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The Tenant
Part 22

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: 08 Jan 2018


Come in here now, and we’ll sit and talk for a while, Mr. Strauss summoned his young tenant later that evening, after they had finished eating supper together. Don’t hesitate now, Mark. I want you to do this for me, right now, and also for yourself.

Mark quietly followed his landlord, complying with his directions, walking back into the familiar parlour, where Mr. Strauss indicated the young man should sit down. Sitting still, the young man was unusually quiet and somber,

You mentioned issues, Mark, which can mean almost anything. What I’m wondering is what has been troubling you for so long, and what’s afflicting you, plaguing you now, young man?

When Mark’s sad eyes just looked down, his landlord pressed him. C’mon, open up and be honest, young man. Lets’ start with last weekend. Where were you all weekend? You didn’t come home, didn’t call? Why? What happened?

To Mark, it felt like his landlord was hammering away at the main support beam of his psyche and person. He struggled at letting go, letting loose, and answering Mr. Strauss.

Ah, ah, I, ah, don’t know, ah, about this. It’s, um, really, ah, hard, and, ah, painful, and, ah,... I’m also ashamed,... ah, sir.

The young teacher glanced up, his face deep red, feeling jittery and sweating, fleetingly catching his landlord’s eye before lowering his head again. His eyes were glistening wet.

Whatever it is that’s eating you alive, young man, you need, should want, some help to deal with it, Mr. Strauss commented.

Speaking very softly, the very skinny, almost frail-looking young man began speaking, struggling to form explanatory sentences. He started with the known, and obvious, to Mr. Strauss, which was the unexpected breakup with the girl he thought would be his fiancé.

Mark recounted his emotional upheaval and turmoil, and his efforts to deal with it, to keep a solid, balanced perspective on his vocation, his future, his life. He started his working out regimen, added running to it, and found some beneficial effects on his both his body and his frame of mind.

He had seen assistant coach, Steve White, around, and then met him at Thanksgiving dinner the past fall. He added at least weekly tennis play with Corey Crawford, the young barber.

When Steve White recommended massage therapy to relax and refresh him, the young teacher thought the idea was promising, and began late-afternoon sessions of rolfing and massage. Although invariably in the nude, the therapy had an unmistakeably positive effect on him.

The big, young assistant coach pushed Mark hard, beyond his ordinary levels, and his known, normal limits. It was hard at first, but yielded even more loosening and freeing of his body’s tensions and his mental stresses.

At times, it seemed like he reached barriers beyond which he was obdurate to go. That was when Steve had introduced spanking the young teacher to compel his acquiescence and cooperation.

Mark reminded Mr. Strauss of the false story he concocted to try to explain to the landlord the spank marks he had seen on the young tenant’s behind. Mr. Strauss nodded, recalling the incident, and the serious licking Mark had gotten for it.

The young teacher paused momentarily, his voice dropping even softer, before he began to recount the internal vibrating stimulator the assistant coach began to use inside his young subject, Mark Wickham. He almost whispered the next incidents.

Constantly subject to stimulation, he had orgasm after orgasm. The assistant coach also continued the spankings to get Mark’s surrender and compliance.

During those harsh, disciplinary times the coach, feeling the young teacher’s hard-on, grasped the younger man’s erect member in his hand. He continued the spanking, while manipulating the growing, mounting, erect organ, the combination of which produced profound climaxes for Mark as he lay sprawled over the coach’s knees.

Mark came to accept and respond to all of that, finding an expanding freedom from anxiety, tension, and stress at the end of every session. He paused again.

The young tenant mentioned that, about 2 weeks earlier, Steve had introduced yet another, unknown phenomenon to his young subject. The assistant coach had added as still another, stirring activity, oral stimulation of the young teacher’s engorged, stiff, young manhood.

Mark described his shock and mixed emotions at those incidents, admitting also the explosive release and almost purging relief from jitteriness, tensions, and tightly wound up body and emotions. At first, he tried to prevent or oppose those acts, but was spanked by Steve for his resistance, until he succumbed and allowed them.

