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Date Posted: 12:07:18 04/20/17 Thu
I live in a fairly small town in the midwest, and, sometimes, I feel like I'm the only gay person in town. The town has only one barber shop: Victor's Barber Shop on Main Street. The shop employs 3 barbers, in addition to the owner. I had once heard somewhere that many gay men were employed in the barber profession. However, all of the barbers at Victor's seemed straight as an arrow. Whenever I got my hair cut there, the barbers would be talking about their wives and kids.
One time, when I went to get a haircut, all the barbers were busy with other customers, except for the owner, Victor, who had never cut my hair before. So, rather than wait until my regular barber was free, I decided to let Victor cut my hair. Victor was in his 40s, about 20 years older than me. He looked as straight as they come. He was not slim, but he wasn't overweight either. He was just built very "solid". I asked Victor about his family, but he said he was a bachelor. Something told me that Victor had been in the military. Perhaps it was because he kept his hair cut really short at a time when most men were letting their hair grow out. Or maybe it was because of his "no-nonsense" attitude. Don't get me wrong. Victor was friendly, but just not all that "chatty". During our conversation, Victor confirmed my suspicion when he revealed that he had spent a fair amount of time in the Army, but, eventually, he decided not to make a career of it. He told me that, after he left the Army, he decided to open up his own barber shop.
After Victor had finished cutting my hair, he asked me if I wanted a shave. Although I usually shave myself, I told Victor to go ahead with the shave. I was kind of intrigued by him, and I thought the shave would give me a little more time to talk with him and learn more about him. Victor had to sharpen his straight razor first. I was facing the mirror on the wall, and, in its reflection, I saw Victor lift up and stretch out the dark brown razor strap that was attached to the side of my chair. Then he ran the straight razor back and forth across the stiff leather of the strap. I told Victor that I had always wondered what those straps were used for. Victor said "That's one use for a razor strap". And I asked Victor, "There are other uses?" And he replied, somewhat hesitantly, "Well, yes, but I thought you'd know about that". Victor was acting kind of strange. I told him to go on. Then, he continued, "Until safety razors became popular, the razor strap was a standard item in most homes. In addition to sharpening their straight razors, razor straps were also used by most fathers to discipline their sons. My own father used a razor strap on me when I had done something wrong". I told Victor that the few times my dad punished me when I was growing up, he used his belt on me, and I didn't think anything could hurt worse than that. Then Victor replied, "Take it from me. A razor strap hurts a lot worse than a belt! They don't even feel the same. When you get punished with a belt, you feel the weight of the belt striking your ass, but when you get punished with a razor strap, you don't feel any weight hitting you. You just suddenly feel this terrible burning pain." Then Victor said, "I can't believe you've missed out on one of life's memorable (if not pleasant) experiences". I told Victor I can't imagine that a belt and a razor strap would feel all that different.
Then Victor lowered his voice so no one else could hear our conversation. "If you're really curious about it, I'll be glad to demonstrate the difference for you. Obviously, I can't do it here in the shop. It would freak out all the customers, but if you come over to my house this evening, I'll be glad to give you a demonstration. I keep a razor strap at home." I took Victor up on his invitation. Somehow, during my conversation with him, I got the suspicion that he might be gay. And I thought that meeting him in private at his place might lead to something interesting.
I arrived at Victor's house about 8 pm. After he invited me in, we both sat down on the couch for a while and talked. Victor suggested to me that, since it was a hot summer evening and we weren't in "mixed company", we'd both be more comfortable if we took off our shirts. So we both removed our shirts and then continued our conversation. After a few minutes, I suddenly realized that Victor's arm was wrapped around my shoulders. I didn't even notice when he did that. I was pretty sure now that Victor was gay, and I "got hard" thinking about where this might lead.
After a while, Victor asked, "Are you ready for that demonstration I promised you?" I said "Yes." Then he said, "I have a few things I want to explain to you first. When you were punished as a kid, your dad was so much bigger and stronger than you that you couldn't escape from the punishment. So, in order to create a similar experience, I'm going to tie you down on my bed so you can't escape from the punishment I'm going to give you. Is that okay with you?" I said "Yes". Victor continued, "When your dad punished you, you had to take the entire whipping no matter how much it hurt. So I'm not going to stop your punishment either until it's completed. Is that okay with you?" And, once again, I said "Yes". Then, he continued, "Lastly, I want to emphasize that the razor strap is going to hurt like hell. So please don't blame me for the pain. Just remember, YOU were the one who wanted to have this experience." I replied, "I promise I won't blame you."
Then Victor said, "I guess you're ready for your punishment. Take off your pants and shoes and lie face-down on the bed!" Victor's stern orders brought back memories of my dad's tone of voice when he was about to punish me with his belt. Victor tied me down securely on the bed with some rope. Then he said, "First, I'm going to give you 20 lashes with my belt." Victor unbuckled his belt and removed it from his pants. Then he doubled it over and began whipping my ass with it. I started crying after only 10 lashes, but Victor continued the punishment until all 20 lashes had been given. Then, after a short respite, Victor said, "Now, I'm going to punish you with the razor strap. You're going to get 20 lashes with it too." Starting with the very first stroke of the razor strap, I yelled at the top of my lungs. I wasn't prepared for the incredible burning sensation that overwhelmed me when that strap struck my butt. By the 6th lash, I was pleading with Victor to stop, but he would have none of that. He said, "I warned you beforehand that you would have to take the full punishment." Each stroke felt like a hot frying pan had been pressed against my butt. My ass felt like it was burning in the fires of Hell! I just screamed and screamed until the whipping was finally over with. I continued crying for a little while after the last stroke.
