A Different Birthday
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 Sep 2017
My worst dread was realized when I got back. Mike met me at the house for lunch. He immediately escorted me to my bedroom, ordered me out of my clothes, and spanked me until I was screaming loudly without any thought or care of Greta hearing.
I apologized and promised to do better. Mike simply said I would one way or another. He told me to get into bed and he would send Greta in to wake me in an hour or two, so I could get up and work the rest of the afternoon. I was literally afraid to argue with him, but crawled onto my mattress.
Surprisingly, the physical stress and emotional toil had taken it toll on me, and I fell asleep. After a 2 hour nap, Greta awoke me to get up, get dressed, and she would bring me a snack while I studied.
By the time the work day was ended, I had covered an amazing amount of material, even if sitting was a constant effort of shifting and adjusting to reduce the hurting pain on my badly bruised and beaten bottom.
When Mike came home for the evening, he cleaned up, checked in on me, and told me to pause and come join them for dinner. I was glad for the break, even though feeling very sheepish about my behaviour and the need for discipline from him as well as my tutor.
After supper, Mike immediately dispatched me back to study, telling me he would help Greta clean up the kitchen (my usual duty). He told me to be ready for bed by 10 p.m., and he would be in to speak with me.
After living with, and under the authority of, Mike for nearly 3 years, I knew too well what his speaking with me would be. I was correct. At 10, he came in to find me stripped down to my boxer briefs.
Now, Clay, things have to, and are going to, improve and stay that way from now on. You are getting
another spanking now, and for the rest of the week at bedtime.
If I have any more reports of trouble necessitating discipline from Mr. Martinet, I will leave
my work and come down there and personally whip your young butt until you may never be able to sit down
or stop bawling again. Do you understand me now, son?
He is strict, thorough, and effective. He has a 97% success rate. You are not going to be a variation
of that, Clay, if you have to get your fanny warmed up several times every day.
To my humiliated shame, Mike pulled my briefs down, hauled me over his lap, and delivered another unconditional spanking on my bum and upper back legs. When it was over, he stood me up, pulled open my bed, and waited while I crawled bare into it.
When he turned out the light, closed the door, and left me squalling in the dark, I knew I had to change and shape up. I couldn’t go on like this.
For one thing, my butt and psyche couldn’t possibly stand it. For another, I need to wank too often, too many times, just to find a modicum of comforting relief.
So, between Mr. Martinet and Mike, their stern inflexibility with me began to have a re-moulding effect on me. I worked harder, longer, dutifully obeying their directions.
In reality, the consistently strict discipline my tutor dished out did me a world of good. Trying to avoid another spanking was just the incentive I needed to work for my school examinations.
I was studying hard and began to believe there would be no reason for Mr. Martinet to spank me again. After all, I wasn’t intrinsically intransigent; and I wasn’t a ungovernable adolescent whirled in the down-pulling torment of developing hormones.
I am, as Mike has repeatedly told me, quite bright, just delayed in developing good habits, self-discipline, and orderly concentration and self-control. For that, I end up benefitting at times from an abrupt and sharp round of disciplinary spankings, to put me back on track, and refocused.
Mr. Martin was an very good and effective teacher, and I was learning a lot from him, more, much more, than how to avoid a painful bottom and a tortured ego. He dished out spankings, instantly and unsparingly, when I slid back or slacked off, and they were increasingly putting me back in line.
A little fear and pain, along with humbled mortification, does the trick every time. Mr. Martinet, the tutor Mike had hired for me, well knew how to apply the same remedy to me, and had not – especially in the early weeks of our public and private sessions – been hesitant about employing a very sound spanking.
Eventually, fear of the hurt and humiliation of still another trip across his lap for a licking with the wooden paddle on my bare bottom was enough. I began to shape up, do what was required and expected.
I concentrated hard on my personal reading and study, and in my preparation for the public, and my private sessions, with him. I made sure I paid riveted attention to him and his lectures.
So, I was caught off guard when, after several weeks without getting spanked by Mr. Martinet, I suddenly found myself on the spot before him, ordered to denude, and positioned over his knees for another trip to the woodshed.
