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A Different Birthday
Part 40

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: 06 Nov 2017

It turned out I was quite limited with just one hand, but still Mike found things for me to do to help him in the shop. I fetched tools for him, opened and unfastened things I could do with my right hand.

I even changed oil and oil filters with my right hand. So, I was happy and felt better being able to be with him and help at the shop every day.

Of course, my days of leaving the premises (shop and house) to go off with anybody else were over. Besides spanking me again for not calling them when I was in trouble, he grounded me until I was able to bear weight on my left hip, and walk again.

I felt his second spanking was overkill, but when I complained about it to Greta, she told me to think that he was trying to send an unforgettable message that I could, and should, count on him, and call him, whenever I had a problem.

She was right, and that was really great, and I felt a kind of pleasure thinking about having people who I could trust and count on, and confide it. Nevertheless, for the next, several days I had a hard time sitting.

Anyway, finally, the day came in late September when the grades for the bar exam in July were posted online, anonymously except for each applicant’s individually identifying participant number.

Mike let me go into the shop office to use the computer and check on my results. Anxiously, I found my number and clicked on it. I had passed the first day’s tests; but I had failed the second day, the very questions that I had trouble getting through, and Mr. Martinet had driven? me to practice hard on.

When I exited the office, I guess my face disclosed the results. Mike came right over to me. What’s wrong, Clay? Didn’t you pass?

Tears were welling up in my eyes, and I shook my head negatively. I failed the second day’s questions, I squalled my answer.

What does that mean? Do you have to take the whole thing over again, or just the part you didn’t pass? he asked.

Thuh-uh-part I failed, I squalled in answer.

Okay. That helps identify what has to be done! Mike exhorted. You can now ignore all that other stuff you had to study, and concentrate, focus, on just those questions. Those ones gave you trouble anyway, didn’t they?

Ye-es, I responded.

Okay, so we’ll call Mr. Martinent and see what he recommends, Mike declared. Maybe he can set up a program for you for just those kinds of questions.

You’ve got 5 months to prepare this time, don’t you, Clay!? I nodded yes. Think of it! You can have this so well done and familiar, you’ll be able to handle anything thrown at you! Mike was a diehard optimist.

Anyway, I had only the next day before Mike told me he’d spoken with Mr. Martinet. They had arranged a program of private lessons and tutoring, with lots of practice tests, to make sure I was able to handle the questions I’d failed.

You’ll go Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday mornings, from 8 to noon. Mondays, Wednesday, Fridays, and Sunday evenings, you’ll go from 7 to 10 p.m.

And get this, Clay. He was so upset over your not passing, he said he’s not going to charge for any of the sessions this time! I can’t believe it! I told him he couldn’t, shouldn’t, do that.

He’s insistent. He said his reputation is his guarantee that students who complete his courses will pass the bar exam. The only thing he stressed was that you have to comply fully, do what he says and gives you to do, be prepared, work hard, and listen!

I told him that was no problem. He could count on your full cooperation and hard work, Clay.

Oh, shit! This sounded like the biggest set up for me getting my butt busted on a regular basis by my tutor. But what could I say?

If I protested, I would sound ungrateful and unwilling to do what it takes to be able to pass. Agreeing, as I did, committed me to complete cooperation and capitulation to my tutor’s edicts.

Okay, ah, Mike. I’ll do whatever it takes. I want to pass the rest next time.

Good Mike, because we want you to do so too. Tomorrow is Thursday, and you have some reading and studying to do this evening to be ready for 8 a.m. tomorrow.

Ah, geez, here I go again! Back to be the beedie-eyed, monkish student, studying, preparing, test-taking all the time! Okay, sure, Mike. I’ll give it my best, I replied.

Greta woke me at 6:30 to get up, get ready, have a solid breakfast, and be ready to leave in plenty of time to be at Mr. Martinet’s house before 8 a.m. When I arrived, I knocked on the door, which was opened by Mr. Martinet.

Come in, Clayton! he greeted me. So sorry to hear about the second day’s results; but you did splendidly on the first, and congratulations on that are in order.

