tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-77823823875017390142024-03-08T08:37:31.593-08:00Whacking TalesWHACKING TALES........This is not me but is a new photograph invoking old and familiar memories. All stories here are on this traditional theme. Feedback can be sent to alfred.roy@btinternet.com Alfred Royhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10230978439930708047noreply@blogger.comBlogger102125truetag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7782382387501739014.post-45266998528280884672023-06-15T05:15:00.002-07:002023-06-15T05:21:03.209-07:00Wainwright and Colefax (Victorian Birching Sequel) - (M/m)<p><span style="color: #ff00fe; font-size: medium;"><i><b>Apologies, this piece was meant to be posted during lockdown. Forgot. Visited my favourite disciplinarian a couple of weeks ago. Perhaps I should go back for my own birching, given my abstraction and indolence. Alfred Roy</b></i></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 18pt;">Wainwright and Colefax<o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 18pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Sgt Colefax<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">I
have to say that yesterday was a very good day. I have the best job in the
world and yesterday I had one of the best jobs. Mustn’t show too much
enthusiasm of course, that wouldn’t do. Just doing my job, doing it efficiently
and expertly. That’s why they gave it to me. If boys have to be birched, and
they do, best to give the job to someone who knows how to do it properly and
with some force. If you birch their backsides hard enough chances are they
won’t be back here again and that is what you want. Wainwright agrees with me.
He couldn’t do the job himself. Well, he could but not as well as me. Has said
so many times. Sgt Colefax, he says to me, I do not know anyone who whacks
boy’s behinds more expertly than you. You hit them hard, you hit them accurate,
you hit them with rhythm, and, if I may say so, you hit them with the finesse
of a consummate expert. You could have been born for the job, he says, I
couldn’t do it, at least not as well as you. I reckon he could do it, birch a
few bottoms, if he didn’t have so much sympathy, empathy, whatever, for them.
Especially the younger ones. He knows they deserve it, the courts have
sentenced them, and he wants it done as do all here. He knows that a few hard
whacks of the birch on their bare arses will set some of them on the straight
and narrow, especially if we catch them young enough. But he prefers to help
them through the ordeal, and it is an ordeal, rather than wield the dreaded
twigs himself. And, as he has told me many times, he is always happiest when I
am on birching duty. The little buggers probably don’t appreciate it as we are
pulling their trousers up but, he says, they have just had their bums whacked
by the best in the business. An expert. And that was certainly the case
yesterday. Beautiful little arse that boy had. Plump and creamy. And well
pronounced. I enjoyed, no, I relished birching him. Wonder what today will
bring?<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Saw
Wainwright an hour or so ago. He seemed in a right pickle. Busy day for you
today Mr Colefax, glad it’s you on duty. We have got four of them today,
magistrates seemed to be in a right old mood. Even the ten year old got
sentenced to four strokes. That surprised me, thought they might let him off
with a warning but their chairman was in one of his high dudgeon states. Causes
problems for me though, like to keep them in separate rooms before we take them
down to the birching block and we only have two. So I have scheduled, with the
inspector’s permission, two for 2.00pm and 2.30pm and the other two for 3.00pm
and 3.30pm. Think it might work if the doc is available. Long wait for the
second two lads, which I don’t like, but blame the magistrates I say.
Wainwright paused and looked at me. Or blame the miscreants, I said. So how
many each? Wainwright looked at his notes and frowned. Four, as I said, for the
ten year old and eight each for two twelve year olds caught pinching paint and
trying to sell it. And the fourth one, I said. An old friend, Wainwright said,
you have had him before. Rather nasty fourteen year old ginger lad. He’s been
sentenced to six months and twelve strokes of the birch. Can you cope with all
that lot Sergeant? I smiled at him and told him thirty odd strokes in a couple
of hours was well within my capacity. I once birched seven lads on the same day
and never broke sweat. Got through a few birches though, which reminds me I
better go and check my stock.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Constable Wainwright<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Right,
I think that’s all sorted to satisfaction. Have got the first two in the
holding cells and the doc is checking out the ten year old. Thought he ought to
go first, looks terrified, and then Mr Colefax can deal with the ginger lad.
Sorry to say I can’t have much sympathy for him seeing as he has been here
before. Checked my records, when he was eleven. Four strokes then, twelve this
time. And six months. Some never learn. Get these done and then I’ll bring the
two paint pinchers down. Three hour wait for them to get their arses tanned
which is much longer than I think is desirable. Not much we can do about it
Wainwright, the inspector said, if they give us four in one day someone has to
wait. Hope that ten year old is going to be allright. I know Colefax will go
pretty easy on him and use the lightest birch but if he is not bawling his eyes
out before we start, in my experience he certainly will be during and after it.
Even at his lightest Colefax’s birchings come as a major shock to a very young
behind. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Just
finished with the ten year old. Boy did he bawl. He was whimpering when I took
him down and when he saw the birching bench and Colefax, birch in hand standing
at the side of it, his tears just burst out. I felt sorry for the young lad.
Not enough to want his punishment to be stopped. Little bugger had nicked some
old lady’s purse, deserved to have his arse whacked, but probably not like
this. Judicial. Cold. Four grown men overseeing it. Must have been frightening.
Especially when I strapped him down on the bench and pulled his flimsy trousers
down. Had such a little backside, the two little cheeks would have hardly
covered my hands. I rubbed those hands over his head, often helps, and after
the inspector had said his piece Sgt Colefax did his usual expert work. Four
strokes with the junior birch. He laid them on pretty hard, bit too much in my
opinion, and the young lad screamed for England. Only four strokes but at the
end of it the little bum was lacerated with a multitude of vicious looking
stripes. I let him off as quickly as I could and pulled up his trousers. All
over lad, I said, and he looked at me sobbing and shivering and said ‘Can I go
now?’ It is at times like this that I reckon the friendly belt at home would be
much better than an authoritative judicial. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Sgt Colefax<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Those
first two were pretty easy, even if the contrast was illuminating. Problem with
the ten year olds, generally, is their small arses can’t absorb the whole of
the birch. That’s why I cut the junior ones down to a suitable size. I get a
nice swing and the shortened tips cut into the little cheeks very effectively.
No wonder Wainwright calls me an expert. Boy did that one bawl. Didn’t get any
sympathy from me. He wouldn’t have been here, on the birching block with his
pants down, if he hadn’t done something bad. He deserved whatever he had been
sentenced to. And in the bawling boy’s case it was four strokes. I laid them on
as hard as I could, knowing the junior birch couldn’t do too much damage, and
was well satisfied by his reactions and the results. A well reddened arse by
the end. Doubt if we will see him here again. Hope not. A salutary lesson is
the whole point of all this.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">The
ginger lad was totally different. He didn’t come in whimpering like the ten
year old and his manner, although nervous, had a small air of defiance.
Wainwright did his usual expert job of preparation and I got the impression the
lad was keen to get his birching over. He readily raised his bum when the
constable started to pull his trousers down and at the same time pressed his
forehead into the top of the leather bench. Seemed to be saying ‘get on with
it, I have been here before.’ His arse was a typical fourteen year olds and no
doubt was well accustomed to being belted. But twelve strokes of the birch was
a different matter entirely, as I shortly intended to make him find out. The
inspector, not for the first time, made his customary inappropriate comment.
