"Look, coach, I know what I did was wrong and broke about every team and school and home rule there is. But . . . I can tell you it won't happen again and I would like to see if there is some way this can be resolved without you throwing me off swim team."
Sean looked up into Coach Dave Mason's eyes trying to see if there any hope for him.
"Sean, I imagine you are as disappointed in your behavior as I am. All that work. Two years of shooting for state. And we finally win sectionals and you're headed for state. Then this. Unbelievable."
"It is," Sean replied. He was not going to give up easily. Too much at stake to do that. "But I am sorry. And it won't happen again. I have a clean record up to now. There has to be a way here. It would be completely unfair to everyone if you toss me."
"You got that right! Put yourself in your team mate's situation. They might be harder on you than I would."
"C'mon, coach. I have had a perfect record till now. There must be a way to pay for this one and not lose everything. Everyone should get at least a second chance."
"I have news, Sean. Sometimes in life you don't get a second chance. You couple that drinking you did with a car and I might have been going to your funeral instead of sitting here in my office with you."
"Yes, sir."
"Anyone else in school know about this?"
"No, sir. Just my parents, you, and the cops."
"What did your parents think?"
"Dad hit the roof and grounded me for the remainder of the year! The whole _f_u_c_k_ing year! Nothing even on weekend nights!"
"Watch the language, Sean. Your dad said whatever the punishment is here he is going to support me."
"Yes, sir."
"And you want to stay on the team and swim state, right?"
"Whatever it takes to do that, yes. Whatever."
"Well, Sean, I have given a lot of thought to this. I can't see why the other fifteen guys should have their chance at state jeopardized by your selfish behavior. And, to be honest, I remember something similar to this when I was about your age and how my father took care of it."
"Yes, sir," Sean answered quietly, still looking for some sign in his coach's eyes he would stay on the team. "What was that?"
"That was the last good lickin' I ever got with the leather strap he kept out in the barn."
Sean's eyes widened. This he had not considered as a possibility.
"Yes, sir."
"So you can choose your punishment for your immaturity and stupidity, Sean. I will keep this between us and not share it with school administration so you need not worry there."
"Choice, sir?"
"You have a choice. I can-and should-kick you off the team for the rest of the year effective immediately with no reason given beyond `violation of team rules'. Or you can write me a three thousand word essay on the effects of alcohol on athletic performance and turn it in here in my office next Saturday morning. After which you will take your pants down for a good whipping. Your choice."
"Easy choice, coach. I will have that essay done and in your office by next Saturday."
"OK--and you will go across this desk to take your whipping ?"
"Yes, sir."
"Deal, Sean. See that you are here at 7:00 am on Saturday. Here is the key to the door at the back of the pool for you."
"Yes, sir!"
Sean smiled for the first time since the cops had caught him with Rebecca in the back seat of her car with an open six pack.
The next few nights found Sean hard at work on the net searching out material for his essay on "Alcohol and Athletic Performance." Three thousand words was a lot of cutting and pasting: he figured it out to fifteen pages double spaced. Even ran a couple of nice charts into the paper just to make it look especially good. The paper, though, was the easy part. An hour did not pass that Sean did not think of the other half of his punishment. His father had paddled him pretty good on many occasions but not since he was twelve or thirteen four years ago. Coach was in good shape, too, and Sean figured he would lay it on pretty good.
Sean had problems sleeping Friday night. He proofread the paper once more and printed it out. Half down and half to go. He told his parents he was going to the pool early Saturday to get some extra laps in to prepare for state. When his father took him aside and asked if he and the coach had come to an agreement to keep him on the team, Sean looked down and said they had. No details. So as the sun just peeked over the horizon about six in the morning Sean cruised into the parking lot and let himself into the pool.
Coach had not yet arrived but the office was open so Sean went in to lay the paper on his desk. Then he went to his locker, stripped, got into his Speedo, took a shower, and started swimming laps to calm his nerves. Twenty minutes later the overhead lights came on and he saw Coach Mason standing on the deck in his sweats.
"Morning!" Coach shouted across the empty room when Sean stopped swimming and stood up in the shallow end. He was not smiling.
"Morning, Coach!" Sean called back. The turn inside his stomach told him it was time to pay the price. So he shot up out of the water and onto the deck, then grabbed a towel and followed the coach down the stairs to his office.
"Looks like you did a very nice job on the paper, Sean," coach said as Sean stood in front of the desk dripping onto the carpet clad only in his Speedo and a towel around his shoulders.
"Thank you, sir. I worked hard on it and learn a lot."
"Bet you did. Just hope you remember it."
"I will sir."
"You will when I finish giving you something to remember, boy."