As you recall, you had difficulty with the kind of questions presented on the second day, and we had trouble with you applying yourself to work long and hard enough to overcome your difficulties. Now, with hindsight and insight, we have both ample time, and available methods, to make sure you are indisputably ready when you re-take day 2 in February.

I was taken aback by the mixed messages of congratulations and praise, and criticism and encouragement. Thuh-ank you, sir, I answered.

Your welcome, young man. This time will be different, better, and absolutely effective, Clayton! I can promise you that, my tutor exuded.

Alright, then, let’s get right to it. There’s no time to waste. Come in, sit down, and we’ll begin immediately as we will continue for the next 5 months.

He gestured me to enter the room that I had forgotten was used as a tutoring classroom. Have a seat, Clayton. Here, take this one right up front, he directed.

Of course, there was no option for me, since I was the sole pupil in these sessions. He told me to open the textbook to the lessons on equity proceedings.

I did as he directed, and found the chapter I’d read and partly highlighted last night. It was followed by 50 questions in the format of the second day’s exam relating to the chapter’s subject matter.

Mr. Martinet launched into a full, explanatory lecture, stressing and highlighting points that he said he was sure would be covered. To do that, he would use repetition to reinforce the point, or pose questioning to draw the correct answers from me.

As over an hour and a half transpired, however, my mind became sleepy, then started to wander. How long I was drifting in trance-like ruminations I do not know.

Clayton! The shouting voice of Mr. Martinet shook me out of my distracted reverie.

I jumped in my seat with a startled squawking voice, Yuh-es, sir?! looking at him perplexed.

What is wrong with you, young man? You are not listening to a word of what I’m saying! he berated me with a stern look of ire.

What? Oh, nooo! I was too! I insisted, trying to hide my shaken unawareness.

Really? Tell me the last thing I just said, young man, he demanded.

Oh, shit! Damn it! I had tuned out and truly had absolutely no idea what the subject was he had been talking about. I sat there, looking down staring at the desk top, silent.

I asked you a question, young man! Mr. Martinet’s voice was like sharp glass. What are we dealing with today, the topic, Clayton? he rephrased his question.

In frantic desperation I tried to fudge it.

Uh, well, ah,... it was, ah, I mean ,... you were talking about the, ah, I mean, ah,... we were, ah, looking at, um,... how, ah... earlier, ah, I mean, um, continuing on what you said before, ah, when we were, um,...

Enough, Clayton! This is shameful, young man! You obviously haven’t got a clue what we are discussing, and what I just said!

You obviously also did not prepare for today! How dare you sit there and daydream, after what you’ve been through!

You didn’t listen and prepare adequately last time, and we saw what happened! Here I am again trying to educate you further, and more, and you make it almost impossible! When we’re finished here,we are going to call your Father and report your insolent conduct to him!

My face had given away my appalled shock. My face flushed crimson, as I grimaced while tightening my lips and clenching my jaws.

That’s right, young man! You have every reason to be horrified. He can deal with you  – after I do!

I am not going to stand for such disgraceful insolence! There are plenty of other young men and women who want my assistance! This looks like a waste of time for you and for me!

If it’s too difficult for you to find the self-command and determination to prepare ahead of time, and pay attention while you’re here, I’ll give you a strong, unforgettable incentive to do so.

Stand up!he ordered with a sharp, military bark that sent shivers down my spine.

I didn’t much feel like obeying, but the harsh, unwavering, unconditional tone of my tutor’s voice sent fearful shock into my brain. I did as he commanded, standing up straight.

I understood immediately what was in store. Mr. Martinet was a long and greatly persuaded believer in the therapeutic and curative effects of a boy’s well-spanked behind.

Nervously, I eyed him as he walked over to his desk and retrieved the old paddle lying on it. My eyes widened like saucers, and I let out an almost inaudible whisper, not that again!

Even though a couple of months had passed, I was well aware of the agony it could inflict on my poor rump and upper backs of my legs, as I stomped. red-eyed, wincing and grimacing, afterward, trying to ease my blazing backside down onto the hard wooden chair.

Unfortunately, whether I wanted to or not, I was about to become re-acquainted with the paddle, which made me flinch with terror.

