Sean Showers and Spanks Simon

They say that fact is often stranger than fiction, and it certainly ensured that the events given in this account have remained a very vivid memory many years after. If you like my tale, and especially if you have your own accounts of younger guys being masters, then please email Simon (Yorkshireman) at   Or

The Attraction

It was during my second year at University as a mature student that I came dramatically into contact with Sean, and after that occasion my admiration for him became greater. He was twenty when he started at the same Midlands University as me, and the two years he had worked before joining my media course had marked him out as mature in character and in physique. Oh the eighteen-year-old lads were in some ways prettier, but they were mere undeveloped callow youths in comparison to Sean's properly formed manliness. Sean was even slightly ugly, for his already rugged face look a little tired and gave the air of not been looked after, at least when seen in company of those fresh yoofs whose faces didn't look as though they'd ever been out in the rain. I admit now that Sean had stood out for me right away, but I never made any attempt to admit my attraction, or to develop it.

All the way through the first year and well into the second I observed Sean from afar, but without obsession. He knew him to like pranks and be almost as laddish as the 18year olds, but never quite as bad. Indeed I saw a distance between him and these lads who had come straight from school, and I noticed the maturity that distinguished him from them, and also looked to that difference as an opening for me to approach him. The younger lads were always friendly to me but I knew they regarded me as "not one of them", so even if I had wanted closer contact I knew it to be useless. Sometimes I thought Sean would let me be his friend because I felt closer to him than he might feel to the eighteen year olds, but I never acted on that hope.

My contacts with Sean were no more than with any other member of my class, it's just I noticed them more and was more grateful for the times he sat near me, or we worked together in a group or in a pair. Halfway through the course I had allowed Sean to be nothing more than a friendly colleague, and resisted the need to be more because I was afraid of rejection. When the chance came for me to do a turn for Sean, I did it with effort and enthusiasm and tried hard to please him even in the smallest thing. So it was especially painfully to me when I let Sean down by failing to do what I promised him; little did I realise, however, that my psychological pain would become physical too.

The Book

The university library was a depressing place, not only because it was dreary but also because it generally did NOT have the book you wanted. As Easter approached, however, I found standing proudly on the shelf the very text necessary to answer the assignment on Jean Genet. Hastily I got it stamped and marched into my next lecture where I flaunted my skill to everyone. There was a lot of jealousy, and requests to borrow it, but only Sean's request reached my ears, and I promised it to him because we were both answering the same question.

Getting the book may have been easy, but writing the essay was damn hard, and I found myself working late the night before the deadline. In the pandemonium and general chaos at the end of term the promise to Sean became obscured. In any case, even if I had remembered, I would have thought myself too late because the essay deadline had passed. When Sean asked me the next day for that book, I was embarrassed and annoyed at myself for letting him down. I apologised profusely, bought his cup of tea and hoped to be forgiven. He explained that because of special circumstances he had been awarded a one week extension on the essay and so still needed the text. I offered to lend him my notes and give him some photocopies from the text, but he declined both, assured me it didn't matter and gave me a comforting squeeze as we parted.

The Phone

I didn't expect to see Sean again until next term, and as I watched television on the last Friday evening of term I thought only of my journey home on Sunday. The phone rings and surprises me, everyone has already gone home and I really don't expect a call. The bigger surprise is that it is Sean who phones, I didn't think he knew my number. Sean explains how he is staying onto to write the essay and asks if I would bring my notes and photocopies over to him. Well that's a lot of bother to me, but I am still annoyed at myself for letting Sean down, and also I realise this to be another chance for me to do a turn for my would-be friend. I cross town to the dismal concrete hall of residence, tatty, dilapidated, and broken by the many years of student high jinks and disrepair. It is normally a sea of light and too loud portable stereos, but now it is silent and dark like a broken hulk on beached on a flagstone sea. Floor after floor is empty, at least in Sean's block, and the only light I can sea is from his room and from the corridors and stairs of his block. Most of the students will have gone home, but some might be out partying and return later.

I find Sean in his room, hand over the documents and prepare to go back to my video. He asks me to stop for coffee, and I once more go into my 'anxious to please' mode and make for the communal kitchen that serves the ten rooms on his floor. We sit at one of tables that are drawn to the side wall. He talks continuously and with animation and lap this all up, pleased to be noticed by him and grateful for this chance of intellectual intercourse with my would-be friend.

The Table

However, I respect the unknown qualities of him including a certain hardness that I suspect but have never seen. I therefore try to conclude the visit by making more apologies and clumsily asking him if I should do anything to make amends for the Genet text. After some hesitation Sean asks me to move one of the kitchen tables into the centre of the room. It seems an odd request, but I don't need to know why and I do the deed without question. It is only when a book falls off that table and I realise this to be the Genet text that I suspect a more sinister motive. But my worry is confused by a sense of arousal and wonderment, and I can't steal myself away from what might happen. In any case, I try to justify to myself, it gives me a chance to please him again.

