often sophisticated methods and equipment designed and constructed for the express purpose of inflicting extreme pain or even death, to see that man has devoted great thought to the various methods to inflict punishment and torture. Being one myself who has always been inventive and like to design and build things, I found a special fascination and appreciation for the various tools of the trade for bondage and punishment.
From the very first memory in nursery school, I was presented with this. The teacher had a specially made spanking strap with a special stinger on the end that was surely designed with spanking a boy's bottom in mind. This was one of the special tools of the trade. The corporal punishment trade. The spanking trade. As I continue to look at all the subsequent memories I had, and have been describing, this use of specialized equipment and tools of the trade are almost always present. The wood paddles in school were clearly spanking paddles made very specifically for this very purpose. To strike the buttocks of the child, or bad boy in a manner that will inflict significant pain. The Birch in that story of Churchillís was also a specialized tool. Over time, it was discovered that natural tree limbs, stripped of their leaves made excellent whipping implements because they inflicted great pain to the tender flesh. That a bundle of these together was especially painful to the recipient. The switch or a Birch was another example of the thoughtful design of an implement that was very specifically fashioned with spanking in mind.
In the proverbial woodshed would be the well-oiled leather strap, reserved exclusively for spanking the deserving bad boy. The dungeons were full of specially designed and crafted whips made especially for the express purpose of whipping the body.
Regardless of whether the job to be performed is a spanking of the buttocks or the flogging of a prisoners back, very specially designed tools were crafted that would produce the desired results.
I think that's why I originally took to wood paddles. These were the first such spanking tools that I had first hand knowledge with. These were conceived and made with but one purpose in mind, to spank the buttocks with. They were made popular because of their successful use. They were a natural for striking the buttocks. Easy to use by the one giving the spanking. Easy to control. And most importantly, they hurt like hell! The swift impact of a smooth, hard wood board across the buttocks results in an intense sting. When applied to the nude buttocks and with good force, the pain is tremendous for the recipient and that's the goal in the first place. A wood paddle can easily provide a very severe, very painful punishment when applied vigorously to the bare buttocks.
This brings me, temporarily, to the buttocks itself. What a perfect place on the body to inflict corporal punishment. It's about the only place where the body can be severely whipped without the worry of lasting or debilitating injury. It's a safe place of sorts. No internal organs to injure. Nothing but lots of plump, deep, flesh that is made to absorb energy without hurting the body as a whole. It's also very tender and sensitive flesh making it ideal for the infliction of pain through striking hard with an object. It's quite resilient, especially in youth, so that even after the severe blistering with a good whipping, the buttocks rapidly heals and without residual harm. It seems that in those old days when spankings were always severe, it was accepted that there was no real long term harm to the boy with even a severe blistering of the flesh on his buttocks, because it would heal soon enough without any real injury to the boy. There was nothing wrong with giving a boy a very severe whipping on the buttocks because it would only be temporary and he would certainly recover rapidly and completely. Of course the whipping would be extremely painful and serious punishment, and that's what a boy needed to learn properly! The punishment of a boy needed to be very severe to do any good!
Anyway, I can see how the buttocks became the target of choice and how this led to the invention and development of the various specialized implements that were created to maximize this type of punishment. Those that would inflict the absolute greatest, most excruciating pain to the buttocks.
It seems to me that spanking, as well as other forms of punishment and torture, had evolved over the years into a real art form. And this is one thing that really intrigued me from the beginning.
So, my fascinations and fantasies developed with a particular fancy and focus on this aspect of the specialized art form. The equipment and tools of the trade. The specially devised methods to restraint a victim for punishment, and the specially constructed implements created to administer the pain with.
