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New Hire
Part 1

by Graham

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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: 07 Jun 2017


I saw him the day he came in to interview. He was young, slim, good looking, with short, dark brown hair, a narrow, almost pretty face, and blue eyes clear and sparkling like a mountain brook. He exuded a fresh aura of confidence and innocence, seeming almost like a brash, yet naive, adolescent.

As he announced himself, and was escorted back to the interview, my eyes followed the striking young man. He stood and walked like a fit young man in good conditioning. At almost 5′10″, he was not short, but not tall either, especially next to me at a lean 6′3″.

Behind the closed door of the senior partner, Hal Mason, no one could tell what was happening, or how the interview (and interviewee) were faring. About 40 minutes after his arrival, I was shocked to have Mrs. Franciello knock on my door.

Mr. Cartwright, Mr. Mason would like you to join him in his office for the interview of the new, law graduate. I was caught by surprise, but quickly got up, put my suit coat on, and followed her across the building to Mr. Mason’s office.

She knocked on the door, then opened it on hearing come in. She called to Mr. Mason: Mr. Mason, Mr. Cartwright is here. I looked around to find the youngster sitting on the small sofa, while Mr. Mason sat at an angle in a shaker-style chair.

Tim, come in, please. I’d like you to meet Hunter Hilliard. Hunter, this is Tim Cartwright, our newest partner of about 2 years ago, was it, Tim?

Actually 4½ years ago now, Mr. Mason.

Is it really? Wow! How the time gets away from you.

Anyway, Hunter, Tim came here right out of law school when he graduated almost 10 years ago now, Tim is a very fine lawyer, bright, careful, diligent – a credit to himself and the firm.

He actually became a partner early because of his demonstrated excellence and readiness. He has been in charge of our law school intern program, hiring law students to work part time in assisting the lawyers in the firm.

Now, with the retirement of James Shepherd, we’re looking for a new associate to hire, with hopefully a career path here. Tim will be a tremendous source of ideas and advice, as well as an outstanding example, for any new attorney we hire.

hat’s why it’s important for him to be here. He needs to see who is up for consideration, and I value his opinion.

I smiled an uneasy smile, blushing a trace of evanescent red. Have a seat, Tim, Mr. Mason instructed. Rather than pull a chair out of the corner, I decided to walk up to the couch where Hunter was sitting, and sit down across from him at the other end.

Filling me in on their conversation, Mr. Mason asked a few more questions, turning to me for anything I might want to ask. I noticed Hunter lean forward for my questions.

I glanced at his resume, then asked what courses he disliked in law school. When he told me family law and tax law, I could only smile in reaction. He also said he liked criminal law, civil procedure and evidence, and trial practice.

When I pressed him about his knowledge, he quickly admitted it was solely from his classes, and a brief litigation clinic. He created a favourable impression by sitting back, speaking almost deferentially, yet with maybe friendly, smug smile directed to both Mr. Mason and me.

Of course, what do I really know? Nothing really. I haven’t been in the arena at all, ever. Probably a better answer should be I’d like to learn those fields from people who are skilled and talented in them.

I nodded favourably. He was not yet 23 years old, single, a runner, who came from a small town in southern Illinois. His Father is a farmer, his mother a homemaker, and he has three older siblings, two sisters and a brother.

He’s a St. Louis sports fan, though not a consistent follower of them. He described himself as an outdoors nerd. I like to hike and camp out doors, and I like to read interesting literature, at least interesting to me, he explained.

He had done quite well, if not stellar, at law school, and was fresh with the air enthusiastic eagerness to embark on a career in the noble profession. I jokingly told him, despite what he might hear or see from others, it truly is a noble profession.

It takes dedication and hard work to measure up to what the field requires and expects. People like Mr. Mason prove it.

We talked a few minutes more. I was mindful not to appear presumptuous of my invitation to be there by staying or talking too long. Thanking them both for allowing me to participate in the interview, I excused myself and retreated across the building to my office.

Not more than 30 minutes later, Mr. Mason knocked on my door. Coming in, he sat down in a chair near my desk.

I’m glad you were able to join in the interview, Tim, he began. So, what did you think? he asked.

Startled at him directly asking my view, I answered, He seems like a pleasant, bright, young man, sir. Of course you can’t really know much about a person from just an interview.

I remember my own interview almost 10 years ago. I was so nervous and naive, and afterward was sure I’d done miserably. When Mrs. Franciello called to invite me to go to dinner with you and Mrs. Mason, I was shocked!