We were in the homestretch to the bar examination. Mr. Martinet was pushing us all hard, me even more, it seemed. The assigned reading became heavier, the sessions longer and more frequent, the lectures more intense and laden with material
When Mr. Martinet added the introduction of any outline of how various subjects of the common law fit together, most of us were taken aback, both at the weight of additional work, but also at the comprehensive analytical framework it brought to our onerous study of so many areas over the past months.
Mr. Martinet’s lectures began to change in two ways. He used the analytical outline and far more frequent questions that pertained to it. Like many of my fellow graduates and friends, I liked the keen insight this approach offered; but I was sometimes startled and unprepared to make the quick analogical application his questions evoked.
He told me I needed special work, and help, to accelerate my ability to think through the analysis paradigm. Ordering me to additional, evening, private sessions, he began peppering me with hypotheticals that required an application of cross-subject analysis to give an answer.
I stumbled and stalled, stymied in my ability to carry off the analytical approach he was using. Taking several sheets of paper with hypothetical questions, he handed them to me and told me to have my Father repeatedly test me with them over the next two days to heighten my familiarity with the method of reasoning.
Mr. Martinet had barked sharply at me, telling me my slowness was the Achilles heel in my ability to respond with answers adequate to pass the bar exam. I started to counter him, and his pique with me manifest itself at once.
Do not argue with me, Clayton! You are bright, but intuitive brightness is not enough! It is no
substitute for substantive knowledge and the apply to apply it across the intellectual network to come
up with a sound analysis! he chided.
Take these home and practice with your Father testing and timing you. I expect to see demonstrative
improvement at our next, personal session 3 days from now!
Clutching the papers he had given me, I left his house and returned home. I felt embarrassed about asking Mike (or Greta) to help me with this. I figured if I read over the questions, worked on answering them myself, and checked against the proposed, sample answers, I could accomplish what was needed.
Three days later, I arrived in late afternoon at Mr. Martinet’s house. Immediately shown into the
instructional room, he told me to remain standing. Picking up a different stack of papers, he began doing
what he had told me to do with my
Immediately, it became obvious to him that I was no farther along, no more improved, than when he had given me the practice papers 3 days earlier. He confronted me directly.
Did you practice and work through the hypotheticals I gave you with your Father, Clayton?
My look in silent response must have betrayed me.
Ah, yes, ah, but he’s, ah, very busy, I
tried to answer.
Did you tell him how important this is? Did you ask him for his help, Clayton?
Yes, but, ah,...
Stay standing there, young man. I am going to get him on the phone, Mr. Martinet directed.
My stomach felt like squirrels were running around in it; I began perspiring, and my hands were twitching slightly. He placed the call to Mike’s shop and eventually after several rings Mike answered it.
Hello, sir, Mr. Martinet greeted Mike.
This is Clayton’s tutor. Three days ago I gave him
a stack of papers with sample questions and proposed, sample questions to practice with. I told him to
ask you to test him with them, so he could become familiarized and faster with the method of analyzing
to answer them.
Today, he appears to have made no progress at all in his ability to undertake that analytical
procedure. I asked him if he did what I instructed him, and he told me he did, but that you are very busy
and unable to help him very much.
He did not?! Is that right? So you don’t know anything about what I gave him, instructed him to
do, and expected him to practice?!
All right, sir. I will work with him today, although I am unsure of what benefit it will accomplish
I am going to send him home some more materials to do the same thing and would appreciate your
help in seeing that it is done. In two days, I want him back and better ready and able to do what is necessary
for the exam, Mr. Martinet explained.
I am also going to deal with young Clayton here, and he is going to regret his failure to obey
my instructions, and even worse his deliberate dishonesty about it. Oh, well, that’s your prerogative
to do so as well. He’s your son. Goodbye, sir.
Mr. Martinet put down the phone, staring at me through narrowed eyes.
I know you understand what has just transpired, young man. I am going to work with you this afternoon
into early evening, and push you hard, Clayton. But first, we are going to deal with your laziness and
sloth, and your deceit and dishonesty.