In terms of spanking, there are the ideal positions to place the victim in, ideal ways to restrain and hold him in this position so that he cannot resist or escape it, and one can design and build a device to specifically accomplish this desired goal. Then there is the particular manner in which one can strike the buttocks to inflict varying types and degrees of pain, and one can design a particular implement to fulfill the particular desired goal as well. Put it all together and you can design and construct a very specialized spanking restraint horse that will perfectly position the bare buttocks for a severe spanking while at the same time securely restrain the victim in this position in a manner that will ensure that he cannot escape no matter what. One can then take the specially designed implement a wood paddle, leather strap, whip or other specially crafted spanking tool and proceed to administer the very specialized form of punishment that one desires to give, in order to produce the end results that you want. It is, indeed, an art form to me and I have always been drawn to this aspect of it.
All my own fantasies have always involved the implementation of the art form of punishment. Where I am specifically restrained in a well thought out and implemented manner that is specially conducive to administering a spanking. Perhaps employing the use of a specially constructed restraint horse or other device for spanking restraint. Or even just being tied to the four corner posts of a bed. Then having the spanking administered in the art full manner. One that is intended to result in the greatest effect possible - the most painful spanking - and by using a specially selected implement that will produce this desired effect.
Back during my early teenage years, when I had began to make paddles in the workshop, my huge fascination with bondage and restraint equipment also turned into a natural project for my building skills. I was fascinated by dungeon racks, stocks, etc. I wanted to see them, to touch them, to use them. I could build them...and I did!
My first project was a set of Stocks. Or more accurately, a Pillory. Designed to hold the victim in place in an upright, standing position. On top of a vertical post is the set of stocks which have a hole for the neck and two for the wrists. The victim is bent over forward a little and locked into the stocks. Derived from other versions of the device which I had seen used in medieval dungeons and such. I had seen numerous depictionís of this set-up in history classes and books. Common in the early American colonies where a criminal was punished by being put into the pillory in the town square. Whereby passers by could harass and humiliate the victim.
I was intensely turned-on by stocks and wanted to experience what it was like to be locked into this device. It was solid, rigid restraint from which there was no escape. The victim was vulnerable to others actions and helpless to prevent or escape it and I like this thought. I also realized that the position which the body was held in by the pillory was a natural for administering swats with a paddle. The body bent over somewhat at the waist with the buttocks sticking out and slightly rounded!
This device was an ideal first project for me and I set out to work on it. It didnít take me long to arrive at a design, and with materials that were already present and available for my use in the workshop. I focused my design with spanking restraint in mind and realized that the perfect position would have the victim bent over forward from the waist by at least 45 degrees, with legs straight and spread apart a few feet at the ankles. The ankles, of course, could also be restrained in place to really hold the body in this position. A set of attached ankle stocks was a natural addition to the overall design, and one that I incorporated.
It took me but a few days to design and construct the device. It was a full-sized, working model that was built sturdy and for actual use. My design used two upright posts with the hinged wrist stock between them. The posts were attached to a large square framework on the floor that supported the upright portion of the structure and kept it stable. Across the square base was the hinged ankle stock to hold the victims feet in place in the desired position. The dimensions of the pillory were made to fit my size perfectly. To hold me bend over nicely for a good paddling!
I set the device up in my bedroom. What a strange piece of furniture for a boy to have! I donít know what my parents, relatives and friends thought about it...and I didnít care much because I just loved it so much. Any potential embarrassment that I might feel when trying to explain this item, was worth it to me.
I would, at first, experiment in private with putting myself in position, often naked and fantasize about being locked in place (I had provided for this feature, of course) and paddled. Before long, I was bringing my friends into the room and initiating games that involved this kind of activity. I would talk them into letting me lock them in, and then my custom made paddles would come out! My real goal being to get them to lock me in and paddle me, which I managed to make happen on several occasions. It ended up getting quite a bit of fun use with the right friends!
This project was the first of many subsequent efforts I made over the years that have followed. Eventually designing and constructing a large number of full-sized, working models of authentic, dungeon-like restraint devices. Racks, crosses, stocks, and of course, spanking benches and horses. I later got into working with leather and began making restraint cuffs, collars, gags, etc. as well. It has been, for all practical purposes, a hobby of mine. And one that I was fairly good at. I even put together a mail order catalog much later in life where I sold some of my creations. All of these projects, of course, were really rooted in the hope and goal of having these devices and equipment used on me for punishment scenes.