At dinner, I felt like a specimen on a lab slide, under a microscope, I was so anxious and nervous. Anyway, it’s turned out great – at least from my perspective, I added.

Indeed, it has, Tim. If you had to decide, how would you vote? he asked.

Recognizing myself on the spot, I considered quickly, but carefully, my response.

It would be nice to have another encounter with him, maybe in a different, less formal setting. Still, absent that, I’d have to say he seems polite, polished, friendly, yet respectful, confident without seeming recklessly so, yet also reserved, maybe slightly immature. I’d vote yes, I concluded.

Thanks, Tim. I’m glad to hear your thinking. I’m at the same state of mind. Maybe we should invite him to dinner with us, before we make an offer.

You and your bride, and Martha and I. We’ll go to the fancy, French restaurant, La Parisian, he added. Ill have Mrs. Franciello set it up for this coming Friday night.

Dinner with the five of us, at La Parisian, turned out to be a poor idea on my part. First, Hunter was alone, and appeared to feel more on the spot with two, married couples scrutinizing him.

Second he was plainly more nervous, even slightly tongue-tied, noticeably quiet, in the wide-ranging conversation that occurred. Third, none of us had that much to share that hadn’t already been discussed.

Mr. Mason asked if he or his family attended a church. He said they attended a Presbyterian church in Carbondale. His brother and sisters were married, with kids: he was an uncle 4 times already. His brother, the oldest child, is a Presbyterian minister.

He did not have a steady girlfriend, the last time he had one was in high school. He hoped to be able to remedy that soon. He hadn’t met anyone in college with whom a relationship lasted, none in law school; and he didn’t know anyone outside of law school.

This young man needs to get out more, Mrs. Mason interjected laughing.

Tim, here, was a bachelor when he came here, but it didn’t take long for his lovely bride to take pity on the poor guy, and bring him in to the fold of the married. How long ago was that, Tim, Jennifer? Mr. Mason inquired.

Ten years, I answered. Jennifer interrupted, correcting me with 8½ years. Ah, really? I thought it was, ah, more... I stammered.

Jennifer asked Hunter about books he liked to read, and he mentioned fiction and biographies he had recently read.

When dinner was concluded, no one had room for dessert. We all stood up to shake hands, wish each other well, and depart. I felt a tinge of pity for Hunter whose foot oddly caught in between a table leg and chair leg, causing him to stumble and almost fall.

He recovered well. Whewww! I guess being with so many attractive ladies and impressive men has overwhelmed me. At least you know I didn’t drink too much since I didn’t have anything tonight.

Everyone laughed. Are you alright, young man? Martha Mason asked.

Yes, ma’am, except for my ego, which I’ve badly damaged for myself, he replied.

Again everyone laughed. We all walked out together, leaving in our own vehicles.

Monday morning, Mr. Mason came to me in my office again. Well, what do you think now, Tim? he asked.

I didn’t see anything that would make me hesitant, I answered. He seemed a bit more human and like an ordinary, vulnerable person, I added.

I agree with you, Tim. What do you think about his tea-total status at dinner?

I’d probably do the same thing in his shoes, wanting to keep my wits about me, and not slip up out of laxness.

That’s a good answer, Tim, because you may not remember, but that is exactly what you did, Mr. Mason responded.

Is it? I didn’t recall exactly, just know how I would feel about a situation like that.

So, do we pop the question? Make him an offer?

That’s really your decision, Mr. Mason. Whatever you decide, I’m in, you can count on that.

No need for you to hang back now, Tim. You’re a full-fledged partner now. You opinion and vote count, he informed me.

Okay, then, ah, sir. Unless you had a different view, I’ll join you in voting for making an offer, I replied.

Great, Tim, because I want you to make the call, and write him the letter. Let me see the letter please, before you send it. I want you to take an active participation in the hiring, training, and guidance of any new attorney we hire.

I smiled a surprised smile, but responded affirmatively, Yes, sir. If that’s what you want, I’ll do it to the best of my ability.

I know you will, Tim. Just call him and tell him to we are going to extend an offer to him, and he will receive a letter with the details and conditions set forth in it. After that, draft the letter, let me see it, and let’s get it out today.

Yes, sir. Will do, I answered. Mr. Mason got up, thanked me for my loyalty to the firm, and left. I placed the call personally to Hunter Hilliard.

When he answered, I told him the firm had decided to make him an offer of employment as an associate attorney and would be sending out a letter to him today with the terms and conditions in it. His answer was cordial and polite, yet scarcely evidencing an enthusiastic response.

