Pleasant Beatings

I'm 46 years old and since I was a child, I've felt great pleasure in beatings. Making a bit of history about the origin of my inclinations, I must say that I was never a spoiled child. When I committed a fault that deserved correction, my mother was there with a slipper or a belt, ready to whip me, as God intended: "Spare the rod and spoil the child."

But I think my sadomasochism was accentuated in my fencing classes. I had an old-fashioned teacher who didn't understand anything about Piaget's psychology, and the only method he knew was to whip a wicker rod. Every fault was sanctioned with five blows to the buttocks, which were almost always cumulative and given at the end of the class. Nobody left without receiving at least 15 lashes. Of course, the consequences of the punishment were not being able to sit comfortably for a few days, since our buttocks were left burning and red like a tomato.

From those classes on, my curiosity about corporal punishments increased. I enjoyed it when my classmates told me in detail how their parents whipped them, and I always wanted to be kept informed about the latest events. I also found a source of pleasure in all those stories that referred to severe beatings, and that's how I became a fan of "The Adventures of Tom Sawyer," both the book and the animated cartoon series on TV. I think it's not necessary to clarify that my favorite scenes were and still are when the teacher whips Tom.

It wasn't easy for me to deepen and concretize my fantasy, because I live in a province in the interior full of prejudices. For a long time, I had to content myself with reading testimonials in magazines and longing for the day I could travel to Buenos Aires to hire the so-called "Disciplinary Services" that appeared in the newspapers. Even my mother's punishments, despite my deliberate misdeeds, disappeared when I entered adolescence.

One day, tired of nobody sanctioning my faults, I proposed to one of our employees that she put me in my place. She gladly accepted, saying she was tired of me not studying and wasting my parents' money. I remember she made me get on all fours on the bed, offering her my naked buttocks, and she unloaded about 20 belt lashes on me.

This first experience was deeply gratifying for both of us, and over time, we perfected it, especially in the use of instruments for such purposes. A sandal sole used to leave my buttocks "red hot," and that excited me greatly, especially when I observed her masterful work in the mirror. My defenseless buttocks also knew the rigor of the whip, wooden brushes, and a plastic fly swatter, which, to be honest, was very effective due to the intense pain and burning it caused. Ten dry blows were enough to prevent me from sitting for a couple of hours.

But unfortunately, as the saying goes, "all good things come to an end," and my mother didn't take long to fire her. But our encounters continued, an...