Alright, Clayton. Undo and unzip your jeans and let them fall to your feet. Take off your shirt and t-shirt, and after that remove your underwear, and let them fall to join your jeans. Step out of them both and proceed over here to me.

We shall see whether eventually lying upside down over my lap, this familiar paddle revives your memory and attention, and you determination, to study and prepare, focus, listen, and recall what we are supposed to be doing here.

I didn’t move. Get all those clothes down and off now! Don’t try my patience, young man! He admonished with a tone of voice that could freeze water.

You are already in plenty of trouble, but if you exasperate my patience, you are going to find yourself wishing you could evaporate! The trouble and punishment will be so much worse!

I was terrified to obey, but even more not to obey. I stood frozen in place, the sides of my jaws seizing and loosening in waves.

That’s it, then. We’ll take this matter a lot further, to make the point on your young bottom, Clayton.

That sparked my action. My fear of disobeying overrode my fear of stripping bare before him and getting spanked. My trembling, shaking hands fumbled with my zipper.

That only worsened my predicament with him standing right in front of me, looking down on me while impatiently tapping the paddle. I managed to get everything off except my boxer briefs.

Those too! You know that! You know I always spank on the bare buttocks, no exceptions! So get to it! Mr. Martinet demanded tersely.

My brain was screaming at me to protest, but there was something in his voice and eyes that genuinely scared me. Too afraid to disobey, I hooked my fingers under the waistband of my briefs, grudgingly pulling them all the way down to my ankles before hurriedly putting my hands in front of my exposed, aroused manhood.

That’s more like it! Mr. Martinet, responded. Now, just to be clear, young man, I’m not doing any of this to be cruel. It is because your buttocks need to be bared to make sure this discipline truly affects you, and gets through to you, Clayton.

Also I can tell the severity, to be sure it’s having the required effect on you. You won’t agree now, but probably later, in the future, you’ll realize I am really doing you a favour!

Yeah, right! Doing me a fucking favour! Spare me the bullshit! My behind was the one that was going to be singed and blistered, and would hurt and be sore for days afterward!

I felt my pulse quickening as Mr. Martinet changed the expected protocol. Motioning for me to bend over the desk, which I did reluctantly, I gripped onto the far edge of it.

Knowing it wouldn’t be long now, I began to perspire and feel queasy. I always dreaded, wondering, how badly the spanking would hurt this time, and I would react to it.

With stubborn determination, I tightened my grip on the edge of the desk, determined I was not going to make a fool of myself! I was not going to give him the satisfaction of breaking. No way!

I was determined to take my punishment like a man. The problem was just as I was leaning, bending my trim body, nude and bare over the desk, waiting to be punished, I felt like anything except a man.

I was the picture of, and felt like, the naughty boy about to get his bare rearend whacked hard for not paying attention to his teacher. In reality, that was what I was, and what I felt like. I hated it!

Get your legs apart, young man! Mr. Martinet ordered as he slipped the paddle between my thighs, forcing them farther apart. Now, head and shoulders down, arch your back more and stick your bottom out further!

Why did I have to enable and assist my degrading punishment?! My humiliation was now complete! Yet, I was determined not to get myself in more trouble, and punished more. So, obediently,I did my best to comply and cooperate, and assumed the ordered position.

That’s it, youngster. Just the proper position for a willfully disobedient young man! Mr. Martinet commented.

With a somber voice, he cautioned, Get ready, Clayton. You are going to get a very long, hard spanking, and you will definitely know you have been disciplined, boy.

Boy?! I’m 33 years old! A man, not a boy! He still doesn’t get... Aaaaaa-ow-ow-ow!

I cried out as the first, hand swat landed hard. To my humbling, great embarrassment, I heard boyish, whimpering moans escape my lips, when suddenly a second swat landed and I was in instant, blazing, red-hot pain and anguish as my bare bum ignited, provoking a deep, imploding gasp.

This was not my virginal experience with Mr. Martinet’s discipline, and I was far from a novice to his spankings. Obviously, I expected it to hurt, plenty.