It wasn’t anything I’d looked for, or expected. I really didn’t know what it was like, Mark added. At the same time, it was incredible! I have to be honest with you, Mr. Strauss, I succumbed to the fantastic, stimulating mind-blowing experience, just as much as to the coercive pain of his spankings!

It was unlike everything I’d ever experienced in my whole life. I didn’t know what to think, really. I mean, I felt an amazing release of physical, psychological, emotional logjams. It was overwhelming. Yet, at the same time, I felt ashamed, so dirty, so bad.

Glancing repeatedly, though furtively, at Mr. Strauss, he observed the older man’s reactions, as he pushed ahead. He acknowledged resigning himself to accepting, and also welcoming, this action by the young assistant coach.

I mean, I’m ashamed about my going ahead and letting it happen, repeatedly; but at the same time, I have to admit it was also great, felt wonderful, amazing!

Anyway, we continued on with the sessions, including that action too. During the last week of classes, something’s happened, and I felt like Steve was dissatisfied with me, my progress or lack of it, rejecting me as an unsuccessful subject.

I concluded I was a disappointment to him, and decided to quit, to avoid the feelings of failure, and I went to tell him, and apologize.

Mark recounted his leaving Steve’s office, and the assistant coach coming after him, encouraging him, telling him he would not give up on him. Taking heart at the big, young, assistant coach’s words and actions, Mark returned to the gym and for another rolfing-massage session.

He explained to Mr. Strauss that everything that had gradually become a part of every overall session took place, and happened to him, occurred again that evening. He paused, weeping silently, breathing in deeply. He, ah, added something more, something else that Friday night.

Martin Strauss sat waiting for the young tenant to regroup and gain control of himself. What was it, Mark? You said he added something else to the session. What was it?

Striving to speak with self-command of his emotions, Mark described how the strong assistant coach himself had become aroused, and inserted his erect penis into the young teacher’s anus, until he had full domination and control of the young subject.

The young tenant could not keep his emotions in check. He described the entire experience, from the fearful, painful beginning, through the coach’s burying his large manhood in the smaller, young man, filling him completely.

He admitted he was scared and shocked at what was happening; but he was also candid to admit that eventually it stopped hurting, and became stimulating, producing excitement and pleasure unlike anything he had ever experienced before. That conduct ended with Mark being swept with internal, erotic waves producing wild ejaculation, and Steve White shooting a flood of semen into the young teacher’s inner canal.

Mark paused again.We stayed like that until we both faded, and I was ready to get up and leave, to come back here. He told me what we’d just done was what I needed. He said I couldn’t leave, go home, that he was taking me with him for the weekend. He said it would be unforgettable, a weekend to remember. And it was.

He kept my arms bound behind my back the whole time, except for a few minutes out in the back yard; but I tried to find a way to escape and he caught me. He spanked and wanked, and sucked and fucked, me the whole weekend long, Mark confessed.

I tried to steel myself against it, and especially the spankings were horrible, excruciatingly painful and shaming; but the sucking my penis, and his drilling me with his big rod, also felt great, even though I was being kept captive and used all weekend.

We didn’t sleep that much. It was a vehement, exhausting weekend. He told me I was his, belonged to him, needed him; and he was going to take care, and take charge, of me. I didn’t really like his domineering possession of me like I was a little kid, or had no mind and will of my own.

Still, whenever he did all the things he’d done before, along with fucking me so much, I was beside myself. It wasn’t right. I felt so bad, so wrong. Yet, it also felt unbelievably great! I was readily captured by those actions, and willingly stopped any fighting against them.

Mark was weeping openly, without inhibitions, his face and eyes red and wet.

I knew he was right in telling me everything he did felt so great I wanted it, needed it. It had unbelievable effects on my body and mind. I could tell, could feel it every time.

I also knew I was wrong to go along, allow myself to be taken, there. I felt like shit, ah, I mean, ah, crap. No standards, no self-respect. Just a whore soaking up more hot, erotic, sexual pleasure.

