Thursday 12 June 2014

The Boys Clinic (M/m)


A little while ago I posted a futuristic story entitled The Clinic (July 2013). In it a formidable lady legally and enthusiastically canes the bare bottoms of miscreants of both sexes.  It has proved to be very popular but one friend, yes he does whack me occasionally, said he would have preferred a more male orientated tale. So this is for him and any others of a strictly male bent. Pure fantasy of course, being set in 2047 is a bit of a clue, but a scenario regularly played in the minds of those so inclined. Enjoy. Alfred Roy


Monday 3rd June 2047 11.03

Dear Abercrombie,

I would appreciate your confirmation that the sentence passed on the Abingdon miscreants, namely Fletcher/Mason/Davis-Johnson, has been carried. These three individuals were found guilty of a heinous and widely publicised misdemeanour on the 20th May and no confirmation of sentence completion has yet been received by my office. I would draw your attention to Para 7 of subsection 42 of the relevant act which states that sentences not carried out within 28 days of conviction, or appeal failure, are automatically rescinded. I am not aware that any of Fletcher or Mason or Davis-Johnson is in the process of appeal.

Yours,

Stittington

 

 

Wednesday 5th June 2047 14.17

Dear Stittington,

I think you will find that your office was notified on the 31st May that sentence had been postponed until Friday 14th June due to our wish to avail ourselves of the services of the senior specialist best qualified for this case. He was available for the three days following sentence but, as you know, such cases always allow for a small hiatus in which the convicted felons can appeal. Friday week is his first free date and falls within the 28 days period you refer to. I will advise your office formally, on the appropriate CP/M/3b7 form, when the sentence has been carried out.

Yours,

Abercrombie

 

Thursday 6th June 2047 9.09

Dear Abercrombie,

I trust that the sentence decreed, fifteen strokes of regulation cane three, will be applied in these cases on the date specified. In the event of any failure to carry out the statutory discipline, for any reason, considerable embarrassment will be caused to our organisation. This case received widespread publicity and condemnation and both public and authorities are eager to ensure that these three boys receive their due penalty. I do not need to remind you that there are only 3 days remaining after the selected date for chastisement in which the penalties could be legally prescribed.

Yours,

Stittington

 

Monday 10th June 2047 11.14

Dear Stittington,

I wish to assuage your concern regarding any postponement of the scheduled punishment. In the event of the senior corporal punishment specialist selected being unavailable on the selected date then it is my intention to cane the boys myself at the appointed time. Although I have not practiced in the disciplinary field for over two years my certificate is still active until October 2050. I am also confident that I still have the necessary skills. The carrying out of the prescribed discipline would only be deferred for one or all of the boys in the event of their incapacity or illness. In such cases, as you are aware, the 28 day criteria can be extended to cover the days of said incapacity.

Yours,

Abercrombie

 

Tuesday 11th June 2047 15.46

Abercrombie,

That all seems perfectly acceptable. I trust their will be no mishaps. This case has caused me more trouble than it is worth. I assume you are aware that, in the event of your services being required, the courts ordered that the canings are to be on bare posteriors. I equally trust that you are happy with this.

Stittington

 

Tuesday 11th June 2047 17.28

Dear Stittington,

I have, in the past, caned many a boy’s naked posterior. Of a variety of ages. And have witnessed many, as I shall this one unless otherwise required. It is not an issue.

Abercrombie

 

Thursday 13th June 2047 13.45

Dear Stittington,

This is to formally advise that the senior specialist selected to carry out the caning of the three Abingdon boys is no longer available. I have not been informed of the reasons for the unavailability. As indicated previously I shall now personally administer the necessary punishments and have appointed another officer as the second witness in accordance with regulations. I will advise again when the statutory sentences have been completed.

Abercrombie

 

Thursday 13th June 2047 16.22

Abercrombie,

I wish you well. Appointing these outside specialists is always fraught with problems. Thankfully you had made alternative arrangements to avoid delay. Please ensure that the relevant filmed record of the event, in accordance with regulation 694(20/39), is placed on the customary file.

