Boy's Day Out (F/M)

A fantasy, to spite a thwarted visit to the Leicester Governess. Never destined to happen I fear. If it had then two anonymous souls, lifelong friends, would have got what southerner Lenny and northerner Keith got. Or so I hoped. Happy Christmas, whatever you do. Alfred Roy

 

They were never sure who came up with the idea first. Not that it mattered. When northerner Keith and southerner Lenny combined on an unusual disciplinary adventure, the anticipation, the experience and the heady aftermath eclipsed any thoughts on the original brainwave.

They had first met some years before on an adult school adventure. Not an ordinary school. It was one of those establishments, and surprisingly there are quite a few around, that specialise in recreating the olden days of the 1950s and early 1960s. Days of Macmillan and Eden, Suez and sweet rationing, Kennedy and Elvis. And days when young boys in shorts sat at inky stained desks and lived in fear of the cane. It had an appeal to respectable middle aged men, and women, of the millennium years that could not be explained. Not that it should be. Some folks get their thrills from skydiving or white water rafting. A few, like northerner Keith and Southerner Lenny, got their adrenalin rush from a hefty cane hitting their trembling and upturned bottoms. The same fear and anticipation but a damn sight safer. As Lenny had said after one particularly hard swishing from a formidable headmistress, so she described herself, his backside was throbbing but he still had both of his legs attached.

Living so far apart, Lenny in the murky depths of Braintree and Keith ensconced in a similar Salford, their paths rarely crossed. But on regular, if intermittent, meets at their favoured establishment in the Midlands they soon realised that in humour, outlook, and interests they effortlessly gelled. No longer young but irrepressibly school boyish in spirit and looks the two slightly built fellows were soon on post educational drinks at a local hostelry before respective drives home. Quietly in a secluded corner they would exchange feelings on the day’s experience and gradually discover more about each other.

Keith had married very young but was long since divorced. He had an understanding partner who knew of his penchant for having his bottom beaten but did not share its appeal. Go off young man, she used to say, and tell whoever it is to give you twelve for me. He liked the young man comment. Lenny wasn’t so lucky. His wife neither knew nor would approve. He was sure of that. Fortunately, these days, they did not live in each other’s pockets and trips away were both possible and desired. Lenny didn’t explain and Keith considered it prudent not to enquire. All folks are different but in one defining respect the imbibing latter day schoolboys were very much the same.

Keith enjoyed nothing more than being singled out by a forbidding mistress and, in front of a small class of likeminded, ordered to drop his pants and on a bottom bared and proud receive his scholastic due. The pain of the cane across his naked behind was enhanced by the knowledge of eyes watching. No pain, however searing, could eclipse the pleasure of such public shame. It echoed of schooldays long past even if, then, classroom whacks were delivered to a covered bottom. In every other respect, the call, the walk, the bending down, the pain, it was the heady same. Lenny much preferred the more private trip to a headmistress study. Private shame to him having a special frisson that a classroom smacking could not compare. Hardly surprising. When young it had often happened. Pants had come down in private rooms many times and his small bottom had suffered at the hands and canes of a variety of chastisers. He relished that recreation. Keith could have his realised fantasy, pants taken down in full view of fellows as they never were in the past, Lenny preferred the repeat of memories indelibly seared.

They exchanged their desires and the reasons for them and then went their separate ways. An occasional phone call, the odd postcard, and a quick drink when paths fortuitously crossed was the only contact outside the hallowed walls of the secret establishment when pants came down and memories flowed. Following one phone call, Lenny had a meeting in Manchester, they met for dinner at a posh restaurant and, over expensive wine, discussed their mutual interest. Nearly two years had passed since their last combined visit to the Midlands, although both had schooldays when the other was absent. The Bottoms Academy as they called it. They exchanged experiences and, as the wine took hold, delved further into the disciplinary world. Somewhere in the conversation the Midlands Governess cropped up. Not that far from the establishment they frequented. A private woman, never taken a class as far as they knew. Did her own thing. And one of those own things, offered on a comprehensive website, was a sixty stroke caning therapy. They knew of it. A couple of the chaps at the school had experienced it. Incredibly painful but exhilarating. No warm up, no preamble, just straight in, pants down, and six sets of ten strokes across the bare backside. Marked for days and throbbed for hours. It appealed to Lenny, not so much to Keith. Until one of them, it may have been the more public Keith, said it would fun if they watched each other get it. That idea appealed to both and they left the restaurant musing on it. Three days later Lenny phoned him with a proposition. Both, Keith in Salford and Lenny in Braintree, put their phones down and felt the tingling in their loins. They were going on a boy’s day out.