We did the same things early Monday morning before returning to classes. He finally released my hands and arms when he let me go to my classes’ final exams that morning.

He told me I was going back home with him, and got me to agree I belonged to him. He told me everything we’d experienced all weekend was what I needed, wanted, and would have with him. I told him I would.

But as the day went on, I knew I wanted freedom, to be free, more than all the hot, sexual stimulations and pleasure he could produce. He kept my keys from me, but I had a spare in my desk and at lunchtime, I moved my car away.

At the end of the day, I hurried back here, and hid myself away, free, but feeling dirty, used, and like a whore, ah, I mean a prostitute. That’s why I was hold up by myself for so long, Mark explained to Mr. Strauss.

Now, as much as I thought I was improving mentally, emotionally from what Steve was doing to me, now I feel worthless, like a piece of garbage, trash. Spineless, weak, easily influenced and overpowered, and lacking real, resolute, firm standards. What’s wrong with me? I keep wondering, asking myself. I have no idea of what to do.

The landlord sat quietly observing his mentally and emotionally shattered, young tenant shaking, sobbing. After a long while of comforting the broken young man with an around his very thin, bony shoulders, he pushed the young teacher back a foot or so from him.

Alright, Mark. I figured something bad had happened to you, though it’s worse than I imagined, he began to respond. It says a lot that you can even bring yourself to think about it, and talk about it, at all, the landlord stated.

So, let me ask you this question, despite everything that happened, and every feeling you’ve felt, favourable and unfavourable, is the relationship – your relationship – with coach Steve White something you truly want?

Is it what you really seek, need, will it make you whole and complete in your young life? Cause if it is, then why torture yourself grappling with denial?

Mark was startled, not expecting to meet a series of non-criticizing questions like that. He sat pondering for a moment or two the genuineness of the question, and of his answer to it.

Ah, ah, I don’t, ah, think so, no, sir. But, I mean, ah, maybe I do, since I let myself be taken advantage of, and be subjected to, over and over again, the pleasureable stimulations I enjoyed.

Mr. Strauss paused, staring silently and intently at his tenant’s face. As he considered the response, as he studied the youthful face and eyes, he concluded young Mr. Mark Wickham, despite his education, his 22 years of age, and his recent employment experience, was still more than a little naive.

Well, I think maybe you can answer those questions better than you believe you’re capable of, Mark. Look here, just because your body and mind reacted to the erotic stimulations that exist, when they are applied, doesn’t mean you’ve betrayed anything or anybody, including yourself.

If that’s what you feel you want your life to experience, to know, to be, that’s a strong indication that it’s truly a part of who you are. On the other hand, even conceding that you loved those stimulations when they occurred; if that’s not where you want to be, to find your sexual pleasure, that’s a signal that you were indeed taken advantage of, exploited, but not categorized as.

You know, just because the plumbing works says nothing about who turns it on. Understand? The landlord sat staring hopefully, encouragingly, into the sad, upset eyes of his young tenant.

I, ah, think I understand what you’re saying, sir, Mark responded. I mean, yes, I loved the liberating sexual high of each stimulating act; it was great! I’m sorry, sir.

But, no, I don’t want to live like that, live with Steve White or anyone like him, just to have those pleasurable results. I admit what he did was truly exciting, turned me on; but he’s not where I want to go for that, or anything else.

I wanted a wife, it’s what I thought I was going to have with Jen, before she dumped me. I still would like to have a wife, kids, a family, and get all the sexual pleasure I can, but in that relationship, Mark answered.

All right then, you’ve got to rehabilitate yourself away from the Steve White draw and attraction, and get yourself ready, and reserved, for the right girl. Refuse anything else. When you find her, you’ll get your fulfillment in that relationship.

Mark was nodding in agreement. But when will that be? How long until then? he asked. Mr. Strauss told him nobody could answer that, but he needed to take hold of his life and direct it along the course that would lead to, not away from, such a relationship.

You apply the negative to what you want to avoid, and the positive to what you are seeking. It’s like the proverbial story of the good dog and bad dog that fight each other, the older landlord explained.

