Case No 27659: Mickling versus Fisher and Bateman: Statement of plaintiff Mickling made on 14th July 2010 at 2.35pm. I am Isaiah Joseph Mickling of 22 Humberstone Lane, Connington. I am 20 years of age and have been employed by Bateman Transport of Towcester for three months. On the 11th June I was summoned into the office of Mr Bateman and ordered to accompany him to the home of a client. I was not given any explanation for the summons but Mr Bateman was in a bad temper. I was driven to the home of a client in Northampton and have subsequently learned that the said client is a Dr Martin Fisher of The Bungalow, Lower Hadham. I recognised the address as a property where earlier in the day I had delivered some machinery on behalf of Bateman Transport. I was shown a long brick wall which was in a bad state of disrepair and then taken into the house. I there met Dr Fisher and both he and Mr Bateman accused me of damaging the wall when reversing my vehicle after making the said delivery. Before I could offer any explanations, or indeed say anything, they both said that I was to be thrashed for my incompetence. I was overpowered by the two men and taken into a large room and made to lie across a table of some sort. I was frightened and did not know what to do. Even though I struggled one of the men, I think it was Dr Fisher, tied my hands and feet to the table legs while the other one held me down. When this was done Mr Bateman undid the belt on my jeans and pulled down my jeans and my underpants. I was screaming with fear and as I did so I saw Dr Fisher pick up a cane and coming behind me and proceeded to strike my bare buttocks. I think he hit me across my buttocks about twenty times. It was so bad I wet myself and he hit me some more. They then let me get up and dressed and Mr Bateman drove me back to the depot. When I got home I showed my bottom to my dad and he took me to the doctor where I was examined and photographs taken. The police investigated the incident but have refused to take any action. I am therefore bringing a private prosecution for assault against the two gentlemen.’ Signed in the presence of........................
Case No 27659: Mickling versus Fisher and Bateman: Statement of defendant Fisher made on 27th July 2010 at 3.35pm. I am Doctor Martin Fisher and reside at The Bungalow, Lower Hadham. I have lived there for over 17 years and have a surgery in the village. On the 11th June 2010 I received a delivery of gardening machinery from Bateman Transport of Towcester. The time of the delivery was around 11.00am. At noon, or thereabouts, I realised that the left side of my outer garden wall was completely demolished. In my estimation the total damage was around £2000. A neighbour confirmed that the cause was the reversing of a Bateman Transport van and, subsequently, I telephoned their office and reported the problem. At around 2.30pm I received a call from the proprietor, Mr Samuel Bateman, who stated that one of his uninsured drivers had caused the damage and had driven off without reporting the matter. The driver concerned, Isaiah Mickling, admitted the offence and said that he could not re-imburse the client for the damage but, if it was acceptable, he would agree to be thrashed. He explained that his father always took the view that one should be punished for ones transgressions and, in the absence of fiscal compensation, a caning on the buttocks would expunge the misdeed. I was uncomfortable about the proposal but recognise that different cultures have different standards and was acutely aware that the boy could not re-imburse me for the damage to the wall. I therefore reluctantly agreed to the strange proposal. Mr Bateman arrived at my house with the boy at around 4.00pm and the boy was given 15 strokes of a cane supplied to me by Mr Bateman. He was bent over a table in my lounge and did not resist. He was not tied down and was most co-operative. I was surprised that Mr Bateman removed the boy’s trousers and underpants and as well as expressing my disapproval I decided to limit the severity of the strokes. Being of a small frame I was of the view that, whatever his intentions, the boy was incapable of taking a hard thrashing on his bare skin. All of the strokes were of medium strength and all were placed across the centre area of the boy’s small buttocks. He did not scream and thanked us both when the ordeal was over. I think he was relieved that he had got off, as he put it, so lightly. There is no doubt in my mind that he was perfectly agreeable to the solution that had been found to the problem. Mr Bateman and the boy Mickling left my premises at around 4.30pm. I cannot remember him taking the cane with him but he must have done as it is not in my house. ’ Signed in the presence of........................
