SummaryAfter a carrier in accountancy, boy-lover John Thornton becomes a school teacher. His school believes in corporal punishment. John's house near the school has a secret rooms.
Publ. 2007; this site Apr 2013
Under construction 17,500 words (35 pages)
CharactersMany school boys (11-12yo); Colin Blakely and Simon Thompson (12yo)
Category & Story codesMan-Boy story/...
Mb –non-cons anal – humil bd spank
DisclaimerIf you are under the legal age of majority in your area or have objections to this type of expression, please stop reading now.
If you don't like reading erotic stories about boys, why are you here in the first place?
This story is the complete and total product of the author's imagination and a work of fantasy, thus it is completely fictitious, i.e. it never happened and it doesn't mean to condone or endorse any of the acts that take place in it. The author certainly wouldn't want the things in this story happening to his character(s) to happen to anyone in real life.
It is just a story, ok?
Author's noteI wrote it a long time ago and perhaps I will continue it one day.
Thank you for taking the time to send feedback to the author at encoretommy(at)yahoo.fr or through this feedback form with Tommy - John Thornton in the subject line.
Part 1In 1971, during his year in teacher training college, John Thornton asked himself many times the same question: "What the hell am I doing here?" Although he commanded a great deal of respect from the tutors, after all, he was actually older than some of them, he had to admit that he felt uncomfortable.
Had he been born a generation later, he would have found the transition from accountancy to teaching very easy indeed. Local education authorities would offer him lucrative incentives in order to persuade him to join the dwindling number of good teachers prepared to tolerate the intolerable discipline now rampant in most state schools.
However, in the seventies, teachers felt the calling of their vocation soon after leaving school themselves and it was almost unheard of to find middle aged men wishing to join them.
He had to admit that, once qualified, he had found it easier than expected to find a teaching post. During his training, being a thirty five year old man when the average age was twenty three had been embarrassing.
Headmasters were in the main very canny, hard men who realised the value of experience and all its advantages. Of course, his qualifications and experience had been impeccable. A first degree in English from Oxford assured him a warm welcome from any number of schools. But it was his experience in finance and fluency in French and Spanish that proved to be the icing on the cake. As any Headmaster knows, teaching staff fall ill as often as anyone, and a teacher who can stand in for others is worth their weight in gold.
Thus it was, that Mr Thornton, having proven at a number of interviews that, not only was he qualified to teach English, but could also teach Maths, French and Spanish when required, was in the envious position of having to decide which school to choose.
Needless to say, there was always the question at every interview: "Why did you want to change career?" After all, a new qualified teacher, no matter how sought after, could never command the same salary as an accountant. Such questions received the standard replies about change of heart, parents influence, interest in education, and so on.
The members of the interview boards could only shake their heads and wonder how someone as qualified and as highly paid as Mr Thornton could choose to devote the rest of his life to teaching.
Nevertheless, that was exactly what John Thornton had done and was the reason why, one rather hot and humid afternoon, he found himself herding twenty three eleven year olds into the drama hall. No-one had ever asked him about his private life. No, that would have been quite unheard of and besides, it was really nobody's business why such a handsome and successful man should never have married.
Perhaps it was fortunate that they didn't pry too much into his private life. This was an area kept sealed off from the rest of the world. A male teacher with a boyfriend may raise a few eyebrows in today's world, but in the seventies, it would have caused considerably more than a few raised eyebrows!
If the teacher in question had let it be known that in fact, he'd had dozens of boyfriends, those raised eyebrows may have stayed raised for some time. If a single one of those boyfriends had ever revealed their reason for leaving Mr Thornton, then the eyebrows would have lowered somewhat, reflecting the concentration required while deciding whether or not to call the police. Of course, had the police been involved, they could, in theory, have contacted their colleagues two hundred miles away in the area where Mr Thornton had worked for the last ten years and asked if he was known to them. The answer would have been negative. Mr Thornton had no convictions of any kind and had never been in trouble with the authorities.
Certainly they would never had linked him to the frequent cases of indecent assault that had been plaguing them for many years. Always young boys playing in the woods or alone in parks. Often disappearing for days, only to be found wandering far away, heavily drugged and half naked, full of the most hideous, horrifying stories the police had ever heard. It would be another two years before they could claim with certainty that the attacks had finally ceased.
"Please sir, can I go to the toilet please?" John looked at the diminutive eleven year old hopping from one foot to another. He looked at his watch. "Trevor, you know very well that you should have gone before the bell. This is the second time you've done this. Into the hall please!" His voice was low and authoritative. He watched with pleasure as the young lad filed in with the others, a worried look on his freckled face. Oh yes, it was funny when they needed to pee badly.
His first few months at school had been far less stressful than he'd imagined it would be. Willowsands boys comprehensive was a large school on the edge of a fashionable market town and so far he'd been pleasantly surprised by the warmth and friendliness shown him.
The Headmaster was a fellow Oxford graduate and had gone to great lengths to ensure that John's start at the school was as smooth as possible. When, on the second day, John had volunteered to take over the lower school swimming club, the Headmaster had been all smiles. "My dear chap, you really are a godsend to this school. I can't thank you enough. Finding teachers willing to take the boys swimming in the evening is so very difficult." John had smiled politely and had reminded the headmaster that, having bought a house only a few hundred yards from the school, it would be no problem whatsoever.
The Head of the lower school, a young energetic man called Paul Rogers, was surprised to discover that John was a keen sportsman and while chatting together over a cup of coffee, had suggested that maybe, if John was agreeable to the idea, he could occasionally take a class when the PE teacher was absent . Expecting, quite rightly, that John would politely decline, he'd been overjoyed at his acceptance.
"John, you have no idea how much that will help me! I really do appreciate it." Any problems, any at all, just come to me."
That goodwill gesture was not forgotten and Paul had been the one who'd reminded John about the rules concerning corporal punishment. Teachers in the UK were considered 'in-loci parentis' and thus had, in theory, the right to chastise a child in any way they thought fit. . In reality, the rules in each school varied considerably and although the local education authority gave guidelines on the use of cp, it was the headmaster or headmistress who decided the rules for his or her school.
Mr Smart, the headmaster, being a pragmatic gentleman, had decided to simply follow the same pattern used by most other comprehensives in the area. Although lines and detentions could be given by all members of staff, the use of corporal punishment was restricted to the Head of house, Heads of the Lower, middle and upper school, and of course to the Headmaster himself. Each were allocated a small selection of standard rattan canes and a punishment book which had to be made available to the school inspector during his yearly visit.
Whereas a few slaps with a gymshoe could be considered as 'unofficial', there were strict guidelines for using the cane. It had to be applied over at least one layer of clothing, no more than six strokes, recorded in the punishment book and a letter given to the child to be taken home for his parents to sign.
Needless to say, the rules were flexible. Any teacher who, for whatever reason, lost his temper and whacked a boy with a cane, could in theory be officially reprimanded by the headmaster or education authority, though not, due to the in-loci parentis law, be punished by the courts. In practice of course, nothing happened, and the Head himself was aware of the need to ignore such practices – provided they didn't get out of hand.
The masters officially authorised to administer corporal punishment varied considerably in their approach to this task, as most boys soon discovered. Thus a boy in Rutherford house, having failed to hand in his homework a second time, would find himself receiving two or three stinging but bearable strokes over his trousers. A similar boy in Eliot house could expect to receive between four and six excruciating strokes over his thin white underpants which, having been well pulled up by the master, ensured that some strokes touched the boy's bare backside.
Paul Rogers fell into this category. "You have to show them who's boss right from the start" he's said, sipping an early morning cup of tea. John nodded and Paul continued. "Some of the young boys here look like butter wouldn't melt in their mouth. It's all an act. A big bloody act!" He sighed. "Believe me, if you don't whack 'em hard, they won't respect you. They'll make a lot of fuss while their backsides are being thrashed, but if it's not hard enough, you can bet your life they'll be telling their mates how soft you are. Whack their bare bums hard and you'll have their respect for ever!"
John had looked puzzled. "Bare bums?" he'd repeated. "But the rules... " Paul laughed. "Oh I know about the rules. Punishment book, one layer of clothing and so on. But you know what the boys fear most of all?" John shook his head. "The letter to their parents." He chuckled. "Their parents have to sign the letter and send it back. Some boys don't mind, but most are terrified. Some because of the embarrassment, some because they know they'll have another thrashing at home. Oh yes!" He put his tea down. "A lot of the kids here have very strict parents. Hard working farmers and so on. Getting the cane at school is letting the family down, and they make sure their kid knows it!"
"When boys come to me for a caning, the first thing most of them do is to beg me to give it them on the bare. You'll find the same tradition in almost every school, though not every teacher uses it. The extra pain is a sort of forfeit for keeping the punishment unofficial. No entry in the book. No letter home." He saw the look on John's face and laughed. "It's quite funny really to have a boy actually thank me for whacking him on the bare! Yes, I know it's really against the education authority guidelines, but in the end, we all benefit. The boy is punished. Justice is done. He keeps his name out of the punishment book, keeps his parents happy, and I don't have nosey inspectors asking why there are so many canings. Does that make sense?" John nodded. Yes, very good sense indeed. Excellent sense. A certain part of his anatomy was in such strong agreement, it was quite uncomfortable. He shifted in his seat, holding the cup and saucer carefully on his lap, hoping it hid the bulge in his trousers.
Paul had explained about the rules on using the slipper. "Almost all the teachers in the school keep an old gymshoe in their drawer and about half of them probably use it at least once a day. Giving lines takes an effort that would be more profitably spent on doing homework, and detention is a real pain for the poor buggers who have to supervise it. Six hard whacks with a gymshoe get the same message through, and takes less than a minute!" He's nodded at John's large leather briefcase next to his chair. "Frankly, I'd advise you to keep one in there, if there's room. You'll always have it with you and the boys will behave a lot better – I promise you!"
John smiled and tried not to show his obvious delight at receiving this piece of advice. "Don't worry, I'll find one for you later" said Paul, reading his mind. The sixth formers tend to leave loads of them behind when they leave and they're just the right size – besides being worn flat." He grinned. "Another thing John. There are no official guidelines on using the gymshoe or just your hand to spank boys, but as a general rule it's considered cruel to embarrass a boy in front of the class. In your own office you can whack them on the bare bum if you like, but never in front of others. The embarrassment will make them hate you for ever. In class, a few hard slaps over their trousers usually gets the message through. They know that if they're naughty again they'll get it from you on the bare later, or sent to me." He gave John a strange knowing look. "Do try and send me a few now and again John." He swung his right arm as if brandishing a cane. "I need to keep in shape!"