The one that prevails is the one that gets fed, encouraged, rewarded. In the same vein, the one that is defeated is the one that get starved, denied, and punished.

Mark’s head felt like it was spinning from everything he’d discussed that evening, and everything Mr. Strauss was now saying. What are you, um, saying, sir? he asked.

For example, one way is, from now on, you are to go with me to church, at St. Chrysostom’s, and join the young college-age group. That’s a positive step toward what you say you want.

Another way is to go talk with your Father, explain to him everything you told me, and seek, and value, his advice for you. After all, nobody cares, has invested, as much for you as he and your Mother.

I’m sure that will be painful for you to do, Mark, but that’s part of applying the negative to your past conduct you say you want to avoid from now on. Whatever he says, recommends, that we will do.

Finally, another way is to punish you for your easy willingness to be led along, taken advantage of, exploited, just because you found so much inexperienced pleasure and delight from it.

Every memory of the past times when you caved in, against your good judgment, just to bask in the momentary, erotic pleasure will trigger, a recollection of the painful, punishing discipline associated with that behaviour.

Standing up at once, Mr. Strauss pulled out the same chair in the parlour in which he had sat for each time he had taken his errant, young tenant across his lap. Taking Mark Wickham by the left arm, he pulled the young teacher up out of his chair, tugging the young man along with him, and toward him.

Very reluctantly, with gradual realization of what was happening, and almost stubbornly resistant, Mark took slow, small steps toward Mr. Strauss, while trying to remain beyond the reach of his somber-sounding landlord.

He stopped, but not far enough that the older man could not rise slightly from the chair, lean forward, and quickly grab the waist of his tenant’s baggy, khaki shorts that were too loose on his gaunt, bony frame. All at once, Mark felt himself pulled forward, in between the older man’s legs.

Mr. Strauss released his hold on his thin tenant’s waistband. Unzipping the overly loose, baggy shorts, they easily and swiftly slithered down over the thin, young man’s small butt, past his thighs, his knees, to puddle at his feet.

With the weight of the cotton fabric, gravity peeled them quickly off the now, quite gaunt, young man. The immediate cool air against his totally bare legs ironically produced a warm, heating red face in the young man.

No, ah, please, ah, come on, sir. This is so humiliating, especially after everything else, ah, . . . that’s, ah, huh-appened,... Please, sir, quit. Aaaa, Mr., ah, Strauss, ah, staaaa-uhp-aaa-please!

Mr. Strauss knew from raising his own sons a spanking should be delivered without any ceremony other than the intensity of the physical pan and emotional shame delivered. Putting a boy ignominiously over your knee, bottom up, leaves him in no doubt about who’s in charge, makes clear the authority he must acknowledge, and come to terms with.

Given the young teacher’s own admission, without excuse, the circumstances requiring this licking were completely unique, and so bad they surpassed any violation of the house rules. Indisputably, as the young man himself had know, he deserved everything he was about to get.

You know, without the intervention of your parents, and others who are concerned about you, you are in a serious mess and trouble, don’t you, Mark? he asked the young teacher. Mark silently nodded his head, still hung down, in agreement.

Young men today need discipline, Mark, and they know they do, he said. Spanking is good for them. It sets boundaries for them, and if they break them they know there are consequences, and what they are.

That is most definitely you, young Mark Wickham. You know it too.

You need it even more, as a part of a way to come to grips and deal with the issues as you call them that grip your mind, your life, and seize you in a mire of despondent sadness, dejection, and despair.

The landlord decided he definitely needed to impress the seriousness of the young man’s offenses by the severity of the punishment he deserved for them. He considered spankings to be the appropriate price to be paid for a transgressions of rules, laws, and ethical boundaries.

He regarded them as the only fair treatment for a youth who had ignored the obligations of his commitment he knew he was obliged to honour, whether because he made, agreed to, them when he first decided to lease the apartment, or because of his own upbringing, training, and the guidelines of his own conscience.

