Author's note: This is a work of fiction based on a favorite fantasy of mine. I love young baseball players and have always wanted to spank one. Thanks to "Daddy Chris" for suggesting how to end the story. Enjoy!
I was sitting in my office at the Athletic Center sorting through my mail when there was a knock at my door. I looked up and saw Drew standing outside my office. I suppressed the impulse to smile. I knew why Drew had come, and that I needed to look stern.
"Coach Burton, Sir," the young man said, "I need to talk with you."
"Come in, and close the door," I answered.
Drew stepped into the office and pulled the door shut behind him. I looked him up and down. As many times as I have seen Drew, I never tire of looking at the eighteen-year-old baseball star. Drew is just over six feet tall. He has closely-cropped sandy-brown hair, and the most gorgeous crystal blue eyes I have ever seen. I remember my sister once using the term "dreamy" to describe eyes like Drew's. Drew has a perfectly-proportioned face, with a small, straight nose and a well-defined jaw and chin. His cheeks are invariably rosy. His lips are full and red. Drew's shoulders and chest are broad and muscular. His waist is firm and trim. His legs are long, lean, and muscular. He was wearing a sweat-soaked white T-shirt, tight blue shorts with a prominent bulge in the front, and white socks and running shoes. I could smell the warm, salty smell of workout sweat, and another, subtle scent, which I can only label "adolescent male essence." It is quite intoxicating. I know why the men of ancient Greece could not keep their hands off of young athletes.
I motioned for Drew to sit. He sank down into a chair next to my desk and put his head down.
"What's on your mind?" I asked.
"The game, yesterday, Coach. I skunked! I mean, I was terrible! I couldn't have hit that, that god_d_a_m_n_ ball to save my life! I don't know what happened?" Drew seemed close to tears.
He had played a poor game, missing what I thought were easy hits, and never making a single decent hit. "You're right. You didn't play the way I expect you to play. Is something bothering you?"
"I guess so. My schoolwork is starting to get really tough. I have all these labs and assignments. And practice every day. I'm kind of feeling overwhelmed. I don't feel like I get to have much fun." Drew seemed even closer to tears.
I understand the heavy load Drew is carrying. He's in college on a baseball scholarship, but his Dad has insisted that his primary focus should be his studies. Drew is the first member of his family to go to college, and his father wants him to be a doctor. Drew is taking tough pre-Med. courses. He's a good student, and takes his work seriously. He also takes his performance on the baseball team seriously, and hates to let his teammates down. "Don't forget, Drew, classes come first. Your Dad made that very clear to me," I said.
Drew shifted nervously in the chair. I know that mention of his father affects him deeply. His father is a hard-working auto mechanic and handyman, who's done his best to provide for his family. He's always known that Drew has a lot of potential, and he's pushed him to reach for as much as he can get. Drew has tremendous respect for his father. Still, sometimes, I've detected a hint of resentment. Drew is struggling, as a young man, to assert himself and to seek out his own path. "I know, Sir. I really do want to do the best I can. I know Pop's right about not expecting to be able to make a career in baseball. What am I gonna do?" Drew seemed desperate.
I could see that the tension was building. Drew was working hard, keeping himself under tight discipline. But he was ready to pop. I knew what he needed. Drew knew as well.
"Well, Drew, what do you think will help you?" I asked, knowing what the answer would be, but relishing hearing him say it.
"I guess I need some discipline, Sir. I need my butt warmed," Drew answered.
"I agree. How about you come by my place around seven tonight? Will that work?" I asked, trying not to show my excitement.
"Yes, Sir. That will be fine. I'll be at your place right at seven," Drew answered. He spoke firmly, obviously pushing himself not to back down from what he believed he had to do.
Drew is earnest and serious about the discipline he takes from me. I started administering corporal punishment to Drew a week after he arrived at school. He'd come by my office for a chat about the team. He saw my paddle hanging on the wall in the office and asked about it.
"That was the paddle my high school baseball coach used. I got it from him nearly every week. When I graduated, he gave it to me as a present," I explained.
"Did getting paddled make you a better athlete?" Drew asked.
"I think so," I answered.
"What did it feel like? Did it hurt a lot?" Drew asked.
I was excited by his curiosity. I took a chance. "Well, Drew, if you're curious, I could let you have a taste," I said, fearful and excited all at once.
Before I knew it, Drew had bent across my desk and was waiting for me to lay on the licks. "Do it the way your coach did. Hard!" Drew instructed.