John laughed and nodded. "Okay, I'll do my best." His mind was racing. Surely Paul was joking, but... There was something in his eyes that said he was deadly serious.
John looked round at the boys in the hall. "Right then, you remember what we did last week? The poem about the wind? I want you all to be trees. Wait a second, I'll just..." He walked to a small table and turned on the music. The sound of a breeze rustling through trees filled the air. "Arms in the air, feel the wind. Move your fingers... feel the gentle breeze start to move the branches." He enjoyed the weekly drama class. Part of the English course for the lower school, it involved the boys using their bodies to experience sensations described in poetry, and encouraged them to use their imagination. Of course, there were other reasons why John Thornton enjoyed the class. "Now the wind is getting stronger. You feel it pushing your back. The trunk is already split in two. Legs apart! Jason, a bit more... good boy! It pushes you right over, but you don't break. Over... over... more! You can see right between the split trunk. Head down Nicholas!"
John forced himself to breathe slowly and wiped his forehead. This was beautiful! Twenty three eleven year old boys were bending over, their grey trousers stretched tightly over their pert buttocks.
"The wind has blown you over so much, you can't move, even when someone pushes you! Resist! Push yourself back as you feel the push!" Walking slowly from one boy to another, he placed his hand on their bottoms and tried to push them forward. They pushed back, much to John's delight and he explored the outline of their buttocks with his fingers.
His hand touched one boy's bottom and he paused. Many years of living a secret life had heightened John's awareness of subtle signals that most people never noticed. It was all part of survival. Expressions, the tone of voice, body language... . The slightest flinch or movement that would pass unnoticed by most people spoke volumes to John.
The young boy's name was Daniel. John pressed his hand against the boy's buttocks and saw them rise higher as if begging for attention. Enough! There were other bottoms to examine. All so young and firm. Yet so very, very soft ... ...
John licked his lips. He had an idea. "Okay boys, now you're going to be a tree that's turned over by the wind." He laughed. "I don't want any letters from your mothers complaining about rips in your trousers, and you don't have your PE kit, so you'd better take them off." He looked round him. The innocence of youth! "That's right, fold them up neatly. I said neatly Simon! Good. Oh, for heavens sake, pull your pants up properly boys. You look like you're all wearing women's drawers!" The boys giggled. They liked Mr Thornton. Anxious to please, they yanked up their underpants hard. "Right, the wind is blowing again. It's making the whole tree sway from side to side. That's right. Now it's in front of you. So strong. Very, very strong!" He turned up the volume and the sound of howling wind filled the air. "Suddenly it pushes you back and you roll right over. That's right, roll onto your back. Legs are blown up and over your head. The branches are all tangled. Grip your ankles, legs right back. Hold that position. The wind dies down. You can't move." This was beautiful! What a sight!
"Right, turn over. Now you're a little rabbit looking for food. The wind scares you and you seek shelter at the foot of the tree. That's right... all fours. Noses close to the ground trying to smell some carrots. You smell something and your heads go down. You stick your little tail in the air and wiggle it about!"
Oh yes. Fantastic!! Twenty four young little bottoms suddenly sticking up in the air and wiggling around. John groaned. His erection was aching for release.
"But the wind has got stronger. You huddle up into a little ball. Tight as possible." Slowly, he moved from boy to boy, feeling how tightly they were curled up. His hands stroked their heads and caressed their buttocks. "Very good Timmy. A bit more Gary... bottom in more, Tony."
He reached Daniel and chuckled. The young boy was curled up, but his hindquarters were sticking out. "Come on, you can curl up tighter than that" he said, pushing the boy's bum. To his astonishment, he felt the boy push his bottom hard against his hand.
"In more please Daniel!" he ordered. His index finger ran down between the boy's buttocks and between his thighs. "If you don't do as I say, I'll smack your bare bottom after class!" he whispered angrily. Daniel didn't move. John rose to his feet and turned to the others. "Everyone up and on their tip-toes. We're going to..."
"Oh sir, I really have to go badly sir!" It was Trevor, hopping from one foot to the other, clutching himself hard and whining in a particularly irritating high pitched voice. "Sir, I can't hold it sir, I have to..."
"For goodness sake, go to the toilet then!" barked John, angry at being interrupted. He waited for the boy to don his trousers and rush frantically out of the room.
"Right, your pants are slipping down again, so pull them up again! Right up! Good. Now, the wind has weakened the trunk and you slowly start sinking to the ground. Legs apart, bend your knees. Now lower yourself down as far as you can. Good. Very good."
He heard the door and Trevor came in and quickly removed his trousers before joining his classmates.
John looked at his watch. "Lunchtime in five minutes boys. Get dressed quietly, collect your things from outside and go and wash your hands. I said quietly, Peter!"
He saw Daniel and Trevor picking up their trousers and grinned. Why not? He had to start some time.
"Trevor and Daniel, just wait there for a second please. I want a word with you. No Trevor, leave your trousers where they are!"
The others filed out leaving him alone with the two young boys. Trevor looked nervous and held the waistband of his underpants as if scared of them falling down any second. Daniel seemed to be more embarrassed than nervous and glanced at John shyly, pushing his blond hair back from his eyes. John hadn't realised earlier just what a beautiful boy he was.
John sat down. "Here!" The two boys stood obediently if front of him. "Hands by your sides Daniel!" His eyes widened slightly at the little bulge in the boy's underpants. Surely he didn't have... ?
"Trevor, I will not have my lessons disrupted any more. I've only been here two weeks and I told you off about this last week. Is this going to happen every time?"
The boy looked down. "No sir."
John opened his large briefcase and removed the old black gymshoe he'd brought with him. He smiled at the look in their eyes. "I hope this will be the last time I have to punish you Trevor. Next week, you make sure you go to the loo before the lesson. Understand?"
"Yes sir" a small voice replied.
"Okay, turn to the side. Good. Touch your toes please!" Trevor's lip trembled. John could see that he was terrified. Silly boy! "Don't look so scared Trevor" he said, kindly. "It won't be nearly as bad as you think." He pulled the boy's underpants up, wedging them between his buttocks, revealing more bare skin. The three slaps were given in quick succession. "Okay, stand up and put your trousers on. You can go. Oh, and remember what I said about going to the loo next time!"
Trevor's face was a mixture of emotion, the fear being replaced by incredulity that the slaps had not been more painful. Yes, they had stung a little, but having clenched his teeth tightly and grasped his ankles expecting a searing pain, he was shocked by the fact that in fact it had been so bearable. The anticlimax and relief was traumatic in itself. His lip trembled and a tear ran down his cheek.
John took the boy's hand and patted his thigh. "Hey, don't cry. You didn't think I'd really spank you hard, did you. Well, not the first time anyway" He grinned at the look on his face. "Whatever you do, don't tell the other boys! I don't want everyone wanting to pee in the lesson!"
This made the boy laugh and he wiped his eyes and got dressed. Mr Thornton was great! Why on earth had he been so scared? Well, next time he wouldn't make such a fuss! Leaving the room, he turned and glanced at his teacher, a look of adoration in his eyes. Now, what to tell his friends?
"Well young man, and what are we to do with you, hmm?" John looked at Daniel and his eyes fell again on his small bulge. What the... ? He swallowed and took a deep breath. "What did I say would happen if you didn't do as I say?"
Daniel blushed, his blue eyes avoiding John's. "Er, smack my bottom, sir." He spoke softly and timidly, but John was sure he detected a hint of something. Fear? No, the boy looked embarrassed, but not scared.
"What were my words exactly?" asked John, his voice firmer. Daniel opened his mouth, closed it, looked at the ground and finally spoke. "Er... smack my... my... bare bottom, sir."
"Yes Daniel, your bare bottom." He took the boy by the waist and pulled closer. "The reason for that Daniel, is because Trevor simply needed something to remind him, whereas you intentionally disobeyed my instructions." He paused. "Is there another reason why you didn't curl up like I said?" John frowned. Maybe the boy had a reason. "A medical problem? Perhaps... "
"No sir" a sweet voice answered. Daniel shook his head.
"Very well then." John felt his heart pounding faster. "Lift your shirt up to your tummy." He assumed that the boy, in his innocence, would simply see this as an official part of the punishment. John took the waistband of the boy's pants in his hands and slowly pulled them down to his ankles. He stifled a gasp. The boy's penis was sticking up and pointing straight at his head. Why on earth did he have an erection? Unlike many young boys, Daniel's penis was perfectly shaped, surely large for his age – thought John. He noticed with satisfaction that the foreskin was already pulled halfway over the glans. Good! He preferred boys uncircumcised.
Pretending he hadn't noticed, John tapped his knee. "Right, come over my lap please Daniel. No, I'm not using the slipper" he said, noticing the boy's puzzled look. "I'm going to treat you like a little boy – at least, until you learn to be obedient!"
He pulled the boy gently over his knees and whistled quietly. Oh yes! This was worth giving up his lucrative career in accountancy. Daniel's bottom lay under his large hand, its lily white skin just begging to be turned rosy pink. John lowered his head and inhaled the musty and sweetish aroma floating up from the boy's body. Oh, this was beautiful!
Slowly, he started to spank the boy's bum, very, very gently. He had no intention of actually causing much pain – at least for a while. Plenty of time, he thought. Mustn't rush things.
Starting at the top of the boy's thighs, John moved his hand higher, up to the top of his right buttock, then across and down the left. He paused. "That was just a warm up Daniel. They're going to be a bit harder now!"
Daniel shifted his position slightly. To John's astonishment, the boy arched his back a little and raised his hindquarters higher as if eager for the spanking to continue. A little sigh escaped his lips.
John increased the force of the slaps, but not enough to cause distress. He noted with satisfaction the pinkish hue covering the boy's backside. Occasionally he let a finger stray into the cleft between the boy's buttocks. He gently parted the two cheeks and a cheeky little anus peeped up at him.
"Okay, I think that's enough Daniel. Stand up please!" He helped the boy off his lap and could hardly believe his eyes. Daniel's erection, far from disappearing, appeared even bigger than before. Anxious to avoid any embarrassment at this early stage, John quickly pulled the boy's underpants back up.
