The Superintendent


by Greg Bedford <Bford57047@aol.com>

I needed a superintendent to run the apartment building I own. The job doesn't pay much; so most of the applicants were well past their prime. I didn't hink they were physically strong enough to do the work. When Tom showed up, I hired him without hesitation. He was 38 and well built, with dark brown wavy hair and a mustache. He'd been trained as a mechanic in the service, and he was handy. He fit my requirements perfectly. What's more, he didn't quarrel about the pay.

He got his work done quickly every day, and he formed the habit of leaving the building as soon as his work was done. Part of a superintendent's job, of course, is to be on the premises most of the time. The tenants started to complain. I had to get after him. "You're here until five o'clock Monday through Friday. Weekends you're free, unless there's an emergency; but during the week you're here," I told him.

He improved for a while but then reverted to his old habits. I told him that if he didn't shape up, I'd fire him. He promised to toe the mark, but a few days later I cam in at three and found him gone. I decided that he'd have to go.

I caught him coming in to the building at 4:30. "You're fired, Tom," I said.

He turned white. "Please," he said. "I can't lose this job. If I do, I'm off to Arlington."

"You're not making sense," I answered.

"I'm on probation, and I've lost three jobs. I have to hold down a job. They told me I had one more chance. If I lose this job, I lose my probation."

Now I understood why he had been willing to accept such a low-paying position. "Why are you on probation?" I asked.

"Disorderly conduct and vandalism," he said.

"At your age?"

"Yeah. We got high. We were painting over traffic signs."

"_s_h_i_t_! I did something like that when I was fourteen. The cops brought me home, and I got my ass warmed. You're thirty-eight."

"My lawyer though they were going to put me away. He was really surprised when I got probation."

"If you knew you couldn't afford to get fired, and you'd been told that you'd get fired if you played hookey from work again, why did you do it?"

"I've never had any self-discipline," he said.

"Maybe you'll acquire some at Arlington," I answered. I had made up my mind not to fire him, but I wanted to make him sweat a little.

"You're not going to give me another chance?"

"Yeah, Tom. I am. But grow up."

The scare had an effect on him. For about a month he was on duty every day. The tenants even reported an improvement. Then one afternoon I came in and couldn't find him anywhere. I was puzzled because his car was outside the building. I walked down to the furnace room and found him sharing a joint with a sixteen-year-old boy. The kid blurted out, "Please don't tell my parents. They'll kill me."

"Goodbye, Rick," I said. "Don't let me catch you down here again."

Tom was speechless. "Come with me," I said. He was thoroughly confused, but he followed my order without argument. I led him to my apartment.

"You are about to have an experience that will leave a lasting impression," I said.

"Please, sir. It's really bad there."

"Where?"

"Arlington."

"You're not going to Arlington. Not if you do as I tell you."

An expression of relief spread over his face.

"Over here," I said, pointing to a spot right in the middle of the living room. "Drop your pants and grab your ankles."

"What?"

"You're about to get what you needed twenty years ago. I'm going to beat your ass."

From the day I'd first laid eyes on him I'd often imagined myself tanning his backside, but I had never expected actually to have the opportunity. Here it was. I went to the closet and pulled out a thin, flexible cane. Tom obediently dropped his pants and assumed the position.

"You're going to get a dozen IF you stay in position. If you get up, I start over again."

As I delivered the first stroke with a snap of the wrist, he winced. I could tell that the pain far exceeded his expectations.

After the third stroke he jumped up.

"Now we're back to one," I said.

"You don't mean it," he replied.

"Wanna bet?" I retorted. From then on he held the position. He howled quite a bit, and by the time I finished, there were real tears on his cheeks. I was quite sure that the welts I'd left on his butt would last for several days.

"Stand up," I ordered. Almost involuntarily he grabbed his behind. A noticeable sign of excitement appeared elsewhere. I embraced him.

"Thank you," he said. "Thank you, sir."

"This is what you're going to get every time you step out of line," I told him.

"That really hurt," was all he could say.

His probation period was over a year ago. He's still working for me. He spends more time in my apartment now than in his basement quarters, and two or three times a month he finds himself bent over with his pants down. We both agree that he needs regular lickings to keep him out of trouble.


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