Case No 27659: Mickling versus Fisher and Bateman: Statement of defendant Bateman made on 27th July 2010 at 3.00pm. I am Samuel Alfred Bateman of 46 Northampton Road, Towcester. I am proprietor of Bateman’s Transport of Towcester and have been in business for over 30 years. I employ 14 drivers on a contract basis and all have private insurance. Isaiah Mickling, known to me as Joey, has been employed for three months and has always been an exemplary employee. On the 11th June 2010 he was charged with a delivery of a number of items in the Northamptonshire area. One of those deliveries was to Dr Martin Fisher of Lower Hadham. At around 12.00 noon on the same day I received a call from Dr Fisher stating that one of my drivers had damaged his external garden wall and the damage was assessed as approximately £2000. He also said, and I remember this, and if he can’t pay I am willing to take it out of his backside. I made enquiries and Mickling confessed that he had damaged the wall and driven off without informing the client and, furthermore, he was not insured to cover any loss. This was contrary to company policy and to say I was annoyed is an understatement. I do not know how it came up but during a heated discussion I think I said that he deserved to be thrashed and he said that if it would mean him not having to re-imburse the client he would be willing. I gave the matter some thought and subsequently rang Dr Fisher with the unusual proposal. Much to my surprise he readily agreed and went even farther, saying he kept a cane specifically for that purpose. I did not pursue the conversation but agreed to bring the boy Mickling to him later that afternoon. I know some people get turned on by such things and if it solved me a problem I was not going to enquire too much. Subsequently we both turned up at Dr Fisher’s house and the agreed caning was carried out. The boy was co-operative and, at Dr Fisher’s suggestion, he readily lowered his jeans and underpants in preparation for his caning. I think he was expecting to get it bare and I think that must be how they, his dad, does it in his house. I did not get involved. Dr Fisher gave him about 12 to 15 strokes of his cane, probably more, across his naked backside and he squirmed a bit but did not cry out. I reckon he was used to it. The caning was pretty hard and there were lots of weals on the boy’s backside when Dr Fisher had finished. He had a small bum but took it all very well and thanked Dr Fisher when it was over. Wiping the slate clean I think he said. After that I took him back to the depot. All he said was that I should drive slowly as his bum was very sore. Dr Fisher considered the matter closed and, to me, looked pleased with the outcome. I was also glad it was over and am surprised that boy is now pressing charges. At the time he seemed almost to welcome being caned. He was not tied down and readily put himself over the table. When he raised his bottom for the first stroke I could not help thinking he was well trained in such matters. Signed in the presence of........................
Case No 27659: Mickling versus Fisher and Bateman: Statement of Dr Percival Gletton made on 17th July 2010 at 11.45am. I am Dr Percival Laurence Gletton, a medical doctor with a surgery at Upton Lane, Connington. At approximately 6.30pm on 11th June I examined Isaiah Joseph Mickling at the request of, and in the presence of, his father. The boy was not known to me but his father has been a patient on my lists for nearly five years. In view of what was said and in order to make a thorough examination I requested that the boy do a complete strip. I examined him thoroughly and other than severe marks on his backside there was no other evidence of any bruising or damage to his person. There were at least 14 severe lacerations on the backside, probably more, and all were of such an extent to cause raised edges to the individual weals. There was no sign of any bleeding and in my opinion the boy had been struck by a thickish cane wielded by someone with considerable strength. Even though some hours had passed since his caning the boy was still in considerable distress and embarrassment. He is slightly built, around 5’ 7” in height and weighing 130lbs. His skin is light brown and of mixed race but the scars on his backside were pronounced and inflamed. I found his story believable if improbable and at his father’s request took a number of photographs of the area of assault. I subsequently recorded the incident in my surgery record book and additionally noted that, on examination, the boy’s bottom cheeks were both soft and small. Any markings, particularly from a cane striking the naked skin, could therefore be considerably enhanced and would be less pronounced on the bottom of an older or larger person. Even allowing for this, the marks indicated to me a degree of severity unusual in this modern age. Signed in the presence of........................
‘So, what do you think?’
‘The police refused to prosecute?’
‘They didn’t even refer it for consideration. The Chief Constable just had a quiet word with his friend.’
‘Dr Fisher?’
‘Yes.’
‘Ah.’
Dr Fisher’s solicitor noted the barrister’s audible expression before continuing.
‘I know what you are thinking. Golf club buddies, hushing things up. But it was more than that. The boy has form. Inveterate liar and two convictions for burglary. Little chance of winning. And besides, most of the coppers involved reckon he got what he deserved.’
‘And now this.’
‘Yes.’
‘And you want me to represent Fisher and Bateman?’
‘Dr Fisher. The case against Mr Bateman has been withdrawn.’
‘Interesting. Do you know why?’
‘He didn’t do the caning.’
‘But he was there?’
‘And, according to the boy, helped to tie him down, which Fisher denies.’