Nothing, from all the times he’d spanked me in the past, had prepared me for the intense burn that spread out from the hard, wide swath of smouldering fire where the paddle struck my tender sit-spots. A deep-searing, tormenting pain coursed through my entire bottom.

I was shocked beyond anything I could describe or intelligibly react to. The overwhelming and repeated pain was unthinkably harsh, far worse than I’d ever imagined!

Am I getting your attention now, Clayton? he asked insistently.

I flinched in terror as the paddle returned time and again, to every spankable spot on my bottom and backs of my thighs, especially the sensitive inner flesh. Each time, the red, raw skin was scorched and inflamed worse.

In time, though, I began to anticipate what each, next smiting smack of the paddle would be like. My stomach clenched up like a fist each time he swiftly removed the paddle from my bottom only to apply it again with speed and intensity.

The paddle bit viciously into my skin with the force and rapidity of a jack-hammer. I howled in loud misery as the fiery, burning sting registered. I tightened my grip on the edge of the desk so hard my knuckles were turning white.

How long was this going to go on? How could I possibly hang on and continue to take it? It has to be enough! It’s too much! I screeched through anguished sobs.

Whether I could handle my punishment was of little concern to Mr. Martinet. You do not tell me what is enough, young man. I will determine what is sufficient, from what you have made necessary, Clayton! he berated me.

He did not lessen the force or speed with which he lashed my low bottom with the paddle, mercilessly spreading the fire scorching all over. I continued to howl in ascending pitched shrieks and cries, as each swat struck with venomous force.

I could scarcely see for all the unending stream of tears flooding my eyes and streaking down my cheeks. So much for taking my punishment like a man!

As the smacking swats continued to make impact with my incinerated bottom, raising the burning, throbbing pain to new, heretofore unimaginable levels, I broke down completely, sobbing and squalling like a small child.

As time passed, the steady stream of tears, along with mucous from my nose and mouth, accumulated to a puddle on desk right under my face. I was defeated, and surrendering to his authority and discipline.

All at once, he stopped. I felt like I was going to pass out, I was so flushed with emotional exhaustion and physical torment, but so relieved it was over.

Stand up, Clayton! he ordered. I squalled heavy sobs as I struggled to rise to my unsteady feet.

Come over here, right this minute! he ordered. Shakily and wobbly, I turned and walked to him, where he had sat back down on the straight back, armless chair.

He took hold of my arm, helming me around and upside down over his lap. Oh, no, nooooo, please! Not this-aaaa-tooooo! I wailed.

He manhandled me into position, placing me where he intended me to fit across his lap. I was even more humiliated and terrified at how readily adaptable and accommodating his lap was for me to be deposited, to consummate a spanking, notwithstanding my age and size.

For the exacerbating trouble I’d caused, I was now to be rewarded with a second, spanking, this one upside down across his lap. It was even more agonizingly painful and mortifying that Mr. Martinet had to hold me down tightly in place over his lap, while he resumed delivering harsh, merciless spanks of the paddle to my tortured rump and thighs.

I cried more and aloud at this abasing realization that demeaned and reduced me more to a humbled, chastened boy. It was well beyond any conceivable reality that I would survive this relentless licking with any semblance of dignity.

Having me now further degraded, draped over his lap like a child taken upside down for a spanking, he seemed to concentrate the paddle’s smacks on the ultra-sensitive crease between buttocks and the tops of thighs. Not even a precious second or two were allowed before each, rapid-fire, torturing, blistering smack, in the series of spanks delivered, struck.

I let out blood-curdling screams, wildly kicking and flailing my legs amidst loud, bawling torrents of sobs. The pain was indescribable pain, instantaneously registering from my bottom to my brain.

Because of the incapacitating cast on my left hand, my right was exclusively occupied in trying to maintain my balance as each lick of the paddle bit into my rump and thighs. Instinctively, I clenched my blazing buttocks and squeezed my seared thighs together.

Keep your legs apart and don’t clench your buttocks, Clayton! my tutor ordered pitilessly.

Biting my lip, I gathered every bit of resolve and will-power left to unclench my cheeks and separate my legs, as I enabled the continuing torment of fire on my bottom and thighs. He spanked me until I was beyond broken, acquiescent, and defeated.

