Life Changing Experience
Copyright 2016 Christopher D.B.
This story is written by Christopher D.B, please send comments and appreciation to firstname.lastname@example.org
For my freshman year of
college I attended a very small and expensive private college. Itís one of those
places steeped in Ivy League legends, complete with a whoís who list of alumni
members. My father, his father, and several generations of men in our family had
all attended. I considered myself lucky to have been there at all, if only for
My father had lost a great deal of money in a scam during my early teens, and plans for me to attend that school were nearly ruined. Somehow, and I suspect it was loans from family members, enough money was put together so I could take a year of liberal arts courses, and maintain our familyís legacy at that college to some extent. After that year I would transfer those credits to a State University that my family could afford, and that is where I would earn my degree.
The private college was literally an oasis of manicured lawns, mature trees, and stately old buildings, surrounded by a neighborhood that had deteriorated over the years into a ghetto where few students dared to venture.
The menís freshman dorm was a small three story building near the edge of the campus. Each man had his own private room, and shared a common bathroom at the end of the hallway on each floor.
There was a janitorial staff that cleaned the bathrooms, hallway, and the lounge on each floor, but we were each required to keep our private rooms clean. For example, when you left your room for the first time each morning, it was required that your bed be made up, and your wastebasket empty.
Iíd heard that rooms were checked at random and if you failed an inspection, the rumor was that you would be paddled, although I was never sure if that was true. Iíd heard other men in the building say that they had gotten a few swats, but everyone else just laughed and the one who had supposedly been punished never elaborated any further, so they might have been joking. However, the school had so many old traditions and quirks that such a thing might actually be true.
My room was always clean. Not out of fear of the rumored paddling, but I spent most of my free time in there, studying, and just kept things in order along the way. The sad truth was that I had little to no friends at that school. My classmates were from families far wealthier than mine, and somehow they knew that my father had tarnished my family name, and that I would only be there for only one year, and therefore I was snubbed.
Making matters worse, academics at that school were tough, and I had never been a good student. I would pour over my notes every night after supper, for fear of not making passing grades.
Early in my second semester, I was checking my mailbox in the student union hall. To my surprise an official looking envelope was the only piece of mail, and it was addressed from the deanís office.
The letter was perhaps only two paragraphs long, cold and impersonal in the wording. It said that I had failed a random dorm room inspection and was to report for corporal punishment later in the week.
I stood there in the alcove of mailboxes in disbelief, hoping this might be some sort of prank by one of my classmates, but everything looked so official. Reality set in when I noticed the date of the failed inspection.
On that day I had forgotten to set my alarm the night before. Waking up late I had to miss breakfast and there was just enough time to make it to my first class. Afterwards I ran back to straighten my room before arriving at my next class slightly late.
There had been no indication on that day that my room had been entered. I had reasoned that if inspections were random throughout the day, there was only one hour of time when it could have been checked, putting the odds in my favor. However, it seems Iíd been wrong.
The last bit of the letter said that I could elect not to show up for the disciplinary action, but in doing so a fine would be added to my housing fees. Now Iíll tell you the truth, I was afraid to be paddled. Iíd never been spanked as a kid, and certainly not as a young adult.
I donít remember how much the fine was. All I remember was that it seemed unreasonably high. My family was pushing their financial limits sending me to that school. For them to have to pay that fine for my carelessness, I just couldnít bear it. I decided I would tough it out and take the punishment like a man.
It occurred to me to talk to a few men in my dorm who said theyíd been paddled. Perhaps knowing what I was in for might ease the stress. However I decided to keep quiet about it. Like I said, they were not really my friends and I thought I would just be taunted by them.
Between classes one day I went on a reconnaissance mission of sorts. I went to the admin building and down into the basement, to locate the room where the corporal punishment was to be given in just a few days.
The hallway was dim, lined with doors all closed and locked, which appeared to be offices no longer in use, or perhaps storage rooms. The room I was looking for was near the end of the corridor. A menís restroom, which was curiously secured with a padlock.