Not sure if it is nerves or something else. He has overseen loads so ought to
be used to it. He was quiet when the little lad got his four strokes but not
this time. When you are ready Mr Colefax, he said, you have a nicely full
backside to work on and one I think you are familiar with. Twelve strokes in
your own time, and make him feel them. We do not want him here again. I nodded,
Wainwright sniffed, and the ginger boy just raised his naked arse a little
more. Doubt if he will be doing that when I have finished.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Constable Wainwright<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Not
sure that air of defiance did the ginger lad any good. In fact a little
humility on his part may have meant Mr Colefax going a little easier on him,
especially the last two or three. But the cocky way he raised his bum when I
took his trousers down coupled with the inspector’s comments fired up the sergeant.
He had his largest and most fearsome birch in his hand and it twitched
expectantly as the Inspector finished. The lad’s shirt was being troublesome
for some reason and, as I had no intention of comforting him, I took the tail
of it in my right hand and held it away from the exposed backside. In hindsight
I should have made him take it off before strapping him to the bench but my
view is that the only bit of the body we wish to be bare is the bottom being
birched. Reminds the miscreant they are children, not men. Being virtually
naked would dilute that effect. As Mr Colefax says, somewhat disparagingly, I
overthink these things. I think the first lash of the birch on his arse shocked
the ginger lad. He clearly was not expecting it as hard or quick. Colefax lashed
it right across the centre of the lad’s naked cheeks and the instant response
was a gasp and a twisting of his backside. If his slight cockiness and defiance
was in memory of the four he received on his eleven year old bottom that first
crack of the birch told him that this was a totally different ball game. Sgt
Colefax very quickly delivered two more strokes to roughly the same raised
place and all in the room, especially the now squirming ginger lad, realised
that this was going to be a birching of some severity. And there were nine more
strokes to come. I held very tightly on to the lad’s raised shirt.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">By
God, didn’t that backside twist and squirm about over the next few strokes of
the birch. It was only matched by the boy’s howling, and boy could he howl.
Every time Mr Colefax lashed the birch across his behind he howled the place
down. After the sixth the sergeant waved the twigs around and decided he needed
a fresh one. The bum was looking pretty lacerated and the boy sobbing for all
he was worth. I think he had never recovered from the shock of that first
stroke, all defiance immediately expunged. Savage pain in the behind does that.
I think we were all glad of the respite while the birches were changed. The
doctor took the opportunity to look at the boy and minutely inspected his
bottom. I think he can take the second six, he said, no reason to go easy on
him. His words induced an extra howl from the boy and more twisting of his
backside. I pulled the shirt further up his back as he continued to twist and
squirm. His gyrations brought his bottom higher into the air and Sgt Colefax
took that as his signal to lash the seventh stroke across it. The new birch
signalled its arrival and the lad registered his tormented appreciation. The
last five continued the same course, each harder and quicker than the previous
strike, and the lad was screaming by the time the twelfth and final stroke hit
his now lacerated and totally reddened rump. I had rarely seen a behind so
thrashed, rarely heard a boy howl so much, and rarely seen Colefax hit so hard.
This was a birching out of the top drawer and all in the room, especially the
wailing fourteen year old knew it. I released him, brushed a few twigs off his
sorry backside and pulled up his pants. He was still sobbing uncontrollably
when the doc took him out of the room to have something applied to the
smarting. Great job Colefax, the inspector said, if ever a boy deserved a well
thrashed arse it was him. I daresay he will be here again. I somehow doubted
it.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Sgt Colefax</span></i><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">We
have a further delay which did nothing for Mr Wainwright’s demeanour. The doc
had to go after inspecting our first two reprobates and the replacement can’t
come in until four o’clock. Those paint pinchers will have waited four hours
for their birching he said, far too long. Doubt if they will complain, I said,
the longer the better I should say. The magistrates might, he said, from
sentence to trousers down should be as short a time as possible. That’s their
philosophy. I left him to go and check the two birches that I need for our
twelve year old miscreants. I had originally decided on the medium ones for
their eight apiece but something the inspector said made me think that the full
size ones might give them a more salutary lesson. Magistrates considered
sentencing them to the maximum, he said, as the chap they pinched the paint off
is severely disabled. Only their ages dissuaded them. Did they, I thought. The
rules state that senior birches are for those thirteen and above but, with a
little trimming, no one is going to notice and the heavier implement will make
them smart more. Besides old Wainwright will be too busy comforting them and
stroking their hair and the inspector, well, the inspector will have his eyes
glued on their naked behinds. He always does. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Constable Wainwright<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Colefax
knows why I care for these lads being birched, or some of them anyway. They
aren’t all naturally bad boys, especially the younger ones. Just broke the
rules and had to pay the consequences. I don’t disagree. A short sharp shock to
their behinds will, hopefully, put them on the straight and narrow and stop
them getting into even more serious trouble later on. Trouble that can lead to
prison or worse. If a hard birch applied vigorously to a soft bare bottom can
stop that then it is worth it. I should know, as forty years ago it happened to
me. I was eleven and a right little bugger. Got involved with some bad kids and
went on a spate of vandalism. We all got caught and we all got sentenced to the
birch. In those days the maximum was thirty six strokes as the officer looking
after us relished in telling. I suppose I was lucky. The magistrate sentenced
me to eight. I can still remember it and even though I wailed throughout I
don’t resent it or hold a grudge against the burly policeman who did it. I told
Colefax one day, some time ago, seeing him in action often reminds me of the
day I got my own arse whacked. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">I
had been put in a small cell on my own, waiting for the doctor they said. Need
to make sure that little arse is up for it. I still remember the constable who
grinned maliciously as he said it. I think that is when my sniffling started. I
was scared, alone, and about to be whacked with a birch on my bare bum.
Experiences do not come much more traumatic. I think the doc sensed it and
examined me quickly. He pulled my pants down and told me to lift my shirt.
Being a dutiful boy, generally, I did as I was told and he checked me out.
Perfectly fit for your birching boy, he said, I have no reason not to authorise
it. I reckon I must have blubbed again as he told me to pull up my pants. As he
left the burly policemen who had relished telling me I could get as many as
thirty six summoned me out of the room and marched me down a long corridor. Not
dissimilar to the layout at our police station. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">I
shall never forget the awesome sight which met my eyes and it is in the
remembering of that frightening picture that makes me evoke some sympathy for
today’s lads suffering a similar plight. They deserve birching I tell myself
and, frankly, so did I. But I didn’t think so at the time. I was scared and the
tears, never far away, started to flow. The first thing I saw, opposite the
door, was the curved dark leather birching block. Very similar to ours.
