Before today, Terry had only been spanked by Tom. Today, he’s being spanked by Josh. They had not met before.

Josh has spanked guys many times, so he gets right to it with Terry. Terry is made to get on all fours on a bed with his butt up in the air. 

Josh gives Terry a hard spanking by hand, with a leather slapper, a flog, and a wood paddle. Terry struggles with the harshness of the spanking (especially the paddling) and is shaking by the end of this video. 

You may notice a bit of a smile on Terry’s face at the very end. 

He’s smiling because it’s his turn next, and he’ll be giving Josh some payback.

Josh Spanks Terry

Spanking Straight Boys

The Pay Back will be a pleasure! 

 

Part VI: The Place of Growth

Refinement, Remembrance, and the Call to Rise

The storm had passed. The winds that once howled through the stone corridors of Taben’Rael had quieted, leaving behind a hush that felt almost sacred. Morning light crept across the college grounds, casting golden warmth on the portrait of the founder whose eyes seemed to follow Elias even in stillness.

At precisely 5:00 a.m., Elias stirred. His body ached—the sting and burn on his buttocks a lingering echo of the ritual he had endured the night before. But he smiled. Not with pride, and not with defiance. It was the smile of a man who had faced the fire and found grace in its heat. He lay still for a moment, letting the silence speak. Then, as if drawn by something beyond himself, he looked upward toward the ceiling. A single tear slipped from his left eye and rested on his cheek. He whispered thanks to the Only God above—for another day, for breath, for the chance to continue.

Today, Elias was not just a student of Taben’Rael. He was another step closer to refinement.

He rose from his bed and dressed in his ritual garments: a white tank top and briefs. The marks from last night’s correction were still visible, but they no longer felt like wounds. They were reminders—sacred inscriptions on flesh, etched by grace.

Just as he sat to gather himself, a knock echoed through his quarters. Elias frowned, puzzled. “Who would be knocking at my door this early?” he muttered, rising slowly. The soreness made each movement deliberate. He opened the door.
Standing in the hallway was a man dressed in an orthodox robe, a scroll in his hand. His presence was striking—broad-shouldered, smooth dark skin, no facial hair, and eyes that carried both fire and forgiveness. Elias squinted into the candlelight as the figure stepped forward.

“I am Malaki,” the man said. “We have been awaiting your arrival for many years. And here you are.”

Elias’s breath caught. His face flushed red with recognition. “Malaki! How are you? It’s been a long time, my friend!”

Malaki nodded, but his expression remained solemn. “I am fine. But I’m not here to reconcile our friendship. I’m here to take you to the Place of Growth.”
Elias instinctively straightened his posture. The sting in his body reminded him—this was not a casual reunion. This was a summons.

Without another word, the two men began walking through the stone corridors of Taben’Rael. The halls were lined with etched prayers, broken chains, and mirrors that reflected not the face, but the soul. 

Elias walked in silence, heart pounding. Malaki led with purpose, the scroll still in hand.

They arrived at a large wooden door, carved with the words:

“Refinement is not punishment—it is prophecy.”

Malaki paused, then slowly opened the door. His voice was low, almost liturgical:

“This is where your beginning began. Remember—nothing truly begins until you’ve begun.”

Elias stepped inside. The aged door groaned as it shut behind him.

Clink. Clunk.

The sound echoed like a seal. Elias flinched and turned instinctively.

Malaki placed a firm hand on his shoulder.

“Elias, my friend. Never look back—always look forward. Let this be your second lesson: if you stare too long at your past, you’ll lose sight of your future.”

Then, with reverent precision, Malaki gave Elias a swift swat on the backside—not in anger, but in awakening. Elias smirked, nodded, and turned toward the room.

The chamber was vast and solemn. Portraits lined the walls—each framed in gold, each bearing a name and year. Beneath them, engraved plates marked the lineage of the elect: members of Discipline Matters, stretching from 1773 to 2024. These were not mere participants. These were the chosen.

In each corner stood a throne-like chair—royal in stature, golden and crimson. At the center, a diplomat’s table of cherry wood gleamed with a sacred finish. Upon it lay:

• An open book, thick with history

• A Bible, reverently placed

• A red oak paddle, engraved with “Growth”

• A razor strap, equally marked with “Growth”

Beneath the table, a crimson carpet bore a radiant symbol encircled by the words:

“Discipline Matters.”

From the right corner, a door creaked open. An elderly Black man emerged, cloaked in a white gothic robe. His hood was drawn, face obscured. Even as he stepped into the light, mystery clung to him.

In his hand, he held a bronze paddle etched with a lightning bolt. He walked slowly to the center, behind the sacramental table, and raised the paddle toward Elias.

His voice was steady, grave, and full of grace:

“Elias Juan Dento, we have waited many years for this moment. Your childhood and youth were marked by a rebellious nature. You carved your own path—often at the cost of others. You wounded people in body, mind, spirit, and trust. You rejected help, choosing darkness over light.”

He stepped closer.

“You were not promoted. You were not elected. You were selected—by fate, not by faith. Your record bears the weight: armed robbery, threats, vandalism, possession, distribution, and disobedience. You could have gone to prison. But the Good Lord Above intervened. Someone still believed in you. And so, you stand here today.”

He placed the bronze paddle gently on the table and walked to the throne on the right. Silence fell. Malaki was gone.

Elias turned sharply.

“Malaki?”

His voice echoed off the stone.

“Malaki!” he called again, louder, frustration rising.

Then—swat.

A firm strike landed on his covered backside. Sharp, but not cruel. It silenced him.

The elder stepped forward, placing the paddle once more on the table. His smile held no amusement—only compassion.