Sean asks me to lie on the table and to hold tightly to the sides. I do so with fascination and fear, my bum bent tightly over and bound by the tightened fabric of my trousers. If I felt vulnerable, then I was premature because Sean suddenly unfastened and lowered my trousers. Part of me can't believe what is happening, but lots of other parts of me want to find out, and I lay there almost enthusiastic to discover what is going to happen. I sense Sean behind me, and hear him remove his training shoe. WHAAAM, his dirty, grey, worn and smelly trainer strikes my briefs. Before I could collect my reactions and deal with the pain it happens again and again.

WHAAAM, WHAAAM, WHAAAM ... I begin to deal with what is happening by rationalising it as a punishment for letting someone down, as a way of pleasing Sean, and also I realise that the pain is causing arousal. I am enjoying being at the mercy of Sean, and begin to seek each subsequent stroke with enthusiasm even though they still hurt. Sean must have sensed my tolerance and stops the beating. He grabs hold of my briefs and yanks them down to my ankles, then pulls my shirt up and over my head. I didn't expect this, and the indignity of bending over for a beating is now reinforced by the embarrassment of being naked. He orders me to stay still, and I do so fearing his displeasure and the return of that trainer shoe to my now unshielded ass. As I lay there, clearly visible through the doorway to anyone in the corridor I consider myself to be ridiculous, vulnerable, and that I shall never live this down if anyone does see me. I could get up and leave, but I know I wont because I still want to please Sean, I want to happen whatever is going to, and the fear of being caught in this act just add more thrill.

The Paddle

It seems an age before Sean returns, and when he does so he has clearly replaced his trainer. He checks my position and adjust my buttocks before playing with them and patting them with something hard and flat. My fear increases, whatever is it, and it only when my buttocks are crashed into without control that I recognise the paddle. My fear had actually underestimated the impact, and B-L-A-A-T-T it happens again. Another B-L-A-A-T-T confirms the pain before another demonstrates how unyielding this is going to be. I lose count as another B-L-A-A-T-T blunders into buttocks almost wishing to return to that slippering, and soon the pain is even and broadly spread. Only the last few blows before he stops do I sense some kind of growing tolerance. I gasp less, grimace less and begin to relax, so it is almost a disappointment to me when Sean stops.

Sean tells me to stand up, and in my shyness it was almost automatic of me to let my shirt drop back into place and to pull up my trousers before facing him. Sean was annoyed at my action and said so, and I said that I was sorry and again apologised for the book mixup. He responded by declaring that I needed more punishment, and almost instinctively I turned my back on him dropped my trousers, raised my shirt and spread myself on the formica top. I was almost eager to continue his punishment and after only about four more strokes, he sensed how comfortable I was and stopped the paddling.

The Shower

I stood up again, but this time resisted efforts to redress, though I kept my back to him. He was still displeased, and yet possibly sensed my pleasure at being in more trouble. "You need cooling off, Sean said, and he threw me a towel and an old pair of his shorts. He commanded me to strip and take a cold shower, but to return thoroughly dried and wearing only his skimpy shorts in just four minutes. I took off my clothes in the kitchen and holding across my vitals walked to his room where I left them, and his order I locked the door. Sean told me to take his room key to the top of the stairs and throw it eight floors down the stairwell to the basement. As I did so, we heard voices from the basement and clearly some joyful students were partying down there out of sight.

Before I could consider this, I was reminded of Sean's ticking clock and directed to the shower already running and very cold too. The icy stream shocked and cooled me, but it also took the heat out of my bottom and as it did so I grew warm inside and suddenly comfortable and confident about what might happen next. I even had the courage to be defiant and thus stayed in the shower too long, dried myself only lightly, and then presented myself beshorted well after the clock had run out. Sean was more athletic than me and his shorts were two inches smaller in the waist, and the clung tightly and uncomfortably to my damp flesh as I stood before their owner hoping for his displeasure.

The Finger

Sean can see how damp I am, and with a threat to beat me once for each time his finger finds wetness, he begins to dab at me. My hair is wet, there is dampness in my ears, under my arms, and in my navel and that wet finger is quickly raising the score. From the navel the finger slides slowly down to the waistband of the tight shorts and I gasp as it moves quickly under the waist band and finds much dampness within. I begin to become nervously aroused, this is quite intimate and therefore strange to be; I find myself confused by the fear of pain piling up from the prodding of that finger, the embarrassment of such touching, and the enjoyment of such attention. Before long that finger retraces its way up and out of the top of the shorts, before moving up my legs. The leg openings of these shorts offer no resistance to the test for damp, and also yield a big boost to the score. Arousal is evident and it is a relief to be asked to turn around and bend over for a rear examination. The shorts are quickly lost, and I lie motionless on the table whilst the finger finds every last drop of moisture in the crack between my buttocks, and then deep within my ass hole. This is joyful and I try my best to give Sean the best possible position and to encourage his efforts as much as possible. Arousal is total, and with it I have abandoned all sense of shame and decency. When I am asked to stand up, I do so making no attempt to cover myself up, and even though it is both the first time Sean has seen my full frontal nude, or that anyone has seen my erection, I have no wish to deny him these views.