Stittington

 

 

It is done. I have read and re-read the correspondence with Stittington, looking for flaws. There are none. No one, least of all those boys, can complain or point accusing fingers. Their canings were carried out as per regulations, strictly according to the book. Officer Jewson may have been unconvinced by the circumstances of the specialist’s withdrawal, but he kept his thoughts to himself. To him, the caner and his motives were immaterial. He was enjoying, no revelling, in the spectacle. Officer Bright, very young, was both shocked and fascinated. I thought he might faint, which is not a useful action in a witness to proceedings. No, the only flaw might be the specialist himself. He could talk, idly let slip, about how he withdrew from the caning of the infamous Abingdon boys in 2047. But he won’t, I am convinced of that, I have a personal receipt for his inflated fee. Paid in full. By me. And that would take some explaining if ever the truth came out. The truth being that I, Abercrombie, conspired and planned and carried out the caning of three boys who, over three weeks, set fire to three sheds and two garages and seven cars. And one of those was mine. Not a dilapidated shed or dreary garage I hasten to add. It was a brand new, state of the art, shining five figure sum car. Nobody knew, not even those boys, I keep my business and private life separate. But when they were sentenced for the many registered offences I resolved to be the one who wielded the cane. It is worth recording, for posterity and personal pleasure, how the events of the day evolved. Fifteen stroke, multiple, bare bottom canings are extremely rare at our establishment. I understand they are a more frequent occurrence in Wales. The concupiscent Jewson and the fearful Bright would, if it fell into their hands, find the report interesting reading. As, I am sure, would Stittington. I think he would approve. Abercrombie.

 

 

 

The events of Friday 14th June 2047 (Fletcher/Mason/Davis-Johnson)

The three boys stood respectfully in line. The medical preliminaries had been completed in private and Dr Rostock was satisfied that all three boys could undertake their respective canings with no ill effects. ‘Nice healthy bottoms’ he said as he left my office ‘A good caning won’t do any of them any lasting harm, I suggest you lay it on.’ I mused on this as, in the outer room, Jewson was reading out to the three boys the regulation script. It made life much easier if those to be caned knew the required punishment procedure before we started in earnest. Minimised unwanted protests. Jewson did not say, couldn’t, how hard the canings were going to be but he was making it clear that the next few minutes would not be a picnic. At least not for them. Best to co-operate and get it over with. I sensed the thickness in his voice, especially when he got to the bit about the doctor keeping a close eye on things through the viewing window. ‘Needs to know which bits of your arses he is to give most of the medical cream, which bits of your boy cheeks get the most attention from our canes.’ I flinched at the unnecessary graphics. And I am sure I heard one of the boys start to cry.

Jewson, flushed with his procedural antics, ushered the boys into my office. Bright, equally flushed but for different reasons, stood by the door as if ensuring none escaped. He looked little older than the three miscreants who stood in front of him. Exchange his crisp dark blue uniform for the small pale blue institutional vests and shorts the boys were wearing and he could be one of them, fearfully waiting his turn for the cane. I looked at the three boys, mindful that this was a life defining day for all of us. Fletcher and Mason were both a little over seventeen and both were medium height for their ages and fresh faced. Fletcher was fairly thin, some would say too thin even for one so young, but Mason, clearly in some distress, was already showing signs of teenage portliness. In between the two stood the impassive and diminutive Davis-Johnson. I knew from the reports that, though only just sixteen, he was the ringleader and dominant force of this particular gang. It explained the puzzling fact of his being handed down an equal punishment, even though over a year younger. The maximum number of strokes sanctioned by the courts is 24 and, I mused, an older Davis-Johnson may have been on the receiving end of all of them. The young eyes, staring back at me as I re-iterated the number of cane strokes each was to receive, echoed similar thoughts.