"Wasn't too bad was it!" he said, grinning at the boy. "Let's say that was just a little warning of what lies ahead if you're naughty again. Understand." Daniel nodded his head and looked at John shyly. "Yes sir."
"Trousers on. Come on quickly boy!" John looked at his watch. "Goodness me, you must be hungry. Run along to lunch. He watched the boy leave and picked up the gymshoe. Well, that had been no problem at all! He wouldn't see this class again until tomorrow morning, but he had another three classes to take in the afternoon. Another class of first-years and two from the second year. He licked his lips in anticipation.
Part 2"So I believe you gave a few good whackings today" said Paul, sitting down next to John. "Great news! You've been here two weeks. I was starting to get worried." John looked up, startled. They were alone in the staff room. Surely Daniel hadn't... . "Er, yes, I did" he replied hesitantly. "But, er, how did you... " Paul laughed. "Oh you wouldn't believe how loudly some of those second years talk" he continued. "I heard a couple of them telling their friends. They really seem to like you!" John blushed.
"Well, I really had no choice" explained John. He closed the exercise book he'd been marking. "Two of them were messing around, you know, distracting the rest. I gave them a warning and when that didn't work, I gave them both three hard whacks with that gymshoe. Must say, it worked well."
Paul laughed. "Hope you whacked 'em hard. Well well, two good wackings in one day. Nowhere close to my record of course, but a start at least."
John shook his head. "Four actually." He leant back in his chair. "A boy in my first year drama class was annoying me. I gave him a few light taps, a kind of a warning I suppose, then I had to deal with another second year in my office, this afternoon. Kelvin Teason. He was leaving the class and when I told him to hold the door open, he swore at me. Didn't think I'd hear, but I did!"
Paul's eyes narrowed. "He swore at you? For heaven's sake John, that deserves the cane, not a few swipes with an old gymshoe! I hope you gave it him on the bare!" John nodded. "Of course. Six hard slaps and a promise to send him straight to you if he ever does it again."
"Hmm, shame you didn't send him today. I had to cane him at least three times last year. I was quite looking forward to seeing his backside again." He laughed. "Never mind. I'm sure I'll be seeing it pretty soon."
Paul scratched his head and appeared to come to some decision. "John, what time's your first class tomorrow?"
John thought for a second. "Quarter past ten. Why?"
"Well, if you don't mind, perhaps you could come to my office at nine o'clock." John raised his eyebrows and Paul continued quickly. "It's just that I'll be dealing with two young lads tomorrow, and I thought you might want to see how it's done." He looked hard at John and then grinned. "Did you notice any boys missing from your classes this afternoon?"
John was about to say something, then stopped and looked at Paul quizzically. "Well, now you come to mention it, yes, I do seem to remember a couple of boys that ... "
"Timothy Clarke and James Peel perhaps?" Paul laughed. "Don't worry John. You're not their form teacher, so I don't expect you to know if they're absent – especially after only two weeks. "The fact is that they disappeared after lunch and someone reported seeing them walking along the high street in town about three o'clock." His countenance was suddenly very serious. "Timothy is in the first year. The poor boy's only been here two weeks, just like you. James is in the second year and was punished twice last year for truancy." He shook his head sadly. "I have no doubt that James was the instigator, and poor old Timothy may have simply been persuaded to go along for a dare." His lips closed in a thin smile. "Tomorrow morning, I have to cane both of them." He winked at John. "Would you like to give me a hand?"
John thought for a second. "Yes, of course. Little Timothy seemed such a nice boy. I can't believe he'd do something like this without being coerced into it. I'm sure he never meant to actually play truant."
"I'm sure you're right" said Paul, rising to his feet. "But the fact is, whatever the reason, he did play truant and, nice little boy or not, tomorrow his backside is going to be so sore, he'll never want to play truant again!" He drained the last of his tea. "See you tomorrow."
John sighed. Everything was going so well. What a great job he had! He closed his eyes. One hour till the shops closed. He really should buy some more paint for the kitchen. He had so much to do in his house. Would he ever get it exactly how he wanted? Oh, what a stroke of luck, finding such a big house, and so close to the school.
Of course, it had cost a fortune, but years of living frugally while earning a good salary had left him with more than enough to buy the house outright. A smile crossed his lips. He remembered seeing the house for the first time, when was it? Two or three months ago. He'd already seen over ten houses in the area.
It had been pouring with rain when the man from the agency met him outside the gate. One of many houses along a leafy avenue, this one was the largest, kept private by a tall fence surrounding a big garden, and almost hidden by two old oak trees in front.
The owner was in his seventies and had welcomed them warmly. John had already had enough of over enthusiastic salesmen and politely asked for the owner to show him around. The man from the agency didn't mind and waited in the kitchen, reading his newspaper.
John had immediately fallen in love with the house. It was far too big for a single man, but he just had to have it. The owner chuckled. He saw that John was impressed. "So, you're really interested?" he asked, wheezing a little. John nodded. "It's exactly what I want" he replied. "I like lots of space, always have." He looked at a large door. "What's in there?"
"That's the cellar. They used to use part of it to store the coal years ago. I'll show you."
At the bottom of the stairs, there was a large room with piles of junk everywhere. "Oh, don't worry about all this" said the old man waving his hand at it. "That will all be cleared out when I leave." He coughed again. John looked around. "I suppose your kids loved playing down here when they were little."
The owner shook his head. "Never had any kids. My Dad lived here with me and my brother for years. They're both dead now. It's got too big for me." He stared at John for a few seconds. "Listen, are you serious about buying it?"
The question was asked in a low voice, as if it were something secret. John sighed. "Yes, I am. I absolutely love it!" The old man chuckled. "Hmm, well then, there's something I want to show you. But not a word to him upstairs!" He pointed to the ceiling.
An empty wardrobe stood against the wall on the right. The old man pulled it to one side, revealing a door. He turned and smiled at John. "The house was built in the twenties. I don't know exactly what they had in mind, but I can only assume they must have been in the import export business, if you get my drift." He opened the door and flicked a switch.
John could hardly believe his eyes. A corridor ran back under the house with two doors on each side and one at the end. He turned to the owner. "What on earth do you keep here?"
The man laughed. "Me? Absolutely nothing at all, though I think Dad used it for storing a few things". He shook his head. "I reckon the original owners must have been up to something a little dodgy. Why else would they have five rooms built under the house without anyone knowing. They even ran pipes and cables into them. They all have electricity and two have water and a drain. They were probably quite cosy once." He sighed. "Who knows? Might have been a gangster hideout, a place for storing stolen goods perhaps."
John whistled in amazement. "Quite incredible! I suppose the town hall must have the original plans. Have you ever seen them?" The man laughed. "No, I told you. It's not on any plans. Nobody knows about it except me, and you of course." He pulled out a handkerchief and coughed into it for a few seconds. "Excuse me. Bad case of bronchitis. No, as I was saying, nobody knows. If the town hall knew, they'd sting me for more tax, the greedy buggers!" He pointed again to the ceiling. "Don't say a word to him up there! He'd only want more commission!"
John nodded. He looked for a few seconds into the dimly lit corridor, then turned and smiled. "Thank you very much for showing me round. If it's okay with you, I'll instruct my solicitor to go ahead immediately." He took the old man's hand and shook it. "Now then, let me help you put this wardrobe back."
The morning assembly came to an end and John watched the boys file out and off to their lessons. He saw Paul signaling for him to go, and followed him back to his office.
Outside the door were two boys, obviously the two that had played truant the day before. John recognised the first year boy at once. Timothy Clarke was a pleasant, though timid boy who behaved very well in class. What on earth had made him do such a stupid thing? He was shifting from leg to leg, and clearly very scared. A thin, almost anorexic figure, he looked at the two men approach and looked like bursting into tears at any second.
James Peel was a head taller and well built for his age. Not exactly overweight, he looked a big lad. He looked at them nervously. Not fear, certainly, but he obviously knew what was going to happen.
"Face the wall you two!" Paul ordered, his voice booming down the corridor. "I don't want to have to look at your faces. Nose touching the wall, hands on head!" He went up behind the two scared boys and pulled their trousers up hard. "I'm not interested in your faces. It's another part of your body I'll be dealing with in a minute" he roared, slapping their bottoms. "Keep facing the wall until I call you inside. That way, anyone passing will see exactly why you're here. When I call you, you leave your jackets on the peg over there." He tapped both of them again on their bums, now nicely outlined by their grey trousers. "I hope you have PE today boys, and not too many lessons, because by the time I've finished with you, you're not going to want to sit down for a very long time!"
John followed Paul into his office, glancing at Timothy as he did. The poor boy was crying quietly, tears running down his cheeks.
"I know what you're going to say, John, and believe me, I don't enjoy having to cane boys like Timothy, but rules are rules!" John stopped himself from smiling. What an actor! From Paul's body language and the look in his eyes, he was looking forward to it very much!
"Now then, look what we have here." He opened a cupboard and waved his hand at a row of canes hanging from a rail. "We're allowed to get three every year, but some of them are no good after a while. Not flexible enough." He took the first one and handed it to John. "I arrange them in order of severity. The lightest and thinnest on the left, then the thicker and heavier over here." He watched John swing it through the air and laughed. "Excellent! You've got the hang of it."
"The aim is to cause pain but staying well short of accidentally injuring the boy. The way to do so is thus..." He took another cane and held it about a third of the way from the crooked handle. "As well as the length, weight and thickness, the important thing is where you hold it. About here is perfect. Once you get used to using one, you can hold it closer to the handle, like this. Harder to aim precisely, but it hurts a lot more!"
He pointed to his elbow. "It's best to keep your arm close to your side and never raise your hand higher than your shoulder. That way you have to use your wrist to impart most of the force. You can forget all those old films where you see the teacher lifting the cane high above his head. If you did that, you'd likely break the skin! What people often don't realise is that even a light tap with a rattan cane can sting a lot." He nodded at the eight or ten canes in the cupboard. "I bet you've never seen as many as that have you?"
John laughed. "No, of course not. What a collection!" He tried hard to look impressed. He wondered how Paul would react if he could see the contents of a certain large box, currently gathering dust in John's cellar. Don't raise your hand above your shoulder? What rot! Where was the fun in that?
"Well, this one will do for young Timothy" said Paul, placing the first and lightest cane on the desk. "Hmm, I think for James, we should use this one from the middle." He chuckled. "He'll be sleeping on his tummy tonight!"
