This story details explicit gay sex between men, teens and boys. If you find this kind of thing distasteful, or if you are underage wherever you live, then stop reading this now, and delete this file. The story is completely fictional; the author does not condone or encourage any of the acts contained herein.



Chapter 43

By: Tim Keppler

I`m going to have to tell him eventually, aren't I? I mean, I fucked up and gave him the wrong paper. If he reads it, he'll know instantly. Christ, what am I going to do? What will he do? Will he fire me? Probably. He'll probably have to.

Kenny likes to see a selection of the papers that come in each week. He sort of has to because I'm an undergraduate, and he took a lot of heat for that early in the quarter. I'm not supposed to be a teaching assistant, but he pulled a lot of strings and got me the job. He needs to cover his ass. I understand that. He's pretty new himself. So, each week I submit about 25% of what I grade to him so he can take a look, and he chooses some percentage of those papers to review. Mostly, I submit the low-scoring papers, the papers I'm nervous about. These are the ones that are going to end up with him anyway because the students who wrote them are going to complain about the grade I've given them. Kenny has never once reversed me. He's never disagreed with a grade I've given, and that's given me a lot of credibility...and a lot of confidence. He trusts me, and that's good. That's why we work so well together. Brandon's paper, though, if he looks at it, will be the one to change that because I gave Brandon's paper an A. It deserved a D+.

I should probably back up...

Brandon Meiner is in Kenny's algorithms class: "Algorithmic Efficiencies in UNIX". It's a performance class. It's a class designed to help UNIX programmers optimize their code, to make it run faster, and this is very dependent on how the operating system was designed, so the more you know about UNIX, the better off you are. For example, the IBM System 370 operating system, now renamed to System z, I believe, has built-in date/time arithmetic that you can use to add or subtract a X number of days to or from a given date to get a new date, a date that X number of days from the first date. But it was so badly implemented that you're better off doing your own arithmetic, manually counting backwards from today to the beginning of time (whatever you think that is), tallying the number of days, and using that as a basis for your arithmetic. Floating-point arithmetic is another example. It's notoriously inefficient. Any way you can find to work around it is what you want to do. This class helps students figure out how to work around inefficiencies in the UNIX operating system, thereby making their code faster.

Brandon isn't very good at this, and his last paper was pretty...rudimentary. This class has a lot of pre-reqs, and I wondered early on whether Brandon had taken any of them. I mean, he doesn't seem to have much of a grasp of UNIX, or programming for that matter. His paper was...dismal, like most of his other assignments. He's been in my pile of papers for Kenny to review almost every week, and based on his performance, I think he'll pull a low C or a D for the class. I don't grade for the class. I just grade the assignments. But assignments are how class grades are determined, right? I can pretty much tell where he's going to end up. While he's not very smart, though, he is very clever. He sits in the front of the class whenever he can find a seat there, has worked at ingratiating himself with Kenny, comes to my tutorial sessions ever week, and he usually comes with questions during my office hours. They aren't very good questions, mind you, but he comes.

Brandon does have one thing going for him, though. He is seriously cute, and he knows it. Let me retract that. "Cute" is such a gay word. This boy is simply beautiful. I've no idea what nationality he is. Maybe Danish or German. He could even be Italian, I suppose. He has dark hair, beautiful high cheek-bones, piercing blue eyes, and the longest eye lashes I've ever seen on a guy. He's about 5'9", slim, and seems well toned. I was attracted to him the moment I saw him until he opened his mouth and I realized there wasn't much there. He's also bisexual. Did I say that already? He told me that during office hours. Why? I have no idea. He just slipped it in during a discussion we were having. He's one of the most beautiful guys I've ever seen.

About the third or fourth week of class, he makes an appointment for office hours, and calls before he arrives. "I'm down in the cafeteria getting myself a coffee. Do you want one?"

"Sure," I reply.

"What do you take in it?"