Maybe he has other offers competing to consider, I thought to myself. After drafting up the letter-offer, I took it to Mr. Mason, sharing with him my own impression of Hunter Carlson’s reaction to my call.

Maybe you came across as too looming a threat to the young man, Mr. Mason joked. Seriously, Tim, you can’t judge much from a telephone response. Don’t give it any more thought.

Once he gets the letter, if he wants it, he’ll tell us. If he doesn’t, and has any good sense of respectable behaviour, he’ll call and tell us; or improvidently just let the deadline for response pass without accepting. Either way, we’ll know. Thanks again, Tim.

I nodded, thanking Mr. Mason, and returned to my office and resuming work.

Two days later, Mr. Mason knocked and entered my office. Well, Tim, you’ve got yourself a new associate to help you. Hunter Hilliard called, just a few minutes ago, to thank us for our offer and to accept it.

Really? I asked When’s he starting?

Week after next, Mr. Mason replied. He’s going to be your boy, your project, Tim. You take him under your wing, the way I did you when you came here, how long ago now?

10 years ago, sir, I smiled.

Unbelievable how fast time passes. Well, you’ve come a long way in 10 years, Tim. Try to see that Hunter does the same thing. I’ll be around to consult, and help; but I did my job with you, now it’s your turn to pass on to a younger, new lawyer.

I thanked Mr. Mason for his confidence in me and promised to try to follow in his footsteps to the best of my ability. He assured me he knew I would, and said he’d look forward to seeing the product I turned out. We both laughed, and he left.

A couple of weeks later, the slender, good looking, very young looking Hunter Hilliard arrived on Monday morning at 7:45 a.m. He was dressed in a trim suit, with crisp white shirt, and yellow-and-white striped tie.

Smiling, his crystal clear blue eyes brightened up the pleasant look on his friendly, narrow, almost delicate, pretty face with short, dark brown hair, and clear blue eyes. I took him around the office, introducing him to everyone who works there, with many of the older women doting over him like he was their grandson.

Afterward, I took him to a small office downstairs which was to be his. I also showed him the library/research center, with computers for electronic research. To the first, he seemed to be in perplexed wonderment; with the latter he was very familiar.

He brought a small notebook with him which he set up in his office, and used to do research and document preparation by use of the wifi. I sent him some smaller case files, with general, introductory memos for each one, containing background factual information, legal theories and principles, and objectives for him to accomplish along with deadlines.

After that, I left him alone. I did not see him until late that afternoon, about 4:50, when he knocked on my door. He walked in confidently, though not boldly, carrying several files.

Sir, I’ve brought some of the files you gave me, with the work completed for your review. I’m sorry I don’t have them all done, but I think I will by this time tomorrow.

I was surprised, but favourably so. Thanks, Hunter. I hadn’t expected anything back this quickly, but I’m impressed. Leave them on that table over there, and I’ll review them, and let you know if anything else is needed.

He turned and walked to the table, left the files in a stack, and called back softly, Good night, sir.

Good night, Hunter, and you can call me Tim, I replied.

Yes, sir, ah, Tim, sir, he responded.

So began my tutelage of a brand new, young graduate, to become a sound, seasoned lawyer. I had to adjust my work regimen in order to keep a review of the work he produced and brought to me for review. That was an extra, time-consuming task I had forgotten to take into account.

Because I was swamped with work myself, I initially left his work for review until the weekend. As I began reviewing his work, again I was favourably impressed. He addressed all the issues I’d raised, and even suggested a couple of others in two cases.

He was thorough in including copies of the cases, statutes, rules, and other materials on which he had relied, or which he used. I was going over his work product quite quickly on Saturday afternoon. As I found good work, albeit a bit naive, I expected I would have completed the entire stack for review by 5 p.m.

That was when I came upon the case involving a commercial contract, in which the plaintiff was claiming damages resulting from the way in which the contract had been performed. Hunter had prepared a motion to dismiss the complaint.

He based his motion on a longstanding legal principle that precluded damage claims beyond those expected in the terms and scope of the contract. He had cited, and enclosed, a number of strong authorities supporting that principle, with which I was familiar.

What he apparently failed to apprehend was that just over a year earlier, the supreme court had reversed that longstanding train of cases, and the principle it had established. As a result, merely citing the fact and terms of the contract was insufficient to dismiss a claim for negligence in performing the contract.

I slowed down and read through his motion. Again, allowing for the novice style, it was well-prepared. Regrettably, however, it was totally off base. The fairly recent decision from the supreme court undercut and negated the basis and reasoning of the legal position of his motion.

