by Dale Rogers
The anemic mid-winter sun had already disappeared into the cold, clear evening when the writer guided his SUV into the brightly lit parking lot of the Holiday Inn just off the freeway. The huge sign in front of the hotel complex proclaimed, 'Welcome Midwestern Correction Society'. It sounded like a convention of criminal justice professionals, but it wasn't, and that was the reason he had just driven three hundred miles through blustery conditions to get here - that and the two thousand dollars the MCS was paying him to appear.
The writer's name was Lawrence Tyler Stu-rtevant, but he wrote under the initials LT. He was supposed to be an expert on spanking and corporal punishment, having written a few articles and a surprisingly popular book entitled, The Honest Lover's Guide to Effective Domestic Discipline. However, he wasn't and had never been a 'player' - he was middle-aged, divorced, and had worked as an investigative journalist for whomever would pay him the most money.
It was during such an investigation that he became interested in spanking. He had been doing a piece on domestic relations and relationship counselors when he discovered that many couples are either into or would like to incorporate spanking into their lives together. During the course of his investigation, LT interviewed a number of couples who were successfully using corporal punishment as a therapeutic adjunct and who seemed to be stronger because of it. He didn't understand it, not any of it. But he recognized the market potential almost immediately, especially as he toured the vast conglomeration of web sites devoted to the subject spread across the Internet.
His talent, his training, his broad life experience, and his natural reporter's curiosity all combined to produce a well-written, well-researched, insightful, and engaging exploration of the world of corporal punishment. He found a small genre publisher to handle the work, and within six months, anyone with any interest in the subject at all had embraced his book as the definitive guide to domestic discipline and all things spanking.
Naturally, he was pleased with his new success. However, at the same time, he was also surprised and a little anxious. The truth was that LT had never spanked anyone before in his life. Nor had he ever been spanked. In fact, he had never even seen a spanking, except on videos. Of course, this lack of real world experience wouldn't have been a problem if he had been able to remain in the background - preserve himself as only two letters on the cover of a cheap paperback book.
But success creates celebrity, even in the mostly anonymous world populated by people interested in spanking and other non-mainstream fetishes. Thus, it was only a matter of time before they came to him, asking his opinion, soliciting his expertise - all the people he had written off as odd and disturbed, if not downright crazy, felt they had something of a proprietary interest in the writer when they bought his book.
Plus, much as he hated to admit it, he couldn't help but be a little curious about the people he thought he was scamming. So when Karl Ebersly, the president of the MCS, approached him about appearing at the annual gathering, offering him a free suite, all meals, mileage, and a hefty honorarium, LT thought that maybe this was the opportunity to finally witness his subject firsthand. Besides, he reasoned, it wasn't like he would actually be called upon to do anything - they didn't really want him, Lawrence Sturtevant, they just wanted the words and physical presence of LT. Still, as he got out of his car and approached the front desk of the hotel, he couldn't help but feel a little like Rock Hudson playing Roger Willoughby in Man's Favorite Sport. He just hoped to god that he wasn't being set up, that this was only a party, not a fishing tournament he was expected to win.
He shook the chill from his heavy parka and approached the wide front desk, rolling his well-used overnight case behind him. "I'm here for the MCS meeting," he said as soon as he had made eye contact with the young female clerk behind the counter.
She smiled, her blue eyes scanning him. "Oh, yes, LT," she said. "I believe the group is expecting you. They're meeting in the grand ballroom."
LT returned her smile with a look that was both relieved and surprised. It's nice to be recognized, he thought to himself. "I was told I would have a room waiting for me," he said.
Her smile widened as she alternated her gaze between him and the computer screen on the counter. "Yes, Mr. Sturtevant," she replied. "It's all been taken care of. You will be on the fifth floor, room 510 - a very nice corner suite." She handed him a key card. "If you would care to leave your luggage and your coat with me, I will see to it that it is delivered to your room."
"Thank you," he said, removing his parka and hat. I could get used to this, he thought.
Just then, a tall, lean, older man, who looked very much like Sean Connery in Medicine Man, entered the lobby and smiled upon seeing the writer. "You must be LT," he said heartily. LT nodded. The man approached him with his right hand extended. "I'm Karl Ebersly. It's so good to meet you at last." He grabbed the writer's hand and shook it vigorously. "The opening banquet is just about to begin," he said, directing his new companion away from the lobby into a wide corridor. "We have a place reserved for you at the head table."
