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Concrete Strapping

by Teacher Paddler

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: 01 Jun 2018


Cory was a good kid, but he had a mischievous side. So when he came upon an expanse of fresh concrete, he couldn’t resist. He knelt down and put his right hand in the wet mixture. He was just about to write his name when the door to the construction trailer few open and a worker stood watching him.

Hey, kid, the man hollered. What the fuck do you think you’re doing?

Cory froze. He was caught, red handed. He had no real answer, but he managed to say, Nothing, man. I was just ...

You were just fucking up my fresh concrete, the man shouted. You damn kids just can’t help yourselves, can you?

The guy, Mike, was maybe a young 30-something, a typical construction worker-build – beefy with muscles developed from manual labor. He wore Levis that had seen better days and a tee shirt that accentuated his muscles.

Cory started to get up with every intention of getting away. But the man jumped down the trailer’s steps and grabbed him by the right arm. Oh no you don’t, the man said. You’re not getting away from this. The man had a firm grip on the kid, and he knew he was in for it.

What you did is vandalism, the worker said. I think we should call the cops and let them deal with you.

No, please, Cory pleaded. I can fix it.

Fix it? the man questioned. You can’t fix it. I can. You can’t. But what we need to do is fix you so you learn a lesson from this. What’s your name? the man demanded.

Cory, he replied.

Before the kid knew what was happening, the worker pulled Cory up the stairs and into the construction trailer. You kids screw up my work all the time, he said, and I’m sick and tired of it. It’s time you understood what you did is wrong.

I’m sorry, Sir, Cory stammered. Really. I am. I won’t do it again. I promise.

Well, sorry doesn’t get it, the man said. You need to be taught a lesson, and when I did something like this, my old man punished me. I think that’s what you need.

Cory was confused. Punished?? he thought. What did this guy mean?

Get your ass over here, the man said as he pulled Cory over to a table and slammed the door. Here’s your choice: I call the cops and press charges or we handled it right here like my dad used to.

Cory’s head was swimming. He definitely did not want the cops involved, but he had no idea what the man meant by like my dad used to.

I don’t know what you mean, Cory said, but I don’t want to call the cops.

Then we’ll take care of this the old-fashioned way, Mike said. He unbuckled his belt and with a jerk pulled it from the loops in his jeans. It only took Cory a few seconds to realize what Mike had in mind.

Oh, no, Cory said. You’re gonna whip my ass? I don’t think so.

OK, the man said, and he took his cell phone out of his pocket. It’s your call – the cops or the belt. I bet your old man never beat your butt, did he? Well, maybe it’s time someone did.

Cory was between the proverbial rock and a hard place. He knew his parents would be upset if the police were involved, but he also was scared to death of being spanked. He was 17 now, and his dad ... in fact no one ... had ever laid a hand on him.

Come on, dude, Cory pleaded. There has to be some other way. I can pay you. I have money.

Money doesn’t cut it, kid, Mike replied. You have two choices, call the cops or get your butt whacked. You have 10 seconds to make up your mind.

The man started the countdown: 10 ... 9 ... 8 ... 7 ... 6 ... 5 ... 4 ... 3 ...

OK, Cory muttered. I’ll take the belt.

What’s that? Mike shouted. I couldn’t hear you.

I’ll take the belt, Cory shouted back. You got me. I’ll take a beating.

Mike put his cell phone back in his pocket and doubled the leather belt over. It was one of those belts that were perfect for jeans – thick and wide. He grabbed Cory by the shoulder and spun him around so that he was facing the table. Bend over and put your chest on the table, Mike ordered.

Cory hesitated. Mike put his strong hand on the kid’s back and pushed him onto the table. Spread your legs, Mike instructed. Cory spread his feet apart a little. More, Mike demanded. Cory complied and spread his feet two or three feet apart.

Look straight ahead, Mike ordered. If you flinch or move, we’ll start all over. You got that?

Yes, Sir, Cory said.

