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Acton and Haber
“Tomorrow morning, when you get up, I’m gonna spank you. Not that you did anything -- you’ve been very good -- it’s just that you’re getting a little too far off the beaten path, and you oughta have one to affirm that you are, after all, a boy who gets them.”
“Yes sir.” In bed I couldn’t keep my mind off it except when I was actually asleep.
About a year ago, I had given Acton an agreement card.
I, the undersigned, agree to have a relationship with __________ in which I am his discipline boy. It is understood that the relationship will be governed by the discipline contract and that if he spanks me I will go over it nicely, obediently, naturally, readily, passively, unassertively, submissively, cooperatively, sincerely, promptly, and in every way like a very good boy. I also agree to accept my rewards and punishments in the right spirit, and to be corrected as needed. I will not give back talk or be disrespectful in any way. For as long as the relationship shall last. __________________.
A couple of months after I signed the agreement, he took alcohol away -- I’m not allowed to drink. Once a month or so, he has a couple of our friends over, and they have a few to unwind -- you know -- and when this happens he sends me to bed early, and I lay in there listening to the party outside.
(“Keep a low profile, Haber. You know Jeremy and Jim would both like to see me give you one.”
“Yes sir.”)
It became morning, and time to get up. Acton appeared in the doorway with the hairbrush paddle. “Okay, Haber, your room or mine?”
“Mine, I guess.”
He came in and sat down on my bed. I had put my pajamas on, knowing this was coming. He patted his thigh, and I went over his knees.
Whipping his right leg out from under, he wrapped it around both my legs. "Put your right hand behind your back, please.” I did so. He gripped my right wrist in his left hand and pushed it up firmly to the pain point and pulled down my pajama bottoms. He slapped my buns with the paddle. “This is gonna hurt you way more than it does me,” he said. The first smack was perfect, and put me into receptive mode. This was followed by seven hearty ones just like the first, each more painful than the last, because it built up. SMACK1 SMACK1 SMACK1
I was gritting my teeth and thinking, “Aaahhhrrrrrrraaahhh!!...”
“And make sure you keep being a good boy!” SMAAACK!! Then he let me up.
“Yes, sir.” He stood up and walked out, and I began tidying up my room, and rubbing my sore behind.
After I finished neatening the room I had breakfast and went to my classes. When I came back, I lay down on the bed for a brief rest before starting homework. Then my conscience ambushed me and started beating me up. I turned over on the bed and gripped my pillow. “I’m going to be a GOOD BOY!” I said several times, meaning it. “I want to be a GOOD BOY!” I sais fervently . Then I turned onto my side and began wracking my brain for any ways I had fallen short of a good boy’s behavior in the last few weeks. When I came to the weak places I focused on them intently and writhed in the torture chamber my conscience keeps for me. I wanted to call someone sir and obey them. OBEY THEM! And be thoroughly spanked if I didn’t obey well enough.
Then I started my homework, admonishing myself to not scamp anything.
That night I drempt of being in a solitary cell. The lights came on and the prison guard, who was about fifteen and hadn’t started to shave yet, came in and sat down at a desk in front of the cell. He turned on the console in front of him. There was a quiet whirrrrrrrrrrrrrrr, and the light chains attached to my wrist manacles began to pull me up out of bed.
“I think we’ll have you over the table, Haber,” he said. The chains raised my arms over my head, and began impelling me firmly toward the table in the middle of the cell. Meanwhile, other small chains on my ankle-manacles pulled my feet into position right in the middle.
When I was in the right place, the wrist-chains shifted to a different pulley, and my arms pulled my upper body forward until I was perfectly bent over the table and securely held, while the ankle-chains kept my feet on the floor.
The teenager yawned, and came through the door holding a light fraternity paddle. “Let’s see how good a boy you can be, Haber,” he said. He came around behind me and pulled my pajama-bottoms down. “Going to be a good one today?”
“Yes, sir.” SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! My buns were sore and tingling.
“Say it like you mean it, please!”
“YES SIR!”
“That’s more like it. Now, how’ve you been behaving? Have any naughty thoughts since yesterday?”
“No, sir.”
“Well, let’s just see.” He came around in front and attached two electrodes to my temples with a velcro band. Then he adjusted the lie-detector gauge. “Did you have any naughty thoughts since yesterday, Haber?”
“A few, but I put them right out of my mind.”
“Quickly enough?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Not according to this dial.” He came around in back again, picking up the paddle from the table. “You have to learn to be more truthful, Haber.” He spanked me again, thoroughly, while I profoundly regretted not being truthful and yearned to be a better and more honest boy. “There.” He sounded satisfied. “I think that will do it for now. And tomorrow morning I want you to come over here all by yourself and get over it nice and passively. Will you do that?”
My bottom really hurt. “Yes, sir.”
“That’s good.” He gave it a playful, frendly slap. “We can unlock your restraints now.”
I went back to bed. When I awoke to reality, a new normal day began. “I really have to be truthful,” I thought occasionally during the morning.
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