Spankings should be primarily for punishment, although humiliation and shame may be a part of the punishment. One who is punished will fare better in learning and shaping up from the punishment if he also experiences a sense of shame and disgrace over his guilt for misbehaving.

Without a word, Mr. Strauss hauled the young tenant across his knees. With the by-now-too-familiar hair brush, Mark felt his landlord commence a regular, repetitive series of solid, hard smacks against the seat of the young man’s blue briefs.

Mark wriggled from the moment the first of the countless blows struck. Involuntarily, he clenched and unclenched his buttocks trying to ward off the blows. It was useless as any spanked boy knows.

The older man bounced and shifted his lean, young tenant around over his knees, rapidly spanking his small mounds, from the tops near his spine, down to where the small, narrow globes curve into the backs of his thighs.

Despite the fact he was no stranger to being draped across his landlord’s lap; and no matter how submissive and respectful he was, for an initial, few seconds, Mark always struggled.

How could he not? The pain was always intense. He endeavoured to keep still, be stoical, resign himself to what must, and will, happen.

Youthful gasps, moans, and rapidly breathless aaaghhhs indicated what they both knew about the young man for almost a year: Mark’s behind always felt intensely any spanking he got with that brush.

He gasped every time the heavy wood met with his flesh and he mouthed silent owws. His blue eyes were red and filled with streaming tears that he could not stop.

Being taken naked over a knee for a spanking is usually a humiliating experience for any young man who is not only being subjected to stern, mortifying discipline, but done with all of their bodily parts, even those normally private, in the full display.

One method of reducing somewhat the embarrassment is to strip the young man down to his underwear, and put him over the knee while they are still on. Once securely positioned and in place, the underpants can then be removed off the hips and rearend, down the elevated legs, off the feet.

Mr. Strauss knew, to be truly effective, a spanking must be painful, and that is best achieved when it is delivered on the bare, buttocks and thighs, nothing to interfere.

After several minutes of such smacks and whacks, during which Mark descended into more frantic-sounding reactions from each spank applied, suddenly Mr. Strauss stopped. The squirming young man sighed a deep sigh of relief, misled that this punishment was short-lived and over.

The young tenant was still not quite in the ideal position the landlord sought. The older man moved the draped young man back and forth, and around, until he was satisfied the young teacher’s behind was at the exact angle, and in the precise position, to present the desired target.

The thin, young teacher’s legs, stretched out behind him, did not touch the floor, but where spread apart, separated by the older man’s left knee on which the boy was perched. His chest, head, and arms were dumped slanted over his landlord’s left leg, facing back toward the floor behind the landlord’s lap on which the young man’s abdomen and bottom over the landlord’s lap.

When Mr. Strauss’ strong hand began pulling the young tenant’s briefs down off his hips, over his buttocks, Mark began a futile, but violent struggle in reaction. The briefs would not continue sliding off, however, having caught on the young teacher’s lean, steely stiffy.

After the number of thrashings over the knees of his landlord, the humbled, upended, young teacher did something that reassured Mr. Strauss his spanking the youthful tenant was the right discipline, and that the young man accepted it.

Without needing or waiting for an explicit directive, the young Mr. Wickham automatically lifted his slender body an inch or more up off his landlord’s lap, enabling the older man to maneuver the briefs off the stiff, hard boner on which they caught, totally baring the young tenant’s backside.

It was an unmistakeable signal of submission, acceding to the punishment that was inevitable, accepting it as deserved, maybe even needed. Young Mr. Wickham lay silent, motionless, draped and waiting across his landlord’s lap.

The twenty-two year-old, young man lay expressionless across the lap, waiting. Mr. Strauss applied a grip around his waist to hold him in place and let fly with the brush. The youthful, boyish, small, narrow, skinny mounds were surprisingly resilient, bouncing back with a menacing-looking mark from each smack against them.

The heavy wooden head of the brush was about the size of a palm; it covered almost the whole of one bum cheek. It struck home, sank into the flesh and emerged a second later leaving behind a dark pink mark, a perfect imprint of the brush’s head.

