THE OLD RAZOR STROP
|by Bob Y|
Copyright on this story text belongs at all times to the original author only, whether stated explicitly in the text or not. The original date of posting to the MMSA was: 21 Jul 2007
Bill was a good kid. He'd been mowing my lawn since he was thirteen to earn extra money.
I'd known his father too, for several years befor the accident. Bill always showed up on time,
clean levi's and always clean white t-shirt and he even tried to keep his workboots somewhat
shiny. His Dad had been a stickler for neatness
and I knew he was a strict disciplinarian too.
I was at my workbench in the garage, sorting through tools and things as I seemed to do
on a yearly basis. I pried open a warped drawyer and started placing its contents on the workbench.
There rolled up was my old leather strop. I'd kept that thing for sharpening things, but for
sentimental reasons too. My old man had used that razor strop on my bare fanny when he thought
I needed it. It was a common thing when I was a boy, and all the guys had tales of getting
their tails whipped with one thing or another. Nowadays it was a rare thing to hear that a
boy was spanked for misdeeds or lack of respect. I felt a rush of nostalgia for my own boyhood,
and at the same time, remembered very well the sharp sting that old
strap could produce.
The razor strop still had a brass fitting with a round hook at one end. I uncolled the strap
and slapped it against the workbench twice to get it straightened out. The leather was still
in good shape, all shiny and brown on one side and the other side was a dull finish and not
as smooth. I spied a hook in the peg board above the workbench and hung the strop up. It caught
the overhead light and
literally shined to almost a sparkle. I smiled and decided to leave the razor strop there. It looked good!
I sorted through stuff for about another hour and managed to put a box of things I knew I'd never use again together for either a yard sale or a gift to a local charity. I went into the house, listening to the lawn mower motor as Bill steadily and neatly cut the front lawn and headed to the back. His athletic haircut made his blond hair shine in the afternoon sun. It was a cool day so he hadn't even worked up a sweat and his white t-shirt fluttered in the breeze.
Shortly after three I heard a knock at the back door. It was Bill. The mower had run out of gas, so he'd pushed it back into the garage and wanted to know if I had any gas out there. I truly couldn't remember, so I walked with him to the open garage, then over to the area I would have a can of gas, if I did. I looked around for a minute and decided there wasn't any and turned to Bill.
The kid wasn't watching me. He was staring at the workbench, or more
correctly, at the pegboard above it, and directly at the still glistening leather strop.
"Sorry Bill." "I'll have to get a refil tomorrow, but don't worry, I'll pay you the whole amount and you can come back and finish when you get a chance."
"That would be great, sir." Bill answered, turning his blue eyes to mine. "May I ask you a question, sir?"
"Sure Bill, anything." I said sincerely.
"Where'd you get the razor strap?" He asked directly.
"That was my Dads." I told him. "I kept it for sentimental reasons mostly, but I use it to sharpen hedge clippers and things like that." I smiled at the curiosity. I guessed most boys his age hadn't ever really seen a real razor strop befor, unless they went to a barber. Bill's answer startled me.
"My Dad used one just like that!"
"For sharpening things?" I asked.
"No Sir." Bill looked directly at me. "I got whipped on my bare butt with his razor strap when he thought I needed it!"
I was a little stunned at his directness, but intrigued as to the outcome of this conversation. "Did he tan your hide alot?" I asked.
"Yes Sir!" Bill replied directly. "I got a whipping every Saturday!" "My Dad put the leather to my butt whether I needed it or not!" "He always told me that a whipping was a good reminder to stay out of trouble as well as good punishment for getting into trouble." He was staring at the strap again.
"Do you miss your Dad, Bill?" I asked, genuinely concerned.
"Yes Sir, I do." "Even the whippings!" He smiled.
"Would you want me to take the strap to you, Bill?" "Do you need a good
whipping?" I asked staring into his blue eyes.
"Oh man!" Bill started out. "I haven't been whipped in three years now!" "Maybe I should have a taste of the strap to remind me of my Dad!"
"Bill, you're like a son to me." "You father was a great guy and a good friend, and if you think he would have liked me to tan you, let me know and I'l try to do it as good as he did!"
Bill walked over to the bench and took the strap down. He ran the leather between his thumb and forfiner, stretching the strap out to its full two foot length. Then turned and brought it over to me. He held out the strap.