‘And took down his pants?’
‘According to both Fisher and the boy.’
‘Yet the case against him has been withdrawn. As I said, interesting.’
Judith Higham put aside the statements that she had spent half an hour or so reading. It was an interesting case and, subject to her usual fees, she was willing to represent Dr Fisher if it ever came to court. She had represented this solicitors clients on a number of cases and was confident that she could win this one. The boy would not make a good witness whereas she was certain that Dr Fisher would. And the facts were stacked in the latter’s favour. The boy had a criminal record, he was driving uninsured, he did not deny the original offence of damaging property and driving off, and he willingly accompanied his employer to the client’s address. In addition he was legally an adult and whilst the key facts constituted assault he had not been sexually interfered with nor had wounds inflicted on any part of his body other than his buttocks. She was musing on this latter point when she broke a long silence.
‘It is a pity that the boy’s pants were taken down.’
‘Why do you say that?’
‘It complicates matters. Suggests a sexual element even if one wasn’t there.’
‘He wasn’t interfered with.’
‘No. There is no indication of that in any of the statements. But if one accepts the premise of the punishment it would have been just as effective over the boy’s jeans.’
‘Would it?’
‘In these circumstances, yes. But the point is they were taken down and his buttocks exposed. No one is disputing that.’
‘And you think that makes a difference.’
‘It may, particularly as Dr Fisher’s recollection of the severity conflicts with all the other statements.’
‘And the photographs’
‘Yes.’
Judith Higham rose, indicating that the consultation was coming to a close.
‘I think you had better arrange for me to meet with Dr Fisher. Shall we say in about two weeks? It will give my clerk time to make some enquiries.’
‘Anything in particular?’
Judith Higham smiled.
‘I would like to know why the case against Mr Bateman has been withdrawn. And why Dr Fisher is clearly lying.’
With that enigmatic retort Judith Higham showed the solicitor to her door and, returning to her desk, re-opened the Dr Martin Fisher file. But this time it was the photographs, not the statements, which held her attention.
Dr Martin Fisher completed his short conversation with Judith Higham’s clerk and carefully replaced the phone. It had been a trying day. First Samuel Bateman had phoned him to warn him that the police were considering re-opening the case of assault against the boy following further evidence. He would not explain why and the phone call was brief. Then he had received a letter from Judith Higham’s office asking him to arrange a meeting with her. The summons was not in itself alarming, he was expecting it, but the wording suggested a matter of urgency. And about an hour before this latest phone call he overheard one of the young workmen repairing his wall warn a colleague about the ‘arse thrashing’ tendencies of Dr Fisher. It was said in a jocular manner but such public knowledge unnerved him. And now Miss Higham’s clerk and his intrusive questions.
‘Did he make the initial suggestion that Mickling should be thrashed?’
‘Did he have a cane in his house?’
‘Had he ever had a cane in his house?’
‘Did he tell Mickling to take down his trousers and underpants?’
‘Was the boy restrained at any point during the caning?’
The answer to all of these questions was no and his irritation at repeating them was only matched by his irritation that the clerk seemed to be getting some prurient pleasure from asking them.
He was also very angry with himself for getting into such a fraught situation. In a moment of weakness he had allowed his private tendencies and practices to become public. He had never denied himself the pleasure of caning the bottoms of willing participants but such activities were always discreet and only carried out with young men, and older ones, who shared the same peculiar passion. Never had he allowed it to impinge on his professional life as a GP. But he had allowed his anger at the destruction of his wall to override his natural caution and, when presented, he seized the opportunity to both settle a score and to enjoy its execution. And if he did not tread carefully his predelictions would become public property and ruin his career. Whatever his irritation, he saw Judith Higham as his only hope.
Samuel Bateman was not in a good mood. A large, florid, man with a strong appreciation of alcohol and good cigars he made an imposing presence. Especially to a slight 20 year old boy who was beginning to wish he had not displayed his backside to his father. He knew the weals didn’t bother his dad, he had given his son many over his formative years, but he saw money it. As he told his son as they journeyed to the doctor’s ‘Each weal on your arse is going to be worth at least a hundred quid. I reckon you are sitting on at least a thousand my boy.’ And he had laughed, so much so the boy thought he might crash the car. That would be good. Him a corpse in a mortuary. His weals wouldn’t be worth much then. Samuel Bateman’s angry tones brought him back to the present reality.
‘We agreed you wouldn’t involve me, Joey. We agreed that you would withdraw your statement, admit your dad pressurised you into embroidering it. We agreed...’