My punishment had been scheduled for a time shortly after supper. On that evening I was quite nervous and could barely eat. When I left my dorm, I slipped down the back stairway. It was unlikely that any other men who might be hanging out in one of the lounges would ask where I was going, but I didnít want to be faced with having to answer such a question.
Twilight was falling as I made the short walk to the admin building. I was still wearing my school uniform. Although it wasnít required after supper, I thought it might be best to arrive for my punishment formally dressed.
My plan was to arrive right on time. Not one minute early, or late. I was horrified when I found that the front door to the admin building was locked! There was a brief moment of panic when I remembered a side door, which happened to be open to a stairwell, and that menís restroom was near the bottom of those stairs.
On that night the padlock was not on the door, and a small strip of light shone out from underneath. There was the faint smell of cigarette smoke in the air, although smoking was not permitted in any of the buildings on campus. I had tried to keep an open mind about what to expect that evening, and there had even been some hope that this was still just a prank being pulled at my expense. When I opened the door to the restroom, what I saw was the last thing that I expected.
Two ladies were just inside the door. The first one told me that her position was with the housing office and that she was some liaison to the Dean of Menís office. Perhaps in her mid thirties, she was tall with a slender and modest build, brown hair pulled back in some sort of fashion, wearing a dark skirt and a white blouse. She took a drag on her cigarette, asked me my name, and then handed me a clipboard and pen.
There was some brief legal looking document on it which I skimmed over. Something about acknowledging my lack of conformity to housing standards and accepting the corporal punishment in lieu of paying a fine.
I stole a glance at the second woman. At first I didnít recognize her because she wasnít wearing her usual apron and hair net. She was one of dorm cafeteria workers. A heavy, rather butch looking lady of undetermined age, dressed in jeans and an oversized sweatshirt with the schoolís crest on it. She was sitting on a tall wooden stool, leaning casually against the wall, and smoking a cigarette of her own. Next to her was a metal folding chair. Draped across the back of it appeared to be the tall womanís dark blazer, but what had caught my eye was upon the chairís seat. A large and intimidating wooden paddle.
I signed the document and was told,
ďTake the wall. The same as the other young man.Ē
Walking into what had been a menís restroom, I saw that the plumbing fixtures and partitions had been removed, with only stubs of pipes and rusty bolts poking out of the tiled walls. Another guy was standing facing the wall, where perhaps the sink had been. His trousers and boxers were down around his ankles, and he was leaning forward with his hands on the wall and bare buttocks thrust out. One of the overhead fluorescent lights gave a brief sputter and I hesitated.
ďI said take the wall,Ē the tall lady commanded louder, her voice booming in the small tiled room. She dropped her cigarette butt to the floor, and ground it out firmly with the pointed toe of her high heeled shoe.
The paddle on the chair was made of a dark wood. It was long and wide with rows of holes drilled in it that might have been the size of nickels. The sort of thing that had been outlawed in most high schools back in the 1980ís, but was evidently still in use here. My mouth was suddenly dry and I wanted to run out of the room. The cafeteria lady gave a low snort of laughter. Despite my fear, I stood at the wall a comfortable distance apart from the other young man.
As I dropped my trousers, I briefly made eye contact with the other fellow and recognized him from my dorm. He was reserved and quiet, yet seemed to make friends easily at school, perhaps because his family had been prominent in the auto industry since the industrial revolution. To protect his identity, I will refer to him as John Doe.
It was clear from the look on his face that he recognized me. Knowing who his buddies were, I was surprised I had not heard them hooting about his upcoming punishment. It was odd that a man of his wealthy background was down in that dungeon of a former restroom, waiting to be paddled by some bull dyke. If I were him I would have simply paid the fine.
The two ladies had some muted conversation. From bits that I picked up, it seemed there was another man expected. Was he just late or a no-show? They decided to wait just a short while longer. I wanted to get the punishment over with so the delay just fueled my anxiety even further.
