The Hand of the Handyman

I was 24 and finishing up graduate school. It was late July and I had moved into a small apartment that was in an old house (the kind that had been broken up into several apartments). My unit was on the 2nd floor and the only one there because the other rooms had been converted into storage.

One morning, in early August there was knocking at my door at around 7:00 am. I was still in bed. Not knowing who it was I threw on my briefs which were on the floor and went to the door. I asked who it was and the guy identified himself as Jack Harris and he had been hired to paint my unit. He wanted to come in and look it over first. I asked if he could come back as it was early and he said no as he had other jobs to do that day. So, I opened the door and let him in.

He came in, saw me in my jockey shorts and asked if that is how I dress when I greet people at the door. To be honest I was a bit annoyed at being woken up early so I said "Yes, it's my place and I like to be comfortable". Ignoring my comment he came in and started looking around, writing things down on his note pad. I sat down on a kitchen chair sulking and watching him. As he wrote on the note pad he asked if I was going to put some pants on. I said no as I was going back to bed once he left.

He then told me it was not a big job and instructed me to remove the few things that were on the walls, empty my bedroom closet, and clear all the counter space in the tiny kitchen that I had. I nodded. He then told me that he would return the following Tuesday at 7 am. I asked if he could come later but he just grabbed his notebook and left without even saying goodbye.

I thought: "What a prick!" and went back to bed.

The following Tuesday I was sound asleep when I heard knocking at my door. I looked at the clock and saw that it was 7:00 am. I sat up in bed and asked who was there. A voice let me know that it was Mr. Harris. I had completely forgotten about him what day he was returning! Getting up, I went to the bathroom, grabbed my towel and wrapped it around my waist. Then I went and opened the door. Still half asleep, I smiled and said: "Good morning, Jack".

He responded: "Mr. Harris to you." He stepped inside and seeing me in just the towel and with mussed up hair he asked me: "Were you still sleeping?" I told him yes but now I was up and going to take a shower to wake up.

He walked into the small main room and, with a bit of a scowl on his face, said: "I told you to remove the items from the walls and you haven't done it."

Instead of reacting to his accusation I simply countered with: "Well, where's all of your painting stuff?" He told me his equipment, paint and ladder were down in his truck. I then suggested he go get it while I showered. He started to speak but I simply turned my back and walked into the bathroom. When I got there I was feeling a little smug like I had put Jack in his place. Smiling, I put the towel back on its hook, started the water to the shower and began whistling happily.

As I was drying off from the shower I could hear him bringing things into my apartment. I finished drying off and then grabbed a pair of briefs and put them on. Following that I returned to the bathroom to brush my teeth and comb my hair. He came into my bedroom and went to the closet. I saw him there so I came over to where he was and said: "See. All emptied just as Jack ordered."

He looked at me and repeated: "Mr. Harris." I ignored him and finished combing my hair. When I finished and came out of the bathroom he looked at me and, in slow deliberate speech, said: "You're a real smartass aren't you?" Again, I would not take the bait and I ignored him.

Next, I went into the tiny kitchen to get the coffee started. I plugged in the percolator and soon the smell of my morning beverage was filling my tiny apartment. Jack followed me and, looking around, told me that I needed to clear the counters as well as take the things off of the walls in the main room. I informed him that I was busy making coffee and perhaps he could busy himself with those projects. However, in what I thought was a friendly gesture, I also said that I was making a full pot and there would be plenty to share.

He went back to the room and began to spread out some old sheets to protect the floors. But he stopped and returned to where I was in the kitchen. Looking at me he asked if I was going to get dressed. I gave him a big smile and told him that, as far as I was concerned, I was dressed. It was MY apartment and I intended on being comfortable. On hearing that he stepped closer to me and with a grin said: "Well, if your are going to walk around in front of me in just your jockey shorts it seems that the least you can do is put on a decent pair." As he spoke he grabbed the waistband of my briefs and gave it a snap. That startled me a bit and I stepped back from him but the wall prevented me from going very far.