He whacked the repetitive smacks into his young tenant’s bum in quick succession, not letting up for a second. Pausing for a moment, he saw the whole of both buttocks was now deepening red. Later, Mr. Strauss would also turn his attention to the boy’s thighs.

If young Mark Wickham thought his humiliation was over, he was wrong; it had only just begun. At that moment, dealing with the outrageous conduct and dire condition that now encompassed his young tenant, Mr. Strauss set aside his compassion for the blatantly errant, young man.

The landlord battered the tenant-youth’s behind for another five minutes, although he wasn’t keeping time. By now the whole area from the top of his cheeks near the spine, across the centre of his mounds, into the crease at the bottom end and right down the back of his thighs was bright red and raw.

He instantly realized he was not being released, but still held firmly in position. The licking was not at an end, but merely had paused.

Despite numerous times being in this position, one thing was different. Mark cried out in desperate pleading, Please, Mr. Strauss! Please, sir! No, please, noooo-hooo-aaa-please!

Unlike any time before, Mark sounded terrified, scared to death; but there was nothing he could do. As his landlord dumped the young man’s body further forward, across his lap to the left, Mark’s face was at the floor, and his now-bare, gaunt body trembled with spasms.

The blistering brush resumed its smiting smacks all over the upended, young man’s rump and thighs. As he did so, Mr. Strauss interrogated his shame, sorrowful, young tenant.

What... the hell... did you think... you were doing,... young man?!... Exercise, . . . therapy,... working out,... running... are one... thing! . .

Being out all weekend,... assaulted,... violated,... dishonoured, . . taken advantage of,... used,... raped... is totally... different!... Not therapy,... not exercise, . . . just ravished,... raped!

With fiery spanks, the older man smacked the upended, bare bottom, emphasizing each word of the interrogation. The pain was plainly intense as Mark’s body writhed each time his landlord’s hand his the flesh of his bottom or thighs.

He heard Mark mumble something down into the floor. Speak... up,... son!... Say it!... me... How... in hell... did this... happened!

He turned his head slightly to try to look at Mr. Strauss, but the landlord still held him tightly across his lap. Collapsing back to face the floor, the young man’s muffled voice was laden and interrupted by heavy, heaving sobs.

He cried out in real pain as the repetitive smacks pounded into his skinny, bare bum and backs of his upper legs. The usually pale flesh on his buttocks was harsh red and raw, and so warm as nearly hot to the touch of the older man’s hand.

Not only are you were you weak and compromising, you were also a sneak, hiding what you were up to, what ou were doing. You’ve been sullied and defiled, victimized, tainted with abuse and exploitation; and in it all, you’ve lowered and denigrated, shamed and disgraced yourself, and your family.

I feel certain your parents would be stunned and grieved beyond words. Your behaviour has let them down, let yourself down; and as much as they would be pained over what has happened to you, they would also be outraged at your allowing it, Mark.

Yes, you have issues, young man! I understand! Yes, we are going to address and work on them together, and help you! That does not mean, does not justify, you getting off Scot free! You are going to get a spanking like you’ve never been spanked before, Mark Wickham!

Just as he longed in vain to expunge the past couple of months at the hands of the assistant coach he thought was befriending him; the young teacher wanted to escape this spanking that was being administered by the kindly, old landlord whom he knew cared about him, and was resolved to help his young tenant recover.

His landlord’s lambasting rebuke, and admonishment, during the spanking, cast the distraught, upset, young man into the depths of shame, sorrow, and fright, as he struggled to endure the licking on the lap over which he was sprawled.

He recognized at once he was being treated like a misbehaving child. Moreover, he knew with certainty this would not be the last spanking to punish, discipline, deter, and expiate the young man’s regrettable behaviour. As his bare bottom was being scorched, he dissolved into unceasing tears like any misbehaving, spanked child.