Preliminaries over the three were led by Jewson and Bright to the punishment room. The time was now 10.52 am and the canings were scheduled to start at 11.00am. We would be on time and allowing for the necessary preparation gave me time to reflect. The cane I intended to use, a medium thick straight kooboo cane, was resting unseen in my office drawer. It had little professional use for nearly two years but, from memory and observation, produced a vicious sting and nasty weals. An ideal reformatory cane for serious miscreants and very much a regulation three implement. Stittington would approve. I had no doubt about my ability to use it to effect. I took it out of the desk drawer and rested it in my hands. The next few minutes would be heady. They were also personal. I looked at the cane and thought about the long corridor those boys were being escorted down.

A lot of thought had gone into our punishment room. In the early days we had small separate rooms requiring lots of officers on duty if a number of boys were scheduled to be caned. The new room was designed and built a few years ago and is both efficient and frightening. Six cubicles along a back wall each containing a black leather bench. Boys placed in the traditional position cannot see each other but they can hear, and that subdues even the most obdurate. Best of all the area in front of the cubicles is open and, buttons pressed, the required bench and its prone boy slides out. The caner can swing his implement with freedom and the witnesses, and medical viewers, get unrestricted access to all the proceedings. Whoever designed the room is a genius, boys have been known to disgrace themselves when the bench slides out and they see the officer holding the cane. Bright and Jewson would have done their jobs. With three to be caned they would have stood the boys in front of cubicles two, four and six. There they would wait until I arrived and issued the word to proceed. And that was eleven o’clock, not a minute before. And when I did and that word was issued three pairs of pale blue institutional shorts would be taken down. Officer Bright would sweat profusely, Officer Jewson would breathe more heavily, and I would steal myself for a task I had both anticipated, planned, and relished. And three boys, pants at their ankles, would know that the moment they dreaded had come.

I entered the room, cane in hand. There was a nervous silence, an expectation, and three boys stood respectfully still with their backs to me. Fleetingly I registered their areas of most interest. Although covered in the regulation punishment issue shorts it was fairly easy to assess the bottoms awaiting my cane. Fletcher’s was clearly lean and his shorts limped aimlessly across his hidden curves. In contrast the plumpish Mason, legs twitching in agitation, had big and full cheeks which stretched the cloth thinly across his backside With Davis-Johnson I had no idea, and would not do so until his shorts were lowered. His small backside was lost in the waves of cloth even though I knew he would have been given the smallest size. All three had pale and smooth unblemished legs, such a feature of the young untouched by life’s stresses. I fervently wished for bottoms of a similar hue as I issued the order to proceed. My voice sounded strangely thick and I repeated the word, more confidently and clearly.  Officer Bright gently, almost apologetically, pulled down the first boy’s shorts and instructed him to step out of them and Officer Jewson, with contrasting vigour and efficiency, yanked down the shorts of the remaining two. I was not disappointed in the view revealed. A triptych of disciplinary promise. Three bottoms, six cheeks, winked their differing sizes at me with a pale innocence and wretched vulnerability. They would not look like this again for a long time. I took a moment to absorb and then, as Jewson coughed, the moment passed. ‘Benches, gentlemen.’ I said and as the cane twitched at my side the chubby Mason and, surprisingly, the lean Fletcher both started to cry. Only Davis-Johnson, a tight and tiny alabaster white bottom revealed below a short vest, was impassive. I would cane him last.

One by one the boy’s were led to the cubicle benches and tied down. Restraint was important as any overt wriggling could have implications for sensitive parts of a boy’s body not intended for the cane. Their bottoms were the only part of their anatomies to be distressed and the benches, and the tying down, were arranged with that important fact in mind. Fletcher was the first and he did not struggle, wisely realising that it was best to co-operate, and Officer Bright quickly led him over the bench and tied his wrists. Officer Jewson did the same with the boy’s ankles and then, with salacious care, adjusted the angle of the semi naked prone body before stretching over and fixing the waist strap. It may have been my imagination but the lifting of Fletcher’s vest to ensure that the buttocks were completely bare before fixing the strap seemed slightly overdone. Nevertheless it was an efficient job from both officers and within less than two minutes Fletcher was ready and, five minutes later, all three boys were in their prone positions. Cubicles two, four, and six, had their three miscreants prepared for their judicial canings. Jewson, Bright, the unseen Dr Rostock, and I had our spectacular triple view and three nervous boys, two sobbing quietly, had only their individual surrounding walls. Prone and semi naked they waited. ‘Fletcher,’ I said, ‘Fifteen strokes. Regulation three cane. Bare posterior.’ Fletcher twitched and issued an extra sob. It did not save him.