Although I did experiment in bondage and spanking games with neighborhood friends in Jr. High, beyond this age it declined as the other boys all got interested in girls, and were no longer into doing these kinds of weird things. When I was in High School I discovered some underground publications where there were adult personal ads for this kind of scene and I began to pursue a meeting on this level. But I was really inhibited and afraid, perhaps unsure of this scene for some reason and I never really made it happen with anyone.
After I graduated High School I moved to Oregon where I lived for a number of years way out on a private and somewhat isolated piece of property out in the sticks that my family owned. In a small mountain-like cabin which I had built with the help of family and friends. The nearest large town was miles and miles away, and it was a real red-neck town. In this environment I really had no opportunity to meet with others who were into this stuff. But that didnít stop me from being totally into it. The privacy I had was ideal for me to experiment by myself with self-restraint and spanking fantasies. Tying myself up outside the cabin in the nude...to trees and other framework that I constructed. I was actually a pretty independent guy who enjoyed living in the sticks, in what was a pretty basic and down-to-earth lifestyle. My connection to the outside B&D world was only through the many adult publications that I would buy when visiting the big city book stores.
I wrote letters, ads and responded to others ads. Never really getting much opportunity to really meet in person though. It wasnít until I was about 25 that I moved back to civilization and got up the guts to actually start meeting people to play with.
Over the next few years I met with more and more guys. At first, the meetings were less than satisfying as I learned that the reality was never as good as the fantasy. More significantly, I realized that I seemed to have a different perspective than the average on the whole thing, in terms of the type of fantasies I was having. Additionally, I was finding that some of the things that I thought I wanted to do, didnít turn out to be very pleasing. It was a learning experience for a long time. Finding just what did turn me on in the way of a scene and what didnít. My fantasies evolved accordingly with time. With a general trend towards more intense and demanding stuff as I began to build a tolerance for spanking. I was getting into what most would term heavy B&D.
One of the things that I realized as a result of attending a few spanking parties, and where there were numerous other guys into this, rather than just what had always been a one-on-one environment for me, was that I very much enjoyed having others watch me get punished. I think that I had always fantasized about having other boys witness me getting punished with a spanking and that this was a real turn-on to me. The first group session that I ever participated in confirmed this. I have had many re-occuring fantasies of the publicly administered punishment. Taking numerous forms in terms of scenarios. From a small group of attending witnessess such as an institutional spanking, to a very public scene with a large crowd, much like is still common in some middle-eastern countries. A large platform errected in the town square upon which the victims are brought forth, stripped naked, securely restrained to the large whipping rack and punished in full view of the cheering crowd!
By about 5 years ago or so, I seem to have finally reached a point where I have understood just exactly what I like and desire the most. What kind of partner I prefer and the type of scenes I like. With this understanding and the extensive experience with less than satisfying meetings, I have became pretty selective about what I do and with whom I do it. I know what I like and want, and the type of person that fits the scene for me in terms of a top. I no longer have much desire to participate in meetings that donít well conform to these parameters. I see no real point in it if Iím not thoroughly enjoying it. Although these self-imposed restrictions do severely limit the amount of meetings which I could surely be having, there does seem to be that occasional person I meet that is truly into the same things I am and on a corresponding level. I donít actually get to do it that often, but when I do itís really great. I strive for the quality in a meeting, over the volume of meetings. Additionally, considering the level of intensity and related severity in punishment that I presently go for, I prefer having plenty of time between sessions in order to fully recover, keep myself in good shape, and build up that strong desire again which is often satisfied during these sessions, leaving me without the strong need to repeat it really soon.
Well...that pretty much tells the story of how I got to where I am today with these interests. My own personal evolution of sorts.
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