Tears indeed. Tears of shame were surging and streaming from upended Mark Wickham’s eyes. He didn’t struggle, but hung his face down as low as he could without hitting the floor, heaving and sobbing freely and heavily, while trying to avoid his landlord’s eyes, or him seeing his devastated, young tenant.

He was, of course, already grieving and hurting, physically, emotionally, psychologically. The devastating shame of what he had endured, allowed to occur, even acquiesced and participated in with Steve White, overwhelmed him with sorrowful guilt and remorse.

He was also nursing the severe pain of physical punishment, and humbling shame and disgrace, of the harsh, unsparing, long-lasting spanking from his landlord he was enduring. He had struggled, reluctantly, to confess to Mr. Strauss, in great detail, the events of the past few months with the assistant coach, leading up to the previous weekend of captivity and subjugation at the strong, bigger, coach’s hands.

He held on tightly to his landlord’s legs, almost like as a young child clutches a toy in desperation. He was defeated, his resolve shattered.

Mr. Strauss’ intention was not to break the boy down into decimated pieces. Mark did not need to collapse into wailing, begging for mercy, only to demonstrate he recognized the seriousness of his behaviour, and that it called for sufficient punishment to impress on the young man the wrongfulness and the consequences of his misconduct.

Nevertheless, as the whacking continued, and the rapid spanks struck like machine gun fire, the young man’s shrieks and cries were for forgiveness, for a chance to redeem himself, and for an end to the fiery spanking. By the time the landlord finished, he had probably laid more than two hundred whacks into the bawling boy.

Mr. Strauss decided it was time to stop. He held the boy’s face down to the floor still.
He released his young tenant’s body from its firm restraint across his lap. Still bawling and gasping for air, the young teacher rolled off the older man’s knees onto the floor where he lay sobbing.

Kneeling, with his arms back and his hands clasping his flaming bottom, he avoided looking his landlord straight in the eye. In time he got up, struggling to his feet, shaking like a leaf, and in agony. Fully naked, he stood dazed and disorientated, not daring to look directly at Mr. Strauss.

Mark was breathing heavily, with tears flowing down his cheeks; he was sobbing uncontrollably. He had tried, and failed, to take the spanking as part of the punishment and discipline to atone for his guilt and ignominious shame.

The older landlord ended the very emotional, intimate, and severe session with another lecture. The young tenant stood there, hands grasping his seared bottom, head hung low, not moving, but listening.

At last, Mr. Strauss concluded his scolding tirade. It would remain to be seen, over an extended long haul, whether this spanking would have the intended effect on his future behaviour.

Looking at the young man, Mr. Strauss caught a look on Mark’s face and in his eyes besides his humiliation, shame, and soiled guilt. Despite a scarlet face streaked with tears, a quavering chin, the look nonetheless had the appearance of gratitude.

In a damp, lachrymose, breaking voice, Mark stammered, Uh-uh-I’m-uh-suh-areee-uh-huh-uh-Mr.-uh-Strauss-uh-uh-I-uh-ammm! Uh-uh-thuh-ank-uh-you-uh-uh, sirrrrr-uh-uh.

The landlord wrapped his arm around the weeping, young teacher’s shoulder and guided him along with him to the kitchen. Come sit down, son, he directed his very dejected and disheartened, young tenant.

With hesitating cautiousness, the young man lowered his excruciatingly battered bottom down to the seat of the chair. You are going to eat a good, solid breakfast I will prepare for you, Mr. Strauss advised.

After that, we will sit and talk more, and discuss what needs to be done, what we are going to do; and also about when and how you will tell your Father about all this, Mark.

The shocked tenant’s face reflected his horrified revulsion at the idea of revealing to his Father any of the facts he’d shared with Mr. Strauss.

I know, I know. You hate the idea of disclosing to your Dad what all happened to you, but you have to, and you are going to, young man. He has raised you this far, and he is invested in you, cares about you, and will have advice and suggestions for you based on his long and close knowledge of you, and how to help you.

Once you return, you can count on me as well. As I told you last night, young man, we will follow and employ your Dad’s recommendations, and put together a plan to help you rebuild and restore yourself.

 
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