Had he checked the cases he cited and relied on? He couldn’t have, or he would have come upon the supreme court decision that changed the law on which he had founded the motion.

I was irked, and now a little worried. What kind of work did Hunter Hilliard think he could turn out? This was so mistaken and off point, we could have gotten that, or better, from a paralegal?

I slowed down some more, reading through the rest more carefully. Though fortunately not finding anything as egregious as that error, I did find a draft of a memorandum of law in which he quoted an excerpt from a case; but if he had considered the case carefully, he would have seen that the full statement (from which he excerpted) turned out not to support his use of it, because the circumstances of that case were so drastically different from the one we were handling.

All at once, I felt a nausea-like queasiness in my stomach. What kind of work was Hunter Hilliard producing? What kind of lawyer was I working with, guiding, mentoring, producing?

The law firm expected better – as it should. I feared I was undermining, betraying the law firm by turning out a young lawyer with work product like this. I knew I had to act promptly. The question was how to act, what to do.

I couldn’t fire this kid, and I hated to go whining to Mr. Mason. He expected me take the raw material and shape it up into a quality professional.

The rest of my weekend was ruined as I brooded over the problem facing me. By Monday morning, I determined I would confront Hunter directly, pointing out the deficiencies, and inquiring for a response from him.

I arrived early Monday morning, only to become swept up in the concerns of the law firms copying capacity and needs. After that, I had meetings with clients, and a short hearing of my own at 3:30 that afternoon.

When I returned to my office from court at 4:35, I realized I had not even seen, much less spoken with, Hunter Hilliard about the problems I’d encountered over the weekend. I buzzed him on the intercom.

This is Hunter, he answered.

Hunter, this is Tim, I announced.

Yes, sir, he replied immediately.

Hunter, I need to speak with you about some of the cases you’re working on, if you could come by my office after 5 p.m. tonight.

Ah, sir, ah,... I mean, um,...

What’s the matter, Hunter? I asked.

Well, as sir, I’ve been riding my bike to work every day, but I don’t have a light on it, and it’s getting dark quite early now, so if I’m late, then...

Look, Hunter, this is important. If it’s too dark when we finish, I’ll drive you and your bike home. Now, please come to my office about 5:20, okay?

Yes, sir, was all he said.

Fine. I’ll see you then, I concluded, hanging up the phone.

At 5:20, there was a knock on my door. Come in, I encouraged.

The door opened and Hunter Hilliard walked in, firmly, confidently, almost a bit brashly. He strod up in front of my desk, but had the good sense to remain standing until I instructed him to sit down.

Once I did so, he spoke. You wanted to see me, sir?

Yes, Hunter. It’s about the work you’ve done and sent to me to review. First off, much of it is quite good. It can use some polishing, to make it more persuasive, more advocative, sound more professional. But that’s why you’re here to learn, I explained.

However, there are a couple of matters that have me gravely concerned.

His luminescent blue eyes widened. Yes, sir. What is it, sir? he asked.

I took the blatant one, that had completely missed the change in the law. When I asked him why he continued to rely on the multiples earlier cases that had now been rendered unauthoritative, his face tightened into a slightly wrenched grimace.

Did you check those cases, Hunter? Because I did, and most of them show overruled by the recent supreme court case – a case you nowhere cited, and appear to be unaware of. That’s the foundation for malpractice, young man.

My voice barked, sounding severe and stern, like one of the older judges in the courthouse.

Hunter was taken aback. His face reddened, along with his ears and neck. He began breathing rapid, short breaths. Tears began welling in the eyes of the once confident, young face, now beginning to evidence a boyish quavering around his lips and jaw.

I stared at him, inferring from his sudden emotional jetsam that my questions had struck a nerve.

Take a deep breath and compose yourself, Hunter, I encouraged him, because I want an answer  – and honest answer  – to my question.

Nuh-uh-nooo-ooo, Mr. Cartwright, sir. I’d been working on several of the cases all day, and I was hurrying to get that one finished. I assumed so many cases had to still be good law. I wah-uz-ah-wrong.

Yes, you were, indeed, Hunter. Just as in this last one, here, you completely misunderstood and misapplied the case from which you quoted. You quoted only part of the case, and plainly did not take enough time to grasp the factual setting of that decision – which turns out to make that case not reliable at all for ours. Did you gloss over that one too?

Hunter’s face looked like a thermometer about to explode. The welling tears overrode his control, beginning to leak, then trickle, down his face.