And here Mr Bateman paused for effect.
‘We agreed to the tune of £100.’
‘I know.’
‘Then why are the police still investigating it? Why are they still sniffing around?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘I think you do, and you better tell me otherwise I might be tempted to give you a repeat of Dr Fisher’s special medicine.’
Joey winced. He had no wish to recreate that experience and even though he suspected it was an idle threat he was not prepared to risk it.
‘It’s got more complicated.’
‘How?’
‘They have some more evidence.’
‘Who? The police?’
‘Yes.’
‘What evidence?’
‘From my dad.’
Samuel Bateman snorted. It wasn’t a pleasant snort and eloquently summed up his feelings regarding any evidence from that source.
‘I would be surprised if the police believed anything your dad told them. Especially after his diversions into embroidery.’
‘They believed this.’
The boy said it with such quiet assurance that Samuel Bateman was forced to listen.
‘Go on.’
‘When I withdrew my charge against you they weren’t happy and threatened both dad and me with a charge of wasting police time.’
‘You knew that risk when you accepted my offer.’
‘I know. But dad didn’t seem bothered. He said he had been asking questions about Dr Fisher and that the police, if they bothered us, would be more interested in that. In what he had found out.’
‘Which was?’
‘That he had done it before.’
‘What?’
‘Caned people.’
‘So. It’s hardly murder Joey.’
‘I know, but apparently what dad was on about was two thirteen year old boys.’
Samuel Bateman decided that more details would not be welcome. For the moment he had enough.
‘Tell me some more about the Mowbray twins, Dr Fisher?’
‘I will, providing you can clarify something for me.’
‘If I can.’
Judith Higham smiled. The polite and civilised interview she was having with Dr Martin Fisher seemed totally at variance with the information she had been meticulously gathering on his unusual activities. The man sitting opposite her was both mild and unassuming. If he had strange and secret desires, occasionally put into action, then in Miss Higham’s opinion they best remained behind closed doors. And it was her job to see that they did so. She fleetingly thought all this as she waited for her client to continue.
‘Why are the police pursuing this? They had decided that there was no case to answer.’
‘Our boys in blue work in mysterious ways. They received information about you and put pressure on Mickling’s father. His case may have been thin but........’ she tailed off and Dr Martin readily picked up her thread.
‘People talk and, it appears, some have been talking about me?’
‘So they paid him another visit.’
‘Hence the Mowbray twins?’
‘Yes.’
‘It gets worse doesn’t it?’
‘It might. So tell me about them?’
Dr Martin Fisher eyed his unlikely saviour and, shifting his position, decided that frank admission was his best policy. Miss Higham did not strike him as someone who was shocked or upset by the ways of mankind. And her fees were considerable.
‘I enjoy beating people, can you understand that?’
‘It is not something that bothers me if that is what you think.’
‘I enjoy caning people on their backsides, preferably their naked backsides. I get great pleasure from it.’
And here he paused because what was to follow was important.
‘But I only enjoy doing it with other people, adults, who equally enjoy having their bottoms caned. It is one of the surprising joys of life that I have always been able to meet people who, literally, mirror my needs. What they so desperately wish to receive I so willingly give.’
‘A match made in heaven?’
‘Between adults.’
‘Of course. And Mickling?’
‘He was an aberration. I allowed my needs to get the better of me. I allowed myself to get involved with an unwilling participant.’
‘You admit that?’
‘In the sense that he was not excited by the prospect, yes. In all other respects he was no different from the other young men, and not so young, who have bent over for my cane.’
Judith Higham was somewhat surprised by Dr Fisher’s frankness and saw that this was an opportunity not to be denied.
‘Mickling knew what you intended to do?’
‘Yes.’
‘And he agreed?’
‘Yes.’
‘Was he tied down?’
‘No. That is a complete fabrication. I suspect his father’s hand in it.’
‘So he completely co-operated?’
‘Yes. I told him I would give him twenty strokes of my cane across his backside in settlement of the damage he had done to my wall.’
‘In your statement you said you gave him fifteen strokes.’
‘Fifteen, twenty. Does it matter?’
‘You could have limited it to the classic schoolboy six. It would suggest better control on your part.’
Dr Fisher registered her thinking but said nothing and she continued her questions.
‘What did he say?’
‘Nothing. He just nodded and bent himself over my table.’
‘What was he wearing?’
‘Jeans. Jeans and a light cotton top.’