I should mention at this point that, while shorter than me, Jack (Mr. Harris) was a very solid and muscular guy. I imagine he got a lot of his strength form the physical labor he did everyday. He was also a guy in his late 40's or maybe early 50's. However, I have never been very good with telling someone's age.

Grinning at me he said: "The waistband of those briefs is losing its elasticity." Feeling a little uncomfortable I tried to walk past him so I might go back to my bedroom and close the door but he blocked my way. Again he grabbed the waistband and snapped it. He chuckled and, while looking directly at my well worn briefs, said: "Not much life left in those jockeys. A little threadbare too, wouldn't you say?"

Trying to stand my ground I said: "Who's being a smartass now, Jack?" He clearly did not like that inquiry (or calling him Jack) and he now was inches away from me with my back almost against the wall.

Glaring at me he said: "I gave you a few easy tasks to do before this morning and you didn't do them." Standing there so close to me in his blue workpants and white t-shirt he started to look a bit intimidating. I was wondering if perhaps I had overplayed my hand.

A little uneasy I decided to play the "apartment manager card." Look," I said "you're here to do a job and not give me a hard time. I'll just bet the apartment manager would not be too happy to hear that the painter he hired is a jerk." Clearly, this act of hubris would turn out to be a huge mistake.

What happened next occurred so rapidly that it remains a blur in my memory. He grabbed me and pulled me away from the wall. In a flash my right arm was twisted behind my back and he started pushing me toward the bedroom. I was still in my bare feet and they were slipping on the wood floor. He grabbed me to keep me from falling and continued pushing me toward the bedroom. I resisted as much as my body allowed but he was physically much stronger.

He stopped when he arrived at my unmade bed. Giving my arm a slight twist he said: "OK, smartass. I think it's time for you to learn a little bit about respect."

His next move was so quick that is was truly over before I had any time to think and/or react. In one fluid movement Mr. Harris sat down on the bed. As he did so he brought me over and across his left knee. As my chest landed on the bed he lifted his right leg and used it to pin down my legs against the side of the bed. I tried to feel the floor so I might gain some traction but my toes barely touched it. With my right arm twisted behind me with his left hand and my legs pinned down I was completely "locked up" in his grip. I wiggled my stomach and hips which laid securely across his left knee but I could not move more than an inch or two.

Reacting with anger and fear I yelled: "Let me go, you bastard!" He responded by saying that I was in no position to call him names and, doing so, would only make my situation worse. "What are you going to do?" I questioned him.

He chuckled and said: "Well...look where you are and see if you can tell me what I am going to do." I honestly didn't know or maybe I was just hoping that he was simply going to lecture me while he proved his physical superiority. When I didn't respond he put his hand on my butt and gave it a smack. "There's your hint." he said. I just froze and said nothing. So he continued. "I find you disrespectful and either unwilling or unable to accept authority. So, I am going to give you a spanking. You have definitely earned it."

I was stunned (and afraid). "You can't do that to me." I warned him.

"And why is that?" he asked. "Let's look at the facts. Here you are over my knee and not going anywhere until I let you up." As he finished his comments he gave me another smack on my butt. This time his hand rested there and he turned his attention to the briefs I had on. "And these jockey shorts" he said in a rather serious voice. "Mike, these are a little threadbare and old. I can barely read the word 'Hanes' on the waistband. Also, you have a hole down on the right leg band." As he spoke he ran his fingers along the inside of the waistband and then along the leg band.

"I have books to buy and tuition to pay" I hissed. "I don't have the cash to go shopping for new underwear. Plus this pair is just fine. Now let me go!"

My head was spinning and I was trying desperately to think of a way out of this predicament. So I tried to use my age as a way to convince him to not go through with his plan. "Look," I said as I tried to see him over my shoulder. "I am 24 years old and far too old to be spanked."

He smiled at me and, as he gently patted my butt, saying: "Never too old, Mike. Never too old."