"Umm...just a generous splash of cream." My favorite coffee is the Vietnamese iced coffee a seriously strong cup of French roast with about a tablespoon of sweetened condensed milk over ice but they don't have that in the San Jose State cafeteria yet, so cream is about as good as it gets.

"Got it," he says. "I'll be there soon."

As I hang up, I start to wonder about this boy. I mean, why'd he call? Was he just being considerate? Was he just looking to bring me a coffee? Why? I mean, if he found himself in the coffee line at the cafeteria and thought of me, that's nice. But how does the equation change if he went to the coffee line thinking of me? How is it different if I'm the reason he went to the coffee line in the first place? Was his call about how I like my coffee, or was his call intended to alert me to the fact that he's thinking of me? Is this call a come-on, or a casual gesture? And why do I even wonder this? Is this major paranoia? He seems like a nice enough guy. He's a little dim, but nice. But, why, in the midst of our discussion of UNIX, would he slip in the fact that he's bisexual? I have the vague sense that I'm being played, but I don't know why I think this. It just seems...weird. It just seems sort of flirty. Is he attracted to me? Why? Is this genuine attraction, or does he have other motives? I mean, the questions go on and on, and these are questions I shouldn't even be asking. I'm his TA, not his boyfriend. Can you ever be both? Probably, if you start on the boyfriend side and become the TA, but probably not the other way around. Oh, god, I'm losing my mind...

And that's exactly what happens. I lose my mind. He arrives with the coffee, and we start to talk, initially about UNIX, and in the course of maybe twenty minutes we move to...personal topics. Finally, after half an hour or so, he asks that pregnant question. We've been meandering around it for a while. He's asked me if I'm married, where I live, whether I have a girl friend. Finally, he just comes out with it. "Are you gay?"

"Yeah," I reply. I'm surprised it took us this long to get here. I mean, I'm not that hard to read. I'm not super butch, nor do I try to be. I try to be myself, and that's probably a little...flamboyant, a little...girly. If you have any gaydar at all, you'll probably peg the meter with me. Still, I find that Caucasian guys often get confused. "Is it his Asianness, or is he gay?" Once they start dabbling in races outside their own, and cultures outside their own, they get...confused. His question honestly makes me giggle, and I do, and he looks embarrassed. I feel (why do I feel this?) like I have to bail him out, like I have to rescue him from this stupid, stupid question. "But, you knew that, right?"

He nods, grateful for being reeled in. But then the conversation gets even weirder, because we start talking about "gay" stuff, about a Steven Underhill exhibit in the city next month, about a Keith Herring collection coming to the MOMA, about Tilson Thomas' partner, about the upcoming Pride parade and how it's likely to be bigger than ever given California's anti-gay Proposition 8 vote. "'Curiouser and curiouser,' cried Alice." And then we start with the laying on of hands. He pats me on the shoulder. He squeezes my knee. This is all very flattering, but, where's it going and how have we gotten here? That's a question I won't ask until later, maybe a day later, because this boy is seriously cute, and, I think at the time, seriously into me. How stupid is that conclusion?

"Wanna go get something to eat?" he asks.

"Sure. Where'll we go?"

"I was thinking of phở (Vietnamese noodle soup)."


Oh my god. What kind of an idiot am I? I grew up on phở; it's my national dish. Here I am saying that Brandon isn't very bright, and yet he's playing me like a violin. "Sure, phở sounds good." Idiot!


We end up at Phở Kim Long in San Jose, the best noodle shop in the area, and right around the corner from his apartment, it turns out, and that's where I find myself after dinner, sitting on his couch with a cup of his tea in my hand.

"Were you born here," he asks, "or did you come here when you were a kid?" I get asked this question a lot, but I have to admit that Brandon asks it much more politely than most. Most ask "Where are you from?" simply assuming I wasn't born in this country. I wasn't, as a matter of fact, but I find the assumption that I wasn't rather insulting. I mean, I have little or no accent. I speak Vietnamese and Cantonese fluently, but I'm told that when I speak English, I have no accent at all. So, why do people assume that I wasn't born here, and why do they make the tacit assumption that not being born here makes me...somehow...second-class? Brandon's question is phrased as curiosity, not as judgment. I like that.