I gulped, immediately feeling the years melt away, standing before him like a young, misbehaving boy about to be punished.
Remove all of your clothes, Clayton! Mr. Martinet barked.
I was stunned. Never had I been required to strip totally naked before him. Later, I realized it was an additional part of the punishment for me to be shamed and dishonoured.
As well acquainted with Mr. Martinet’s method of discipline, I was shocked nonetheless at being required to be completely bared before him. I stood, not moving.
My tutor was incensed.
You add disobedience to your default and lying, Clayton Walker! You are
a disgrace, young man!
He shouted his indictment at me as he stormed over and began denuding me of every stitch of clothing, beginning with my t-shirt, shoes and socks, khaki shorts, and briefs. Jolted from trance-like inaction, I tried to replace his hand with my own.
My tutor quickly turned me around, bent me over, and spanked the seat of my shorts with 40 fast, hard swats. When he stood me up straight and turned me back around, he resumed undressing me and I stood there, arms at my sides, acceding to this authority.
Once I was bare as the day of my birth, he grabbed the same, now-well-known paddle and yanked me along with him. Sitting down, he instantly hauled me downward, inverted, hanging over his legs.
Feeling so desperately afraid, ashamed, belittled, I began wriggling and squirming around on his lap. He took the paddle to work, wielding it on my bare bum cheeks, and the backs of my upper legs, smiting with smacks that popped around the room.
You had just better settle yourself down immediately, Clayton, unless you’re looking to exacerbate
your situation. We haven’t even begun to deal with you, and you’re already threatening to create more
trouble?! Mr. Martinet scolded.
Lying upside down, hanging over his lap, I heard him scold me as he continued applying the biting spanks.
I am going to spank you, Clayton. You are getting 60 with the paddle for failing to do what I
told you to do. You are getting 100 more for lying, and 40 more for your disturbance and lack of cooperation
right now. If you disobey, more will be added.
Noooo-please, ah, Mr., ah, Martinet, sir, not the paddle! Not any more! I called out in desperation.
Hush, young man! Who do you think you are?! You are not in charge here! You have no authority!
The reality is you are under my authority, and your failure to work seriously and hard, worsening
it with your deceitful lies, is a miserable disappointment. Your performance is well-below standard, substandard, Clayton!
You will be spanked each and every time you fail to do what is required of you in this course. You know that, and that is the end of the matter. You will promptly submit, and take what you have coming, have earned, or I will call your Father again.
After all, it is he who has paid for this tutelage. He can come join us, if necessary, hold you down and make sure you submit while you get your spanking, Clayton. Either way, you’re getting spanked hard and very seriously, young man.
You don’t, ah, have to do this, ah, sir, I responded over-solicitously.
What?! Is that your response?! I don’t have to do this?! Are you kidding me?! Are you serious?!
Your Father is paying a lot of money to make sure you’re prepared to take the bar exam, and pass it. You have weaknesses that we’ve identified and you need to work hard to overcome, and you’ve done nothing!
Topping all that you deliberately lied and hid the truth! And you say it is not necessary to deal with your attitude, your laziness, your default, and your lies?! Get over your fatuous feelings and talk, young man. You are in for a long, severe spanking, starting right now!
Mr. Martinet lit into me with a suddenness and fervour that shocked me from the outset. Inhaling large gasps of air, I gritted my teeth, trying to prepare myself for a rough ride of harsh treatment.
Unfortunately, ever since Mike re-introduced me to corporal discipline, I’d recalled and re-experienced my fleeting, short-lived determination to take the punishment, pain, and demoralizing humiliation stoically.
I quickly began writhing and wriggling around, twisting, thrashing about, frantic to avoid what I knew was going to be an unmitigated licking, whether it was by getting off his lap and away, evading it; or by persuading or frustrating my tutor to desist from spanking me.
Mr. Martinet was a seasoned disciplinarian, neither fooled or dissuaded, nor surprised with any resistant reactions a boy desperate to avoid, prevent, or end a spanking might attempt. He blistered my buns and back thighs until I was squealing and gasping loudly before shrieking sobs and bawling.