It took some arranging. The Midlands Governess only sessioned on weekdays and only in the afternoons. They needed to fix a firm date and arrange a local inn or hotel to stay overnight. They had both agreed that a leisurely post whacking dinner and drinks would round off their day nicely before driving home. As Lenny said, hopefully by the following day his marks would have faded a bit. Based on the recollections of those who he knew had visited the lady, Keith was not so sure. But the idea of staying overnight with Lenny appealed. They could bond, as the modern terminology had it. He made a mental note to pack some appropriate soothing cream. Whacked bottoms often appreciated a gentle massage. If such thoughts, strangely, induced a slight erection such feelings were enhanced when Lenny phoned him again to say that he had fixed up a possible date and the lady, pleasingly, embraced the idea of dealing with the one whilst the second watched. She had laughed and said it sounded like fun. Unprompted Keith said he would be dealt with first. If for no other reason than, at the Midlands School, he was well used to having his bare bottom displayed to viewers. And it would get Lenny in the mood for his. Lenny put down the phone. The mood, and his own inexplicable erection, was already upon him.

Keith looked at Lenny as if he was seeing him for the first time. A trembling pale boy. Fearful of what was to come. The face may have aged but in all other respects he could pass for fifteen. Slight, small, no more than ten stone and a bit, with a body and a bottom so slender he felt for him. No wonder he liked his discipline in private. In public most would weep. If Lenny looked at the darker skinned Keith he would be reassured. He seemed confident, ready, face flushed and emotions surging, but up to the ordeal. Slightly taller and fuller but nevertheless with a trim figure and nicely pronounced rear. Lenny particularly noticed this about Keith. His bottom protruded even before any presentation for being caned. He noticed also that the eyes were glistening with anticipation, the body stiff with resolve, and below a disconcerting bulge suggesting pleasure. Lenny was glad he was going second. If Keith in the state he was cried off then he would equally relent. Pay the fee and go back to the hotel he thought. But, deep down, he knew he wouldn’t do that. They had come so far for their sixty stroke therapy. This was it. They had to go through with it. Both of them. That is why they were here. In her small study, looking at her, standing to attention clad only in small vest and small underpants. With hands on head as she spoke. The Midlands Governess, tall, slim, ginger haired, severe. And with a smile on her face and a savage looking cane in her hand she politely asked which of them had agreed to go first. I care not which, she said, all bottoms come alike to me. Lenny shuddered and Keith, in a lower place, twitched.

They had planned it all very carefully. Governess booked, hotel registered, tangential drives from distant locations to a desired destination. A destination to end in bottoms bared and pain delivered. They wished it no other way. The heady excitement of fearful anticipation eclipsed all other emotions. Those who feel the same need no explanation, the others would never understand. The day agreed created in northern Keith and southern Lenny a surge in wanting, a need for reliving old memories, that defied analysis. They were going to be caned. Hard. By an expert. And each would watch the other getting their due. A double pleasure, a double fear. They met, embraced, clocked in at the hotel and drove to the given destination. An imposing country house, surrounded by trees. Trees which would muffle any sounds. Cane or screams. Or so Lenny thought. She met them in the drive, smiled, sorted out their names, and bid them to enter. Ten minutes later the two erstwhile schoolboys were in her study. In vests and underpants, hands on heads. It had been that quick. And, as she said, all bottoms came alike to her.

Keith went first as agreed. He took a deep breath and moved forward to the small black leather bench. Eagerly, almost too eager, he bent over it and stretched out his arms. Wrists and legs were fixed with straps and, deftly and expertly, his underpants were pulled down to his knees. A familiar bare bottom, just below the raised vest, blinked a disconcerting welcome. A nice bum, Lenny thought, smooth and coppery, well versed in the kiss of a cane. The two cheeks complimented each other and raised themselves in co-operation and appreciation. Keith was up for it, or so Lenny thought. When those pants, pale blue, had been pulled down the stiffening rod in front advertised desire. Lenny was transfixed. On the bottom, twitching in anticipation, on the woman, rising to her full and formidable height, and on the brown and gleaming cane both readied and threatening. The Midlands School was never like this. There Lenny had watched adult boys being caned with mild interest, eager for his own private chastisement. But now, in this room, just he and Keith and a formidable expert, private and public intertwined. His body burst with a desire to see his friend caned. To see a bottom and a cane join in mutual pleasure and to know that he would be next. It is no surprise that as the first stroke found its mark his juices flowed.