Standing one side of it was a tall policeman with lots of flashy buttons on his
tunic and the frock coated doctor who had pulled my pants down for a cursory
inspection. But it was the man on the other side, the left, who drew my
attention. He was at least twice the size of me and had thick and glistening
arms. I knew that because he wasn’t wearing his policeman’s jacket and his
white rolled up shirtsleeves contrasted with the flesh displayed. And in his
right hand he held the most vicious looking weapon I had ever seen. The long
and thin birch rod, far thinner than I expected it to be, tapping menacingly
against his left palm. And destined for my behind. I trembled, legs shaking so
much I thought I would collapse. The flashy buttoned man read out the charge
and the sentence and ordered the policeman behind me to prepare me. Eight
strokes of the birch, he said, to his bare posterior and I trust, we all trust,
he will learn his lesson. None of the cringing inappropriate comments our
inspector blurts out. Just we hope he will learn his lesson. As he said it the
man behind me pushed me forward to the bench and, at that moment, I knew that
the lesson was about to be learnt in the most painful and humiliating way.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">The
next five minutes were seared both on my backside and my memory forever, at
least the memory. I shall never forget it. Hands were quickly tied either side
of the birching block and a thick leather strap was drawn across my back and
roughly tightened. Within a couple of minutes I was held firm and prone. The
curve of the bench, well designed, holding me in just the right position. I was
sniffling really loudly by this time and those sniffles increased when PC
thirty six strokes, I still remember him as that, roughly pulled up my shirt
and tucked it into strap across my waist. And then, seconds later, his rough
hands grabbed at the waist of my trousers, fortunately very loose, and pulled
them down to my knees. I had no under drawers and my nudity was instantly
displayed for all to see. As all boys do in such circumstances, I instantly
squeezed my cheeks together desperately trying to reduce the size. I heard him
snigger and in that moment I think I hated him even more than the burly
policeman who held the birch. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">When
you are ready sergeant, the inspector said, eight strokes of the birch. I
sniffled again and three seconds later I wailed. The first stroke of the weapon
registered when I first entered the room, connected with my upturned bare
behind. I have never forgotten it, not the sting or the pain. And I never
forgot the next seven which relentlessly followed at a few seconds intervals.
It must all have been over within a couple of minutes but during it, and long
after, I seemed to wail and howl for England. The burning pain in my bum was
incredible and I rose stiffly and sobbingly subdued when they released me. I
recovered, as lads do, but apart from the birching I took away two abiding
memories. The malicious minder who had marched me down and roughly spread me on
the birching block, sniggered again as he untied. A nice well thrashed arse, he
said, pity it was limited to eight. He said it softly, but with relish, and I
doubt if anyone else heard. I was still on the block, trousers still down at my
knees, somehow unable to readily move, when my chastiser came near. Get up lad,
he said, all over and you took it well. And he gently ruffled my hair as I
gingerly rose. But it has to be done, you’ll realise that one day. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">I
wasn’t sure I agreed with him then or even later. My bum was burning too much
for that and I had the scars for weeks. But strangely the only real bit of
kindness I had been shown in that room came from the man who thrashed my arse.
I told Sgt Colefax all this sometime ago, trying to explain why as much as I
approve of lads being birched when deserved, it should be done with kindness
not cruelty. He just laughed. You are a strange bugger Wainwright and the
strangest thing is that the sergeant who birched you could have been my
granddad. He was a lovely man, he said, but a serious disciplinarian with anyone
who strayed. He laughed again. I think he rather liked the idea.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Sgt Colefax</span></i><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Well
I must say I enjoyed that. Given that we were running late there was only ten
minutes between the two birchings. Two very pleasant young arses, two very
pleasant birchings. Doesn’t do to show too much enthusiasm, professionalism is
the key, and old empathetic Wainwright oversees things much better than the
inspector. He was his usual cringing self. I mean, take the first lad. Fresh
faced blonde youngster with the fear of God in him. Thought he was going to wet
his pants when he saw the bench and me standing beside it. Birch in hand. The
modified adult one I intended to use. Wainwright did his usual considerate job in
putting him on the bench and pulling his trousers down so lovingly I thought
this man is getting even softer. Inspector broke the mood. He really is a prat.
Well Mr Colefax, he said when the pants were pulled down, I think that is the
nicest bottom we have had all day. I trust your eight strokes, delivered with
your usual style, will make this young lad regret it. He looks made for the
birch. I had to agree, a rich and creamy arse so pronounced you could hardly
miss, but why does that inspector prat have to put it into words. Think what
you like , I do but can’t talk for Wainwright, but amplifying it is stupid.
Having said that, boy did I enjoy the first birch stroke across that delectable
arse. The lad winced and gasped with pleasurable aplomb. I said I enjoyed my
job.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">He
had steeled himself for it. You can tell. As I lay the birch twigs across the
centre of his behind the twitching stopped and he went very silent. This is it
the lad must have thought. I am going to be birched, on my bare bum. Hold your
breath, keep still and it might not happen. It did. I lashed the birch down
with all my might and he gasped and squirmed as much as if I had hit him with
burning candles. Perhaps that is what it felt like. I placed the birch across
his behind a second time and again he stilled and held his breath and,
strangely, seemed slightly to raise himself. Almost offering what the inspector
thought of as the nicest bottom of the birching day. I raised my arm to its
fullest height and lashed down the second stroke across the same central area
of the naked cheeks. And for a second time he gasped and squirmed and then
stilled when I rested the twigs on him again. It went on like that for all
eight strokes, almost a ritual dance between arse and birch rod. First the
gasping and squirming when I struck, and then the stillness and silence and
raising of his bum when the rod rested on his nether cheeks for the next stroke.
A fascinating, unfamiliar, ritual. I can usually deliver eight strokes in less
than two minutes; this young lad took me nearly five. But it was worth it,
nasty red stripes covered his entire backside by the last and the gasping, not
surprisingly, turned to sobs. But after that last stroke he once again went
still and even after Wainwright removed the restraining straps he still lay
there. Shirt up his back, trousers around his knees, lacerated bare bottom
kissing the air. Still, silent, unmoving. Good birching, strange lad.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Constable Wainwright<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">I
reckon the first of the two twelve year old birchings unnerved old Colefax a
little. Never seen him like that before. Reckon it affected the second one,
that boy was dealt with so quickly he hardly had time to get his trousers down.
Howled through all his eight strokes and was in and out of the birching room
within about five minutes. But the blonde lad, well that was different.
Inspector couldn’t resist making a comment as we were all leaving. Good days
work Colefax, and you Wainwright, very good days work. That blonde chappie bit
of a strange one though. Only twelve, but if I didn’t know different I would
say he was almost enjoying it. Do you know different inspector, I thought.
Doubt it. We get all sorts in here and one or two of them seem to take it in
their stride. Rarely from Colefax though and usually a bit older than the
blonde lad. He looked scared to death when they brought him in but I noticed a
change as I tied him to the bench. He was still struggling a bit but he seemed
to relax when I pulled his trousers down. Almost, and I say this carefully,
almost as if he was conditioned to it. And when Mr Colefax laid that birch,
bloody convinced it was an adult one, across him he went still as a duck pond
and raised himself up. Offering himself. It went on like that throughout.
Colefax was definitely spooked by it. Didn’t stop him whacking the arse as hard
as he possibly could and getting a few howls and gasps into the bargain. But
spooked all the same. Especially as no matter how hard he lashed his birch rod
into that pleasing behind it still raised itself, dutifully, for the next one.
Like a well trained dog who regularly gets whipped. And I became even more
convinced that this lad both took and accepted beatings stoically, if not
pleasurably, after it was over. He lay still on the bench for an age, pants
round knees and red wealed backside in the air, no desire to get up or get
dressed. I had to nudge him. Strange lad, strange birching. And as he left,
still sobbing a bit because it clearly hurt, he said something even stranger. Thank
you sir, he said to Mr Colefax, my father would approve, you beat so well. It
is the first time ever that I have seen the inspector lost for words. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">The Inspector<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">A
most satisfactory day, some excellent birching, and some excellent backsides.
Two in particular. There is something very satisfying in seeing Mr Wainwright
strap the boys down and bare their bottoms. And it amuses me to see the reactions.