It took place faster than I could comprehend, much less control in any way. My bottom was aflame, the pain was overriding my will and thinking, with my emotions loose and running wild.
Begging, apologizing, promising to do better, urging him to let up and give me another chance, pleading for forgiveness, I pulled out every stop, every ploy, every tactic I’d learned, used, or heard about in my youthful, 33 years of life. To my despair, nothing worked.
Mr. Martinet’s control and mastery of me in administering a licking only ground me down further. Broken and reduced to a grieving, sorry boy punished with a spanking for his misbehaviour, I had nothing left to hold onto. He paddled my scorched, bare bottom and upper legs until I had nothing left but wailing sobs and squalling.
When he finished, he was short on patience with me. Yanking me hopping, jumping, stomping, and bouncing on my unsteady, wobbly legs, he took hold of my arm and led me still nude over to the table where I worked during my personal sessions with him.
He swung me around and sat me down on my throbbing, smarting, bare behind. Telling me what I was to do, and that I had 30 minutes within which to do so, or I would be back over his lap for another round, precipitated more weeping from me; but it so prompted serious concentration and effort on my part.
I made it in 29 minutes, and he merely smiled.
I knew it. I’m quite sure what you are capable
of, Clayton, but it’s going to take a lot of painful learning experiences to really sink in and get through
When I shook my head fervently no, he simply grabbed me up out of my seat, bent me over and applied the paddle to my bare backside rapidly over and over. I jumped and stomped, but he held on and scolded me for every settling for anything than my best efforts.
Squealing and sobbing, I was placed back down on the chair and handed another assignment with another 30 minute deadline. I wailed aloud, but quickly made myself focus and drive ahead to accomplish correctly the work before 30 minutes and avoid yet another spanking.
I was crying too hard, and took 32 minutes. I begged
no, no, please, no, nooo!
He simply pulled me back up and along with to where he sat down again, pulled me back upended over his lap, and delivered another unsparing spanking on my already wounded, raw, harshly marked rearend.
Much of the day went on like this. By the time I had finished every assignment given me within the 30 minute limits, I had gotten 6 harsh spankings and most of the day was over. I left at 4:30, after finally being allowed to re-dress.
By the time I got back to Mike’s and Greta’s, Mr. Martinet had telephone Mike and told him everything, including the lengthy day of lickings and lessons, study and spankings. Before I got to the house, Mike called me on my cell phone and ordered me to come directly to the shop.
My worst fears were realized when he took me back into the office, stripped my clothes off me as Mr. Martinet had done, put me over his knees, and unleashed a spanking with the hair brush that would have steeped the pain and disgrace into me even if it were not the capstone to 6 earlier lickings.
Mike was furious with me. I sobbed and begged, telling him I was so sorry, and ashamed, and would never, ever do that again.
He about wore out the old paddle insisting that he would have the assurance I professed when my rump was an inferno. By the time he was walking me back up to the house, my fundament was precisely that.
Inside the house, he frogmarched me to my room, ordered me to strip and get into bed. I protested, and he swiftly denuded me, took me back over his lap. After my 8th spanking of the day, I found myself back in my bed, on my face and stomach, sobbing uncontrollably, with the lights out, the door closed, exiled for the night.
The next 5 nights were more of the same as Mike administered a severe, bedtime spanking every evening at 10 p.m. In the meanwhile, I was feverishly studying, enlisting him to help me with practice tests, and showing up eagerly ready to get the most from my sessions with my tutor.
The last week before the exam was like the mounting tension, anxiety, and excitement before a rocket launch. I was wired, tense, and jittery, worried about the somber seriousness of the exam.
In truth, I was also just as worried about any lapse on my part in fulfilling the orders, requirements, and expectations of Mike and my tutor, Mr. Martinet, both of whom had invested so much in me to get me ready.
The day before I left for the bar, Mr. Martinet held his last group session. Afterward, he shook my hand, swatted the seat of my shorts, and gave me a short, hard hug.
Mike and Greta both embraced me warmly and affectionately, with Greta giving me a package of food and drink to take with me along my drive down to the exam site. I was as ready as I could be at that stage and only hoped it would be enough.
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