Judith Higham made a few notes and studied her client even more carefully. Her next question was delicately phrased.
‘Were you enjoying it?’
‘Yes.’ Dr Fisher took a deep breath. ‘I was enjoying the situation. I found it very exciting.’
‘Because it was real?
‘Yes. As I have said, my judgement was affected.’
‘By the situation.’
‘By everything, yes.’
‘And so you took down his pants?’
‘No, but it was my idea.’
Dr Fisher said this so quietly it was almost inaudible, but saying it seemed to act as a genuine release.
‘His buttocks were so attractive. I don’t expect you to understand Miss Higham but to people of my bent such a prospect was intoxicating. I was holding the cane, the boy was bent over waiting to receive it. It seemed so right to cane his bare backside.’
‘So you asked Mr Bateman to take his jeans down?’
‘Yes. Neither he nor the boy resisted. In fact I think Mr Bateman was enjoying it. You can usually tell.’
‘And then he took down the underpants?’
‘Yes.’
‘At your suggestion?’
‘Yes.’
‘And then you caned the boy?’
‘I have never denied it.’
‘You denied you caned him hard. The photographs do not support that contention.’
‘I was surprised he marked so easily. That was unfortunate. But it was with his full co-operation. And he is an adult.’
‘It is still assault Dr Fisher, however you construe it. And the police may still pursue it if the latest information they have has any substance.’
‘It doesn’t.’
‘So tell me. If I am to prevent any of this coming to court or to ensure your acquittal if it does I need to know everything about the Mowbray twins. Everything.’
Judith Higham smiled at Dr Fisher and over the next fifteen minutes he told her all he knew about the Mowbray twins. By the time he left her office she felt she knew him better than he knew himself.
The incident with the Mowbray twins had been over ten years before. He had almost forgotten it until this latest information from Judith Higham. But as soon as she mentioned them he remembered the young man repairing his wall the day he received a call from her prurient office clerk. The young man who jokingly referred to the ‘arse thrashing’ tendencies of Dr Fisher and unnerved him. He had thought that the Joey Mickling incident was becoming public knowledge but it might not be the case. It might not be so because the more he thought of it the more he convinced himself that the young man was one of those same Mowbray twins. It was not beyond the stretch of his imagination that there was a connection with the Mickling family. Such thoughts gave him some fleeting, if possibly unwarranted, comfort. There was little the Mowbray twins could say that could not have an innocent explanation. Providing one was prepared to believe it. And on its own one would believe it. But coupled with the incident with Bateman’s boy one might not. The slight feeling of comfort began to dissipate almost as readily as it had arrived.
He had caught them one day, many years ago, when he was in the process of giving attention to the naked backside of a young man with a decided penchant for being thrashed in the open air. It was not his own particular style but it was a sultry hot August day and his immediate neighbours were away and his carefully overgrown garden was not overlooked. So he had indulged a whim of a friend. He first heard the suppressed giggles as he was warming to his task. The young man had taken three strokes and as two more had struck his upturned rump Dr Fisher was convinced he had unwelcome spectators. The promised sixth stroke never fell and by the time its burning shock should have been absorbed the good doctor had two young intruders firmly by the collar. His naked friend fled back to the house and Dr Fisher interrogated the still giggling boys. They had broken in through a hole in his fence with the intention of some undefined mischief and had crept up, hidden by a variety of bushes, on a sight both familiar and bizarre. He should have sent them away with a flea in their ear and told them to mind their own business. In fact he did send them away with both the metaphorical fleas and a warning that they could be prosecuted for trespassing. But in between their discovery and departure he made each one, the two thirteen year old Mowbray twins, bend over in his garden and, fired up, delivered three firm and very hard cane strokes to their short covered bottoms. He did not take their shorts down, much as he desired to do so, but he was in no doubt that, ten years on, their howls and vigorous rubbing would receive that detailed elaboration. In any resurrection of the event shorts coming down would be the principal feature. Dr Fisher had no doubt of that and, for a moment, he regretted bitterly that he had not done so.
Over the next few weeks a number of interesting, and connected, conversations took place.
Joey Mickling met Paul Mowbray in a local pub and discovered that he was not pleased at getting a visit from the police. He had spoken to his brother Raymond, now living in Australia, and both had agreed that they held no grudge against Dr Fisher. The cane on their backsides had stung like hell but they both remembered giggling about it within ten minutes. And it wasn’t much worse than the strap their dad had occasionally applied. Joey should get over it. After all, as Paul so eloquently put it, he did smash the fucking wall and drive off. And that was another thing. Dr Fisher supplied the company he worked for with a lot of business and he would do himself no favours with his boss if he blackened the man’s name. Joey left the pub with a message from Paul Mowbray for his dad and it was not a pleasant one.