He spoke:

“Come down to the river, Elias. Where understanding meets you. Where freedom begins. Where purity and hope dwell. Come down to the river—not of water, but of spirit. For all things manifest in the spirit before they appear in the flesh.”

He paused.

“When you reach that level, Malaki will lead you to the river. But once there, the choice will be yours alone. No paddle. No whisper. Just you—and the Father.”

Elias lowered his gaze. The words pierced, but did not condemn. They named what must be named.

The elder gestured toward the symbol on the floor.

Elias breathed in.

The sting was fresh.

The truth was fresher.

He understood.

The river was not a place. It was a posture.

A baptism of conscience.

A surrender not earned—but gifted.

That was the scandal of grace.

He had not been promoted.

He had been chosen.

And now, he would walk forward—

Not as a boy in rebellion,

But as a man in restoration.

📖 The Watchman’s Path
A Story of Restoration at the College of Taben’Real

 Part I: Arrival at the Gates

 Longing, uncertainty, and the first step toward restoration.
Elias arrives at Taben’Real under a gray sky, his suitcase light but his conscience heavy. He’s heard whispers of the college—

a place where men are restored through sacred discipline, not shamed. The gates bear an inscription:

“He who loves correction walks the path of life.” (Proverbs 10:17)
He’s greeted by Brother Malach, a junior mentor, who leads him through the stone halls to the Chamber of Discipline. 

Elias notices the paddle wall, the Covenant Book, and the prayer bench. Everything feels solemn, intentional. He’s told to reflect overnight before his first session.

That night, Elias dreams of a storm—lightning striking a watchtower, then silence. He wakes knowing: he must confess.

📘 Part II: The Creed and the Chamber

Consent, confession, and the sacred act of correction.
Elias stands before Master Caelum, a man whose presence is both commanding and kind. Caelum opens the Covenant Book and reads aloud the creed. Elias repeats it, voice trembling:

“I submit myself to this discipline, not for punishment, but for restoration.”
He confesses a pattern of dishonesty—small lies that grew into broken trust. Caelum listens, then selects the Rod of Renewal, a paddle carved from olive wood. Elias bends over the desk, hands flat, heart exposed.
Each swat is deliberate. Caelum pauses between them, allowing Elias to breathe, reflect, and receive. Afterward, Elias kneels at the prayer bench and writes:
“Pain with purpose is not cruelty—it is clarity.”
Caelum places a hand on his shoulder and offers the benediction:
“May this correction restore your conscience and renew your strength.”

🧭 Part III: The Anatomy of a Session

 Learning the rhythm, meaning, and theology of discipline.
Weeks pass. Elias studies the five pillars of discipline, attends lectures on prophetic watchmanship, and begins mentoring younger students in posture and ritual. He learns:
- Covenant must be spoken, not assumed.
- Correction must be measured, not impulsive.
- Reflection must be honest, not performative.
He begins to see discipline as a mirror—not of shame, but of truth. He helps a younger mentee, Jonah, through his first session, guiding him with tenderness and clarity. Elias journals:
“To restore another is to remember your own restoration.”

⚔️ Part IV: The Trial of the Watchman
Theme: Failure, humility, and the courage to return.
Elias falters. In a moment of pride, he breaks a covenant with a fellow student. The guilt is immediate, but the shame tempts him to hide. He avoids the chamber for days, until a storm rolls in—just like the one in his dream.

He requests a session. Caelum, now older and slower, meets him once more.

 Elias confesses, then chooses the paddle himself: Pathfinder, reserved for moments of deep spiritual correction.

The session is intense—not in force, but in meaning. Elias weeps at the prayer bench, not from pain, but from release. Caelum speaks the benediction with trembling voice:
“You are not lost. You are found again.”

🕊️ Part V: Restorer of the Breach
 Legacy, leadership, and the sacred duty of correction.
Years pass. Elias becomes a mentor. He now stands where Caelum once stood, guiding others through the same rituals that restored him. He teaches the creed, signs the Covenant Book beside new names, and speaks the benediction with clarity and grace.
He mounts his own paddle on the wall: The Watchman’s Hand. Beneath it, a plaque reads:
“Given in love. Received in truth. Remembered in grace.”

🔚 Closing: The Path Continues

Elias’s story is not singular—it is emblematic. Every man who enters the gates of Taben’Real carries his own storm, his own silence, his own longing to be restored. The rituals of discipline are not relics of control—they are sacraments of conscience. They remind us that truth must be spoken, correction must be received, and grace must be given.
The paddle, the posture, the prayer—these are not performances. They are liturgies. And every session, when offered in love and received in humility, becomes a holy moment.
To the reader—whether you are a mentee seeking clarity, a mentor bearing the weight of watchmanship, or a man simply longing to be whole—know this:
Discipline is not the end of the story. It is the beginning of restoration.
The College of Taben’Real stands not as a fortress, but as a sanctuary. Its creed is not shame, but sacred accountability. And its chambers echo not with cruelty, but with the quiet strength of men who choose truth over silence.
So walk the path. Sign the covenant. Bend with reverence. Rise with grace.
You are not alone. You are not beyond restoration.
You are, and always have been, called to be a watchman.

I am not beyond correction.
I am not beyond grace.
I choose the path of restoration,
not for shame, but for truth.
I submit myself to discipline,
not to be punished, but to be made whole.
I will speak about my faults with honesty.
I will receive correction with humility.
I will offer grace with clarity.
I am a man of conscience.
I am a man of the covenant.
I am a man being restored.
May my posture reflect my heart.
May my paddle be used with love.
May my sessions echo with truth.
I walk the path of the watchman.
I bend not in defeat, but in devotion.
I rise not in pride, but in grace.