Bottoms of all shapes and sizes quivering and twitching in anticipation of what
is to come. And do those bottoms wriggle when Mr Colefax gets to work. An
expert wielder of the birch. I think it was a piece of administrative genius
when I paired him and Constable Wainwright together. Much my best team in these
matters. Wainwright gentle and sympathetic and Colefax stern and eager. One
comforts and the other concerns. And I think they appreciate my little
comments. When a boy’s bottom is pleasing, as some surprisingly are, it does
not hurt to mention it. I think it puts everyone at their ease. Except the boy
being birched of course. That would never do.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Alfred Roy (2020)<o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>Alfred Royhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10230978439930708047noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7782382387501739014.post-64785817561365192642021-10-18T03:38:00.000-07:002021-10-18T03:38:06.544-07:00My Post Lockdown Visit to Mistress Sapphire<p style="text-align: justify;"><i>Had promised myself this treat through all the dreary months of Lockdown, self isolating, and social distancing. The vaccination programme gave me the courage. And much needed therapy after a few traumatic months that had seen the loss of both my favourite brother and his lovely son. As Miss Sapphire, lovely lady, said as she pulled down my pants, perhaps they are watching. A nice thought that made us both laugh. And I had not done that for months. Alfred Roy</i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 10.0pt;">So
this is it. After nearly two years, double vaccinated, I am making a long
overdue visit to a favourite lady. In those two lockdown years I have missed
this indulgence more than practically anything. To have my pants taken down and
be whacked on the bare behind by a dominant mature lady is still sheer heaven.
Or at least the anticipation of it is. But hardly surprising that nerves kick
in as I near my destination. When you have not had a cane strike into your
backside in earnest for so long you wonder if the shock and pain will subvert
the pleasure. Will endorphins serenely float or will you finally decide that
such indulgences are no longer for you.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;">I
am well prepared. White rugby shorts, pale blue jumper and matching pale blue
underpants. Change and present the erstwhile schoolboy. Chastisement needs to
be bearable to begin with, hence the rugby shorts, comfortably thick, and a
second layer underneath. Usually I wear fairly thin grey schoolboy trousers.
Not this time, much padding is the order of the day. The lady is very
understanding, senses the nervousness and the long absence. Checks my attire,
approves, and says that she thinks she will start with a gentle spanking. Over
her knee. A little bizarre but not that gentle. This is schoolboy punishment
after all.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;">After
a pleasant five minutes things start to get serious and I bend over her impressive
leather bench, or horse if you like, for a well overdue introduction to a hefty
strap. The first ten or so whacked into my pristine white rugby shorts and created
a pleasing warming glow. The next twenty were with those pristine shorts
removed and strap applied with vigour to my tight pale blue underpants. These
made me squirm a little but were just about bearable to a bottom deprived for
so long of such sensations. Getting warm in the rear I steeled myself as she
took those underpants down. A heavenly indescribable feeling that those of the
disciplinary faith totally understand.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;">This
was now it, what I had waited for and wanted for so long. A heavy strap lashing
into my bare and willing backside. A divine feeling, helpless, naked from the
waist down, submissive. And a dominant lady raising her leather strap to
blister a bottom that both welcomed and relished. It was heaven. I did not want
her to stop. I reckon she lashed that strap onto my naked cheeks at least fifty
or sixty times. I could have taken more. At least a hundred. But we were both
exhausted. I rose, rubbed my burning bottom, smiled thankfully and pulled up my
pants and shorts. Still pristine. A short respite. And then the cane. The final
curtain from this long lockdown wait. I reckoned I was now ready.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;">Ready
for my Edgware lady. Mistress Sapphire, one of the best in the business if not
the best. Put her on the National Health and many of us would not need tablets.
And now she held that cane. Not too thick, not too thin. Shiny and threatening.
I was nervously ready to bend over that leather bench again. A warm up twenty
or so over the rugby shorts, they stung, and a further twenty or so on the
gleaming and tight blue underpants. And they stung even more, but I was now in
the zone. I could not wait for her to pull those underpants down, and bare
behind beckon for the ultimate caning. And I told her to do it hard. The
endorphins were surging and feeling the raised ridges on my lacerated bottom I
was eager for the final act. A sixty stroke therapy, a la the Leicester
Governess, was the requested finale. And Miss Sapphire delivered them in
spades. Five at a time, twelve sets, her maths are good. I spread my legs,
underpants long pulled off, and shamefully exposed my private bits. I cared
not, I cared only for the final lashing cuts of an Edgware cane. My bottom was
desperate and I was conscious of keenly raising it to meet each rapturous
stroke. Harder, harder, it was saying, whack me to a burning and long desired
posterior fire. She did, and when I rose both feeling the burn and floating at
its effect I was in that longed for blissful state of disciplined serenity. It
had been a long wait but my Lockdown caning was well worth it. A bottom on
sensuous fire is a pleasure that should not be denied.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;">Later
on, spent and dressed, we chatted over the traditional tea and biscuits before
I left. On my warming car drive home I vowed it would not be too long before I
lowered my pants for her again. It makes all those vaccine jabs worthwhile.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 10.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 10.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>Alfred Royhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10230978439930708047noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7782382387501739014.post-83913636135494865412021-07-24T09:06:00.007-07:002021-07-24T09:07:52.749-07:00The Importance of Beating Earnest - Summer 1932 -Spanking excerpt<p style="text-align: justify;"><br /></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><i>The recently posted story is pretty long so I thought you might like a taster to see if it appeals. It certainly appeals to me, as being spanked by a dominant lady on my bare bottom is still one of my abiding pleasures. It happens to Earnest in the summer of 1932 and all else that follows in the full story emanates from this defining moment. Pants down opportunities in Lockdown are few and far between. May my imagination compensate. <b>Alfred Roy</b></i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘What you did was reprehensible,
Earnest.’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘She asked for it.’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘She did not ask to be kicked.
There is no excuse.’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘She annoyed me.’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘And you, Earnest, showed a
temper. A very childish temper.’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘I’m sorry. I’ll go and
apologise.’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘You certainly will.’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘Yes.’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘After I have dealt with you.’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘Sorry?’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘After I have dealt with you. You
were very childish, Earnest, and as such you will be punished as a child.’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘What?’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘You will be punished as a child
would be punished Earnest. Am I making myself clear?’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘No.’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘I am going to spank you. Spank
you for kicking your sister. And after I have done so you can go and apologise
to her. Now, take down your trousers.’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">And, saying this, she stood up
and I saw and sensed her full height and the severity of her demeanour.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">She had meant what she said.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">My mind was in turmoil. A woman I
had not known less than a week before was proposing to take down my trousers
and spank me. No, she wasn’t proposing, she was going to do it. I sensed it in
her eyes and her stern expression. I stood frozen to the spot, letting the
unfamiliar words sink in. My mother had never spanked me, not that I can ever
remember, even though she had occasionally threatened both Holly and me. And
our father, regularly absent on diplomatic trips abroad, considered it a
distasteful task best left to the boarding school pedagogues. Or so he told me
on the rare occasions when I displeased him. But my school used a cane or strap
and I, mercifully, had suffered only the latter and only once. Three strokes,
bending down, for inattention in a Latin class. A spanking, especially from a woman,
especially with my trousers down, was to be an alien experience.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘I have never been spanked. Can’t
you just stop my pocket money?’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘I could, but you need, in my
opinion, a harsher lesson.’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘What if I refuse?’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘Refuse what, Earnest?’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘Refuse to let you spank me.’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘You can’t.’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘Or refuse to take down my
trousers.’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘Then I shall do it for you.’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘You have no right.’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘I have every right. I have your
mother’s permission.’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘I don’t believe you.’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘Believe what you wish Earnest,
but if you do not take down your trousers this minute it will be the worse for
you.’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘But I have never been spanked.’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘Then it is time you were, this
afternoon shows it is richly deserved and overdue.’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘Please miss, let me off.’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘Earnest, trousers down. Now.’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">The last instruction, her first
sign of anger, cut off my tearful pleading. As I fumbled with the belt of my
short summer trousers, she pulled out the chair and sat down in it again.