Then I played the last card I had. "OK, I said. If you don't let me go right now I am going to tell the landlord that..." But as I spoke I realized that I would never tell the landlord or anyone what had happened. Never.

He laughed out loud and said: "Go ahead. Tell him I spanked you. I wonder what his reaction would be? Perhaps he would agree with me that you were long overdue for a firm hand on your plump backside. But we both know you would never admit that to him. After all, what would it say about you as a 24 year old young man. Or should I say 'boy'?"

Out of time and out of options I resorted to an outburst and yelled: "Let me go you son-of-a-bitch!!"

There was a long silence and then Mr. Harris, in a calm and controlled voice, said: "Well, I was going to leave you a little dignity during the spanking but, after that comment, I've decided that I won't." As he spoke he put his fingers inside the waistband of my briefs.

"What do you mean?" I asked in a voice now tinged with fear.

"I mean" said Mr. Harris, "that, because of that last comment, you are going to be spanked on your bare butt. Now, let's get these shorts down."

His hand pulled the waistband of my briefs up and then in one firm movement he pulled them all the way down. Then reaching under my stomach, he grabbed the waistband there and pulled. In just a matter of seconds my briefs were at my knees. With his right hand he reached under the leg that pinned down my legs and gave a tug on the shorts. Soon he had slipped them past my ankles.

I looked back at him in complete horror and said "I..I'm....I'm naked".

"Yes, you are" he said. He smiled at me and held up the Hanes briefs like they were some sort of trophy. "Actually," he said "these shorts will make a good rag for any drips that happen while I paint." With that he tossed them up onto my desk.

"Please don't do this" I pleaded. "I will apologize" I continued.

"Too late for that" he said as he placed his hand on my now bare ass. It was then that I could feel what his hand felt like on my skin. It was hard and his fingers were rough. He clearly didn't spend time getting a manicure or even using lotion to smooth out his hands. This was the hand of a laborer.

His hand went up in the air and then came down in a series of swats. They were slow at first but then they picked up speed. After three or four swats he would stop and rub my bare bottom as if he were taking stock of his strikes or perhaps to check on the color. As quickly as the swats had begun they then ended. For a moment I was relieved thinking that it was over. Little did I suspect that he was just taking a break so that he might add to my embarrassment.

"Now," Mr. Harris said "I'm going to ask you a question and I want a truthful answer. Do you understand?"

I said that I did and was surprised to hear my voice crack a bit as I responded.

He continued: "You took a shower a few minutes a go. Did you do a thorough job of cleaning?"

"Yes," I insisted. "Yes, of course. Why are you even asking me a question like that?"

"Alright" he responded. "But, let's just check to be certain."

I felt his thumb go down the crack of my backside. It stopped about 2/3 of the way down and then his other fingers were there. With his thumb and index finger he parted my cheeks until my anus was exposed. I remember shivering in fear but....perhaps....with a little feeling of excitement too. But I was just too scared and the fear overpowered any other sensation. Plus I could feel the cheeks on my face go flush with embarrassment. There was absolutely no reason for him to do that except to embarrass me further....and he succeeded.

"Very good," he proclaimed. "You did do a good job. I didn't think so because you were not in the shower very long but you are quite clean." Then his hand returned to the air and the spanking continued. I struggled as best I could to break his grip but it was useless. Plus he informed me that the more I struggled the longer I would be spanked.

The swats continued in a measured rhythm. After about 4 or 5 he would stop and his hand would rub my reddening backside. Then he would continue. I do remember that he had a very large hand and he always struck dead center and not on one cheek and then the next.

I had my face buried in a pillow and soon the unthinkable started to happen. I started to cry. Not wanting him to know this I tried to muffle my sobs but he must have heard me because he stopped the swats and asked: "Well, have I made my point?" I did not respond so his hand came down again and again.

My limit had been reached. I brought my head up and turned my tearful face toward him. "Please, Mr. Harris," I implored. "Please stop. I apologize for my behavior as well as my attitude."