Walking to the door, he opened it and barked "Clarke, inside!" A very sad and scared looking Timothy entered, his eyes red from crying. He couldn't believe this was happening. He'd never been in trouble before. Never even had his bottom smacked in primary school! Only two weeks in his new school and now this! He sniffed and saw the cane on Paul's desk. His heart missed a beat and his throat felt suddenly very dry.
"Well boy, what have you got to say for yourself?" Paul sat down at his desk, opened the grey punishment book in front of him and took the cane in his hands. Timothy gazed in horror at the supple instrument of pain in his master's hands and felt sick.
"I... I'm sorry... very sorry sir" he mumbled quietly. "I didn't mean to sir, honestly sir, but James said we'd only be out for a minute sir and I... when we were in the town sir, I was lost. I wanted to come back sir... honestly sir, but he didn't want to sir... I didn't know the way sir and I... I..."
Paul nodded. "So you didn't really do it on purpose did you?" he asked in a friendly voice. "You didn't want to play truant at all!"
Timothy looked up, the friendly tone of his master's voice giving him hope. "No sir, I didn't sir... really." He wiped his eyes again.
Paul winked at John and nodded. "I understand Timothy. You see, I don't really want to cane you, but rules are rules. The fact is, you did play truant." He leant back in his chair. "Take your trousers down Timothy. Right down to your ankles please."
The young boy looked as though he was going to faint. Fresh tears ran down his face and his hands shook as they undid the waistband and slowly pulled down his light grey trousers.
Paul wrote something in the punishment book and scribbled something on a slip of paper. "You will receive three strokes of the cane now Timothy. If you move, talk or make any fuss, you will receive extra... Touch your toes!"
John watched the young boy bend over and felt himself getting hard. Shame he had such a skinny bum!
Paul walked behind Timothy and pulled his shirt and jumper further up his back. "Oh stop crying boy! " he said angrily. "Let's just pull these up shall we." He yanked the boy's underpants up hard, pulling them deep between his buttocks and bearing most of his lower bottom.
"Stick it up more Timothy! Come on boy, I want that naughty bottom up nice and high!" John watched Paul tap the boy's backside with the cane while he talked. He really seemed to be enjoying himself.
"What do you think Mr Thornton?" asked Paul, stepping back. "Is he ready do you think? " John bit his lip to stop himself from laughing. "Er, yes Mr Rogers, I think he's ready."
Paul looked down at the boy's hands gripping his ankles. A tear fell on them. "Yes, I think we can start. Now let's see, I said five strokes didn't I Mr Thornton?"
Timothy's high pitched voice emanated from somewhere near the floor. "Please sir, you said three sir. Three sir!" He sniffed loudly and another few tears fell onto his shoes.
"Do you remember what I said about not talking boy?" Paul asked angrily. He tapped the boy's bum harder. "I think, Mr Thornton, this boy needs to be taught a lesson, don't you think?" John grinned. Paul was playing with the boy. "Oh of course Mr Rogers. I'd say five strokes at least."
"Well, perhaps you'd be good enough to give me a hand, if you don't mind" asked Paul, stifling a laugh. "My arm is aching today. If I do the first three, could you do the next three? We did say six strokes didn't we?"
"Sir, but...?" A strangled sob was bitten off as it started. Paul looked at John in mock astonishment. "You see what I mean? That's twice he's spoken, and I haven't even started yet!" He looked down at the boy's backside and tapped it again. "Better grip those ankles as tight as you can Timothy. This is going to hurt a great deal!"
The boy's sobbing grew louder. Paul stood slightly to the side and gripped the cane close to the middle. John smiled. It was all talk, just to scare the boy witless.
Paul took a few practice swishes through the air – increasing the boy's terror. He rested it on Timothy's bum and drew it back about two feet, then, with a flick of his wrist, he sliced the cane down exactly in the middle of the boy's twitching bottom.
"Owwwww!" The boy jumped slightly and wriggled his bum. Paul looked at John and shook his head. "It'll take a few seconds for him to realise that it's not nearly as painful as he thought" he whispered. John nodded. The poor boy was a bag of nerves.
The second stroke was just as light as the first. "Ouch!" Timothy flinched and sniffed a few times. The third landed right at the top of his thighs and the boy squealed, more out of surprise than pain.
"So young man, can we stop this silly crying now?" asked Paul in a friendly voice. "You know very well there's no need for all these tears."
Timothy took a deep breath. "Y... yes sir. Sorry sir." He sniffed a few more times. Why had he been such a baby? It had stung a little, but that was all.
"Since you broke the rule about not talking, you will receive one extra stroke, which I will ask Mr Thornton to administer. It's going to be harder than the first three. Think of it as a little test. I want you to take it without any crying. If not, I'll give you another three – and it'll be a 'real' caning, not like those baby taps you just had! Understand?"
The boy swallowed. "Yes sir... I... I'll try sir."
"Good boy." He held out the cane to John. "A nice hard one, if you'd be so kind Mr Thornton."
John took the cane, swished it through the air a few times and placed it against Timothy's backside. "Stick that bottom out more please" he ordered in a low voice. He gripped the cane further towards the handle and tapped the boy's thighs. "Are you ready Timothy?"
"I think so sir" a little voice replied.
John drew his arm back just a little, and flicked the cane down hard. Timothy jumped and bit his lip. Owww, that one really stung! He realised suddenly that he hadn't cried. It was over. A fresh tear rolled down his cheek, more out of relief than pain.
"You may stand" Paul sat down and picked up a letter. "Pull your trousers up. It's all over Timothy." He waited for the boy to finish doing up his belt and handed him the letter. "This is a letter for your parents. It has to be signed and returned to your form teacher within forty eight hours, otherwise, you'll be back in this office for another dose!"
He grinned at the boy. "You see Timothy, it wasn't nearly as bad as you imagined was it?" Timothy looked at him sheepishly. "No sir."
"Well, I'm sure I'll be caning your bottom again in the future, but it won't be for a long, long time, will it Timothy?" The boy shook his head. "Oh no sir, I promise sir!"
"Good boy. Okay, you may go."
He turned to John and laughed. "Quite a show wasn't it! Poor kid was petrified!" John scratched his head. "I was a little surprised at how lightly you caned him. Don't you think you were sending the wrong message?"
Paul raised his eyebrows. "Oh I do hope so John!" He saw the puzzled look on John's face and grinned. "If I'd caned him hard, I'd probably never see him again. As it is, I've given him the idea that a caning isn't really so bad. Hopefully, by the time he does something naughty again, he'll have put on a bit of weight. I can't stand boys with skinny bums, can you?"
John opened his mouth to say something then blushed. Paul raised his eyebrows and nodded. "Exactly!" He moved a bit closer and lowered his voice. "Look John, I've seen how you look at the boys. No... don't panic!" He saw John tense as if accused of some terrible crime. "There's no reason why we can't enjoy ourselves is there?" He looked John straight in the eye. "The fact is, we both like whacking boys' bottoms. It's perfectly legal. Admit it John, you love it!" He saw the embarrassed smile on John's face and laughed. "Okay, so I have a little proposition for you." He paused for a second. "You do your best to keep me supplied with boys to cane, and I'll send you boys from other classes for slippering. Oh, and since you're free every Tuesday and Thursday morning, you can come and assist me here. What do you say?"
John looked at Paul and nodded. "It's a deal!" Both men laughed. Paul looked at his watch. "Oh gosh, look at the time. We've still got James Peel to deal with." He rubbed his hands with pleasure. "You'll like this one John!"
Paul wasn't joking. James entered the office looking very nervous indeed, though without the fear that Timothy had shown. Quite the opposite of the previous boy, he was big for his age, his school uniform already looking a bit on the small size. His grey trousers were stretched tight over his backside, which, John was pleased to see, was rather large and well rounded.
"Stand still boy!" Paul ordered, looking down at the punishment book. "You're twelve years old, is that right?" James swallowed and nodded. "Y... yes sir, but I'll be thirteen in two weeks sir."
The master leant back in his chair. "Last year I had to cane you twice. Now, after only two weeks I find myself having to cane you again." His voice rose. "But not only did you play truant again, this time you took a young boy from the first year with you!" He glared at James angrily. "Because of you young man, I had to cane him! Do you have anything to say?"
James fidgeted nervously. "No sir. Sorry sir. I won't do it again sir." Paul laughed. "That's what you said the last two times!" He picked the cane up and looked at John. "Excuse me Mr Thornton, would you be kind enough to take this and pass me the other cane. This one was perfectly adequate for little Timothy, but I think James here would prefer something with a little more sting to it."
He took the other cane, thanked John and placed it in front of him, enjoying the look of apprehension in the boy's eyes. Paul sighed and picked up his pen. "Okay James, you will receive five strokes for truancy and an extra stroke for getting an innocent first year into trouble. I think even your tenuous grasp of mathematics can make that a total of six. Now, get those trousers down!" James didn't move. He rubbed his hands on his thighs and looked at the floor. "Sir, please... about the letter home sir. I... I." Paul looked at John and grinned. "What about the letter?"
"Well, sir, please could I have the cane sir but without the letter sir?" Paul laughed. "Of course not. What a preposterous idea!" He waited.
"But sir, I heard that... I heard that if I have it on the bare sir, then it won't go in the book sir. Please sir... can I please sir?"
"Why are you so worried about your parents knowing?" asked Paul quietly. James raised his head. A tear ran down his face. "My Dad gave me such a belting last time sir, and he said he'd give me it much worse if I got the cane again sir. And... and... it's my birthday soon sir, and he said if I get into trouble again sir, I won't have a new bike and my Mum gets so upset when he belts me sir and..."
"Okay, you've made your point." Paul sighed. "Your concern over being punished at home or your bicycle is no justification for breaking the local authority rules." He paused. "However, if it's a question of not wanting to upset your mother, then I can sympathise." He waited for a few seconds, enjoying the look of desperation on the boy's face.
"Very well James, I will agree to your request. I will keep a record of the punishment for myself, but it will not be entered in the official records." He shut the punishment book.
"Oh thank you sir. I... I..."
"However, I must warn you that if you don't do exactly what I say, I will make you keep your pants on and send the letter. The word bare means exactly that. You will be completely bare. Just like when you come out of the showers. Understand?"