"Are you sure?" I asked.
"Yes, Sir."
I took the paddle down, positioned myself to one side of Drew, placed the paddle to his beautiful, round rump (he was wearing jeans at the time), swung it back and....WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! I could see Drew grimace. I became worried.
Drew stood up. "Man! That hurt!" Drew exclaimed. He smiled. "My Dad used to give it to me with his belt. I got it from him the last time just before I graduated from high school. I went out with some of my buddies and we got drunk and the police pulled us over. Dad was pissed!"
I was amazed at Drew's candor. I didn't know what to make of it. "Do you think your Dad did the right thing?" I asked. "I mean, you didn't think you were too old?"
"No! I guess you're never too old for it you act like a jerk the way I did. When did your coach last paddle you?" Drew asked.
"It was in my senior year, just before graduation. I skipped a practice. I figured it was no big deal. The coach thought otherwise!" I answered.
"So, you were my age, almost?" Drew asked.
I liked his easy manner. I liked Drew. I am in love with his boyish good looks, and his polite but down-to-earth demeanor. And, of course, there is that "adolescent male essence" with which Drew seems so amply endowed. "Come to think of it, I was," I answered. "I was just about four months younger than you are now." Then, I took a big dare. "You think you Dad still thinks you're not too old?" I asked.
"I know he doesn't think I'm too old. He told me when he dropped me off here that if I screwed up he'd come up and tan me good!" Drew spoke with evident pride. It was obvious that Drew had taken his father's stern threat as an expression of his Dad's passionate love for him.
I took an even bigger risk. "So, what if you screw up and your Dad can't make it up here?" I smiled, unsure myself whether I was asking a serious question.
"I don't know. Maybe you should take care of it. Like your coach did." Drew was obviously serious!
I swallowed hard. "Okay," I said. "But I'll leave it up to you. I trust you to know when you need it." I figured my offer was vague enough that I could deny I'd really meant it if any recrimination followed.
What followed was not recrimination, but Drew, three days later, appearing in my office and asking me to paddle him. He'd gone out on a date instead of studying, and had nearly failed a test. "I really messed up, Coach. I called Dad and he chewed me out over the phone and told me I deserved a beating, and he wished he could get up here and tan me!"
I could hear the members of the wrestling team in the locker room next to my office, and I knew they'd be able to hear me paddling Drew. "I can't do it here, Drew," I said. "You have to understand that not everyone would understand." I suggested that Drew come to my house. It is just a short walk from campus. I often have guys from the team come by. No one would think that there was anything odd about Drew dropping by.
That first night, I half expected that Drew would not show. However, he did come, on time, and as ready as ever to take his licks. From that first night, I received regular visits from Drew, and as we became more comfortable with our relationship, we tried out various types of corporal punishment, focusing on what would work best in each situation to get Drew back on the straight and narrow.
To deal with Drew's pent-up stress over his studies and practice schedule, and to motivate him to set reasonable priorities, I decided that a long, intense session was in order. Drew had cried only once, after a stinging spanking with a small paddle. He had described bursting into tears as a great release. I was sure he needed to repeat that experience. I also knew that Drew valued being able to give up being mature and tough. In my company, knowing he'd not be judged or condemned, Drew was able to regress and be a little boy again.
"Well, okay, Drew," I said, slapping my thighs. "Until tonight!"
Drew rose, turned, and stepped to the door. My eyes feasted on his beautiful ass. Drew has, without a doubt, one of the most beautiful bums I have ever seen! In all my life I have seen only a few that equaled it, and even fewer that could be said to surpass it. It is small, and hard. The buttocks are perfectly symmetrical, curving out round and full from the small of his back, the gluteus muscles wrapped neatly around his pelvis. Each cheek is marked with a large dimple, the "thumb-prints of God" a friend in the art department calls them. I never cease to be aroused by the sight of it, fully clothed, covered with only thin cotton briefs, or as bare as it was the day Drew emerged from his loving mother.
As soon as Drew had left the office, I gave my throbbing _c_o_c_k_ a much-needed rub. Then I tried to get my mind off of what I was going to do with Drew. I got back to work. Then I went home, made dinner, ate it watching a tape of the game in which Drew had so badly "skunked," and then tidied up in preparation for Drew's arrival.
The youth arrived, as always, right on time. He was dressed in jeans, running shoes, and a blue sweatshirt worn over a white T-shirt. He had his baseball cap on. When he entered the house, he took it off and hung it on the hook inside the front hall. Drew is one of the few boys on campus who maintains the old custom of doffing his hat when he is indoors. It is a quirk I cherish in the lad.