"No, I was born in Vietnam, in Saigon. My parents moved us here when I was six. We were sponsored by my older brother who's lived here since he was in college since the `70s."

Brandon nods, and then goes silent for...minutes. Finally, "I've been trying to think of a `pick-up' line, something to entice you, but I can't come up with one. I guess I'll go with honesty: I find you really attractive and I'd like to...umm...sleep with you."

This catches me completely off guard, although I'm not sure why. I mean, he's sort of been leading up to this for the last several hours, hasn't he? Since calling about the coffee? Maybe I just can't believe that someone this cute would be...interested in me. Brandon can clearly have anyone he wants, absolutely anyone. He's Bi, for god's sake, or so he says. He can have absolutely anyone. Why me?

I should probably confess here and now that I don't have a lot of experience in...love. I've never...umm...been with anyone. I've never...umm...had...time. No, that's not true. I think it's a confidence thing. I mean, there are things you know you do well, and things you're not so sure of, right? I know I'm a really good programmer. But...I'm not so sure about...love. Oh, christ, I can't even talk about this! I don't know how to...umm... I don't know what to...umm... I don't even know... Oh, fuck! I don't really know what guys do together. I've read a lot, but I've never...umm...done it. I'm a virgin. And I'm afraid...because I don't want to look like...a fool...even though I am one. I'm sort of in over my head. I'm masquerading as a fully-fledged adult, but I'm not a fully-fledged adult because I haven't...done...that. I'm a sexual newbie, sort of like the Forty Year Old Virgin, and it feels really awful. So, when Brandon comes on to me, I have no idea what to do. First, I have to figure out that he is coming on to me, and if he'd been in any way subtle, I'd never have known. I think he knew that instinctively. He had to be direct. He had to say "I want to sleep with you," which is one step away from "I want to fuck you," which he could not have said without terrifying me. "Sleep with you" is much less threatening (although it means the same thing). But, I don't even know who I am. I don't even know what I want. I don't know you. I don't... All of this I want to say, to scream.

And then, he's at my side, sensing my fear, my anguish, my insecurity. "It's okay, Dinh. I don't want to pressure you. If we're not ready..." Arrrrggghhh. That "we're" just kills me. That "we're" makes me cry. If he'd said "If you're not ready," it would have been an accusation, a judgment, and I'd have understood what he was doing. Instead he said "if we're not ready," and I'm demolished. I look up into his eyes, and I start to cry. He hugs me, and I hug him back. And then he leans down and kisses my face, and then... And then... I turn my face up and look into his eyes, and our lips meet, and we kiss...and kiss...and kiss...and... He is absolutely, breathtakingly beautiful, the most beautiful boy I've ever seen. And he's kissing me...more passionately than I've ever imagined two people can kiss, more passionately than I've ever even read about in porn or good literature more passionately than even D. H. Lawrence would kiss you. He absolutely takes my breath away, and drives that niggling question from my mind: "Why me?"

He takes my hand and leads me to his bedroom. There are two double beds, both rumpled, but no room mates in site. As I scan the landscape, he knows right away what I'm thinking. "They won't be back tonight. They're staying with friends." "They?" I wonder.

He begins to unbutton my shirt, letting it drop to the floor when he's done. Then he stands back and looks at me. He begins to run his hand over my chest, my belly, flicking my nipples as he moves down my torso, producing almost electric shocks twenty megavolt electric shocks. After he's stroked me for a while, he moves to my pants, unbuttoning the top button, and then pausing, looking into my eyes. He is still fully clothed, because I have turned to stone. I mean, aren't I supposed to be reciprocating? Aren't I supposed to be undressing him? I don't know. I have no clue. What I do know is that I can't move my arms, not if you were to hold a gun to my head. I am riveted to this spot. Motionless. My breath is shallow. Finally, he unzips me, and my pants fall to the floor, and are followed shortly by my shorts, which he pushes over my hips, letting them fall on top of the pants. Then he moves back again, and scans my body, a half-smile playing across his face. I am erect, and a bit embarrassed, and more excited than I've ever been in my life. He doesn't touch me, thankfully, because if he did, I'd cum instantly. But I can feel his eyes as they caress my body, slowly moving from my head to my thighs in an almost palpable embrace.