Then there was the squeak of tennis shoes on the stairway outside, and another young man loudly entered room. He started to say something about the front door being locked, tried to make some joke out of it, but seemed to be quickly silenced by the official lady who told him to sign the clipboard. When he took his position at the wall next to me, I took a brief glance and recognized him as well. Another chap that I was surprised to see there.
Although I didnít know his name, he was a familiar face on campus. I knew he was an athlete, well built with an ego to match. He seemed to be popular with the coeds on campus because I usually saw him in the company of at least one attractive young lady.
Our school was never known for its athletics, but the jocks still had a high status on the campus. They lived in their own exclusive dorm and were rumored to be given better food, special tutoring, and even passing grades when needed. Surely housing would overlook an athleteís messy dorm room.
The jock was still trying to joke around with the women as he dropped his trousers, and it was then that I heard the slight wavering in his voice. I thought it strange at the time that such a large and confident fellow would be scared to take a few swats. The cafeteria worker gruffly told him to shut up. He flinched and I saw a smoldering cigarette butt land on the floor beside him.
There was an uneasy silence, then the sound of a cigarette lighter. The cafeteria lady lighting another smoke, perhaps. Then the sound of high heels on the old floor tiles, and a brief scraping noise as if the metal folding chair had been brushed against.
Looking down at the floor, and slightly behind me, it seemed that the tall woman would be administering the swats, at least for now. She took her position behind John Doe, and moments later I heard a loud smack as the paddle landed on his bare ass. I heard John catch his breath and not a moment later a second swat landed on his buttocks, the sound echoing loudly in the small tiled room.
The soles of womanís shoes made a slight crunching sound as she turned, the dirty floor beneath the smooth soles of her shoes. High heels making their curious, almost hollow sound on the tiles, as she took a few steps to move behind me.
Although I had braced myself and felt ready, the painful swat of the paddle caught me off guard. A deep sting, evenly spread across both of my butt cheeks. If it had been one swat that would have been okay, but before that pain could fade, the second swat landed with firm authority. I gasped out loud, which resulted in a low chuckle from the cafeteria lady.
As the tall womanís heels made their clipping sound on the floor behind me, I knew I could rest for a moment. It was then that I realized the jock had been twitching nervously beside me.
ďKeep still,Ē the official lady scolded him. Moments later I heard the loud smack of the paddle on ass.
His response was a surprising high pitched squeal. Once again he had to be told to quit squirming around. His second swat sounded louder, the echo more pronounced, perhaps because he was in a corner of the room above a plugged opening in the floor where I suppose a toilet had been. He might have also been paddled harder for not complying with her orders. Once again the big guy gave his squeak of pain. Low and under his breath he began muttering,
ďOh shit. Oh shit,Ē over and over.
ďShut up, you big pussy!Ē the cafeteria lady yelled at him, but her authoritative voice transitioned into laughter, which was punctuated by the sharp echo of the tall womanís high heels on the floor as she moved into position behind John Doe. He was stoic and stood firmly to take another round of swats.
He was swatted two times in quick succession as before. Unexpected though, was that after a slight delay, the woman gave him a third strike with the paddle. One that echoed with a harsher smack, and John flinched as he audibly caught his breath.
The sound of the womanís high heeled shoes on the dirty floor tiles was mesmerizing as she slowly walked over behind me. It was then that I realized I had an erection. Solid and firm, with my scrotum tightening against my body.
Before I could think about it anymore, the paddle landed painfully across my buttocks. I stood firm, knowing the second blow would shortly follow. Painful as it was I could feel my penis give an involuntary twitch. The soles of the womanís high heeled shoes made their gritty sound as she either shifted her position, or prepared to move over to the jock.
A third swat boomed across my ass, painful to the point I couldnít help giving a stifled grunt. As she began to walk away I was oddly frustrated. I was gripped with sexual arousal and felt that another swat with the paddle would have resulted in an orgasm.
Although the jock was only a few steps away, the woman took a very long time to walk over to him. I could hear him breathing heavily and nervously. As her heels clicked on the floor closer to him, he began to squirm uncontrollably. Iím not sure which was worse for him, being paddled, or having to wait and listed to John and I taking our swats, knowing he would have his turn soon enough.