I’m sorry, sir, he repeated. I know better. I’m so ashamed. Please don’t fire me. Please, please don’t tell Mr. Mason. You can punish me, but please don’t make me lose this job.

I wasn’t about to tell him I couldn’t fire him, but his offer to be punished, rather than lose the job struck me as immature, insecure, and needy.

I cleared my throat, hoping that would give him pause and interruption to recover his self-control. It did very little to help that, however.

The reason you are here, Hunter, is to learn to be an attorney of excellence in everything you do. It’s my job to guide, teach, and help you, but ultimately, it’s in your hands.

You have to learn from mistakes, even and especially serious ones like this. If you do, you will avoid them in the future. If not, you’re doomed to a lower tier of lawyers who just slide along at the minimum level. You have to decide which you want to be, and what it will take to get you there.

I know, ah, ah, sir, ah, I’m so, ah, ah-shamed, ah, sorry. I want to be good, to be an excellent lawyer, like you, and, ah, Mr. Mason. If I get fired, lose this job, I won’t be able to learn from you; but I know I was bad, very bad, and need to be punished. So, it’s okay, um, sir, he replied.

What are you talking about, Hunter? I asked, baffled.

I mean, I need a whipping, to be taken in hand, taken down a few notches. I know, and I accept it. It’s what always happens. I mean, I want to be good, do better. I really do want to learn from you  – if you won’t fire me. Please, Mr. Cartwright, sir. You can do it right now. I deserve it, I know. I’m sorry.

Hunter, what are you talking about? I asked with a fearing uncertainty.

Ah, a spanking, sir. You can spank me. Now. Here. I deserve it, I know. I’ll shape up, I promise. I always do, and I will. Please, sir, he explained his reply.

Hunter, I’m afraid that’s not possible,... I began.

Oh, please, please sir! It’s okay. It’s what I get, need, deserve, every time I’m bad. My Dad still whoops my behind. He did it growing up, and in college, and even in law school, when I messed up, was bad. Still, do, ah will.

Hunter was weeping softly while baring his soul. I sat back, astonished at what I was hearing and what was unfolding. Hunter, this is, ah, out of consideration,...

Noooo! Please, sir! It’s not. I know, getting a licking is what I need, have coming for being so bad, doing such poor work. If you do it, spank me for it, I’ll know, remember, be motivated for sure. Believe me, sir, I know.

It’s okay, too, cause I’m willing, I need it, have to be punished for being bad, I know. You can talk to my Dad, if you want to, he’ll tell you that’s what I get, what I need, when I’m bad.

I was startled. I did not want to speak with Hunter’s Father, but I couldn’t fathom the idea of a young man such a Hunter begging for a spanking for having screwed up a couple of assignments. I stood up, hoping to dismiss him.

I’ll drive you home, Hunter. You can put your car in my trunk.

Not yet! Please, Mr. Cartwright! Not until you’ve punished me. You can use that wooden ruler there, sitting on your desk, and spank me hard with it until you’re satisfied I’ve learned my lesson, and will avoid doing the same bad thing again.

Standing there with his pretty, tear-streaked face, he stunned me by untying his shoes and stepping out of them, next unbuckling his belt, unzipping his pants, and pulling them off. The thin, lithe young man was standing before me in just a long sleeve white shirt with tie, hanging down over the front and back of his black boxer briefs.

Here, sir, I’m ready, he spoke pleading. I looked at him, then took 4 steps to the door to close and lock it. Returning to the desk, I picked up the heavy, wooden ruler, then backed up to the desk and scooted up and back to sit on it.

Instantly, Hunter dove across my legs, placing himself overturned, dangling over my lap. Everything was happening so fast, I felt like I’d been racing to jump aboard a speeding train that was accelerating with me aboard.

Unsure how to begin, I pulled his shirt tail and t-shirt up to his shoulders, baring him from his thoracic back to his socks, except for the black, boxer briefs that were so tight they looked like he been born and grown up in them. The cotton was caught into his crack, lifting and separating each buttock.

The kid (as I later began calling him) had a bum that just cried out to spanked. He was also surprisingly the right size and fit to be upended and lie on my lap to be spanked. He lay still waiting, as if this was a natural part of our relationship.

I began hesitatingly with smacks of my bare hand against his narrow, but ample rump under his briefs. It took less than a half-dozen smacks to realize the reason for the wooden ruler.