Finally, he takes off his own clothes slowly. It's one of the most erotic strip-tease acts I can imagine, and when he's naked, he is just...breathtaking. He's toned, but not over-built, and his skin is...smooth. I want so much to touch it, but I still can't move. I can't budge. He takes my hand, and leads me to his bed, and we begin to kiss again, breathlessly. He avoids all contact with my dick, knowing instinctively that I'm right on the edge. We simply kiss...and kiss...and kiss...and... Then, finally, he nibbles on my nipple as he moves to my dick, taking it in his mouth, swirling his tongue around the head, blowing me expertly. Well, I don't know if it's "expertly". All I really know is that it feels incredible, but not for long. Two minutes I'd give it. Tops. And then I cum. And he...spits.

We fall asleep for an hour or two, and when we wake up, he fucks me. I'd expected the pain to be more intense the first time, and there is some pain, no doubt about it. Brandon isn't especially good at this, I think. Or, maybe he is, but he's focused on his own pleasure, not on mine. I don't really know. I scream when he first enters me, and he covers my mouth with his hand, which I think is a little...what...insensitive? He's more concerned about the neighbors than about me. I've been playing with..."insertables"...I have to admit, so I'm a little...stretched, thankfully. It isn't as painful as it might have been, and he is just so beautiful that I think it's worth the pain. After a while it feels...nice...I guess, although...he's pretty intense. Carpet burn. He's my first...my first sexual experience. But, I'm not his first, I think, not by a long shot. After he cums and we recover from that, I have the guts to finally ask him the pregnant question, the question that's been hovering on the outskirts of my consciousness for hours: "Why me?"

He kisses me on the cheek, a peck. And then he moves back and looks into my eyes. "Because I need an A on my last paper. I need an A to pass this class. I'm taking it pass/fail. All I need is one good paper."

Of course. Idiot! Do you remember that scene in Prizzi's Honor where Don Corrado Prizzi looks at Charley Partanna and says "It's business, Charley, only business." Suddenly that line hits me with an impact I've never felt before, and I begin to cry. Brandon hugs me before getting up from the bed. "It's okay, Dinh. Gay guys don't really have relationships anyway, do they? You just have sex. So we did that. It was okay, I guess, although I really prefer girls. I hope you enjoyed it." And then he leaves the room, and I hear the shower start, and by the time it stops, which I assume it eventually does, I'm gone. I flee from the scene, sobbing. This is my first sexual experience, and the only thing I want to do right at this moment is to take a shower, like Brandon is doing. The only thing I want to do is wash him off me.


That was a week and a half ago, and I spend the rest of that night crying. I haven't slept well since. I do sleep for an hour or two each night, but mostly I'm awake, pacing and crying. I have no appetite. I've been such an idiot. I've forfeited my education. Kenny got me a job and a place to live, and I've thrown all that away. Yeah, it's true that I didn't promise Brandon anything. I didn't promise him an A if he fucked me. But all he has to do is tell someone about this and my life is over. I haven't attended a class during the whole week. I mean, I've attended Kenny's classes, and collected the homework, which I've graded, giving Brandon his A, but not my own classes. I just can't bring myself to leave the house, and after a week and a half of little sleep and little food, I begin to look...gaunt. The last straw is giving Kenny Brandon's A paper. I think I must have subconsciously done that accidentally-on-purpose. It was either the stupidest thing I've ever done, or the smartest. I don't know which.