"Well, Drew, have you been thinking about your problem?" I asked
"Yes, Sir."
"Any insights?"
"Yes, Sir. I think I'm just really wound up. I feel like I can't focus because I am so tight inside. I guess I need to let off some steam."
"You mean you want to have a catharsis?" I asked.
"Yes, Sir." Drew knew what I meant.
We'd discussed it before. I am not just a baseball coach but also a classicist. It is strange, I know! I am sure I am the only person ever to attend a college on a baseball scholarship and get a degree in Classics! I studied Latin and Greek, and pitched fast balls. I wrote my senior thesis on the Greek athletic ideal. I also spent a great deal of time talking to my favorite Greek professor about the Greek male love of handsome youth. I was a handsome youth at the time. Professor Dunne, a dignified British academic, a veteran of El Alamein and Normandy, was an exceptionally attractive older man, who shared the old Greeks' passion for well-built young men who were open to a tender embrace and the wisdom and support of an older man.
I well-understand the Greek idea of catharsis, the cleansing release of pent-up emotion. Catharsis is important in all cultures that value self-control and stoicism. It is achieved in different ways. The Greeks achieved it in their reactions to tragic drama. The Romans achieved it by watching bloody sporting events. Drew gets it through having his ass beaten. This has always been so for him. His father has always demanded incredible self-discipline from Drew, and when Drew showed signs that he was about to burst from pent-up emotion, his father laid on the belt and gave Drew a chance to lose control.
"Alright, Drew, go upstairs and wait for me," I instructed.
I watched Drew ascend the stairs, enjoying the view of his beautiful denim-covered bum. Oh, what that lad does to a pair of Levi's! Drew climbed the stairs like a condemned man ascending a gallows. You see, Drew genuinely fears the discipline I dish out. He is no masochist who gets off on pain. Corporal punishment works for Drew precisely because he does not like it. It deters him from wrongdoing, because he know, if he does something wrong, he'll have to confess it to me and take his licks. It also gives him the emotional release I talked about. Finally, it helps him cleanse his conscience. When he knows he's let people down, it makes him feel better to suffer a bit of pain to make up for hurting others. I love that Drew is so genuine and so without guile. I love the fact that when Drew squirms, he is really squirming, and when Drew shouts, or sobs, or cries, he is responding in a genuine way to the punishment.
I went into the kitchen and poured myself a shot of vodka. I always need the little punch that shot gives me in order to be able to lay on an effective spanking. Having downed the shot, I climbed the back stairs to the guest bedroom where I always have my sessions with Drew. I found him, as usual, standing by the bed, looking worried.
I said nothing, at first. I simply walked over to the bed and sat down. I looked over at Drew. "Take off your jeans," I ordered.
Drew obeyed instantly. He slipped off his running shoes. Then he unfastened the button on his jeans, drew down the zipper, and pulled his jeans down to his ankles. He pulled them off, folded them, and put them over a chair. He stood before me, his bare legs on display. Drew's legs are long and muscular. They are visibly hairy just up to above his knees. Then, the hair gives way to a fine, light down, a sort of peach fuzz, which I love. As usual, Drew was wearing white cotton briefs. They were filled to capacity with his ample balls and _c_o_c_k_. I always like a ball player who has a bat and a couple of balls on hand!
"Get across my knee, young man," I commanded.
Drew stepped forward and stretched himself across my lap. I felt my _c_o_c_k_ stir, and pretended to adjust him into position, really shifting myself so that he wouldn't feel my erection. I pulled up his T-shirt, exposing his brief-clad rump and the small of his back. Every inch of Drew's body is wonderful to look at, and the muscular area at the base of his spine, where his buttocks begin their gentle rise, is something I never tire of seeing. I put my hand on Drew's firm, round behind. I was, as always, tempted to caress and squeeze it, but I resisted the impulse. "Alright, Drew, time to get down to work," I said. I raised my hand and brought it down firmly on his right cheek, cupping my fingers around it. SMACK! The sound echoed off the wall. Drew jerked in reaction, as much to the sound as to the sensation of being hit. SMACK! I laid a spank on Drew's left buttock. SMACK! I returned to the right. SMACK! Back to the left. SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! Back and forth, I applied firm spanks, using the strength I had gained from years of pitching practice and coaching.