Keith flinched. The first of the sixty strokes across his behind was harder than expected and he had another fifty nine to come. His flesh may be copper tinged but it raised a red line across his centre which pleased the mistress and created trepidation in the watcher. All agreed, especially Keith, that it had hurt. The remainder of the first ten followed in relentless succession and as the bending boy squirmed and gasped Lenny registered the pictured weals. When the Midlands Governess paused, fifty more strokes waiting in the wings, the one with hands on head winced at the savage sight and the other, already almost in tears, absorbed the pain. The first ten strokes of the cane across the seemingly willing naked bottom of Keith had rapidly revised their thoughts. Keith was convinced he would be crying off before many more were inflicted and Lenny, terrified and fascinated in equal proportions, wished for the lady to bare his bottom but to smack it gently. Neither scenario happened. Both took the sixty strokes therapy. As agreed. Hard and true. Both had weals that would remain until Christmas, so Lenny said, and both had behinds that throbbed through their evening dinner and long into the night. And both were glad. It was the reason for their boy’s day out and the ordeal survived eclipsed all other feelings.

They coped for a variety of reasons. Keith endured because those elusive endorphins kicked in and combined with amusing encouragements from the engaging chastiser each stinging kiss to his backside took him to unexpected heights. The sixty whacks to his bottom were hard and unrelenting but when he rose his mind floated and his being embraced all. It had been worth it. Lenny endured because he was desperate to have his pants taken down by her, whatever the pain. He visualised what the others saw. A small and quivering pale bottom, divested of upturned white vest and specially selected white pants, now at knees, presented the picture that he imagined and they saw. His naked rear begging and willing to be whacked. The searing pain of sixty strokes across his small backside would be as nothing compared with that. It was not of course. He gasped when the first few fell onto his vulnerable behind. By twenty he was in tears and they did not stop through the next forty. As Keith watched, hands on head and pants still lowered, each thwack across his friend’s pure behind increased stiffening in his private parts. By the sixtieth stroke to Lenny a second bottom was savagely ravaged and at least one of the boys on a day out had an erection that could not escape comment. As the Midlands Governess said as they dressed, boys it is not only your bottoms that are throbbing. If I had a flag Keith would be waving it. They all laughed. The alternative was to sigh.

They had witnessed each other being caned. Each had seen his friend, bent and tied and bare, getting sixty cane strokes across a behind that seemed so soft and tender. Lenny witnessing the copper cheeks of Keith turn subtly red and purple, the friend wincing under each blow, and Keith seeing the pure white bottom orbs of the other savaged with each painful strike. And both had been absorbed by it all. To suffer and to watch combined all disciplinary emotions. It is no wonder that as behinds throbbed the male bits of these adult boys danced to their own agenda. They had discovered, unsurprisingly, that canes connecting with bottoms can lead to unexpected consequences. You could say that from the first moment of Lenny’s phone call regarding the proposition it was almost destined. If it was then it is no surprise that, in a later hotel bedroom, gushing warm showers stirred and exploded the pent up feelings. Lacerated behinds sought welcome solace and each erstwhile boy embraced both the moment of soapy warm and naked wet flesh.

It was not intended. Both would deny any such consideration. Their boy’s day out was for an indulgence of disciplinary pleasures. To welcome and witness two compliant bottoms, bare as the day they were born, being whacked by an expert in the art. Heaven. They wanted nothing more, nothing less, and as their sore backsides, still throbbing, signed in at the hostelry both Keith and Lenny were content. So they had imbibed welcoming drinks in the small bar of the hotel and reflected on an amazing afternoon. It was only later, much later, when getting ready for a much wanted evening meal that the day’s events crystallised in a way neither expected. Lenny, the small and pale Lenny was showering in the small bathroom of their hotel room. For some reason, perhaps the Midlands Governess could explain it, Keith stood in the doorway watching him. He had known Lenny for some years now and was very familiar with his bottom. Lenny may have preferred private canings but classroom discipline was compulsory at the academy they frequented. And today they had both suffered the ultimate exposure of sixty stroke therapy to their bare bottoms. Wasn’t that the point of this day? And now Keith was seeing Lenny naked. For the first time. He saw the slim and pale naked body being cascaded with warm and inviting water and he saw the cleansing soap sweeping over the contours of his friend. And he saw Lenny’s bottom. Still pale and firm and round but now lacerated with the afternoon’s stripes. He smiled and made a small comment. Lenny glanced at him and the meaning in his eyes was clear. Keith needed no further prompting. Clothes divested he joined his southern friend in the shower and four eager hands combined on two still very sore backsides in mutual pleasure and soothing sensations. It was hardly surprising that those same hands found equally eager cocks and balls. Lenny and Keith, in an explosive moment, crossed a sensual divide. If that formidable Midlands Governess had witnessed, a swinging cane would connect with soft and bare bottoms for a second time. But she wasn’t there. No one was, except the naked Lenny and Keith. And the following day they drove home, north and south, doubly content. It had been some boy’s day out. And, as Lenny said, when they parted, nobody died. Alfred Roy