The genius who designed the caning cubicles did not stop there. As the relevant button was pressed and the punishment bench disconcertingly reversed out of the cubicle, it also subtly changed its flat position. The restrained boy suffered the sensation of the bench slightly lowering underneath him and, more significantly, simultaneously lifting him from the waist. By the time the bench had finished its reversing journey the boy, in this case Fletcher, would be acutely aware of the vulnerability of his naked bottom. It was now sticking straight upward, a foot or so above his head, and beautifully placed for the punishment to come. Fletcher would have thought this as I placed the cane across his bottom. He was probably still thinking it when I lashed the same cane across the centre of it. He was probably still thinking it as the first red weal raised on his skin and the first howl left his breath. From the pressing of the cubicle button to delivery of the first stroke across the first backside was no more than thirty seconds. To Fletcher it must have seemed much longer.

Jewson never took his eyes off Fletcher’s backside as I rained the cane across it. I could not see his face but the body never moved, not a fraction. And I could hear the heavy breathing. Caning Fletcher took no more than two minutes and for those two minutes all, except for the swish of the cane and the boy’s howls, was silence and stillness. When I rested the cane at my side I absorbed, simultaneously, one lacerated bottom and two transfixed officer witnesses. The one sweating and flushed, the other white and drained. I ignored all as speed was of the essence in these situations. No boy could be released until all canings were completed and Fletcher must lie prone and stinging for at least five more minutes. I pressed the relevant buttons and as one bench returned to the cubicle a second slid out. If the eyes of Fletcher and Mason met I did not see it. Within two minutes the equally lacerated and larger backside of Mason joined its distressed companion in an adjoining cubicle. It was 11.12am, we were doing well, and young Bright had yet to faint. Perhaps he felt that the chubby Mason was more built for a caning. Certainly the large bottom cheeks absorbed the cane easily but the howls they released were just as loud as Fletchers. Jewson, still flushed but a little more composed, nodded his approval as the cane, for a second time, returned to my side.

Looking back it is clear, and for this I am slightly ashamed, the highlight of disciplinary punishment Case 29775/3 was giving sixteen year old Davis-Johnson his disciplinary due. He was the youngest but he was the ringleader and the cockiest. His impassive demeanour and refusal to be cowed seemed to invite judicial wrath. Hence his being sentenced to the same number of strokes as the other boys. Sixteen year old were rarely given more than 8-12 strokes of the cane and, under normal circumstances, 15 for the older boys and less for him would have been expected. But these were not normal circumstances. The report on the Abingdon boys made that clear. They had considered sentencing Davis-Johnson to 18 or 20 strokes of the cane but, reluctantly, agreed that a number the same as the older boys would suffice as a message. That message being that he was the main culprit, the instigator of the mayhem. As Mason’s bench retracted and his emerged I was struck by the beauty of his small but perfectly formed bottom. The feeling was enhanced as the bench automatically adjusted and raised the two small cheeks to the required height. He was perfectly still and I sensed rather than saw that his eyes were closed. The fists were clenched and the buttocks involuntarily twitched but there was no sobbing, no signal of outward distress. I dismissed from my mind the memory of my blazing car, the observation of Bright’s wide and transfixed eyes, and the disconcerting sign of erection in the trousers of the reddened Jewson. This was the caning he had been waiting for, in a way the caning we had all been anticipating. It would not disappoint. Slowly, methodically, I rested the well used kooboo against the cheeks of Davis-Johnson, another slight twitch in his rear, drank in the naked back below the raised vest and absorbed the symmetry of the splayed out legs and the dangling genitals. All was perfectly shaped and pleasing and all led one’s eyes back to the rounded beauty of those small and soft white cheeks. Completely hairless and with a sheen of glistening marble this was a provocatively curved boy’s bottom to savour. And bent and raised, naked and ready, it was about to suffer fifteen strokes of a regulation three cane across its most prominent parts. And I, Abercrombie, blazing car victim was going to do it. As Bright’s eyes flickered in fascination and Jewson twitched involuntarily in another place, I raised that cane in readiness to strike. There was total silence, not even Fletcher and Mason, done and cubicled, made a sound. It was as if all knew that this caning would define the morning’s punishment.