Standing to the right of her I saw her smooth her skirt and pat her knee. The
indication was clear. I was to be spanked as a small boy, even though I had
just turned twelve. The shame of this realisation coupled with the dropping of
my shorts to my ankles increased my distress and I started to blub even more. I
pleaded with her again to let me off but her answer was to pull me towards her
by my left arm and up end me over her lap. It was a strange position I had
never been in before. I saw the carpet rising up to meet my lowering face, I
felt the warmth of her body on my waist, and I experienced her lifting and
positioning me so that my bottom was exactly where she wanted it to be. If I
had any doubt about being spanked this was the moment when it deserted me. And
strangely it was also the moment when I seemed to calm a little. Faced with the
inevitable I had to steel myself for this new and unfamiliar experience. I took
deep breaths and waited for her to begin. For a moment she did nothing, clearly
looking at my prone figure and determining her action, or so I thought.
Everywhere seemed to be so quiet, as if the birds had stopped singing, the wind
cease blowing, and my sister stopping play. The latter, I later discovered, was
certainly true. In the stillness I held my breath, ceased the incipient tears,
and irrationally thought if I kept very quiet she would forget I was there.
Forget I was over her knee, trousers down at ankles, bottom in the air, waiting
to be spanked. As I said, an irrational thought killed by a sudden
recommencement of action. And with hindsight I should have known. I felt her
soft hands on my small summer top, lifting it up my back and then those same
hands and fingers inserting themselves into the waist of my underpants and
deftly pulling them down. All the way to my knees, both front and back. I
sensed my nakedness. I sensed my small penis pressing into her skirt and I
sensed the summer air on my now exposed bottom. All this happened in a moment
and then those hands touched my bottom cheeks, almost exploring, and I gritted
my teeth and screwed up my eyes. And then the left hand tightened at my waist
and the right hand firmly slapped into my naked right cheek. I was being
spanked for the first time and Miss Prudence Cavell, Aunt Prudence, was
determined to make sure I remembered it. I was getting it on my bare bottom.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">I do not know how long I was over
her knee. Probably no more than five minutes, but in that five minutes I
suffered the most painful experience that my small behind had ever endured.
Aunt Prudence spanked with a vigour and a will and left not an inch of my naked
bottom untouched. She only used her hand but it was a hand rich in expertise at
finding the most tender flesh. Only my bottom and the uppermost part of my
thighs felt her relentless sting but, much as I tried to anticipate, I never
knew where she would strike next. After the first twenty or so I was in tears
and pleading for her to stop but this only seemed to will her on to even harder
slaps and by the time I had received another thirty or so those tears were
practically exhausted and involuntary blubs and sobs had taken their place.
Suddenly the smacks from her avenging palm got harder and slower and I both
sensed and hoped that my spanking was coming to an end. Eventually it did, with
two resounding slaps to each bare cheek, and in the silence that followed I could
hear her breathing hard. I made no attempt to rise and she made no attempt to
make me do so. I just lay there, exhausted and semi naked across her lap, as a
calming influence came over both of us. My bottom was on fire with a burning
and throbbing alien to my senses and my mind was still in turmoil from the
whole experience. But gradually a warmth came over, a warmth which translated
into an emotional feeling for my chastiser. Even whilst still over her knee I
wanted to get up and kiss her and say thank you. Thank you for spanking me.
Perhaps she sensed it, for after what seemed no more than a few seconds she
gently tapped my scorched cheeks and bid me rise. The spanking was over.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p> </o:p></p>Alfred Royhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10230978439930708047noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7782382387501739014.post-32217677331276057902021-07-24T08:58:00.000-07:002021-07-24T08:58:39.264-07:00The Importance of Beating Earnest (F/m) - Summer 1932 - Winter 1999<p> <i>This is a long story and was written during a period when I was waiting to say goodbye to my lovely elder brother. He would understand, it was a distraction needed at a traumatic time. If you liked the taster, posted above, then hopefully you will enjoy Earnest's journey. <b>Alfred Roy</b></i></p><p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">The Importance of
Beating Earnest. (Summer 1932 – Winter 1999)<o:p></o:p></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Summer 1932<o:p></o:p></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">I shall never forget my Aunt
Prudence. She wasn’t really my aunt but that is what I later called her. She
was more of a governess, first employed by my mother one summer for some reason
I have forgotten. I was about twelve and my sister, Holly, was two years older.
We lived in a large house in the coastal town of Lyme Regis and during that
particular summer my mother was away for a few weeks, some relative had died I
think, and Prudence Cavell was employed to look after us. Only a jobbing
gardener and his cook housekeeper wife, both in their sixties, lived in the
grounds of our house and were not considered suitable chaperones. Miss Cavell had
come highly recommended by my mother’s sister. Thinking about it I think it was
her who had died, but it is all so long ago I cannot be sure. I have forgotten
the details. But I have not forgotten Aunt Prudence, as I prefer to call her. I
haven’t forgotten her because about a week after my mother went away she
spanked me. And it was no ordinary spanking.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">I had been playing in the garden
with my sister when she did or said something that angered me. Again I cannot
remember what but I remember kicking her and her howl was almost instantly
followed by a call from Aunt Prudence. My name, Earnest, rang out in stentorian
tones. I had been seen and I was in trouble. I knew that. Aunt Prudence struck
both Holly and me as pretty stern and house rules had been studiously laid down
by both my mother and her. They did not bother us too much as we were both
boarding school pupils and were used to petty and not so petty regulations. And
we could circumvent most of them. And, besides, Prudence Cavell wasn’t an ogre
and mild transgressions were amusingly tolerated. But this wasn’t mild, I had
kicked my sister, and making my way into the house I knew that I was going to
get a strict telling off. Or so I thought.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">We were in the large living room
which overlooked the garden and Aunt Prudence was sitting at a window table writing
a letter. This was the 1930’s and people did such old fashioned things in those
days. She was an elegant woman. Slim, quite tall, and with a pleasing face
framed by short burnt ginger hair. At the time I would have said she was about
forty years of age, young boys have little idea of such details, but later in
life I realised that she could not have been more than twenty eight. She
continued writing her letter and calmly told me to stand and wait until she had
finished. There was an edge to her voice which I had rarely heard and I steeled
myself for a long and boring lecture. After what seemed an age she put her pen
down and turned to me.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘What you did was reprehensible,
Earnest.’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘She asked for it.’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘She did not ask to be kicked.