Joey Mickling did not pass on the unprintable message to his dad but he did relay to Samuel Bateman the gist of it. The latter was getting increasingly fed up with the aftermath of the Mickling incident and told Joey, in no uncertain terms, that he and his dad should drop it before they all got into more trouble than it was worth. Not for the first time he threatened Joey with his own version of Dr Fisher’s medicine if he didn’t take the advice. But Joey didn’t take the advice because he was more in fear of his father than any number of Samuel Batemans. And his father with the scent of some easy money was even more fearful. Joey Mickling had long ago regretted telling him of Dr Fisher’s caning and, even more so, showing him the marks. It had got him an unexpected bonus of £100 from his boss but also a considerable amount of grief. The memory of a sore backside seemed almost inconsequential in comparison.
But if Joey was afraid of his father, Samuel Bateman had no such reservations and readily passed on the information on the Mowbray twins to Dr Fisher’s solicitor. Neither was aware of the details of a ten year old incident that Joey’s dad had passed to the police but both suspected it would include more evidence of his talents for embroidery. Master Isaiah Joseph Mickling’s first statement was rich in that respect and the Mowbray story was likely to mirror it. He and his father had relied on their co-operation and its absence was likely to cause a collapse of their case that would be as complete as the demolition of Dr Martin Fisher’s wall. If Samuel Bateman did not smile at such a possibility, the solicitor certainly did.
‘So young Mickling has withdrawn all his charges against Dr Fisher?’
‘And his father has been charged with making false statements to the police. They had filed the case away pending further evidence. Most that came their way put Dr Fisher in a better light than Mickling’s father.’
‘An undesirable character who deserves all he gets.’
‘Yes.’
‘But not the boy?’
‘No. Just a caution as to his future conduct.’
‘And Dr Fisher?’
‘He can leave the district without a stain on his character.’
‘Oh?’
Judith Higham raised an inquisitive eyebrow and the precise and prurient clerk responded on cue.
‘His solicitor informs me that Dr Fisher has resigned his practice and put his house on the market.’
‘Did he say why?’
‘He wishes to move on. It was a close call and, to quote his solicitor, your day in court on his client’s behalf may have been interesting.’
‘The local media would have had a field day. Respected local GP caught with his pants down. Or, in this case, someone else’s pants.’
‘Yes.’
The clerk smiled and gathered up the various papers and files on the Dr Fisher case. As he made to leave he asked his employer one final question.
‘What do you want me to do with the photographs?’
‘Oh I think we should keep them.’
‘For future reference?’
‘Yes. Dr Fisher may be moving on but he will take his proclivities with him. We may need them.’
‘Yes.’
‘Even if, as I suspect, he will be even more careful in the future. As you say, it was a very close call.’
And with that comment Judith Higham, and her prurient clerk, closed their files on Dr Martin Fisher of The Bungalow, Lower Hadham.
Judith Higham may have closed this complex case but for Dr Fisher, and his unexpected guest, the caning of Joey Mickling was still an ongoing topic. Samuel Bateman had enjoyed the experience and given the problems that the boy had caused him since the fateful day he was not averse to a repeat. He had reluctantly realised that the whole scenario had been ‘a bit of a turn on’; as he told Dr Fisher, and he reckoned that it could be recreated without any unsavoury repercussions. Subject to a reasonable fee and, of course, subject to Dr Fisher’s co-operation. As he downed his welcome whisky he rapidly realised that such co-operation would not be forthcoming without some persuasion on his part.
‘Another £100 in his pocket would be all it would take to persuade the boy. And this time he won’t show his father his arse afterwards.’
Dr Fisher considered the proposition. It had its attractions but it was fraught with dangers. Much as he welcomed the prospect of slashing a cane across the small coffee coloured bottom of Joey Mickling he was well aware that succumbing to the previous temptation had resulted in unwanted attentions to his activities. However well deserved he needed some convincing that a repeat of that scenario was both safe and free from the repercussions alluded to. Samuel Bateman’s interest did not surprise him, he had lived too long for that, but to grasp the opportunity he would need further reassurance.
‘You were of the view, Mr Bateman, that the boy was agreeable to how he was paid for the demolishing of my wall. We are all still smarting from that.’