Davis-Johnson screamed after the seventh stroke and was sobbing uncontrollably by the end. He need not be ashamed; no boy however stoical or determined could have resisted in silence the caning I had given him. I had lashed the cane across his small bottom with savage force, even Jewson blinked, and vicious red weals had instantly formed across the centre of both cheeks. The boy had gasped out loud immediately and each ensuing stroke brought forth a variety of expletives. But it was that seventh stroke, considerably lower than the first six, that brought forth the scream. A scream so loud that young Bright wavered in his watching stance. I had aimed for the bottom of the cheeks curve and caught it in just the right place for an excruciating sting. Not in anger, purely professional. I needed to spread the marks over the confined flesh area to avoid concentrated weals. Not easy with such a small bottom, but I was succeeding and by the tenth stroke of the cane I had a well lacerated but unbleeding boy. And by now his sobs were uncontrolled and forming an unspoken plea for forgiveness and curtailment. I ignored the pleas and sobs and, no red light from Dr Rostock’s witness area, continued with renewed confidence and full venom. Each one of the last five strokes which crashed into the naked cheeks of Davis-Johnson’s bare and punished backside carried £10,000 of my beautiful car’s investment. Each lash of my cane connected with his bottom flesh and left its message of retribution. As I swished it down for the last time I sighed in approval at my work, tapped the cane against my leg and left the room. Bright stared at me as Jewson pressed the button of cubicle six and Davis-Johnson, fifteen strokes sir, returned to his inner sanctum. It would be a long time before his nether cheeks were again glistening in tantalisingly unblemished marble.

The procedure after a caning, including multiple ones, is always the same. The boy or boys are released, the doctor examines them and rubs a special cream on their backsides, and shorts are pulled back on to return a superfluous modesty. They are returned to a special discharge room and, after a further examination and treatment some two hours later, sent home. Or to the relevant institution if their sentence included incarceration. All three boys had been given custodial sentences and, I mused, with corporal punishment regularly practiced it probably would not be long before one or all suffered something similar again. But less severe. Only clinics such as ours, with legal sanction, can exceed six strokes. And with heavy canes on bare backsides. It is meant to be a once only experience. For those receiving it that is. For the giver and the watchers it is repeated, these days, at infrequent intervals. I shall not cane anyone again. Too involved, especially with Davis-Johnson, and I questioned my disturbing emotions. I handed in my certificate yesterday to avoid any future temptation. And young Bright certainly won’t. Found it all too much and resigned immediately. Sad really, nice lad, good at his job. And Jewson? Oh, he will remain. He enjoyed it all so much, especially the last caning, and clearly can’t wait for the day that he qualifies to dish it out himself. I think that is why I decided to pack it in. I shall witness canings, when required, but shall not wield an implement myself. Caning Davis-Johnson, seeing that pert naked bottom flinch under my ministrations, created a headiness and a thrill it would be dangerous to exploit. I shall control myself. Keeping a check on Jewson will be enough.

 

 

 

Monday 17th June 2047 13.46

Stittington,

This to advise you that the canings of Fletcher/Mason/Davis-Johnson (Case 29775/3) were carried out in accordance with statutory procedures at 11.00am on Friday 14th June. Officers Jewson and Bright were in attendance as witnesses and Dr Nathaniel Rostock was the accompanying medical officer. The relevant filmed record has been placed on file and will, in accordance with procedures, remain available for authorised bodies for the statutory six months before destruction. There were no unusual incidents to report.

Yours,

Abercrombie.

 

 

 

Alfred Roy (c) 2014