Having decided Hunter deserved, and needed, a harsher, more unsparing spanking, I grasped the waistband of his boxer briefs, pulling them off his hips, down over his butt cheeks, down his legs to his ankles. Picking up the ruler, I let loose a volley of fast, crisp smacks against his buns that evoked a hissing groan from him.

Surprisingly, I quickly got into the essence of the chastising spanking. He began huffing and breathing hard, while also bucking and writhing around on my lap. I pushed his shirt and shoulders downward, keeping him in place while I walloped his backside and upper, back legs.

His squealing, then shrieking screeches spliced between hopeless-sounding sobbing gave away this young man was long-acquainted with punishment spankings. It should not have surprised me, therefore, when quite soon, he began begging, pleading, apologizing, promising, before wailing bawling sobs with incoherent, blubbering.

Finally, I realized lying over my legs was a thoroughly chastened and broken young man, penitent, sorry, humbled and disgraced. At that moment, he was also a regressed youth, reduced to an weeping, sorrowful, misbehaving spanked boy.

Stopping, I helped him stumble getting up off my lap. His eyes were squinted closed with wailing tears, as he stomped and massaged and rubbed his fiery fundament. His erect, young manhood was engorged and bouncing.

As the squalling, young law re-dressed, bouncing on his socked feet, hands clasped on his singed mounds beneath his tight, black boxer briefs, I gathered up some papers to take home with me. Turning out the light, I unlocked and opened the door, letting the humbled youth precede me out of the office.

I armed the security alarm for the building, then held the door open for a still quite red-faced, reddened eyed young man who could not resist instinctively clutching his bottom through the seat of his suit pants. We walked along in sniffling silence to my car, where I placed his light-weight racer bicycle into the trunk.

He waited for me to get behind the wheel, before getting into the front passenger seat, where he grimaced and winced on lowering his weight down on his behind. I drove him to his apartment.

Before he got out, I got his bike out and gave it to him, speaking somberly to him. Go in, get yourself some supper, and think about and learn from your experience tonight, Hunter. You still have a job, but you better take it far more seriously, shape up, and be sure you submit the very best work you are capable of at this time.

Do not think this one time is an exception or not something you will find yourself receiving and regretting again, if you fail to do what is expected of you, with the quality expected. Understand?

With eyes glistening full of tears about to burst the dam, Hunter nodded, uttering softly, Thank you, sir, thank you. I’ll do better. I’ll be good. You’ll see, sir. I’ve learned my lesson, I promise, he replied.

Time will tell, but I sincerely hope you will make this a watershed lesson, and improve from it. I would be remiss if I didn’t also admonish you, Hunter, future carelessness like you’ve shown will earn you future discipline worse than tonight’s.

I understand, sir. Thank you. Thank you very much. With that, he disappeared into his apartment as I drove away for home.

In his apartment, he raced to his bedroom, and within seconds had his pants and boxer briefs off, his shirt pulled up, where, twisting his body, he inspected in a mirror the very harsh, raw, red marks on his buttocks and the backs of his thighs. From years of spankings, he knew he would have bruises in the morning, and be wary of sitting as much as possible for the next few days.

Finishing undressing and hanging up his clothes, and putting his shoes away, he lay down on his unmade bed, in just his taut, black boxer briefs and t-shirt. Lying there, his mind instantly began reliving the past couple of hours or so, while he lay across my lap, for the first dose of corrective, corporal discipline dispensed to him in his new employment setting at the law firm.

He recalled with erotic humiliation, the feeling, and imagined picture, of himself upside down across my lap, getting his bottom whacked with the ruler until he was writhing and bawling in pain and shame.

Hunter’s tight briefs pressed constricted against the wounded flesh of his bottom and hyper tender sit spots. Releasing the bulge by slipping his boxer briefs down his leg and off hiss feet, his throbbing young solider stood at attention.

As he fondled and caressed his youthful, circumcised, lean shaft with strong, pumping motions up and down, his recollection replayed my parting words of admonition, future carelessness like you’ve shown will earn you future discipline worse than tonight’s.

Gasping, he accelerated the ratcheting of his member until, lying back with eyes closed, he exploded in his hand and onto his legs and the bed itself, feeling an emotional catharsis accompanying the orgasmic relief.

That evening was the beginning of something probably neither one of us every anticipated. Hunter probably could not articulate clearly the driving motivation behind his words and actions that evening.

Yet, it was for him the start of something he experienced, needed, even asked for, for many years of his practice life at the law firm. I was the only one (as far as I knew, or Hunter let on) who participated in this purging, corrective and therapeutic treatment of him.

 
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