I lay there, totally subjugated, resigned to and accepting that I could, and would, be punished unconditionally for every infraction of the instructional regime under which I was subject for the next 5 months. While the blazing smacks reined down on my rearend, my ire was quickly quashed by the terrified fright of knowing I was powerless to do anything about it.

At first, I did not realize the second licking was over. Hanging, squalling, sobbing and bawling, as the agony and anguish gradually diminished, I realized the torch searing my bum and upper legs has ceased. Slowly, through struggling, wailing, sobs, still heaving up and down on his lap, I began to regain some degree of self-control.

Alright, Clayton. Stand up, now, he ordered. Stiffly and painfully, trembling, I grappled to find my way off his lap and return to stand on my feet, bare before him. He did nothing to help me struggle to my feet.

Hopefully, you’ll find it easier to concentrate on the rest of today’s lesson, and from now on, not to mention studying and preparing beforehand at home, given you now know what will happen if you fail to do so.

My spanking tutor spoke in a flat, but unmistakeably threatening tone of voice, and with a sadistic glint in his eyes I could not see.

Uh-uh-ye-es-huh-uh-sirrr-uh-it-uh-uh-willll-huh-uh-sirrrr-uh-uh-I-huh-uh-promisssse! I replied bitterly as I tried unsuccessfully to wipe away my tears with the back of my hand.

I loathed myself for acting and responding so submissively toward him; but what else could I do? He had broken me completely. His authority over me was now unquestionable.

Beyond doubt, I would be receiving whatever punishment he felt I had coming, deserved, whenever he decided it was needed. Moreover, every time it would be followed by an equally severe disciplinary session from Mike, after Mr. Martinet had called and reported my behaviour or attitude to him, along with the punishment I’d just received.

I eyed Mr. Martinet resentfully as I gingerly sat back down at my desk. My mind and heart ached to shout at him what a nasty, mean, bullying prick he was, but I didn’t dare to.

I knew I already had a severely sorrowful and painful session awaiting me from Mike when I got back home. So, I kept my feelings of victimized injustice unspoken.

Doing so galled me, however, especially when I thought I perceived a smiling satisfaction at the reluctant, but forcibly painful submission I was thrust into ending up with.

When the morning session was over that Thursday morning, in late September, I packed up my materials, and woodenly raised myself up off the chair on which I had been sitting with discomfort. Before I picked up everything to leave, Mr. Martinet walked up to me.

Before you go, Clayton, you remember we have a certain telephone call to make to your Father, to inform him about today. Leave your things here and come with me.

My able, right hand shook slightly as I followed him to his office-study. He walked behind his desk, sat down, and pulled the telephone before him.

What is your Father’s phone number, Clayton? he asked.

634-7467, but...

No buts about it, except your butt, young man, Mr. Martinet cut me off.

Once again, I hastily suppressed the impulse to try to explain that Mike is not really my Father, that I’m 33 years old and can act and decide on my own.

He put the speaker phone on and we listened to the call ringing. Mike’s auto shop, we heard Mike’s voice answer.

This is Mr. Martinet, Clayton’s tutor for the bar exam.

Hello, sir. This is Mike. Is everything okay? Is something wrong? he asked.

Well, actually, that’s why we’re calling. Clayton is standing right here, listening.

Clay? Mike asked. What’s wrong? What’s happened?

I felt a lachrymose choking in my throat.

Clayton was not fully prepared for this morning’s session, and then was daydreaming and unable to answer what we were covering, what had just been said, when asked. He lied, trying to hide it.

As you know from the last time we did this, I do not tolerate indolence and lack of diligence, nor dishonesty and deceit. Clayton has exhibited everyone one of those traits this morning, and I dealt with it in a very severe manner, designed to punish him for his behaviour, and to serve as an incentive to refrain from it in the future, Mr. Martinet had taken control of the conversation.

I do believe he is a bright young man, and capable of mastering this part of the examination he failed the first time. But he has got to change his attitude and actions.

I do not tolerate laziness, negligence, much less insubordination, defiance, and intransigence. If that weren’t enough, lying and deceit are akin to capital offenses.