Once again the tall woman had to tell him to hold still. He started to whine that heíd had enough, but before he could finish his sentence, she gave him a loud swat with the paddle.
As the big guy squealed in reaction, and in response to the following swats, it crossed my mind that the paddle being used was probably very old. My father, his father, and so on back in the past, might have spanked with that same paddle. It was odd that I would think of the historic significance at such a time.
I was pretty sure the jock was crying as the lady walked slowly over to John Doe. Just the sound of her high heels on the floor made my scrotum tighten even more. Although my ass hurt badly, I found myself wanting a few more swats.
John was calm and cool in his stance, yet I heard him take a deep breath before the first swat landed across his buttocks. It sounded louder and heavier than any previous swats, and there was a longer than usual delay before his second swat, which resulted in an low audible, oof, noise through his clenched teeth.
The womanís shoes scraped on the gritty floor briefly before she planted a third loud swat on his bare bottom, to which he responded with a loud groan. The cafeteria lady chuckled and was clearly enjoying the show.
While I thought it would be my turn, the woman administered one loud final swat with the paddle, to which John yelped in pain.
As the woman walked slowly over towards me, I was tightly focused on the sound of her high heels on the floor. They fueled my anticipation. I was breathing heavily, my penis rock hard and throbbing with arousal.
Although I wanted to be paddled now, the first swat hurt way too much, though I didnít cry out. Instead I could feel my erection twitching involuntarily. There was one hollow clomp sound of a high heel on the floor as she adjusted her position, and then another painful swat of the paddle across my ass. I grunted out loud, and was surprised that the cafeteria lady didnít say anything or laugh.
I could feel the tension building in my groin, if there had been any way to stroke my penis just once I would have erupted in a powerful orgasm, but I couldnít. My hands remained firm on the wall as another powerful swat landed on my bare bottom, which I could imagine was a deep shade of red by now. Somehow I had managed to keep from crying out, but I could feel my scrotum painfully tightening just a bit more, and knew I was on the verge of ejaculating.
When the fourth heavy swat landed across my backside, I gave a loud gasp, but it wasnít just a gasp of pain. I realized that it was also a gasp of sexual relief. Looking down I saw a glob of my cum on the wall in front of me, slowly starting to run down the tiles. Another long drip of semen was dangling from the end of my penis, which continued to slowly pump several more bursts, until it dripped with a barely audible sound on the floor in front of me.
I doubted either of the ladies had seen my erect penis or my orgasm, and they were probably too distracted to care at that point anyway. The jock was whining some more, and the cafeteria woman had gotten off her stool to firmly grip his shirt collar in an effort to hold him still.
So many thoughts flooded my mind at that point. Would I be punished further for having an orgasm? Would the other lady be paddling us too? If so, I doubted I could take much more. To make matters worse, my penis had a final long drip of cum dangling from the tip. It refused to drop to the floor. Iíd been lucky enough so far that I hadnít soiled my trousers which were bunched at my feet, but that last drop did not look as if it would land on the floor.
At the last moment I dared to shift my position. The drip of semen landed on the floor at the same time that the jock received another blow of the paddle. He was crying and begging them to stop, though I think there was still one more swat to go.
Then the tall lady told John Doe that he was free to leave. It seemed as if he vanished in a puff of smoke. There was the booming echo of another swat on the big guyís bottom. Over the cafeteria workerís taunting laughter, I heard the other woman tell me to leave.
Although they were probably too preoccupied to notice my cum on the wall and floor, I stood in my place blocking their view, while I quickly pulled up my trousers, and awkwardly zipped them up, being careful of my penis which was still firmly erect. I quickly exited the room and donít even remember going up the stairs.
Outside, darkness had fallen. Lights from my dorm were visible in the distance through the trees. John Doe had left less than a minute before me and was likely heading for that same building, yet he was nowhere in sight.
My penis was still hard and uncomfortably confined in my trousers. I walked slowly, assuming my erection would subside. A slow pace also seemed to work best with my sore buttocks.