This was just the warm-up, though. After a few minutes of spanking the seat of Drew's briefs, I ordered him to his feet. I stood him directly in front of me. I put my hands to the waistband of his briefs. Drew's stomach expanded and contracted in anticipation. Like most athletes, Drew is anything but modest, but when I haul down his underpants, it is obvious that he feels vulnerable. I gave the briefs a firm tug and brought them down to Drew's knees. Drew's long, thick _c_o_c_k_ flopped out. His balls bobbed. I took his arm and pulled him back down across my lap, spreading my legs so that his _c_o_c_k_ and balls would hang free. I put my hand to his naked behind. My erection stiffened. Drew's bottom was already a rosy pink from the first spanking. I admired the beautiful, round buttocks. Except for the areas my hand had turned pink, they were creamy white, marked off from his brown legs and torso by a clear tan line. It was obvious Drew had spent much of the summer in a Speedo swimsuit. I lifted my hand and laid a firm spank on his right buttock. When I lifted my hand, I could see the red handprint, which quickly blended in to the pinkness around it. I love the sensation that comes from slapping Drew's bare bottom. I love the feel of my warm hand against his warm rump. SMACK! I laid a spank on his left cheek. SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!
Drew squirmed as I reddened his small, round bottom. Then he started to buck and moan, as the pain grew more intense.
"Owww! Ahhh! Ohhhhh! Owwww! Awwwwww!"
I stopped spanking Drew. I listened. Drew was panting heavily. I could see his shoulders rising and falling. But still, there was not the telltale sniffle that would tell me that Drew had come to tears.
I pulled Drew to his feet. I looked him up and down again. His _c_o_c_k_ was still flaccid. His balls still hung low and loose between his muscular legs. His smooth torso was moist with sweat. The subtle smell of "adolescent male essence" reached my nostrils. I stood, hoping the bulge in my jeans was not too obvious. I unbuckled my belt and pulled it from around my waist. I doubled it over, grasped the buckle end and the loose tip in my right hand, and then took hold of the belt and gave it a threatening snap. Drew jumped.
"Now, young man, we're going to get down to some serious business!" I said. "Lie across the bed."
Drew did as instructed. I stood over him, admiring again the marvelous, full, round ass, already crimson from the hand-spanking. I raised my arm and swung the belt. I took careful aim, and laid a firm lick across Drew's behind.
CRACK! The sound of leather connecting with bare skin echoed off the wall. I heard Drew gasp. CRACK! I laid on another lick. Again, Drew gasped. He squirmed, and then pulled himself back into position. CRACK! I lashed the boy's rump a third time. Drew groaned.
"You need to set priorities, Drew. You need to put your studies first. Your Pop expects big things from you," I lectured. "Baseball is important, but your studies come first. Get your focus right and you'll do fine!"
CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! I punctuated the lecture with three more licks of the belt.
"Am I getting through to you, Andrew?" I asked.
"Yes, Sir."
"What are you going to do?"
"I'm going to get more organized. I'm going to plan my work ahead, so I have time to study, and do practice, and have some social life!"
"Good for you!"
CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! I rewarded Drew's answer with three more licks.
I knew Drew was close to the breaking point. I put my belt back on, walked over to the chest of drawers in the room, opened the top drawer, and produced the small, light, stinging paddle. I walked over to the bed and ordered Drew to his feet. When Drew saw the paddle, his expression revealed his fear.
"That's right, Drew," I said, "you're gonna get a dose of the paddle."
I sat on the bed and ordered Drew across my knee. Drew got down as ordered. I guided him into position, and took a firm grip on his hip. I knew Drew was going to buck and struggle.
WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! I started to paddle Drew. The paddle danced across his red behind, turning the crimson color a deeper shade. WHAP! WHAP! WHAP!
"Owwwwwwww! Owwwwwwww!" Drew really began to shout and buck.
I felt his _c_o_c_k_ slap against my inside leg. I gripped Drew more firmly and continued the paddling. WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! And then, I heard it, the wet, choking sound of a sob. Drew was crying.
"That's it, Drew, let it all out," I coached. I continued to paddle his crimson rear, holding him as he cried.
THWAP! THWAP! THWAP! THWAP! THWAP! THWAP! THWAP! THWAP!
Drew's sobs grew more energetic. Finally, when I felt he'd gotten a full release, I set aside the paddle. I massaged the back of his neck and spoke gently to him, assuring him that all was well, and that he'd taken his punishment as bravely as could be expected.