There is no excuse.’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘She annoyed me.’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘And you, Earnest, showed a
temper. A very childish temper.’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘I’m sorry. I’ll go and
apologise.’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘You certainly will.’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘Yes.’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘After I have dealt with you.’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘Sorry?’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘After I have dealt with you. You
were very childish, Earnest, and as such you will be punished as a child.’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘What?’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘You will be punished as a child
would be punished Earnest. Am I making myself clear?’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘No.’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘I am going to spank you. Spank
you for kicking your sister. And after I have done so you can go and apologise
to her. Now, take down your trousers.’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">And, saying this, she stood up
and I saw and sensed her full height and the severity of her demeanour.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">She had meant what she said.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">My mind was in turmoil. A woman I
had not known less than a week before was proposing to take down my trousers
and spank me. No, she wasn’t proposing, she was going to do it. I sensed it in
her eyes and her stern expression. I stood frozen to the spot, letting the
unfamiliar words sink in. My mother had never spanked me, not that I can ever
remember, even though she had occasionally threatened both Holly and me. And
our father, regularly absent on diplomatic trips abroad, considered it a
distasteful task best left to the boarding school pedagogues. Or so he told me
on the rare occasions when I displeased him. But my school used a cane or strap
and I, mercifully, had suffered only the latter and only once. Three strokes,
bending down, for inattention in a Latin class. A spanking, especially from a woman,
especially with my trousers down, was to be an alien experience.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘I have never been spanked. Can’t
you just stop my pocket money?’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘I could, but you need, in my
opinion, a harsher lesson.’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘What if I refuse?’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘Refuse what, Earnest?’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘Refuse to let you spank me.’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘You can’t.’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘Or refuse to take down my
trousers.’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘Then I shall do it for you.’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘You have no right.’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘I have every right. I have your
mother’s permission.’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘I don’t believe you.’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘Believe what you wish Earnest,
but if you do not take down your trousers this minute it will be the worse for
you.’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘But I have never been spanked.’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘Then it is time you were, this
afternoon shows it is richly deserved and overdue.’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘Please miss, let me off.’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘Earnest, trousers down. Now.’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">The last instruction, her first
sign of anger, cut off my tearful pleading. As I fumbled with the belt of my
short summer trousers, she pulled out the chair and sat down in it again.
Standing to the right of her I saw her smooth her skirt and pat her knee. The
indication was clear. I was to be spanked as a small boy, even though I had
just turned twelve. The shame of this realisation coupled with the dropping of
my shorts to my ankles increased my distress and I started to blub even more. I
pleaded with her again to let me off but her answer was to pull me towards her
by my left arm and up end me over her lap. It was a strange position I had
never been in before. I saw the carpet rising up to meet my lowering face, I
felt the warmth of her body on my waist, and I experienced her lifting and
positioning me so that my bottom was exactly where she wanted it to be. If I
had any doubt about being spanked this was the moment when it deserted me. And
strangely it was also the moment when I seemed to calm a little. Faced with the
inevitable I had to steel myself for this new and unfamiliar experience. I took
deep breaths and waited for her to begin. For a moment she did nothing, clearly
looking at my prone figure and determining her action, or so I thought.
Everywhere seemed to be so quiet, as if the birds had stopped singing, the wind
cease blowing, and my sister stopping play. The latter, I later discovered, was
certainly true. In the stillness I held my breath, ceased the incipient tears,
and irrationally thought if I kept very quiet she would forget I was there.
Forget I was over her knee, trousers down at ankles, bottom in the air, waiting
to be spanked. As I said, an irrational thought killed by a sudden
recommencement of action. And with hindsight I should have known. I felt her
soft hands on my small summer top, lifting it up my back and then those same
hands and fingers inserting themselves into the waist of my underpants and
deftly pulling them down. All the way to my knees, both front and back. I
sensed my nakedness. I sensed my small penis pressing into her skirt and I
sensed the summer air on my now exposed bottom. All this happened in a moment
and then those hands touched my bottom cheeks, almost exploring, and I gritted
my teeth and screwed up my eyes. And then the left hand tightened at my waist
and the right hand firmly slapped into my naked right cheek. I was being
spanked for the first time and Miss Prudence Cavell, Aunt Prudence, was
determined to make sure I remembered it. I was getting it on my bare bottom.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">I do not know how long I was over
her knee. Probably no more than five minutes, but in that five minutes I
suffered the most painful experience that my small behind had ever endured.
Aunt Prudence spanked with a vigour and a will and left not an inch of my naked
bottom untouched. She only used her hand but it was a hand rich in expertise at
finding the most tender flesh. Only my bottom and the uppermost part of my
thighs felt her relentless sting but, much as I tried to anticipate, I never
knew where she would strike next. After the first twenty or so I was in tears
and pleading for her to stop but this only seemed to will her on to even harder
slaps and by the time I had received another thirty or so those tears were
practically exhausted and involuntary blubs and sobs had taken their place.
Suddenly the smacks from her avenging palm got harder and slower and I both
sensed and hoped that my spanking was coming to an end. Eventually it did, with
two resounding slaps to each bare cheek, and in the silence that followed I could
hear her breathing hard. I made no attempt to rise and she made no attempt to
make me do so. I just lay there, exhausted and semi naked across her lap, as a
calming influence came over both of us. My bottom was on fire with a burning
and throbbing alien to my senses and my mind was still in turmoil from the
whole experience. But gradually a warmth came over, a warmth which translated
into an emotional feeling for my chastiser. Even whilst still over her knee I
wanted to get up and kiss her and say thank you. Thank you for spanking me.
Perhaps she sensed it, for after what seemed no more than a few seconds she
gently tapped my scorched cheeks and bid me rise. The spanking was over.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">I was a bit subdued for the rest
of the day but like most young boys of the time I soon recovered. I was a bit
nonplussed when my sister told me she had witnessed it all, or most of it
through the garden window. Had heard the smacking and, curious at the sounds,
arrived in time to see my bare bottom in the air getting the last thirty or so
slaps. Fascinating she said and giggled. I wished her a similar experience,
sadly never to come, and went to my room to reflect. Now that the burning had
calmed down the after effect was not unpleasant and that, coupled with a
rekindling of a picture of me over Miss Cavell’s knee, shorts and underpants
adrift, played with my emotions. If I had no desire for a repeat I equally had
no fear of it. As it happened I did get a repeat whacking from her but it was
of a very different form and with a weapon much more fearsome than her palm.