"Mr. Bauman, I would really appreciate it if you'd whip me with your
He was very matter of fact, and I could see he was very serious. "Sure Bill, I understand!" His dad had passed away when he was fifteen and I guess he missed their form of communication. Bill was eighteen now so I just assumed he knew what he was asking for. I put a hand on his shoulder and took the strap in my other hand. "Ok Bill go back to the bench, drop your pants and grab onto the side of the workbench!"
I watched from behind as Bill unbuckled his belt, unbottoned his jeans slipping them down to the tops of his work boots. Next, he peeled his white boxer shorts down on top of the jeans then leaned forward holding on to the edge of the bench bending just enough that his rump was sticking out for a clear swipe with the strap. Bill had obviously done this many times befor.
I remembered the many times my own father had put me in this position. I stepped into place
behind Bill and watched him shudder as I laid the leather strap across his bared rear end to
get a measure on how to swing.
"How many licks did your Dad give you Bill?"
"Sir, if I was getting a punishment whipping, I got fifty or sixty, but if I was just getting the weekly reminder, I got twenty-four."
"Do you feel you need to be punished, Bill?" I asked, "Or is this just a reminder?"
"I've been pretty good, Mr. Bauman, so let's just doa reminder, please, sir."
I swung the razor strop up and brought it down with a flurish, making sure the leather landed
flat against the young man's cheeks. I was as startled as Bill by the loud slap the strap made.
Bill emitted a groan, but stayed in his position. I watched fascinated as a two inch wide pink
stripe showed up across the middle of his rump. I swung again, and landed the strop just a
little above the first lick, overlapping a bit. The pink area grew wider. Another
slap, this time below the original increasing the pink area.
Bill was beginning to moan now. The fouth lick landed again in the middle and the pink turned
to more of a red. I repeated the licks from the first set, and then did them again. His butt
was glowing red after ten licks. The leather strap cracked out a series of licks and Bill trembled
at each one now, but held his position, and began whimpering. As I landed the eighteenth lick,
Bill was arching his back and heaving forward with each lick. Nineteen brought an agonzing cry. Twenty made him almost yell.
His entire rump was firey red as I kept exploring slightly new areas with each lick. Bill yelped now. Not a whimper. Twenty Two!
"OOOOOOUUWWWWWWW!" came the answer
As I laid twenty-three right across the middle, I thought he would jump up he arched so violently. But the kid knew how to hang in there and take his whipping. The twenty-fourth lick also slapped across an already tender spot. Bill was sort of sobbing now. I knew he had counted and knew his ordeal was over. But he still clung to the edge of my workbench.
I stepped behind him and put a hand on his broad shoulders. "Ok Bill, you can get up now." I said softly.
"Thank you sir" He managed between sobs. As he stood, I couldn't help but notice he was fully erect. I didn't quite know what to do about this, so I left it up to Bill to comment.
His blue eyes, moist with tear drops, caught my glance at his erection. "I'm sorry Sir." "That always happened when my Dad whipped my butt."
"What did he do about it?" I asked almost embarrassed.
"Dad would jack me off so that all I could think about was my butt." Bill was always so matter of fact.
He was dripping clear precum, so I reached forward,got a little on my hand and went to work
on his stiff shaft. I was again startled as I'd only stroked him a few times and he started
shooting. First a huge gob went flying up, then
splattered on the workbench. This was followed by another still powerful, but it only got to the edge of the bench, then two more landing on the floor. Whew! I forgot how a teenager can keep going.
When he finally finished, I grabbed a rag from the bench and wiped my
hand, then wiped Bill's penis dry. "Alright son, pull up your pants now."
I watched as Bill pulled up his boxers, then the jeans. You could see his behind was still sore as he was particularly careful pulling on the pants.
"Mr. Bauman, sir." Bill looked at me. "Thank you sir!" "I've needed that whipping for three years!" "You made me so happy today!"
I didn't know what to say, so I put an arm around his shoulders and gave him a guy type hug.
"I'm coming back tomorrow afternoon, sir, to finish the lawn." "If you think I need it, I won't object if you take the strap to me again!"
"Bill, I'll see you tomorrow!" I said with authority. "And you better plan on having your dinner standing up!"
The kid sauntered out, both hands on his sore fanny, but a big smile
across his face.
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