The boy nodded. "Yes sir." For a second he wondered about what he was agreeing to, but quickly dismissed any worries from his mind. After all, he'd be whacked so many times with the PE teacher's slipper, and some of those had been when he'd messed about in the showers. Mr Hedges never even waited for the boys to get dry.
"Right then, I don't have all day. I want to see you in just your vest and underpants. You have thirty seconds, and I'm timing you-now!"
John felt his heart race as the young boy stripped in front of them. His white vest looked as though it could do with a wash. His eyes widened. The uniform rules were very precise, even for underwear. White vest and underpants, grey or black socks. James was wearing dark blue underpants. They were a little on the small size, thought John. He grinned. Not that it mattered of course!
Paul shook his head in exasperation. "Could you tell me please James, why your pants do not conform to school regulations?"
James looked down. Oh no! He'd completely forgotten! "Sorry sir, I... I couldn't find my white ones this morning. I... I thought..."
"You don't have PE today, do you?" asked Paul suddenly. James shook his head sadly. He knew where this was going. "So you thought you'd chance it, didn't you! You know very well that Mr Hedges would punish you when you undressed for PE!"
James looked at the carpet and said nothing. Paul continued. "Since I am not allowed to give you more than six strokes, you will report to Mr Thornton next Tuesday and he will deal with you. Is that okay Mr Thornton?" John nodded. "Yes of course."
Paul picked up the cane and held it lightly in his hands. He looked at the boy in front of him and spoke slowly. "Okay James, if you want to proceed, you will remove your vest and underpants."
They watched as the boy hesitated for a second, then pulled his vest over his head. With a embarrassed glance at John, he slid his underpants down and removed them.
"Hands by your side" added Paul pre-empting the boy's natural instinct to cover himself.
John closed his eyes for a moment then opened them. Oh this was beautiful! The boy had one of the nicest pairs of buttocks he'd ever seen. A perfect half moon, he saw them twitch in anticipation of what was coming. It was difficult for Paul to look at the boy's privates without it being obvious, but John, standing slightly to the side, had a clear view. Perhaps only a few months from sprouting his first pubic hair, the boy's balls were perfectly smooth, resting between two firm muscular thighs. His penis reacted, as John knew it would, to the change in temperature, by lengthening slightly.
Paul rose and taking a small wooden stool, placed it in the middle of the room. "You will bend over and grip the edge" ordered Paul. He waited for the boy to do as instructed. "Put your elbows down so your arms support your weight, that's right. Legs back, wider apart, come on James!"
He turned to John. "It's easier for him to stay in position like this" he whispered. "It gets his bum in a better position and besides" he chuckled, "You get a much better view!"
John couldn't agree more. The boy's position was perfect. His head and chest were down low, just above his hands that were gripping the edge of the stool. From his shoulders, his back curved upwards presenting his buttocks at a most 'provocative' angle. With his legs stretched slightly back and well apart, his small privates hung down between his legs, looking very sorry for themselves.
Paul tapped the boy's large backside with the cane. "This is going to be very painful James, but I'm sure you agree that you deserve it." He ran the cane down between the boy's buttocks. The boy shivered.
"One word of warning. You stay in position, keep your bottom sticking up as high as possible, and don't make a fuss. If you start making a lot of noise or jumping around, we'll continue with your pants back on and your parents get a letter – understand?"
"Yes sir." Paul bent the cane in his hands and took a good look at the spectacle before him. This was going to be good.
When he'd caned Timothy, Paul had stood very close to the boy, almost touching him. With James, he took a pace back and held the cane about nine inches from the handle.
There was silence. John saw the boy's knuckles whiten as he gripped the edge of the chair as tightly as he could. Paul raised his arm. Crack! James writhed as the cane slashed down hard across his sweaty buttocks. He didn't shout out in pain, but the sound of his breath escaping between clenched teeth was amazingly loud.
Paul waited about ten seconds. "Keep still please James. We've only just started."
The second stroke brought forth a loud cry from the boy and he burst into tears. Paul smiled with satisfaction. "Hmm, I think we've got your attention now, haven't we!" He swung the cane hard and delivered the third, right at the top of the boy's bum. James clenched and unclenched his bottom cheeks, as if any movement at all would dampen the intense pain. If anyone had asked him at that moment, exactly what it felt like, he'd have to say it felt like someone was pouring boiling water over his backside!
"Mr Thornton, if you'd be so kind..." Paul handed him the cane and patted him on the shoulder. "I've dealt with the upper half. There's still plenty of room lower down." He laughed silently, his eyes shining. "Equal shares and all that" he whispered.
John licked his lips and gripped the cane hard. He tapped the boy's thighs. "Bottom up I said up James!" he ordered, raising his voice slightly.
He laid the fourth stroke just below the three red lines already on the boy's bottom and the fifth followed almost immediately, catching James just where his rear end became his upper thighs.
The boy's tears were flowing freely now. Never had he imagined such excruciating pain. It felt as though the cane was slicing him into pieces, lines of white hot fire burning into him. His hands were sweaty and his whole body was writhing as he fought the overpowering urge to straighten up and run howling, round the room.
Paul looked at his colleague in surprise. "Well done John. I think your aim is even better than mine!"
"Please sir, no more. Please, I'm sorry sir. I'm really, really sorry. I promise I'll never do it again sir. Please don't give me any more sir... please!!"
Paul listened to the frantic and slightly hysterical pleas coming from the young boy, clearly now in considerable pain, and struggling hard to remain in position. He waited a few seconds for the boy to stop. "You had only one stroke left James, but you chose to break the rules by opening your mouth during the punishment." He turned to John. "The last stroke please Mr Thornton and an extra one for talking."
John raised the cane and whipped it down on the boy's upper thigh. Without waiting a second, he placed the extra stroke across the nasty red weals that were already forming. James screamed in agony and wiggled his bum as though it was being attacked by a swarm of bees.
To Paul's astonishment, John placed the tip of the cane between the boy's legs and started to tap his balls, each tap a little stronger. "Silence James! Absolute silence!"
The shock of being touched in such a private and sensitive place rendered the boy speechless, and his wriggling subsided.
"Where on earth did you learn that little trick?" asked Paul in a whisper. John just grinned and said nothing. "Hmm, I have to try that myself. I must say it shut him up."
They admired their handiwork. Seven nasty looking weals covered the boy's backside, some looking distinctly blue along the edges. "He's going to have some lovely bruises" said Paul quietly. "Probably take a few weeks to go!"
"Okay, stand up and get dressed!"
James wiped his eyes and pulled his clothes on, flinching as the waistband of his underpants was pulled over the raised welts.
"Don't forget that you have to report to Mr Thornton next Tuesday morning" Paul said, watching the boy blow his nose. "The uniform rules were not made to be broken. Okay, you can go James."
The boy sniffed and walked to the door. He turned and looked at Paul. "Oh, thanks sir. I mean, about the letter sir."
Paul chuckled. "That's okay James. Enjoy your new bicycle. Now, off you go!" He turned to John and scratched his chin, looking at his colleague and thinking. "You know something John, I think I'm going to give you a little present." He walked over to the cupboard, selected two canes and bent each one almost in half. "Yes, these are good ones."
John was puzzled. "Er Paul, that's kind of you, but I'm not really allowed to..."
Paul shook his head. "Officially, I can deputise whoever I like" he said. "No problem at all."
He took an old newspaper and wrapped the canes in a few sheets to hide them. "There you are. Take these back to your office and enjoy yourself! Only..." He grinned. "Do try and send me a few boys now and then, won't you?" John took the package and laughed. "I'll do my best."
If Paul had any reservations about confiding in John, they disappeared very quickly over the next few days. Two third year boys sent to him for fighting in the playground, and a nervous first year for forging a sick note convinced him that his friend had taken his offer seriously. He especially appreciated John sending him the third years. In theory, being in the Middle school, they should both have been sent to the appropriate master. In practice however, there was nothing in the regulations to prohibit it, and it was quite normal for boys to be sent to whoever was available.
Homework policy in the school was strict, but generally very fair. Boys were set work to be handed in after two or three days and most received a reminder from the teacher the day before it was due. Teachers believed this taught the children the importance of organising their own free time. If a boy failed to produce his homework, he needed a very good story indeed, or a letter from his parents to avoid punishment.
John had already got into the habit of reminding the class about homework. Only a handful of boys had actually failed to bring anything. John had listened to their excuses and had always given them one more day to produce something. Now however, he was starting to realise the consequences of being too lenient.
"So, despite my reminder yesterday, all four of you seemingly 'forgot' to bring your homework with you?" he asked incredulously. The four second year boys shuffled their feet and nodded. "Yes sir, sorry sir. I'll bring it tomorrow – promise!" answered Craig Wilson, a slim twelve year old, trying hard to sound as though he was terribly concerned.
John put his head to his brow. Bloody headache! He waved his hand at the rest of the class sitting at their desks. "Everyone else manages to remember, but you four obviously have a serious problem. This is the second time this has happened in the last three weeks and in your case" he looked at Jeffrey Lane, a rather plump boy with round owl-like glasses, "the third time!"
He lowered his voice. "I intend to make sure that from now on, nobody will ever forget their homework again!" The tone of his voice changed. The whole class sat up and took notice.
"You three will report to my office when the lunch bell goes. We'll see if my slipper can help boost your memories." He saw the shocked _expression on their faces and smiled grimly. He took a piece of paper, scribbled a few lines and sealed it in an envelope. "As for you Jeffrey, you will take this note to Mr Rogers -now!"
The rest of the lesson passed in absolute tranquillity. Towards the end, the door opened and a red faced Jeffrey returned, his cheeks blotchy from crying. One hand was clasped to his backside, the other held a letter which he gave to John. "How many?" John asked, not even looking up.
Jeffrey wiped his eyes. "Two sir."
"First time you've been caned?"
Jeffrey nodded. He suddenly saw everyone looking at him and stopped rubbing his buttock. "Yes sir."
"Hmm, well I suggest, that if you don't want another visit to Mr Rogers, you make sure to hand your homework in. Understood?"
The boy nodded. "Yes sir."
"Okay, go and sit down!"
Dealing with the other three boys had been faster than expected. He was hungry. Nevertheless he'd enjoyed it immensely, insisting that they lower their trousers and underpants while he lectured them. The boys were far too innocent and nervous to appreciate the spectacle they made, and stood obediently, holding their jumpers and vests up, unaware that the prime purpose was simply to show off their small genitalia.