The command to resume the position bent over the table is received with delight in my state of joy and high sexual arousal. I have no hesitation in grasping the far end of the formica, and splitting my buttocks to give maximum exposure to his weapon. I am even eager to begin bouncing that bashing bat off my burning buttocks, and the wait seems eternal. I almost give up hope, beginning to believe that Sean has played a final trick on me to leave me totally exposed and clearly ridiculous for anyone to see. I could get up and leave, but my clothes are locked in his room. At that moment I hear footsteps down the corridor, and rapidly consider the need to run from the view of strangers. But arousal has toned down these fears to such an extent that I would probably enjoy being found out by others, and in any case the footsteps are too near for escape to have any point. I really don't care at this point, and then I began to recognise the footsteps and to realise that Sean has returned.

The Rod

Unknown to me, Sean has gone downstairs amongst the voices to retrieve his room key and to obtain his next weapon. When it first tapped and prodded my flesh I new its harness was different from the paddle, and that it was very much thinner and longer. As its end stroked and traced the insides of my legs, and then explored between my buttocks and toyed with my genitalia, I knew that a cane had been found. This was a new terror, and I both longed for it to begin so that I could have the experience and find ways to deal with it, and dreaded that first blow. The playing continued, friendly swats lightly kissed the cheeks and I listening as menacing whooshes whistled through the air but ended in aborted strokes. Finally a thunderous T-H-W-A-C-K tore into my now trembling buttocks as the timber torture tore inwards.

This was new, this was going to tenderise my bum to jelly. But the second T-H-W-A-C-K made known its presence as the third started its journey forward. Mostly the strokes were wider spaced and uneven, with false strokes whooshing in the air to keep the sense of terror high. Those eight strokes took a long time to come, but there was never any element of having a breather or being able to relax for the terror was unremitting throughout. So I was glad when it stopped, and stood up only slowly assisted by Sean. His face showed real concern, and he thought that he had gone too far, but even though I sobbed as I talked to him, I tried to assure him that it was all okay.

Maybe I was too good at this, and gave away my eagerness to be at his mercy, because he suddenly said that I should resume my position and receive more. I did not hesitate, and very quickly I discovered his role of master was now much more confident and competent and his rod rained into my rump repeatedly. That wasn't the only change, however, because I was also finding the pain more bearable and I began to rekindle a sense of pleasure that I realised had been present in the previous beatings. We were now at one with each other, joined in a task we both wanted, and we could continue all night. Sean did stop, about a dozen blows later, simply because exhaustion had overcome him both emotionally and physically. His face shone with fresh sweat, and damp patches marked his tea shirt to prove his exertion. Without asking, and almost without me realising it, I was removing his hot clothing and without speaking we walked naked to the shower room where we cuddled silently under the warm current of spray. Too drained even to dry ourselves we laid together on the easy chairs in the communal seating area and let the central heating radiator warm away our wetness. We calmed ourselves and relaxed, both enjoying the moment and needing only to make a few noises to each other in communication; words but hardly conversation.

The Key

Only the increase in the volume of chatter from the stairwell broke into our peace, and soon we both realised that footsteps were coming our way. Sean became anxious and I knew that I had to get us hidden, my own nudity I could live down, but our joint nudity would mean big trouble for us both. So we stalked around the floor always keeping just out of sight from the visitors to our floor, and wishing that we could have slipped quietly into Sean's room. Our visitors must have heard our sessions and come to see, but they quickly gave up, used our toilet, peed in our shower, and returned downstairs. I knew we must not risk being caught again, so I volunteered to go downstairs and get the room key. Part of me knew that I could have wrapped a towel around me, or even borrowed some of the clothes that Sean had been wearing, but the winning part of me wanted the excitement of maybe being discovered naked. Still partly erect I descended the stairs without shame and bent my self down to the ground trying to spot the key and almost hoping someone would come up behind me. Nobody came, and the key was not to be found because Sean had already collected it without telling me.

As I climbed back up the stairs I realised that Sean must have got the key already, and at the same time I realised that he was still toying with me by letting me go down for it. So as I opened his bedroom door I was excited and anticipated more to happen. In the half light given by the pouring of corridor fluorescent lamps into a dark room, I saw Sean lying naked face down on his bed. I noticed for the first time the creamy pinkness of his fit body and pertness of his delicious buttocks, much better than I ever could have imagined though I still denied to myself that I had ever consciously speculated on his body. In his hand I saw clutched the belt from my trousers, and as I turned to close the door and enter that room, I wondered with the most extreme excitement as to what might happen next.