Mike looked at his target. The kid had on cargo shorts that accentuated his bubble butt. It was firm and rounded. He moved to the side of the kid and snapped the two pieces of leather together. Cory cringed when he heard the sound.

With no warning, Mike drew back his arm and laid the belt directly across Cory’s buttocks. CRACK.

Ah... Cory cried out. It hurt. It hurt worse than he had imagined. Fuck, he said. That hurt.

We’re just getting started, kid, Mike explained. Man-up and take it.

CRACK. Mike brought the belt down again. CRACK. And again. Cory cried out in pain, but Mike just ignored him.

CRACK. CRACK. Mike used all his strength to make a point. On the fifth stroke, Cory stood up, and his hands flew to his butt. He rubbed and rubbed trying to ease the pain.

I warned you not to move, Mike said. Now we take it to the next level. Drop your pants.

What? Cory exclaimed. No fucking way, man.

Then we’re done, and I call the cops, Mike said calmly. It’s your call.

NO, Cory said. Please. No. I’ll do it.

Drop your pants, Mike commanded. Slowly – very slowly – Cory undid his pants and dropped them to the floor. Short, too, Mike ordered. Cory hesitated a second then pulled his boxers down to his knees.

Mike could see that the kid’s butt was slightly pink, but the shorts his absorbed most of the impact. It confirmed Mike’s original suspicion that the kid had a firm, muscled, round butt. He put his hand on Cory’s back and pushed him back down onto the table. Cory was totally exposed, and his knees were shaking a little.

Hang in there, Mike told him. This will be over in a few minutes. But if you move from that position, I’m done with you, and I’ll call the cops.

Cory braced himself mentally. He knew this was going to really hurt. He waited. He heard Mike move off to the side and snap his belt again. That was his cue that the belt was coming.

CRACK. The belt connected with his bare butt, and it stung like hell. Ooooo, Cory muttered, but he held his position. It hurt worse than he had imagined.

CRACK. The second stroke overlapped the first, and this time it burned – bad. Cory bit his lip and let out a sigh.

CRACK. CRACK. Mike laid two more on the bare ass, and Cory clenched his buttocks over and over trying to ease the pain.

CRACK. The fifth stroke almost broke him. He knew deep down that he couldn’t take much more. He had no idea how many this guy was going to give him, but he had almost reached his limit.

CRACK. The final stroke landed directly across his sit-spot. Cory let out a loud breath, and he thought about just giving up.

That’s it, kid, Mike said as he started to thread his belt back into his jeans. Did you learn anything from it?

Yes, Sir, Cory said, assuming it was over and he had permission to stand up. He rubbed and rubbed his now red and very sore ass. I’m sorry about the cement, he said. I’ll go fix it.

No, Mike replied. Leave it. Every time you come this way and see your handprint, you’ll think about the consequences and the price you paid for doing it. Pull up your pants and get out of here.

Cory didn’t hesitate a minute. He slowly pulled his boxers up over his butt trying not to increase the pain. Then he pulled up his cargo shorts. He reached back and rubbed his butt again and again. That fucking hurt, Cory said. Did your dad really do that to you? Cory was curious.

Kid, when I fucked up, my old man took down my pants and beat my butt until I couldn’t sit down for days, Mike acknowledged. I got it at school with the paddle. I got it at home with the strap. And it never hurt me. In fact, it made me a man.

Mike opened the door as an invitation for Cory to leave. As he headed for the door, he thought about what Mike had said. In retrospect, he knew it had taught him a lesson, but he was anything but grateful ... at least at this time.

Now get your ass home, Mike told him, and don’t do that again.

Cory stumbled out the door and down the steps. He looked back, and Mike was standing in the doorway. Then he saw it. Mike had a big bulge in the front of his jeans. He walked away thinking about how he was bent over, bare ass, taking the belt from a total stranger. He felt a little stirring in his own crotch. Maybe that was something I needed, he thought to himself. Maybe that was something missing from his life.

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