The six slaps each received had been painful but not overly so. Afterwards, he made them stand facing the wall for five minutes while he ostensibly did some paperwork, though in reality enjoying the sight of three red bottoms.
John was only too happy to send Paul the occasional boy to cane and hadn't really thought about their reciprocal agreement. He was reminded however, when, enjoying a cup of tea in his office that afternoon, a timid knock at his door revealed two very worried looking boys from the third year. He took the envelope from them and opened it.
Mr Thornton, Sorry to trouble you. Steven and Ian were spotted at the school gate during lunchtime, exposing themselves to a group of small girls. Two people have already complained to the school. I have given them a choice: inform the headmaster, their parents and commence a full enquiry, or six hard strokes from me – needless to say, on the bare. Unfortunately I will be away until Monday and so leave them in your capable hands.
He looked the boys up and down. Steven Pye was thirteen but looked younger. His partner in crime, Ian Smart, was a large fourteen year old. Both looked at the letter in John's hand, then at the ground.
"So I assume Mr Rogers has discussed this with you, has he?"
They nodded. "Yes sir."
"Have you both been caned by Mr Rogers before?"
Steven looked up. "Yes sir, last year sir."
"On the bare?"
Ian nodded. "Yes sir."
John went to the cupboard behind his desk and took out the thicker of the two canes given to him by Paul. He felt the boys' eyes on him.
"I cannot say I agree with this course of action" he said quietly. "If I had my way, I would immediately inform your parents and leave the headmaster to deal with you." He saw the look of dread in their eyes. "However, since Mr Rogers has already decided to be lenient with you, I intend to comply with his instructions. You do realise how incredibly lucky you are, don't you?"
The boys swallowed. "Yes sir. Thank you sir."
"Well, you know what I have to do, so why am I waiting? I think on this occasion, you will be punished together. I don't see why I should waste any time thrashing you separately!"
Steven started to remove his clothes and Ian followed, his hands trembling as he fought with the buckle on his belt. Reaching their underpants, they paused, then slipped them off.
John hoped his erection wasn't too obvious. Both boys were well built and clearly played a lot of sport. "Hands by your sides!"
His eyes fell on Steven's privates and he had to stop himself from smiling. For his age, he was remarkably well endowed, yet still smooth. Clearly a late starter. Ian on the other hand had wisps of hair appearing everywhere, yet his penis was hardly visible.
John cleared some room on his desk and made the boys stand each side. "Bend over, grip the edge and don't move" he ordered, going behind Steven. "Head and tummy flat on the desk, bottom up as high as you can. More Steven, come on! You as well Ian!"
The next few minutes were bliss, with John walking from boy to boy, applying the cane with exact precision and with such force that once or twice he was sure the boys would jump up and run screaming from the room. But the gravity of their situation, and the knowledge that they had been spared a much worse fate, ensured that they remained in position, albeit with some difficulty.
Having finally bid his farewells to the two very sore and recalcitrant young boys, he allowed himself a few minutes of repose, savouring the aroma of the boys' sweaty and scorched backsides that seemed to linger in his study.
He was tired, but happy. Happier than he'd been for years. Oh, and there was Daniel to deal with. Yes, he was looking forward to that. Something was brewing there, he was sure. The way that boy looked at him! Had he handed in his homework last time? John didn't think so, but he'd been particularly busy that day. Never mind. He's get to the bottom of it soon. He chuckled. Daniel's bottom of course!
"Okay class, I have now given everyone ample time to hand in all the pieces of homework outstanding. Place them in front of you and I'll come round and collect them."
John yawned. The last lesson of the day was with one of his first year classes. He looked at Daniel and smiled. He'd made the decision not to be quite as strict with the first years as he had been with the others. After all, they needed some time to adapt to the hectic bustle of a large secondary school. Now, however, he had to start laying down the law.
"So where is your homework Daniel?" he asked quietly, looking down at the curly haired boy.
Daniel fidgeted and played with his pen nervously. "Forgot it sir. Sorry sir."
"I see. You forgot it. Again!" John shook his head in disbelief. "I suppose you've forgotten all the other pieces of work you were supposed to hand in today. Remember the deadline I gave everyone?"
Daniel looked up shyly. "Sorry sir. Can I bring them in tomorrow?"
John shut his eyes for a few seconds. This was going too far! He walked back to his desk and faced the class. "Trevor and Michael, come here!"
The two boys looked at each other and approached their teacher. John opened his briefcase and took out a large gymshoe.
"You have still not brought in the work I set you a few days ago" he said angrily. "Face the wall and touch your toes!"
The boys looked at him in horror. "P... please sir, I..."
"I said touch your toes Trevor!" John glared at the two terrified youngsters and pointed to the door. "Otherwise you go to Mr Rogers for the cane. Now bend over!"
The three whacks he gave each boy over their trousers were hard ones and the boys dissolved into tears after the first slap. John sighed with satisfaction. Hopefully the whole class was getting the message now!
They were. Several boys looked close to tears themselves, their young bottoms shivering and twitching in sympathy with the two now receiving the justice due them.
"Okay, return to your places." He waited for the sobbing pathetic creatures to sit down and smiled at Daniel. "As for you young man, I think you and I need to have a little chat. See me after class!"
He stifled a yawn. What was the boy up to? He was generally well behaved in lessons and didn't seem the type to go looking for trouble. Why was he forgetting to bring in his homework? Too difficult? No. He was a bright kid and the homework assignments had been quite straightforward. It was if he was actually doing it all on purpose.
The bell rang and the boys filed out silently, some looking back at Daniel, still sitting down. John closed the door and called the boy to his desk. Daniel looked nervous. "Bring your bag Daniel." John pointed to the boy's small satchel lying next to his chair. The boy pulled his trousers up and bent down to pick it up. John stared at the boy's bum, outlined in rather obscene detail by his tight trousers. What on earth was the boy doing? Why was he taking so long? The way he was sticking his bum out like that. It was almost as if he was trying to...
"Daniel, come here now!"
Daniel stood in front of him and looked at the ground.
"Do you have an explanation why, out of all the boys in the class, you are the only one who has not returned a single piece of homework so far?"
Daniel shook his head. "No sir."
"No sir? Is that all you can say?" asked John incredulously. He frowned. "Daniel, is the homework too difficult for you. If you're having problems, I promise I won't be angry with you."
The boy looked at him. There was the hint of a smile. "Oh no sir, it's dead easy sir."
John put his hand to his head. This was getting silly. "Then why haven't you brought it to school?"
Daniel thought for a second. "Just keep forgetting sir. Sorry."
John took a deep breath. "Daniel, is there any reason why I shouldn't punish you?"
The boy shook his head slowly. "No sir, not really sir."
"Okay Daniel, tell me. What should I do with you?" John waited. The boy thought for a few seconds.
"Smack my bottom again sir?"
John nodded. "Just that?"
Daniel looked up. John saw a gleam in his eyes, not fear certainly. But what exactly?
"Smack my bare bottom sir?" Daniel swallowed. "With the slipper sir."
John couldn't be sure, but the boy looked flushed and was breathing a little faster. Was he...? Was it possible that...? His eyes fell on the boy's trousers. The boy had an erection, he was sure of it! But why so prominent, and why so...? Just a minute! No, surely not?
"Daniel, are you wearing underpants under your trousers?" he asked quietly.
There was a pause during which time the boy blushed an even deeper red and avoided John's eyes. "No sir".
Daniel fidgeted and looked uncomfortable. "Don't know sir. I... I mean... I forgot sir."
John looked at his watch. Damn! He'd forgotten the time. "Do you take a school bus home, or do you walk" he asked.
John breathed a sigh of relief. "Thank goodness for that. You'd have missed the bus by now."
He stood up. "Daniel, I haven't time to deal with you now. I want to see you tomorrow in my study at half past one. Understand?"
The boy nodded. "Yes sir."
"Make sure you have lunch 'before' you come to me," continued John, cramming a pile of books into his briefcase. He smiled. "By the time I've finished with you, I doubt you'll have much of an appetite! Okay, you may go."
Was it his imagination, or did the boy's bulge suddenly get bigger? "Yes sir. Thank you sir."
He watched Daniel skip out of the classroom and thought about what had just happened. Tomorrow was going to be very interesting indeed!
Now then, bag, coat, car keys? Good. Oh yes, must call into the bakery on the way home. He was tired and looking forward to a nice relaxing evening. Oh, yes, a very relaxing evening indeed!
Part 3"Oh dear me, how awful!"
The words were said to nobody in particular. They emanated from a small figure hidden behind a newspaper. It was Monday afternoon in the staffroom and full of teachers anxious to get a quick cup of tea before the last two lessons of the days.
"Hmm, what's awful?" asked Mr Thomas, more out of politeness than interest. The newspaper was lowered and a small wiry gentleman with a grey beard and horn rimmed spectacles blinked at him.
"Oh, I beg your pardon" said Mr Cook, the elderly latin teacher. He put the newspaper down. "I was talking to myself. Such sad stories one reads in the newspapers these days."
John Thornton drained his mug of tea. "Why, what's happened?"
Mr Cook pushed his spectacles up his nose. "Oh just a story about two boys that vanished yesterday while out fishing. Only twelve years old. Really sad!"
"Did they fall in or were they attacked by a vicious fish?" asked Paul with his usual sledgehammer wit.
"Oh Paul, don't joke" said the latin master, reaching for his cup. "In fact they haven't a clue. They just say that two young boys, er, Colin Blakely and Simon Thompson disappeared on Sunday while out fishing along the river Ouse, about fifty miles from here." He looked up. That's close to the estuary. Dangerous place, gets flooded very quickly. Everything ends up being swept out to sea. Poor kids."
Paul snorted. "I just wonder what their parents were doing, letting two young boys go fishing somewhere like that! Bloody idiots!"
John nodded. "Totally agree with you. Poor kids!"
The light from the twenty watt bulb was barely enough to see by. The air was warm and humid, making even the grey stone walls feel damp.
The two old mattresses at opposite ends of the room were filthy and smelt of rotting garbage.
Colin sat hugging his knees to his chest, looking at his friend on the other mattress. Simon lay on his side, eyes still red from crying. An empty bottle once containing water, stood next to each boy. The water had run out hours ago. Was it hours, or days? Colin tried not to think of it. It only made him more thirsty. A savage hunger knawed at his stomach. When had he last eaten? Was it yesterday? Today? What time was it? Why...?