Three weeks after that unexpected bare bottom spanking Miss Prudence Cavell, my
aunt Prudence as I now fondly remember her, caned me. A week later my mother
returned home and I was not to see her again for two years. But she was
constantly in my mind.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Summer 1934 – Part One<o:p></o:p></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Looking back I am now convinced
that Miss Cavell had a completely different approach to girls and boys. No
matter what trouble my sister Holly got into she never received more than a
mild disapproval of her conduct. The worst punishment she got, for staying out
late one evening, was to be confined to her room the following day. And she was
never threatened with anything else. I, following that sudden spanking, was
conversely threatened at every turn. Behave Earnest, you know what happened
last week, was a constant retort when I displeased. Allright, I was only twelve
and my sister was a developing fourteen year old but that did not really
explain it. I reckon my mother had said that she could smack my bottom if
needed, a thing she had never done, but did not extend that rule to Holly. I
ruminated on all this when my mother informed us that Miss Cavell was coming
back for a few weeks this second summer. She was going to join our father on
one of his many diplomatic trips and given the successful previous visit was
happy to employ our governess again. After all, neither Holly nor I had
complained about her. Quite the contrary, my mother enthused, you were full of
praise for her. Surprisingly that was true, even though a few days before she
had left Miss Prudence Cavell had given me a second taste of her disciplinary
powers. If my mother had arrived home the same or following day I would
probably have pleaded with her to never employ the woman again. But by the time
she did arrive home six more days had passed and my experience had moved from
exceedingly painful and humiliating to pleasant and confusing physical and
emotional warmth. And now she was coming back.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">She had waited until Holly was
out. The gardener and his housekeeper wife had taken her to Sidmouth for the
day. I thought I was going with them but Miss Cavell declined. Earnest is in
trouble, she said, he can stay here for the day but you can take him as well
the next time you go. I knew I was in trouble and, naively, thought this was to
be my punishment. The spanking long forgotten. Two days earlier I had been
brought home by the local police. A local Lyme Regis boy and myself had been
caught stealing fruit from a market stall. We had done it before, mainly out of
devilment and boredom, and the stallholder was getting wise to it. He tried to
grab us and in our eagerness to escape we knocked over one of his wheelbarrows
and a variety of vegetables cascaded down the street. The local bobby, apprised
of the possibility by the stallholder, saw all and grabbed the pair of us
before we had gone too far. The stallholder, a reasonable man, had no wish to
press charges even though he was a bit miffed at having to rescue his sprawling
vegetables. The bobby took us both to our respective homes and suggested, both
to my pal’s father and to our ageing gardener, that warmed backsides would not
come amiss. They all grinned and I and my friend sheepishly joined in. It was
clear later that Miss Cavell had been informed of the situation but she said
nothing, either then or the following day, and I assumed all was forgotten
until the denial of a Sidmouth trip. And, much later, a call to join her in the
garden living room. As on a previous memorable occasion she was sitting at the
window table but not, as before, writing a letter.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘I think it is time we settled
this problem, Earnest.’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘What problem, Miss Cavell?’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘Do not be obtuse, Earnest, you
know exactly what problem I mean.’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘The market stall?’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘Yes. And how to deal with it.’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘I thought you had, Miss.’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘How?’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘By stopping me going to Sidmouth
for the day.’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘You think that is enough?’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘Yes.’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘A little unfair on your friend,
do you not think.’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘Why?’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘I saw his father yesterday and
we chatted about it. We both thought the stallholder was very lenient with you
both.’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘Yes.’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘He could have pressed charges.’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘Yes.’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘Which would have been very
distressing.’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘Yes.’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘For all of us. Not least your
mother.’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘You don’t have to tell my
mother, do you?’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘No, but I would have if you had
been taken to a juvenile court. As it is your friend’s father dealt with the
matter himself. And I intend to do the same.’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">When she suddenly stood up I had
an inkling of where this was going. We were alone in the house, in the very
room where I had received my unexpected spanking. She was dressed in the same
dark blouse and tight fitting skirt that she had worn that day. The same burnt
ginger hair framed the same pleasing face but the dark eyes, usually so
friendly, had a determined and frightening look. She towered over me, or seemed
to in that moment, and I became very conscious of my small frame and my thick
dark blue summer shorts. It was then that my stomach began to churn.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘Your friend smarted profusely
under his father’s strap and will probably not be able to sit comfortably for a
while. Unfortunately I do not have a strap, otherwise you would definitely feel
it Earnest.’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘Yes, I suppose so, Miss.’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘So I will have to consider
alternatives.’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘Are you, are you, going to spank
me again?’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘Good heavens no. This is far too
serious for that. I understand from your friend’s father that the strapping
consisted of a good two dozen across his son’s bare behind. He is probably
still crying. Deservedly so. To spank you, in my opinion, would be practically
to let you off.’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Remembering my previous
experience I did not think so but was not prepared to say. I sensed that things
were getting serious.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘I do not have a strap, but
fortunately I do have a cane. It is time you felt it, young man. And do not
protest, I think you know that when I make up my mind it is not deflected. Bend
over that armchair.’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Three things registered with me
in that moment. We were alone, conspired and arranged, in the room where I had
first experienced Miss Cavell’s disciplinary powers. Echoes of bare bottom in
the air, over her knee, zapped my brain. The chair, incongruously in the centre
of the room, registered its significance for the first time, and on the table I
finally saw the cane. Long and smooth and brown, it had been there all the
while but only now did I see it. She picked it up and I started to cry. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘I said bend over, Earnest. Do
not keep me waiting or it will be the worst for you.’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘Please Miss, I am sorry.’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘Of course you are, and you will
be even sorrier after your caning. Six on your shorts and the rest, as I
decide, more severe.’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">The words, threatening, reduced
me to further tears and I bent over the back of the upholstered chair, as instructed,
and gripped the arms. Resistance was useless. We both knew that. I was about to
be caned and I knew not how many or in what state.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">I was very soon to find out.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">My tears were now flowing
copiously and this was before I was caned. I screwed up my eyes, gripped onto
the chairs side, and waited. I had never been caned, either at home or school,
and had no idea how much it would hurt. All I knew was that my bottom was in
the air and was soon to feel incredible pain. Or so I thought. And, how, I was
not wrong. The cane tapped on to my trouser seat and Miss Cavell informed that
I would get six and she expected me to take them without rising. I muttered
something, I do not know what, and my response was instantly followed by a resounding
thwack across my behind. The pain stung so much I was tempted to rise and beg
forgiveness. There was a burning in my behind that I can only describe as
excruciating. And that swipe, instantly followed by two more induced howls and
discomfort. How I stayed in place I will never know. But I did. Six strokes she
had said, only three more to go, and if I absorbed all without rising then
maybe, just maybe, I shall receive some sort of approbation. How strange to
feel such thoughts when your backside is being lacerated. And lacerated it was.
The three that followed cut into my short covered behind, both high and low,
and I howled even more. But I did not rise. I only did so, when sobbing and
contrite and pleading, she said I could get up. But only to lower my shorts and
underpants. I was to get twelve more, she said, on my bare behind. Be thankful,
Earnest, she said, if this was a strap rather than a cane you would get twenty
four. I wailed.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘Please Miss’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘Lower your shorts, Earnest.’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘Please Miss, let me keep them
on.’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘No, Earnest. It would not be
fair on your friend. Lower your shorts.’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">I did so reluctantly, still
sobbing.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘And your underpants, please.
Right down.’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">I did as she bid. I knew there
was no point in arguing with her anymore. My bottom was aching from the first
six of the cane and now, I knew, I had twelve more to come. On my bare behind.
My pants came down slowly, revealing everything below my waist. I did not care
that she saw this, I was only twelve, but I did care about the cane in her hand
and what it was shortly to do. I rubbed my sore bottom and turned to glance at
her, pleading eyes saying please do not hurt me. Or not too much. I somehow
knew it would be a futile plea. She was tapping the cane impatiently against
her thigh, eager to continue my chastisement. I sobbed again, almost wailed I
think, and opened my mouth as if to issue one final begging to be let off.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘Bend over the chair, Earnest. Do
not keep me waiting and then this will soon be over.’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">I gulped and slowly did as I was
told. I grip tightly onto the arms of the chair, trying to take comfort from
the soft upholstery. I sensed her step towards me and lift my summer top, a
pale blue cotton, away from my naked behind. I equally sensed her assessing
that naked target area for her unrelenting cane. Hold still, she said, as she
tapped it against my bottom. I steeled myself and inwardly sobbed again, an
involuntary signal that I was ready. As ready as I ever would be. There is a
moment when being caned, especially in this sort of situation, when time seems
to stand still. A moment when all breath is held and the action frozen in time.