Finally, on a Thursday evening, when Kenny get's home, I meet him in the kitchen and just start to sob. Kenny leads me to the living room, to the couch, and hugs me while I cry. I must cry for fifteen minutes, maybe more. As I calm down, he asks "What's going on with you?" I gulp, and confess.

Kenny listens to my story patiently, holding me all the while, and at the end of it...he sighs, giving me a squeeze.

"Yeah, you were an idiot. Never let your dick think for you. Leave this with me for a couple of days. Assuming I can find a way not to fire you, you should be thinking about what you consider an appropriate punishment. It should be severe. It should be something you really, really are not going to like. Assuming I can find a way not to fire you, and right now, I'm not sure I can do that."

I nod. I know the obstacles he's facing. I'm not even supposed to be a TA. This is potentially a major embarrassment for him, an assistant professor.

Two days later, the problem is solved. I know this because Brandon will absolutely not look at me. He will not look at me; he will not talk to me; he will not come near me. Not that I want him to do any of those things, but he was very chatty after our...liaison, and now he's...not. He carefully avoids me. What happened? This is the question I ask Kenny.

"That's not really your business, Dinh," Kenny replies, curtly. "But, let's just say that as a computer science major he has a lot to lose by making unsubstantiated allegations against other students. I read his paper. It was shit, and I refused to give him the A. He got a C-, and that C- was a gift. He knows that. I agreed to review his previous papers, and you will not be grading anything he does from here on out. All his homework and tests will come to me. That may not be good for his final result for this class ultimately, but it's what he wanted. He will pass this class, by the barest of margins, but he will pass it unless he mentions this incident to anyone else, in which case he will fail. I can't control what he says after the fact, after he gets his passing grade, but he knows that I can make life in the comp sci department very difficult for him if he...wants me to. So, your life is on hold, Dinh. I'm not ready to fire you...yet. What should I do instead?"

I just can't believe this news. I'm going to survive. I'm not going to be fired. I'm not going to be thrown out of my house out of Kenny's house. I'm not going to have to quit school. I'm not going to be publically humiliated. I'm not going to have to tell my parents that I'm a total fucking waste of oxygen and that I don't deserve to live. I am just overjoyed, and am very close to throwing myself at Kenny and hugging him, but he doesn't seem to be in a hugging mood. He's clearly still pretty angry. I look at the floor.

"Whatever punishment you think is appropriate is fine. I'm just so happy to still be in school. I'm so grateful."

"I'm glad you're grateful, but that's not what I'm looking for," he says, raising his voice. He's quite angry. "Your job was to come up with a punishment that you feel is appropriate, something severe, something you'll remember forever. Remember the assignment?!"

I thought about this question days ago. I could offer to leave the house, but doing that is basically the same as leaving school. I can't afford rent, either by myself, or with six roommates. And either quitting school, or quitting my job will punish him. He wants me to graduate and he needs me as a TA. What else do I have as compensation for his help? A second job isn't going to help him. It'll pull me away from what I'm doing for him now. And, it not like I have any money to offer up. I'm totally lost for minutes, as I've been lost for the days I've been thinking about this. And then it comes to me.

Kenny and Jason are both submissive to Tim. I know this. I've known this from my first interview with Tim, actually before that. Kenny confessed that to me soon after we'd met. But, at the time of that confession, I wasn't really sure what that submission entailed. Once I moved into the house, though, I understood. Kenny and Jason are regularly spanked every week or so. I hear crying from Tim's bedroom, and sometimes screams. At first I thought this was sort of...weird, a weird relationship between these guys, but both Kenny and Jason clearly worship Tim, and they seem to...appreciate the treatment. In my book a spanking would certainly be severe, something I seriously wouldn't like, and something I'd remember forever. But, what's it mean? I've no idea. Does Tim spank them with his hand, or...something else? How long does it last? Are they dressed or...not? How much does it hurt? These are things I can't research right now. It's the obvious answer, and it's what I find myself asking for: "Spank me. That's how you can punish me."