He stopped the spanking and gradually released my right arm which had been held securely behind my back. With his left hand he mussed up my hair and said: "OK. I am going to let you up and I expect that you will now do as I tell you." As he spoke his hand was gently (almost tenderly) massaging my bare ass. With an arm under my chest he told me to stand up. I did as he told me and was then standing there facing him with tears coming down my face. He stood up, brought me in close to him and hugged me. He held me close to him as I cried.

After a minute or so he pointed to the wall near the bed. He told me to stand there and face the wall. As I moved to the position that he had directed me to, Mr. Harris went into my bathroom where I heard the door to the medicine cabinet open. When he returned to where I was I did not look at him. I merely stood facing the wall with my hands rubbing my sore and red butt.

Mr. Harris stood very close to me and, with a hand on my shoulder, told me to lie down on the bed on my stomach. I was about to ask why but decided against it. As I laid down on the bed, Mr. Harris sat down next to me. I saw that he had a bottle with him and he explained that he had located the witch hazel in the bathroom and it would help to alleviate the soreness I was feeling. He rubbed my back and told me that there might be a little sting at first but it would give way to a more soothing sensation. I didn't say anything but simply turned my head away from him and closed my eyes. While I was relieved to have the spanking over with, I was deeply embarrassed about laying there naked and helpless.

Applying some of the witch hazel to his hand, Mr. Harris gently began to rub each reddened cheek. I know that I must have winced and bucked a bit but in a clam and almost reassuring voice he reminded me to stay quiet and soon it would feel better.

In all honesty he was right. Soon I came to enjoy the cooling sensation and the way his hand carefully applied the witch hazel (as compared to how that hand had felt just a few minutes earlier). Occasionally his fingers would wander and I could feel his fingertips brush up against my testicles. That would send waves of pleasure throughout my body and I instinctively parted my legs....but just a little.

As he was finishing his work, Mr. Harris had switched to using 2 hands to massage in the cooling liquid. It felt absolutely wonderful. From time to time my cheeks were spread apart as he worked and I could feel the cool air rushing up against my back door. My only concern now was, that no matter how much I tried to control it, I had gotten a raging erection.

Mr. Harris had finished and told me to stand up. I was mortified! I asked if I might remain there but he patted me gently on the ass and said: "Com'on, get up. I have work to get done and you need to get dressed."

Reluctantly, I stood up. Mr. Harris's eyes went right to my crotch as I stood there naked and fully erect. Looking at the floor and in a voice barely audible I said: "I....I'm sorry. It just happened. Please don't be angry. I...I....I'm sorry."

In a soft and reassuring voice he responded: "Mike. look at me." Bringing my gaze up to his eyes he had a smile on his face and he continued: "Young men your age get erections all the time. I'm sure it has happened to you when you least expect it."

I was speechless and just nodded. He looked at my engorged penis and gave the tip of it a flick with his hand. I just froze in place. He went on: "Believe me, you have nothing to feel ashamed about. In fact, you can feel extremely proud about what God gave you. You are one very well hung young man." Speechless and embarrassed, I simply nodded. "Now," said Mr. Harris "go get dressed while I go and get my work started."

He exited the bedroom and closed the door as he did so. I went into the bathroom, washed my face and then got dressed. When I was finished, I went into the kitchen to have a cup of coffee.

Mr. Harris was doing some prep work before painting. There, on the floor next to a paint can, lay the white briefs that he had taken off of me during the spanking. I asked him if he might like a cup of coffee. He smiled at me and told me he would and added that he took his coffee black. When I brought him the coffee he said: "What happened here this morning is between us. I think that you have learned a valuable lesson here today and I have no intention of mentioning any of this to your landlord."

He looked at me and asked: "Mike, have you learned a lesson here this morning?" "Immediately I replied in the affirmative. He smiled, mussed my hair with his free hand and said: "OK, now go finish clearing the kitchen shelves and I will get to work here."