‘Yes, you in particular. I see your bungalow is for sale.’
‘That would have happened anyway, with or without young Mickling. I was intending to take up another post in the near future. Let us say that the events of the past few weeks have brought it forward. Another drink?’
Without waiting for an answer Dr Fisher rose and crossed to a well stocked bar that some in the medical profession may disapprove of.
‘But much as I am attracted to the prospect you dangle before me, twenty year old coffee coloured bottoms are a rare commodity in the disciplinary game, I remain to be convinced.’
Samuel Bateman gratefully took his drink and considered his next move.
‘He will sign a contract.’
‘Oh. How do you know?’
‘I asked him. He didn’t exactly say yes but he was very much interested in how much it was worth.’
‘Sounds an interesting conversation?’
‘It was.’
‘But it would still, technically, be assault. He could still go to the police.’
‘He could, but he won’t. He sees it as a way to some easy money. And the police have made it clear that such matters, between consenting adults, no longer appeals to them.’
‘But it appeals to us Mr Bateman?’
‘Oh yes. I will willingly pay some cash to see you thrash Joey Mickling’s arse again. And maybe give him some myself. He won’t object. You can trust me on that.’
Dr Fisher wasn’t sure. He wasn’t sure he could trust anyone anymore. But he was leaving the district shortly and the vision of young Mickling with his pants down was an invitation impossible to resist. And this time he would not hold back. This time the boy’s small and olive bottom would feel the full sting of his best and most expensive cane. He would feel it for the wall, he would feel it for the trauma of the past few weeks, and he would feel it for Dr Fisher’s personal pleasure. It may or may not be the caning he had been waiting most of his adult life to administer, but it would be one he would long remember.
Paul Mowbray gathered his third pint of the evening and rejoined his two companions. They made for an interesting mix. The florid and middle aged Samuel Bateman, the well built twenty three year old Paul, and the slight and dusky coloured Joey. They had got together because Paul Mowbray had expressed an interest in becoming one of the many Bateman Transport drivers and, these days, Joey seemed to accompany his boss everywhere. And, as Paul noted when the boy paid a visit to the lavatory, he seemed to have lots of the readies. Clearly the job paid well. He tried to elaborate on this but Samuel Bateman was not forthcoming. There was an agreed rate and Paul Mowbray accepted it but he would still need his building work to supplement his income. He presumed Joey needed to do the same. If he had so desired Mr Bateman could have confirmed that, but he had no intention of telling his prospective new employee that young Joey had recently discovered a priceless asset for additional income. And he sat on it every day when driving one of the many Transport vans. And, in an oblique way, it was one of those vans which had started his journey into the strange world of discipline. Both of their journeys, the one for pleasure the other for cash. Samuel Bateman chuckled quietly to himself as he remembered Dr Fisher’s wall and everything that had followed the demolishing of those innocent bricks.
It had cost £200 to get Joey to sign that small contract but it had been well worth it for all of them. He and the good doctor had a heady experience and the boy an extremely painful one. But he quickly got over it and whilst canes were off his private agenda he later readily agreed to some gentler disciplinary propositions from his employer. For a small fee he was not averse dropping his pants and bending over an ample and trembling knee. Samuel Bateman had no intention of passing any of this on to young Mowbray. A shake of hands and an arrangement to call into the transport office the next day was all he got. But while he waited for Joey Mickling to come back from his long absence, no doubt smelling of cigarettes, he thought back to the afternoon of the boy’s second visit to The Bungalow, Lower Hadham. A bungalow which he noted now had a new and pristine wall.
‘You know why you are here?’
‘Yes, Dr Fisher.’
‘You are to receive twenty strokes of my cane for all the trouble you have caused me.’
‘Yes, Dr Fisher.’
‘Twenty strokes, hard, very hard, across your bare backside. And you have signed a contract with Mr Bateman to that effect.’
Yes, Dr Fisher.’
‘And there will be no repercussions?’
‘No, Dr Fisher.’
‘Then let us waste no more time.’