Kenny looks surprised, and is taken aback. He pauses for a long moment, scanning my face. "I was thinking more along the lines of physical labor, like running laps; or of forfeiting something, like the freedom to leave the house after school being grounded. I honestly hadn't thought to spank you."

The advantage of a spanking, it occurs to me, is that you get it over with quickly. Yeah, it probably hurts, probably a lot, but at least it's not a punishment that lingers. And, while it'll serve as a reminder for me of what I've done, it'll also maybe give Kenny a sense of closure because he's participated in the punishment, as he won't if he merely grounds me or makes me run laps. Having come up with this idea, I realize that I like it. I may not like it for long, but right now, I like it. "Please spank me instead. I think it'll have a more...lasting impact."

Kenny looks at me for several seconds, scanning my face vacantly, thinking.

"Kenny, I realize how serious this is. I realize that what you should do, what the university would want you to do, is fire me. I've compromised the integrity of our grades by sleeping with a student I'm responsible for evaluating, and it doesn't matter that he seduced me. I was in a position of power over him and over the class as a whole, and I messed up. I realize that you're trying to shield me from the consequences of my stupid actions and give me a second chance. I'm very grateful for that. Please spank me, but...umm...can I have a...hug first?" Kenny smiles vaguely, and then reaches out and hugs me, really tight, and the tears I've been fighting back for the last ten minutes overtake me. I sob for maybe five minutes before getting control of myself. I pull back.

Kenny nods. "I told Brandon that you'd be punished for sleeping with him. He argued with me, told me that your personal punishment wasn't what he wanted. I told him that I didn't care what he wanted, that you'd be punished, and that after that punishment, you'd apologize to him and...umm...tell him how you'd been punished. You'll have to do that, Dinh."

I nod. That might be the hardest part of all this. I have to admit to the guy who seduced me, who had sex with me not because he was attracted to me, but because he needed a grade, that I was wrong and that I was spanked like a five-year-old for my actions. I nod again. "Okay."


Two days later, Friday, after my last class, I take the bus home. I'm very tired. I haven't been sleeping well for the past several days. And, I'm scared. I've never been spanked. Will I cry, or tough it out? Who else in the house will know that I'm being spanked, that I've been spanked? I'm really not sure what to expect, and that frightens me. But, sex with Brandon frightened me for the same reason. Anything new frightens me. I'm easily frightened. I guess I just need to get on with it.

When I get home, Kai runs up to me and hugs my leg, and Tim, who's in the living room, waves. "Hey," he says in greeting.

"Hey," I respond, walking to the kitchen for a glass of water. Jason's there, chopping veggies, and smiles when he sees me.

"How was your day?" he asks. "You look tired."

"I am a little tired," I concede. "Stress. The end of the quarter."

He gives me a one-armed hug, chopping knife in the other hand. "I remember how that is, but for you it's probably worse, because you're both giving and taking finals."

And then I wrap my arms around him and start to cry. Stress, fear, embarrassment, remorse, and how many other emotions. I bury my face in his chest, and hold him, and cry. He drops his chopping knife on the floor behind me, moves us to a chair at the table, sits down, gathers me onto his lap, and holds me. I'm abject, and for the longest time, I simply can't stop crying. I simply can't stop... Jason strokes my back, runs his fingers through my hair. I simply can't stop. And then, after a while, I finally gather myself.

"What's wrong?" he asks. I tell him the whole story. I have to confess it to someone other than Kenny, to someone who means something to me, but not in an economic or academic way, to someone who means something to me emotionally. I really like Jason. He's very kind. He's been very kind to me from the beginning. And he hugs me as I tell him the story. When I'm done, he squeezes me again. "It sounds like Kenny is pretty disappointed, and it sound like you're disappointed in yourself, too. I think you'll sleep better when he's done with you. I think you'll like yourself better. This will help you forgive yourself, and it will help Kenny forgive you." I nod, still sniffing back tears.