"Yes, sir, I'm sure I will."
Coach Mason looked up from his chair, opened the center drawer of the desk, and took out a broad, thick leather strap.
"Close the door, Sean. Then hang your towel on the knob and stand in front of my desk."
Sean carefully closed the door, hung the wet towel on the door knob, then stood facing the front of the desk. Coach Mason was standing behind him now, and to the side.
"Take that suit off, boy. It can just lay there on the floor at your feet."
Sean stripped his wet Speedo down to his ankles, then kicked it free of his feet and stood naked with his back to the coach. To his shame and embarrassment his _c_o_c_k_ started to harden and rose till he was fully erect.
"This is how it is, Sean. You spread your feet apart and get a good balance, then bend across the desk till your chest is touching the desk. Grab hold of the other edge and you do NOT let go. Your ass is mine and I want it nice and tight and high. You're about to get a lickin' with this strap you'll remember the next time someone offers you some beer or liquor. Believe me."
Coach Mason waited while Sean did as he was told. To keep from being further embarrassed, Sean pushed his erection down between his legs in front of the edge of the desk so it would look like his _c_o_c_k_ was hanging down. His balls were tightly up to the crack between his thighs due to the cold water of the pool and his erection looked all the more ludicrous to the coach.
"Don't worry about that hard on, boy," coach said. "That won't be a problem in a couple of minutes. I doubt you'll find this exciting."
The preliminaries over, Coach Mason stepped back a bit, measured his target, took the strap back and walloped Sean fairly hard across the fullest part of his lean and muscular ass. He waited for the broad red stripe to appear-about fifteen seconds-and began a quiet lecture on growing up, alcohol, team responsibility, self-control, and a few other things. Each point punctuated by a hard lick with the strap. Five minutes of lecture and Sean's ass was deep crimson. The heat continued to loosen his sac till his balls were dancing each time the strap cracked across his butt. His _c_o_c_k_, however, remained erect.
"Am I getting through to you, boy?" Coach asked after a good dozen licks.
"YES! Sir!" Sean shouted. He could barely keep his grip on the far edge of the desk as Coach Mason took aim at the underside of his flaming cheeks, whipping the strip slightly upwards to lift the scalded cheeks.
"Good!" Coach replied. "Then I think maybe I should take the time to read your essay and correct it right now. You can just take a place over in the corner and stand there while I check your work."
"Yes, sir," Sean said quietly. He had hoped this was over. But he stood up, _c_o_c_k_ still at full mast, and went to the corner of the office. Sean could not believe how much that strapping had stung and yet . . . he had these feelings inside . . . and his _c_o_c_k_ was still hard. For the next ten to fifteen minutes he stood in that corner, hands at his side, and his ass close to purple from the licking.
"Very nice job, Sean," Coach said. "You did a heck of a job in tracking all this stuff down on the net but not much of it is your own words. So I think just to be sure, I need to hear you say `I have learned to stay away from alcohol till I am twenty-one.' So let's practice that."
"Practice?"
"Back across my desk, Sean."
"Yes sir." Sean groaned inside. But he once more bent across the coach's desk.
"Let's hear it, Sean."
"I have learned to stay away from alcohol till I am twenty-one," Sean said.
Coach Mason lashed his backside once more with the strap.
"Again, Sean."
"I have learned to stay away from alcohol till I am twenty-one," Sean shouted.
Coach Mason's strap cracked hard on the welts already there.
"Say it, Sean."
And so it went till Coach had laid six licks on as hard as he could and Sean had been reduced to shouting and pleading and tears. Then it was over. Almost.
"What do you say, Sean?" Coach asked as he tucked the whipping strap into his gym bag.
"Thank you, coach," Sean managed in a whisper. The pain was one thing, the humiliation just made it worse.
"You're welcome, Sean. And you might stay out of practice till Tuesday or Wednesday so you don't have to answer any questions from your team mates about how you got those stripes."
"Yes, sir."
"Oh, and Sean?"
"Yes, sir."
"Take this into the shower with you and do something about that hard on you have there." Coach tossed him a tube of body gel.
"I will, coach!" Sean smiled. Picked up his towel and suit and gingerly made his way to the shower. It even hurt to walk.
Coach Mason heard the shower start, opened his desk drawer, removed the remote, and hit the rewind button on the camcorder on the shelf opposite his desk. Just as the rewind was about to finish he hit the stop button, kicked it into play, then hit the pause. On the big Sony next to the camcorder he saw Sean bent across his desk and in the corner of the screen only his hand, arm, and the strap hanging down. He smiled and thought of his own high school swim coach many years ago. The torch had been passed.