I guided Drew to his feet and gave him a fatherly hug. Then I released my grip and stood back, and watched him dress himself. Drew took a tissue from me and wiped his eyes and blew his nose. Then he went into the bathroom, where he peed and washed his face. We went downstairs. Drew sat on the couch in my living room. I gave him a Coke, and we sat and talked for a while. Then Drew decided he was ready to go.
At the door, Drew extended his hand. "Thanks Coach. I feel a lot better now," he said as I took his hand and squeezed it.
"Sure, Drew. I'm glad to be of service," I answered.
After Drew left I went up to my room, replaying the events that had just transpired in my mind, inventing a different ending. I stripped off my clothes, laid out on my bed, and wrapped my hand around my rock-hard erection. I visualized the end of the spanking, and then began to dream of what I had wanted to happen.
In my fantasy, when I reached the end of the spanking, I was startled to feel his _c_o_c_k_ brush against my leg. It was hard. Rock hard! I helped Drew to his feet. His _c_o_c_k_ was standing out, long and solid. I had never seen it erect before. I estimated that it was eight and a half inches long. The reddish-purple head had swollen with the rest of the _c_o_c_k_. The tip was moist with pre-cum. I couldn't help but stare at it. Drew was blushing.
"It's okay, Drew. It's just the stress getting to you. Don't be embarrassed," I said.
"I'm, I'm not too embarrassed, Sir," Drew said. "I guess, as long as this doesn't make you mad at me."
"Not at all, Drew!" I answered, not able to tell him the half of it!
"Sir, I guess since you've seen that I, I am getting sort of turned on by this, maybe I can, well, tell you that I know you get turned on too," Drew said.
I swallowed hard, not sure what to say.
"It's okay, Sir. I mean, if it gets you hot spanking me. I know you do it for my own good. If it gets you hard, that's even better." Drew had put his hand around his erection and was stroking it slowly.
I stood and unhitched my belt. Before I knew what was happening, Drew had reached out, unfastened the button on my jeans, and had drawn down the zipper. I stood and waited while he took hold of my jeans and slid them down to my knees. My erection was straining against my briefs. Drew looked at me. I smiled at him. He took hold of the waistband of my underwear, and pulled them down. My _c_o_c_k_ stood out, as stiff as Drew's.
"Go ahead, Sir, jerk off. I want to see you do it. You can watch me," Drew said. "I used to fool around with my brothers back at home. I like this."
"Why don't we get everything off and lie on the bed?" I suggested.
Drew immediately pulled off his T-shirt, removed his briefs from around his knees, and even took off his socks. He stretched out on his back on the bed, grimacing a bit as his battered rear touched the mattress. I finished undressing and laid down next to him. We both set to work on our throbbing _c_o_c_k_s.
I wanted desperately to touch Drew. "Drew, can I show you something that feels really good?" I asked.
"I guess so, Sir," Drew answered.
I reached out with my free hand and rubbed one of Drew's big, round nipples. Drew squirmed and groaned.
"_f_u_c_k_! _f_u_c_k_! That feels great!" Drew exclaimed.
"Never felt that before?" I asked.
"I've done it to myself," Drew answered, "but it's way more of a turn-on with another person's hand. Thanks!"
I continued to rub Drew's nipple while he stroked his _c_o_c_k_. I watched him work away at it, his strong batting arm doing a marvelous job on his bat.
"Pop me a homer!" I coached.
"Grand slam, Coach!" Drew gasped, as he arched his back and let fly with a tremendous explosion of hot cum.
It spattered down onto his chest and stomach, and onto my arm and shoulder.
I laid back and returned my attention to my own _c_o_c_k_, which demanded relief. Inspired by my gesture, Drew rubbed my nipples, showing himself as expert at pleasuring his coach as at hitting a baseball.
"Gonna bring the runners home!" I gasped. I came as vigorously as the boy had.
Drew and I then just laid there on the bed, feeling spent.
"Coach," Drew said, breaking the silence, "I'm glad we did that. I hope we can do it again sometime."
"Sure, Drew," I answered. "Any time you want. With or without a spanking before hand."
"Sure, Coach."
I know I'll spank Drew again soon. And after I've spanked him, I'll jerk off thinking about what I'd like to do with him. Maybe some day, young Drew will open up enough to offer himself to me. Until then, I'll enjoy spanking his muscular ass, and I'll jerk off alone. We can't have everything. I already have a lot!