The events of the past half hour or so had been surreal and I felt somewhat disoriented. If it had been taking swats in an office from some older man, I might simply be a bit cross and try to put the event out of my mind. Being paddled by a woman was different though. Arousing in a way Iíd never imagined possible. My penis was still hard when I approached my dorm.
Although I wanted to get up to my room to masturbate, the chances were likely of meeting someone in the hallway. With the obvious bulge in my trousers, I didnít want to go inside. Behind the building was a small cluster of pine trees. After a quick check for roving security guards who had a strong presence on the campus after dark, I slipped into the pines.
I wasted no time pulling my trousers down just enough to release my erection, which I wrapped in a handkerchief. As I lightly stroked myself, I concentrated on the pain which still radiated through my buttocks, and the woman who had paddled me. I had only gotten a brief glimpse of her, but as I recalled she was attractive. She also took her work seriously as a disciplinarian. Before long I stifled the groan of a powerful orgasm as I erupted into my handkerchief. Then I took my time to slowly milk the last drops of cum from my thankfully softening penis.
I would make it up to my room without incident, but would masturbate once again before going to sleep, the pain in my buttocks having subsided into a warm and almost soothing feeling.
That disciplinary action had been a life changing event for me. I found myself thinking about it for months afterwards, and it seemed that any time I heard the sound of a womanís high heels on the floor or pavement it would immediately get my attention. When I masturbated I would always drift back in my mind to that abandoned restroom where Iíd been severely paddled.
I even found myself making excuses to be out on campus after supper, and having some reason to pass by the admin building. Although I would find that side door unlocked on a few occasions, the old restroom at the bottom of the stairs was always secured.
What would I have done if a punishment session had been in progress? Listened outside the door and played with myself? Hid in an alcove until the students left, and as the ladies were locking up beg to be paddled? I just donít know.
Although I felt like a creep when I did it, I will admit that I walked through the admin building and the adjacent one where the housing offices were, trying to be inconspicuous while looking for the woman who had paddled me. I wasnít sure what I would do if I found her, which I didnít.
The cafeteria worker I saw on a regular basis, though I had no interest in her and she never even acknowledged that she recognized me, as she changed out dishes on the steam table.
At some point I mustered the courage to venture into the surrounding ghetto where I found an adult bookstore that Iíd heard about. They had a small but excellent selection of magazines which featured scenes of female domination. Leather clad authoritative beauties in high heels, paddling and flogging helpless submissive men. By the end of the school year I had purchased a small collection of those magazines and they thrilled me as no other pornography had.
Close to the end of the semester I was so obsessed with the idea of being paddled that I intentionally left my bed unmade for over a month, though evidently my room was never inspected again as I was never summoned for another punishment.
On a side note, by the end of the school year I had found myself within John Doeís circle of friends. We had simply struck up a conversation on the dormís front steps, and have been in regular contact to this day. Neither one of us mentioned the paddling, although it was probably that common bond which broke the ice between us. Last year I had to ask him, why did he take those swats years ago, when he could have easily afforded to pay the fine? His answer surprised me.
A family of his wealth, people always expected them to take the easy way out and simply pay a fine. He had been warned by his father and other men in his family, that when the school gave him the choice of paying a fine or facing the paddle, and they would find a reason to put him in that position, to take the paddle and be done with it. Otherwise, he would be in that situation again, repeatedly, until he took the swats. It was evidently some old game to administrators, to put wealthy students in their place.
He also commented that the jock that had also been there that night was rumored to have had casual relations with several ladies on the faculty, and speculated those must have gone awry. Likely he was brought down there for the purpose of revenge.
The following year at the State University, I would ask girlfriends to put on a pair of high heels and spank me with a ping pong paddle. Not all of them were enthusiastic about it, as you might expect. Eventually, I found a girl who was willing to play the role of dominatrix. She would later become my wife. In later years I would make a special paddle for her, a replica of the one from the private college. I might share those stories some other time.
This story is written by Christopher D.B, please send comments and appreciation to email@example.com