As the two men walked, LT learned that the MCS had been established six years before to provide a safe haven for couples and individuals who were drawn to a lifestyle that included heavy doses of corporal punishment. In its brief period of existence, the society had grown from the original ten members to well over four hundred. The society held at least a dozen local meetings each year. However, the annual convention was the event that everyone most looked forward to.
This year, 110 couples and 47 individuals had registered for the three day event. Since the cost was five hundred dollars per couple and four hundred dollars per individual, plus a hundred and ten dollars a night for the room, LT was impressed. This was definitely a group of people with plenty of money and time on their hands, he thought, suddenly musing that he should have held out for a bigger fee. However, he knew that he had no real reason to complain. Up to this point, the most he had ever been paid to speak at a function was the hundred dollars the American Forensic Society gave him to discuss the latest investigative methods.
Besides, he hadn't just come for the money. Ebersly had mentioned in their earlier phone conversation that, although the event was primarily for couples, unattached females were not discouraged from attending. The president of the MCS further allowed that by Saturday night, there was usually more than enough action for everyone. LT hadn't had much "action" lately and he was more than ready to participate in any games this strange conglomeration of people might care to include him in.
As they pushed open the doors of the ballroom, LT could see that there were at least a couple hundred people gathered at more than thirty tables scattered about the huge room. They were all smiling and talking excitedly among themselves. The men seemed to be dressed mostly in designer jeans and light sweaters while the women mostly wore short pleated skirts and long sleeve, button-down shirts. The ages, he surmised, probably ranged from early twenties to mid-sixties. And, of great importance to him, the females seemed to outnumber the males by an impressive margin. All in all, it was quite a diverse collection of people, not quite what he was expecting.
"Ladies and gentlemen," Ebersly announced as soon as they had cleared the doorway. "It is my honor to present our guest for the weekend, LT."
At once, everyone in the room looked toward the doorway. An instant later, the sound of applause and restrained cheering filled the air, bouncing from one padded wall to the other. The writer smiled and waved his hand in acknowledgement, trying to act as though he had done this many times before. However, inside he was nearly beside himself with excitement. Yes, he said to himself. I could easily get used to this.
During dinner, which consisted of filet mignon and baked potato followed by cherry cheesecake, Ebersly and his wife, Sylvia, explained how the meeting, which they now labeled as an "extended party event" normally ran. "After the dishes have been cleared away," Ebersly began, "we will invite you to make a few casual remarks, as I explained to you before. Then, several of our members will share videos and slides of their own activities. Our final activity of the night will be to administer the first spanking of the event. We have arranged for one of our female members to pretend that she has had too much to drink and to feign indignation over the whole idea of the weekend. Naturally, she will need to be spanked... and as the president, I get to do it." His eyes lit up as he said this, while Sylvia looked on adoringly. No jealousy here, Sturtevant thought.
Ebersly went on to explain that members would spend Saturday any way they wished, although a number of rooms were set aside for what he described as intense partying. Some of these had portable bars and televisions with DVD players for viewing both amateur and commercial videos. Some of these had king-sized beds for group sex, while a few others contained a variety of spanking implements. A still photographer and a videographer would be available all weekend to document the event and to produce individual pictures and videos for anyone who wanted to pay for them. Some of this material would be edited and posted on the MCS website.
On Sunday, Ebersly explained, the group would meet at noon for a closing luncheon. At this time, the highlights of the weekend would be discussed and awards would be given. These were given for such things as the most intense single spanking, the best markings, the most implements used, the most partners, and finally, the coveted 'golden paddle' awards to the male and female who had endured the most spankings over the entire three days. Sylvia allowed, with pride, that she had won the very first golden paddle, which her husband still used on her occasionally. However, she was quick to point out that she wouldn't be seriously competing this year.
The remainder of the evening progressed pretty much as Ebersly had described it. Immediately after dinner, LT was called upon to deliver his remarks. Since he was an experienced speaker, he was at relative ease in front of the large audience. Besides, as he had reasoned earlier, he was merely window dressing. They would listen politely to his measured words; however, in reality, they knew, as did he, that he was the one thing that stood between themselves and the primary activities they had come to enjoy. He talked for five minutes, then yielded the podium to Ebersly.
"My friends and fellow perverts," the silver-haired gentleman began, smiling. Laughter rippled through the expectant audience. "We all know why we're here. We share a common interest and bond that most people would find weird, if not downright crazy. However, as our distinguished guest pointed out a few minutes ago, there are many paths to happiness and self-fulfillment. While ours may not be the one that most people find and follow, it eventually leads us to where we want to be while allowing us to enjoy the journey. And with that in mind, let the games begin!"
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