Dr Fisher, a breathless Dr Fisher, rich with the excitement of what was to take place nodded to his companion and Samuel Bateman, equally filled with an unfathomable joy, stepped forward and undid the buttons of Joey Mickling’s tight jeans. He lost no time in releasing the waist and purposely pulled the jeans down to just below the boy’s knees. He placed his hand, surprisingly gentle, on the boy’s back and bid him to bend over the table he was facing. It was a small butcher’s block table ideally designed for chastisement. The small cotton top rode up the boy’s back and revealed an evocatively tight pair of hipster underpants so popular with the young. Their light green hue contrasted well with the olive skin of the slight boy and it was only a moment of avid concentration before they were slipped down to join his jeans. Dr Fisher and Samuel Bateman voraciously drank the sight that feasted their eyes. The naked twin buttocks of Joey Mickling, smooth and taut and small, twinkled in preparation. Such soft and ripe tiny mounds should be kissed and caressed and lovingly held, not savaged with the implement that the trembling Dr Fisher held in his hand. But such beauty, such pure and peachy flesh, both enhanced and begged for what was to follow. To the disciplinarian, and Dr Fisher was a master, the more you loved and desired the view the more you thrashed. And he was ready to let his cane speak both its best and its worst.
But before the main event took its inevitable course across the small bottom cheeks of a delectable boy it was necessary to complete the preliminaries and at Dr Fisher’s bidding Samuel Bateman recreated the task so elaborately outlined in the initial false accusation. He tied the boy’s hands and legs to the table and never, for a moment, took his eyes off a naked bottom that seemed to be begging for the attention of the cane. And when he had completed his task Dr Fisher placed the rod across that same backside and, raising it high, laid in with a vigour which had to be seen to be believed. Twenty times he lashed his cane, his most expensive and best cane, into the twin joys of Joey Mickling’s enticing bottom. And twenty times the boy howled and wriggled and twenty times, or so the watching Samuel Bateman thought, Joey Mickling mentally counted his monetary gains. £10 a stroke and all well earned. And twenty times Dr Fisher thought that this particular caning, to this particular boy, was pure heaven. The thrill that surged through his body at each strike created an erotic power that none could describe and few would understand. And when the last stroke fell, across the centre of the boy’s now violated nether cheeks, only a draining silence remained. Even the boy did not sob. It was as if all debts had been paid and all involved could count the weals and contemplate the completion. Only two present wallowed in the excitement but all three would never forget.
It was a long journey north but the roads were light with traffic and the sky full of a gentle sun. Dr Martin Fisher was in a happier mood than he had been for some weeks. One of his new partners in the practice he was joining had recommended a bungalow he thought was worth a viewing. And considerably cheaper than the one he was selling. Moving north had some compensation. And he could say goodbye to a number of people he had no desire to see again. The Mowbray boy, who still unnecessarily unnerved him when engaged in building work around his property in Lower Hadham. The Mickling boy, who unnerved him for different reasons. He had so enjoyed the two thrashings he had given him but he was not blind to the dangers. Whatever Samuel Bateman said, another man he had no wish to see again, such boys were dangerous. Especially the ones with unpredictable and unscrupulous fathers. And he would especially not miss Judith Higham’s prurient clerk. He had hardly spoken to the young man, other than an irritating phone call, but on his few visits to Miss Higham’s office he was always aware of his uncomfortable presence. He could not help thinking that certain graphic photographs taken by another GP of an unfortunate boy would not long rest on his file. As he drove into the small village indicated on the copious directions he had been given it was Judith Higham herself that he thought of. And surprisingly warmly. She did not understand his perversion, or kink as she preferred to call it, but she did not condemn. All she said, over a pleasant Sunday lunch she had readily accepted, is that he should be more discreet. A man in his position had a lot to lose. He doubted if he would ever see her again but as he pulled up to the bungalow with a large and colourful ‘for sale’ sign he did not think on the prospect unkindly. He got out of his car and welcomed the fresh northern air and the gentle heat of an early afternoon sun. It had been a long drive and he trusted that the slightly fussy vendor he had spoken to the previous day would be preparing an expected pot of old fashioned tea. His confidence in elderly northern widows was not misplaced. As he walked into an overly neat and tidy garden he heard the distant shrill and familiar whistle. She was clearly expecting him to ring her doorbell with seconds of him driving up and it amused him to think that she had probably been standing by her heavily netted windows since the moment he left home. Well she would have to wait a few moments longer, puzzled by the delay at the ring to her door, as Dr Fisher absorbed the bungalow and the surrounding area. Especially the neat, low level, brick wall that surrounded the grounds on three sides. It took him about two minutes to satisfy his curiosity on the bungalow and garden. He spent at least another five minutes looking at and thinking about the wall. The elderly widow, teapot in expectant hand, and a variety of neighbours would, if they had seen, wonder what the fascination was. It was just a wall after all.
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