He felt the tears starting again. Simon sat up and gazed at him miserably across the room. Like Colin, his vest, sweater and socks were missing, leaving him naked down to his waist. His brown trousers were filthy and reeked of urine. He wondered if Colin's jeans were as bad.
He had no idea who'd done it, but tight leather straps had been locked around their wrists and ankles, and a collar fastened round their necks, a metal ring attached to each one. A thin chain was secured to one of the ankle straps, the other end fixed to a strong looking metal bar fixed firmly in the wall.
The ankle chain was an inconvenience, the wrist restraints were uncomfortable. A chain attaching each wrist strap to the collar prevented the boys from moving their hands lower than their belly buttons or in fact moving them more than twelve inches in any direction.
Apart from the mattresses, the only other object in the room was a simple chemical toilet placed between them and just at the limit of their ankle chains. Colin had immediately recognised it from the camping trips he'd been on with his parents. Using it had been difficult and embarrassing, the embarrassment however, soon being forgotten due to simple necessity.
"I bet someone comes soon" whispered Colin, shifting his position on the mattress. "They must know we've run out of water."
Simon sniffed and wiped his eyes. "I reckon it's the police" he replied, his voice betraying any conviction he felt. "They probably just want to teach us a lesson."
"Yes, probably. Or maybe it's the bloke who owns the land. We were trespassing weren't we. Yes, that's it. Just wants to teach us a lesson. He'll probably be opening the door any second. My Dad's going to be mad when he finds out."
Colin laughed, a forced high pitched laugh that convinced nobody.
They'd continued the same pattern for hours. Attempting to reassure each other and convince themselves that somebody would come soon.
Simon groaned. "I'm so hungry!" he whined, starting to cry again.
Colin looked at him miserably. What exactly had happened? He remembered getting up early on Sunday morning and meeting Simon down at the river with his fishing gear. There had been a car. Yes, he remembered a car driving up. Someone laughing and waving, holding a can of drink and smiling, then... Something in his eyes. He couldn't see. Something pressing on his face, pressing hard, then... nothing!
He picked up the bottle and turned it upside down. Not even a drop remained. He closed his eyes and tried to imagine being back in his own bed. His knee itched and he tried to scratch it. Ow! He'd forgotten the silly chains. Bending forward and raising his knee he was able to reach it. He scratched furiously.
Suddenly he saw Simon sit bolt upright. What? Simon cocked his head to one side. "Listen!"
The sounds of a heavy lock being turned made them both jump. Simon looked at his friend nervously. The police perhaps? A farmer? Please... anyone!
A large figure entered slowly and stood silently watching them. Colin felt his heart beating like crazy. His mouth was completely dry. The man was dressed from head to toe in black leather, his jacket buttoned all the way up, silver buttons shining in the dim light. Any thoughts that it may be a policeman were dashed. With mounting horror the boys saw a black mask covering the man's eyes.
Simon's high pitched voice broke the silence. "Have you come to let us out? Can we go home now? Please, can I..."
"Do not speak!" The words were spoken quietly, but there was something in the man's tone that sent a shiver down their spine.
He walked closer. In his hand he held what looked like a long tube with two small pins at the end. As they watched, he held it up. A loud crackling sound filled the air and sparks appeared to shoot from the end.
"Stand!" The two boys got slowly to their feet, eyes on the fearsome looking device in his hand.
Simon started to cry. "Please can we go home. We're sorry..." The man lowered the tube and touched the boy's leg with the end. There was a buzzing sound and Simon screamed and fell to the ground bent double, clutching his right leg. He rolled around on the mattress sobbing loudly. The muscle in his leg felt as though it had been pierced with a red hot skewer.
Slowly the pain subsided. The man waited for the boy to stop rolling about. Colin looked at his friend still holding his leg and tried not to cry.
"You are hungry" It was a statement not a question. "You are dirty."
The man went to Simon, lowered himself on one knee and took a small key from his pocket. He undid the small padlock and unhooked the chain attached to the boy's ankle strap, then did the same to Colin.
He walked out of the door and the boys followed him, their hands held awkwardly before them, the chains preventing them from straightening their arms.
They didn't have far to go. Immediately though the door, they turned right into another room. Here was more light, and the boys blinked, their eyes having grown accustomed to the badly lit room that served as their bedroom.
The room was obviously in the process of being decorated, with pots of paint lying against the wall and numerous brushes, brooms and buckets strewn about.
A small table stood in the middle, upon which lay a tray holding a loaf of bread, bottles of water and large slabs of cheese.
In the corner was an old, dirty looking partition that had been converted into a very simple shower. A small rusting shower head was suspended above a grey base. It was enclosed on three sides, but there was no shower curtain or door.
The man stopped.
"First shower. Then eat."
The boys looked at the bread on the table, then at the shower. The strange man laughed. "I said you will shower. Go!"
Colin tried to raise his hand. "Please..." The man raised the tube menacingly. He pointed to their trousers. "Take off!" He looked at a clock on the wall. "One minute or..." Sparks crackled and the man laughed.
Simon squealed at the sound and started to fumble with his trousers, the chains on his wrists making him have to stoop forward. Colin looked at the clock and began taking his jeans and underpants off. Getting them down to their knees was not too difficult; they'd already done this many times when having to use the chemical toilet. However, removing them completely without being able to lower their hands was not so easy.
"Twenty seconds." The man laughed at their contortions as they attempted to push their trousers lower. Colin hit upon the idea of lying down, bringing his knees up to his chest and pushing his jeans off that way. Simon copied him.
"Stand!" The man took their clothes and put them into a plastic bag near the door. He gazed at the two terrified little boys before him, smiling at their cute little penises now on show. Of course they couldn't lower their hands to cover themselves.
"Go! Together!" The boys stepped into the grubby shower and the man reached over and turned on the water. The boys gasped as the cold water hit them. They looked at the man in despair. "Please, it's..." The man raised the tube and Colin shut his mouth.
"Soap here. Now wash good!" The man pushed a bar of soap into their hands and stood back. "Wash everywhere, or..."
He watched them with evident pleasure, the boys too busy too notice the bulge in his trousers. Perfect bodies, he thought. A little puppy fat still remaining. Nice rounded backsides. He licked his lips. Oh yes. They were perfect. He saw one of them stooping down trying to wash his privates. So funny!
The boys were able to wash their faces and just about down to their knees, but the rest was impossible.
"Wash each others back now." He pointed to Simon. "You. Turn round!"
Colin soaped his friend's back. The water was still cold, but just bearable. He looked at the man.
"Kneel down and wash his bum!"
Colin started to put soap over his friend's backside, the skin covered with goosebumps from the cold. The man spoke again. "Wash between his cheeks!"
Simon's felt the soap being pushed between his buttocks and clenched his cheeks. The soap flew out of Colin's hand.
"Do not do that!" He smiled at Colin. "Spank his bum hard. Six times. If not as hard as you can, you will have twelve!"
The boy looked at the man in despair. Simon was his friend. But... "Sorry!" he whispered quietly. He drew back his arm as far as the chains would allow and proceeded to slap his friend's backside as hard as he could. Simon yelped and wriggled his bum.
The man grinned. The chains stopped him from moving his hand too far. The boy was fortunate!
"Now wash his bum hole! Soap your finger and push it in – all the way in!"
Colin looked at the man, disgust showing on his face. He couldn't do that surely? No! That was just too rude. He... He saw the man raise the tube and swallowed.
Simon felt his friend pushing his finger into his tight little hole and started to cry. It felt horrible! It went deeper and he gasped. No, please, this was disgusting!
"Now his penis and balls! You boy, turn round!"
Simon turned and closed his eyes in shame as he saw his friend's head only inches from his cold shrivelled willy. He heard the strange man grunt in satisfaction and a tear ran down into his mouth.
"Good, now swop. Fast! You waste time. No wash, no eat!"
Colin stood still as his friend did exactly the same to him, gritting his teeth as Simon pushed his finger deep inside him. On turning round, he felt small soapy hands gently washing his privates. A sudden tingle enveloped him. He looked down. Simon seemed to be taking his time. Why? What on earth was he...
"Right. Finish!" A large hand turned the tap, cutting off the water. "Out now!"
The boys stepped gingerly out of the shower cubicle and were thrown two small towels. They were given only a few seconds to dry themselves before the man snatched the towels back and nodded to the table.
The man saw them looking around for their clothes. He laughed. "Oh no, no little ones. You stay naked! Now eat!" He held up the electric stun tube and it crackled. "Say only one word and..."
Simon followed his friend to the table and attacked the bread and cheese ferociously, one eye on the weird stranger. Water ran from the sides of their mouths as they emptied the large jug of water. Never had such a simple meal seemed so good!
The man walked slowly round them, examining every inch of their bodies as they eat.
""You finish in ten seconds" he said after a while. "Then we go play."
Colin had a large crust in mouth. Play? What on earth did he mean? Surely he was going to phone their parents? He swallowed and took another piece of cheese. The man scaring them on purpose – surely? He took some more water. He knew one thing. He wouldn't be trespassing again! Only...? He gazed across at his friend. Why had the man made them wash each others things like that? That was so rude!
"Enough!" The man walked to the door. "Come!"
The boys wiped their mouths and followed him. Simon nudged Colin and attempted a smile. Who'd be waiting for them? Their parents? But surely he'd let them get dressed first?
At the door, the man took something from his pocket. Before the boys realised what was happening, he'd placed small hoods over their heads. "Do not touch!" he ordered, pulling them down.
Simon bit his lip. What was he doing? The hood smelt old, like the mattresses. Total blackness. Why was the man doing this? Why now?
"Move forward!" They felt the door opening and a large strong hand guiding them out. Another door opened and Colin felt his elbow gripped as he was taken into the other room.
"Stand still!" the man hissed. Colin felt his hot breath inside the hood. Suddenly, large hands pulled him to the right. He felt the man fumbling with the straps around his wrist, then at his collar. Something was released. Was he letting them go? Please, let it...
To his horror, Colin felt his hands being pulled up over his head. The man grunted and he was pulled onto his tip toes. A chain rattled and he felt a few jerks. Then nothing. The straps on his wrist were wide and soft, but they were taking a lot of his weight now, and he felt the leather bite into him. But why like this? He started to cry. He realised suddenly how he must look, completely naked, hanging from a chain like this. The tears ran faster, soaking the thick smelly hood over his head.