Clayton’s behaviour will undermine and defeat everything we can do to prepare him. It needs to be extinguished as harshly and conclusively as possible.

I am prepared to do whatever it takes to equip him to pass this second, part of the exam. I am also prepared to do whatever is required to shape him up, make him grow up and act in a responsible, reliable manner; and I’m a firm believer that the most effective way to accomplish that is through hard, sharp spankings that will be remembered for a long while.

What that means, to spell it out, is his behind is going to be on the line every day until he is finally trustworthy to do what he knows he should. No excuses or exceptions.

I was cutoff at the knees by Mr. Martinet’s indictment of me. I also knew Mike would be livid.

That’s fine, exactly right, Mike answered. You do whatever, and as much as, you determine is necessary, sir, Mike added.

You can be sure that whatever you decide has to be done with Clay, we will back you up with more from home. He knows that, and you can count on it.

Thank you for that. If more Fathers were like you, there’d be a lot less trouble with the youth of today. Between us, though, we will get your boy, Clayton, sorted out and ready to pass the test, and also straightened out to meet his responsibilities and be an honest young man at all costs.

All right, then, Mr. Martinet. I think we share common thinking and common goals.

Clay, if you’re listening, son, you know what this means. When you leave there, come directly to the shop. Don’t go home first, but come straight here. Understand?

Ye-es, Mike, I murmured my answer.

Thank you, Mr. Martinet. Do not ever hesitate to call.

Thank you, and I won’t. Goodbye, Mr. Martinet replied.

I felt kind of sick standing there, as well as like more than 20 years had receded from me. I started to turn, to walk out of Mr. Martinet’s office.

You’re not dismissed yet, Clayton. You do not just assume the impertinence to just walk away from your tutor, young man!

I gulped, my face reddening instantly. Ah, sir, I’m sorry. It was a mistake. I didn’t mean to insult you. Please, sir, I’m truly sorry. It won’t, um, happen again, I replied.

I accept your apology this time, Clayton, but it better never happen again.

No, sir, um, I mean yes, sir. It will not ever happen again.

All right, then, Clayton, you are free to go pick up your materials and leave. You heard your Father: go directly to his shop. I suspect being in your shoes this afternoon is going to be no picnic, young man. Still, you desperately need to learn, and change.

Feeling panicked and browbeaten, I didn’t know what to say. I just nodded, uttering Ye-es, sir.

Mr. Martinet followed me to the instruction room, where I grabbed up my materials to leave. Before I got to the door to exit, he gave me some departing instructions.

From now on, Clayton, we will begin every session, morning and evening, with a practice that will guarantee your riveted attention, as well as provide an incentive to be fully prepared beforehand.

I stood staring warily, waiting for the rest.

It will also ensure against any tendency to fall into any slackening off attitude or behaviour on your part, Clayton.

What was this going to be? I wondered dreadingly.

When you arrive here each time, you will go directly to my office-study. There you will strip off all your clothes, shoes, and socks, and leave them there.

You will proceed to the instruction room where a straight back, armless chair will be placed at the front of the room. I will be waiting in it for you.

You will present yourself, nude and bare, submitting yourself upended across my lap, for the initial discipline you will receive at the outset of each session. Afterward, you will be permitted to return to the office to retrieve your clothes, although you will only wear your briefs as you sit down to begin our work together.

When the session is over, you may put the rest of your clothes back on, unless some behaviour on your part necessitates further discipline before you leave. Do you understand the protocol?

Of course I did. It was starkly and dreadfully plain. Ye-es, sir, I answered in a contrite and submissive tone.

Good. I expect  – in fact, I know  – you will progress and improve as we work together over the next five months. You just be sure you do exactly as you’ve just been told, unless you think I need to call your Father now and tell him what we’ve decided to institute as a commencing practice.

No, no, no, sir. That’s not necessary. I know what you said, what you told me to do, and I’ll do it. I promise. You’ll see, sir.

I was groveling to placate him and avoid further exacerbation of my already dire circumstances with Mike. Although I despised myself for it, I knew I had to do it, would do so, to stay out of more, worse hot water with my tutor, and with Mike.

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