Finally, Kenny gets home, and comes into the kitchen for a cup of tea. He finds me in Jason's lap, and ruffles my hair. He knows what this is about. "I'm gonna go change, get out of these `teaching clothes'," he says. "And then we're going to get this over with. I want it over with as much as you do. I want this out of our lives."

I lift myself out of Jason's lap, and he gets up, retrieving and rinsing his knife before returning to his veggies. He gives me a smile. "Don't worry," he says, reassuringly. And, as he starts to chop, I sit back down where he's been sitting and wait.

Ten minutes later, Kenny comes back into the kitchen, and motions me into Tim's bedroom. "Naked," he says, closing the door behind us. I nod, and begin to take off my clothes. When I'm undressed, and completely flushed, he points to the bed. "On your belly." I settle myself in place. I've never felt so totally exposed or vulnerable in my life.

"I'm really, really disappointed, Dinh. I thought you had better sense than this. I realize that Brandon is a very cute boy, and you probably aren't the most...experienced...boy on the block when it comes to sex. Just a guess. But, fucking the students is not acceptable, not ever, and it doesn't matter who initiates it. We've talked about this, I know, and I don't want to rehash it, but this must never happen again, not even when you complete your graduate degree and find a job teaching your own classes, rather than grading mine. I know you'll do this because you're that good, that smart academically. But, you've very nearly cost yourself your entire academic career. You get that?"

I nod, tearfully.

"You can have sex with anyone you want to, Dinh...except your students, because even if it has no impact on the grades you assign them, it'll always appear to have an impact. It's not a matter of whether they use the experience to blackmail you, as Brandon intended, but of how it colors the way you treat them. I mean, you were ready to give that boy an A he absolutely did not deserve, an A that would have cheapened the grades of the rest of the students." Kenny strokes my back. "Do you understand?"

"Yes," I whimper.

"You need to remember this, Dinh. I don't know what trouble Brandon may make for us in the future. I don't know whether I can keep you from getting fired. I hope so, but it's not a sure thing. What is a sure thing is that you fucked up, and you need to remember this." I nod. He's right.

I watch as Kenny moves to a closet off to the side of the room and brings out a fairly hefty leather...what? Belt? It's probably two feet long, a quarter inch thick, and four inches wide, and it has a sort of a handle at one end. Moving back to me, he swishes it through the air once, experimentally, and then brings it down on my ass, over and over again. Over and over. I can't believe how much this hurts, each stroke adding cumulatively to the pain. After five strokes, I'm crying, and sobbing uncontrollably after ten, and still he continues to spank me. I promised myself I wouldn't beg or plead, but I can't suppress my screams. This is absolutely the most pain I've ever felt in my life, and it just seems to go on forever. After 17 strokes, he stops and puts the belt away. Then he carries me to a chair in the corner of the room where we sit as I sob and he hugs me. We must be there for nearly half an hour before I stop crying. Then, as I sit up, he looks into my eyes. "Don't ever do this again," he says, softly.

"I won't," I reply. He hugs me one last time, and I get up and dress, sore but contrite. Jason was right. I do feel way better. Way better!

The following Monday, at the conclusion of our class, Kenny asks to see Brandon during office hours, and at 4pm, Brandon appears. Both Kenny and I are waiting. Brandon comes in, and Kenny closes the door behind him. Then I stand. "I'm sorry, Brandon, for...umm...having sex with you. It should never have happened. I should never have let it happen. And, I...umm...wanted you to know that...I've been punished for it. I was...spanked...with a leather belt...17 strokes. I was...umm...bare."

Brandon looks at me, surprised, and then he looks at Kenny, who's standing in the corner of the office, behind his desk. Then he looks at me again. Then he looks at the floor. "I'm sorry, Dinh. I know I was your first. I'm...umm...sorry it had to be...this way." I nod.

"That's it," Kenny says, curtly. "That's all I needed you for." Brandon nods, turns, and walks to the door, and before opening it, he looks at me one last time, sadly. He nods at me again, and then is gone.

Published first at: http://groups.yahoo.com/group/Nemo-stories/