After I stopped crying, Victor released me from the ropes. I felt so weak after the whipping that I could barely stand up on my own. Victor helped me back to the couch. He took off his pants and sat down first in the middle of the couch. I had never seen a man with such a huge erection before! Victor told me to lie face-down on the couch and put my head in his lap. As I lay down, it was pretty obvious where he wanted me to put my mouth! Victor massaged my sore butt with his right hand while I "feasted" on his manhood. Victor later confided to me that the only time he got such huge erections was when he would punish a young guy like me with his razor strap, hear his horrible screams of agony, and then sadistically watch his desperate, but futile, efforts to escape from the strap.
Just before I left Victor's house, he said, "Now I think you have a pretty good idea what life was like when I was a kid. What do you think of the razor strap now?" I thought about it for a moment and then replied, "I'm only thankful that I didn't have your dad for a father when I was growing up!" We both got a little chuckle from that remark.
I made many more visits to Victor's house after that, sometimes for sex and sometimes just because we enjoyed each other's company. I told Victor that I thought of him almost like a 2nd father, albeit one I could have sex with. Victor liked that idea of being a 2nd father to me, and he took that honorary position very seriously. Just as my real dad had used his belt to keep me on the "straight and narrow" when I was a kid, so there would be times, while I was a young adult, that Victor would find it necessary to "apply" the razor strap to correct my behavior.
For the curious, this story is pure fiction.
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Date: Fri, 15 Jul 2005 14:59:21 -0000 From: "billj1945" < billj1945@yahoo.com > Subject: My true life spanking story, sorry, quite long Lies and Deceptions.... Fifty years ago, hard spankings were not too common in our house. A swat on the bottom was a very common attention getter, but receiving one of Mom's hairbrush spankings was a rare and fearful event. Listening to my sister's cries during a hairbrush spanking emphasized my mother's resolve to punish effectively when necessary. It also emphasized my resolve to do whatever was necessary to avoid the same fate. I was successful at avoiding her ultimate sanction until one night when I was about 8 years old. I must have pushed her too far one night at bedtime and she announced that I was going to have my first taste of her hairbrush. She must have decided that her credibility needed a bit of reinforcement even though I was pretty good, most of the time. I begged my mother for another chance remembering my sister's cries, but she was determined to finally give me a first hand introduction to what she called a "good hairbrush spanking" I was brought over to a low chair and made to kneel in front of it with my torso supported on the seat. She then walked to my dresser, picked up my heavy plastic hairbrush and walked back to where I was kneeling. All of this seemed to take place in stop-action photography. Finally she told me that if I was going to ignore her instructions in the future then I could expect another spanking just like what I was going to receive now. With that she bent over, placed a hand on my back and began spanking my p.j. clad bottom. When the first spank hit, my bottom exploded in pain and I cried out in pain. I could not believe anything could be so painful. Instinctively, I attempted to crawl forward away from the horrible spanks. Frustration! I was blocked by the front of the chair and the back of the chair. Worse yet, the spanks came swiftly, one over the other. I was screaming for her to stop, and miraculously, she stopped. The spanking probably took less than 30 seconds, but I thought it took forever. Again I was warned about ignoring her instructions and sent to bed. I never wanted to have a repeat of that spanking and I was quite successful until one day during summer vacation when I was about 10… I was eating my breakfast and thinking about adventures on a large vacant lot with my friends that day. I was anxious to finish and charge outside when Mom asked if I had made my bed and picked up my room. She was a bit of a neat-nick and did not like a messy house. I usually did so daily, but not always. We kids slept upstairs and our parents downstairs, so there was not a daily inspection. I wanted to go NOW and not dally about making my bed. I thought that I could stall her and so I said "No, but I will later". She was doing the dishes and said "Good". I thought that an unusual response in as much I was hoping for "Ok." I finished breakfast and was out of the house like a shot. After a morning of adventure, my stomach told me it was about lunch time and so I went home to eat lunch. Running into the kitchen, I did not see my mother and casually wondered where she was. She must have heard the screen door close, because I heard her call me from up stairs. I ran up to see what she wanted and found a frowning mother standing in the middle of my messy room with hands on her hips asking, "Why is your room a mess? Did you not tell me that your bed was made and the room picked up?" Then I saw my hairbrush lying on my bed and I knew that I was in trouble, bad trouble. "Have I not caught you telling me a lie?" she asked. She was a stickler for truth, and telling a lie was one of the major offenses. I started an explanation that I had told her "No" but that she must have heard a "yes", and no, I would not lie about something (inconsequential) like making my bed. Of course, that also implied that I would lie about something more substantial. There was some justification for her catching on to this inconsistency. I had become fairly slick about twisting the facts (just a bit) to get out of a jam. Not my best trait, but quite effective at deflecting trouble. My stomach began to churn and my knees began to wobble as it became obvious that my pleadings were going nowhere. I remembered her ability to turn my bottom into a burning flame with me crying so hard I could not breathe. Panic set in as I recognized the start of a "pre-spanking lecture" and again tried with a cracking voice to tell my side of the story. No chance. I shook during the rest of the lecture and pleaded for mercy when instructed to drop my jeans and bend over the bed. It is difficult to unbuckle, unbutton and unzip with shaking hands and a mad mother demanding faster response. Next was a string of commands to reposition myself on the edge of the bed with my bottom presented just so for her attentions. How horrible to be made to cooperate and present myself for spanking! How unfair. She could place me however and wherever she pleased. Why do I have to help? My bottom was now right where she wanted it. It was pointed up and vulnerable. It was only a matter of time now. No
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