He cried out in terror as a hand grabbed his bottom. "Legs further apart please, little boy!" What? He felt the grip on his buttock tighten and opened his legs further. "No, no, more, more!" A large bony finger suddenly pushed between his buttocks and pressed against his tight bum hole. He gasped. "Oh yes. Little boy wants to play! Little boy wants master to use his hole – yes?"
Colin felt the man's breath on the other side of his hood and screwed up his eyes. What was the man saying? Please, let it all be over! Let it finish... please! He felt the man's hand pat his bottom again. "Master doesn't like playing with cold bottoms. Master has to warm them first!"
The man suddenly left him. Colin heard him walking away. He turned his head. Nothing. Was he saying the same things to Simon? He heard his friend whimpering. There was the sound of something heavy being pulled across the floor, then the rattling of the small chains, more whimpering and curt orders from the man, his voice too low to hear the words. It seemed to continue for ages. Colin shifted his weight around, far too scared to move his legs. What if the man saw?
Suddenly he felt the hood being pulled off his head. He squinted, expecting bright light, but there was only darkness. His heart raced. Why so dark?
A dim light bulb cast eerie shadows around the room. It was big, much bigger than the last two. There seemed to be shelves and pieces of wood around the walls, but it was too dark to make out much detail. In front of him, exactly in the middle of the room, he saw Simon lying face down over some kind of table. Suspended about 10 feet behind his friend, Colin could only see that Simon's bum seemed to be lifted higher than the rest of him. As he watched, the man walked slowly around the table, tightening straps and adjusting parts of the framework.
Standing behind the table, Simon was hidden from sight for a minute while the man continued his adjustments. Colin stared. Not a normal table certainly. It seemed to have small padded platforms attached to metal struts. It was clear that parts of the contraption could be moved and secured in all sorts of positions.
The man moved to one side and Colin saw that his friend's bum was raised even more, his legs secured to a lower platform and held wide apart. Simon's small privates hung down between his legs, his smooth little balls made more prominent by his upturned buttocks.
There was a sharp click, and a powerful spotlight in the ceiling illuminated Simon's bottom. The man smiled. Yes, he'd got the beam spot on! The boy's pert hindquarters shone under the bright light.
The man turned and smiled at Colin, one hand running over Simon's twitching buttocks. "I think we can play now" he whispered. He looked down and gently eased the boy's buttocks apart, allowing the strong beam to play on the young boy's anus. He prodded it with his finger, chuckling at the reaction it produced.
"Patience my little one" he said softly. "I know you want master inside you, but what must master do first? Hmmm?" He reached down and toyed with the boy's testicles. "Yes, that's right. Master has to discipline his little boy – yes?"
His fingers explored Simon's penis. "Master must teach his little boy obedience and humility. Master must warm his boy's bottom so it is ready for master to use – yes?"
Colin watched with mounting horror as the man picked up something hanging from the edge of the table. It looked like the end of a large willy! What was he...
"Master knows his little boys are noisy. Master doesn't like noisy boys." He walked round to where the boy's head was lying on a tear soaked pillow. "This help little boy" he said, lifting Simon's head up.
Colin heard his friend crying as the man put the thing in his mouth, then there were only faint muffled moans. He saw the man tying the gag tightly behind Simon's head.
"Now master has to choose toy to play with" continued the man, walking over to the wall. Colin could see only his outline. He seemed to be looking at a row of shelves.
"Little boy's like playing – yes?" He returned to the table, carrying what looked like a wooden paddle and a nasty looking black belt. He tousled Simon's hair and showed him what he'd chosen. "So, is this okay, hmmm?" he asked brightly. "I think we have good time – no?" He laughed. "Your bottom waiting so long. Never mind" He gripped the paddle and tapped Simon's sweating buttocks. "We can play for long, long time."
He turned and looked at Colin, enjoying the look of disbelief and horror in the boy's eyes. "Master's other little boy must wait for his turn" He paused. "We play many games later – yes?"
Colin didn't know how long it continued. The slaps reverberated around the room. Each muffled scream seemed to hit him like a stone. He tried closing his eyes, but the sight before him gripped his attention, the large white buttocks slowly turning pink, then red, then dark crimson as the strange man 'played' with his friend.
He hardly noticed when the man put down the paddle and picked up the belt. It was the higher pitched and more intense cries that alerted him. Red stripes appeared across Simon's legs, then higher across his madly writhing buttocks. How long did it go on? Colin screwed his eyes shut. He couldn't watch any longer. His own buttocks twitched in sympathy at the thought of what awaited him.
The crack of the belt over hot red flesh suddenly stopped. Colin didn't want to open his eyes. Had the man stopped? Simon's cries had become quieter, the pain from each blow merging with the pain from the last and eliciting only a constant high pitched whine.
The whining suddenly stopped. Almost immediately, Colin heard a series of panic-stricken muffled cries, quite different from the others.
He opened his eyes. The man had his back to him. As Colin watched, the man's trousers slid to the floor, closely followed by a pair of black underpants.
"Little boy got plenty of cream inside hole now" he muttered thickly. Colin saw him squeeze something from a tube into his hand. The man turn and smiled at Colin. "Little boys have tight holes. Master must help little boys – yes?"
Colin blinked and he gazed in astonishment as the man turned round completely. As all young boys starting puberty, Colin had the normal boy's interest in his own private parts and was pleasantly surprised at the size his own penis could reach, particularly during his masturbatory experiments under the bedclothes. The monster that the man sported however was so incredibly huge that he wondered if it was indeed real. He saw him spread the cream over its length and swallowed nervously.
For the next ten minutes, Colin saw only the man's back as he did something to Simon that Colin tried not to think about. He tried to blot out the muffled screams, but it was impossible.
It was the loud grunting that told him it must be over. He saw the man's large hairy buttocks tighten and suddenly the violent thrusting movements ceased. For about thirty seconds, the man stayed immobile, then grunted again and stepped back.
"Little boy liked playing – yes?" he muttered softly. "But master only halfway in hole. Later, we try again."
Colin felt sick. Having been pushed apart for so long, Simon's buttocks now displayed his bright red and sore looking anus, still stretched open. The man smiled and then yawned. "Master is sleepy. Master play for two minutes more, then sleep."
He pulled his trousers up, then picked up the black belt. "Little boy love sleeping with warm bottom – yes?"
The blows fell fast and furious over already beaten flesh, fresh weals appearing across older weals. Simon's muffled screams were weaker this time. His whole hindquarters were one mass of solid pain. The man stopped.
"Now sleep." In a few seconds, he released to what seemed to Colin, a myriad of straps and chains, then lifted the boy off the table and slung him over his shoulder before taking him out of the room.
The man didn't come back. Colin shifted again. His arms hurt. Inch by inch, he moved his legs closer together, listening carefully for any sound that might signal the man's return. Suddenly, a feeling of exhaustion swept over him. His eyes felt heavy, very heavy. How on earth could he rest in this position. By leaning forward, he tried to find a more comfortable position, but his arms were pulled back and he grimaced at the pain. Just a few minutes sleep? Please! He closed his eyes.
He was in bed. Finding that porn mag of his Dad's had been dead lucky! Now he knew where his Dad hid them. He felt his thing getting hard. He loved it when that happened. He wanted to rub it again, but his arms were wrapped around his pillow. It didn't matter though. He grinned. His willy was tingling. Something seemed to caress his balls and he gasped as his erection grew. Oh yes! So nice! He had to touch it! He had to... but his hands wouldn't move from the pillow. Wouldn't move! Wouldn't...
He gasped and opened his eyes. The man's black mask was inches from his face. He was chuckling. "Little boy is being naughty – no?"
Colin felt tears spring to his eyes. He looked down at his erect penis in the man's hand.
"Master come back to play. Master find little boy with legs not apart. Master find little boy with thing sticking up" he continued, a reproachful tone in his voice.
"Master have to make little boy's bottom very, very hot. But..." The man put his face closer and kissed Colin's nose. Colin smelt whisky on his breath. Like his Dad's on a Saturday night.
"Master think you very pretty little boy."
His fingers teased the boy's scrotum and Colin felt his erection jerk.
He pointed to the table and Colin saw the man had hung something on the edge. His eyes widened in recognition. It was a cane. A crooked handle cane, just like they had at school! He remembered the last time he'd experienced a caning. Just before the holidays. Six hard strokes for fighting. They'd been excruciating, but quickly forgotten. Certainly nothing like how Simon had suffered.
The man's hand crept round to Colin's bottom and he felt large fingers playing with his bum-hole. He tensed. The man laughed.
"Pretty little boy wants master to play with hole – yes? If pretty boy wants to play, then master only warm bottom. Not make hot like other little boy." He nodded at the cane. "Master only give six strokes before play with hole. Then master give six after fun is finished." He prodded Colin's bum hole harder and kissed his wet cheek...
"So, does little boy want master to play with hole? Little boy wants master to have fun with him?"
Colin felt exhaustion grip him. He didn't understand. He remembered the long beatings Simon had received and nodded.
"Good boy!" Colin felt his arms being released. He was lifted and placed gently over the table. He hadn't realised how padded it was. His eyes closed. Straps and belts were tightened across him. Chains secured his hands to a metal strut between the legs. His bottom was raised until the man was satisfied with the angle, and each leg secured at three places to another moveable platform. The pillow under his head was soft and still moist from Simon's tears.
The man stood back and admired the view. Oh much nicer than the other boy! Simon had been well proportioned, but Colin had that extra pertness to his bottom and the puppy fat made his thighs incredibly exciting.
He stroked the boy's bottom. "Master doesn't want to use gag on pretty boy. Master hope boy won't scream. Scream makes master angry. When master angry, master cane boy longer. No scream, little one!"
Colin shut his eyes and grit his teeth. He wouldn't scream, that was for sure. He'd been caned before. He hadn't screamed then, he wasn't going to now! The cane was painful but he knew he could take it.
He was wrong. He couldn't take it. After only two strokes, the man thrust the gag into the boy's mouth, shaking his head sadly. He gazed down at the two raised weals spanning the boy's buttocks, and lifted the cane high above his head. "Master not happy with little boy. Master want to play with little boy's hole. Now master have to make bottom hot with cane. Very hot!"
The man chuckled. Oh yes, he was looking forward to this boy's hole. Very much indeed!
To be continued??
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