And then the cane swoops down, lands emphatically across the arched and
perversely welcoming backside, and leaves a weal and a sting that transmits to
both bottom and brain a fiery pain that engulfs the senses. Broken only by the
ensuing scream. I howled and wriggled when that first stroke struck into me.
The fire was corrosive, the throb and sting all embracing. I wriggled and
howled again. It did not deflect my chastiser. She brought the cane down again
with a vicious swing and as it connected in a similar place to the first I
howled even more and by the sixth, I could take no more, I rose, pleading and
sobbing for reprieve. I clutched my bottom, sore and tender and on fire with
ridges I could feel were inches high. My shorts and pants were at my feet and I
begged for forgiveness. I must have made a sorry figure.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">She looked at me, calmly, waiting
for me to regain my composure, if such a thing was possible.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘Take them right off Earnest.
Take off your shorts and underpants. They get in the way.’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘Please Miss, please Miss Cavell,
don’t cane me anymore. Please let me off.’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘No, Earnest, I said you were to
get twelve strokes of the cane on you bare bottom and twelve strokes of the
cane it will be. You only have six to go and then you will thank me.’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘No.’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">I wailed again.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘Not now maybe, but later.’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘I hate you.’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘I doubt it, but I understand.
But now take those shorts and pants off and bend over the armchair again for
your final six. Think of your friend.’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">I did as she bid again. You could
not argue with Miss Cavell. Everything she said made sense, if only afterwards.
I sobbingly pulled off my shorts and underpants and stood facing her, covered
only by my summer top. I was still rubbing my behind, desperately trying to
ease the sting, when I bent over for my final six. And then she said something
which has remained with me for the many years of my adult life. It has remained
with me because her saying it and my reaction said much about my incipient
sexuality. I was only twelve but one day I would be a man. I understood none of
it at the time but maturity fills in many gaps. She said, raise your bottom
Earnest, raise it up so that I have a good target, and I can give you what you
know you deserve and need. And I did so. In spite of my sobbing, my wailing, my
protestations, my pleading to be let off, I did as she asked. I raised my
lacerated bottom, six of the cane on shorts, six on bare, and silently invited
the final six strokes. Higher she said, and I did, compliantly. Two in a dance
of pain. One to wield and one to suffer. I screamed and howled at those last
six, stroke after stroke searing lashing my naked cheeks. I writhed and
wriggled but I stayed in place, absorbing every fiery sting. And when she had
finished I ran from the room, clutching my burning bottom, and ascended the
stairs to my bedroom and flung myself down on the bed. Cursing my tormentor and
rubbing, furiously, at a behind I was convinced would never recover. I think I
cried for nearly an hour.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">She came into my room later. I
think my crying had stopped. I felt her hands and some cold cream on my bottom,
gently and soothingly easing my pain. I will still laying face down on my bed
and I welcomed her touch. Soon be better, she said, but had to be done. And
then she left. And a week later with little else said she left our house for
good. Sadly missed in spite of everything. And now she was coming back and I
had so many questions to ask her. I was now fourteen and I had never forgotten.
Never forgot all she had done to me. I both feared and thrilled her return and
understood neither emotion. All I knew was that Miss Prudence Cavell was
returning and I could not wait to see her.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Summer 1934 – Part Two<o:p></o:p></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><o:p> </o:p></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘Where did you get the cane?’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘Why on earth do you want to know
that, Earnest?’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘Because I know you have brought
it with you again.’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘Did your friend tell you that?’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘Yes, when I saw him yesterday.’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘I see.’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘He told me you had lent it to
his dad.’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘I hope it was put to good use,
Earnest.’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘It was. His dad caned him twelve
times with it.’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘Not enough, considering what he
did.’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘They were on his bare behind.’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘I should hope so, Earnest.’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘You still haven’t told me where
you got it.’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘And I have no intention of doing
so. It is the one I brought with me two years ago. I am sure you remember
that.’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘Yes. Have you always had one?’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘Since I became a governess, yes.
Almost ten years. A very useful weapon.’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘I know. Have you caned many
people with it?’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘You are asking too many
questions, Earnest. Finish your meal and then come and help me with the washing
up.’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">I was asking too many questions.
My Lyme Regis pal told me that his dad had borrowed the cane from someone and
he thought it might be my governess. He had started a fire at the bottom of
their garden, to roast some spuds he said, and almost burnt down their shed.
The fire brigade was called and there was mayhem. I thoroughly enjoyed watching
it all. I didn’t see my pal for a few days and when I did he told me how his
dad had reacted. The same night, whilst the embers of the fire were still
emitting faint traces of wet smoke, he had been taken to his room and whacked on
his bare behind with the most vicious cane. He knew he would be punished but he
thought it would be his dad’s strap, the usual weapon of choice. He was
gobsmacked when his dad came into his room brandishing the cane. Borrowed this
from a lady friend, he said, so drop your pants and let’s create another fire.
I just knew it was Miss Cavell’s, it had to be. His dad knew that she had caned
me two years before because his son had told him at the time. What I did not
know, but was to find out later, that in exchange he had lent her his strap.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">It came about quite out of the
blue. Miss Cavell had been with us for about a month and apart from a couple of
occasions when, frowning at some minor misdemeanour, she alluded to her
disciplinary powers we had got on very well. You are not too old at fourteen to
be spanked Earnest, she said a couple of times. Once when I dropped and broke a
posh dinner plate whilst washing up and once, slightly more seriously, when she
caught me trying one of my father’s cigarettes from a fancy case in his study.
But she smiled when she issued these minor threats and I sheepishly grinned.
But all in all we got on very well. She regularly took both Holly and me to the
cinema and to restaurants, most enjoyable, and shopping which wasn’t. Women
shopping, and Holly was now nearly a woman, is very boring to fourteen year old
boys. And we often did jigsaws together in the evening and listened to music on
the radio. But one evening, a particularly rainy one I seem to remember, whilst
Holly and I were reading she came into the living room and told Holly to go to
her bedroom and to stay there until called. I thought for a moment that Holly
was in trouble but within a few moments I realised it was me. Miss Prudence
Cavell had that familiar look in her eyes that, two years before, had painful
consequences for me.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘Well, young man?’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘Well what?’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘Well what, Miss Cavell.’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘What Miss Cavell?’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘I think you know perfectly well,
Earnest. But I would like you to tell me so that I can decide how to deal with
it.’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘I don’t.’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘I think you do and the more you
prevaricate, the worse it will be. I have already spoken to your mother.’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘My mother?’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘Yes. She telephoned me this
morning to see how things were going with you and Holly. Very well I said.
Except for one pressing problem.’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘Concerning me?’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘Concerning you and a Mr
Peabody.’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘Oh that.’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘Yes, Earnest, that. I think I
deserve an explanation.’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘It was nothing to do with me.’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘Mr Peabody says there were three
of you and you were trespassing.’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘We weren’t trespassing.’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘Oh, so you admit you were one of
them.’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘We were just mooching around.
Nothing much to do in Lyme Regis when it’s cold.’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘Mr Peabody says you were
trespassing on private property. A group of flats of which he is the warden. He
told you all to clear off.’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘Which we did. Honest.’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘I see little honesty here
Earnest, not unless you tell me the rest.’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘He threatened to shoot us. Was
going to get his gun, he said. Stupid man. We just laughed. But we went.’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘But not before doing a
considerable amount of damage to his vegetable plot.’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘Well, wouldn’t you take the
quickest way out when threatened with a gun?’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘I am asking the questions,
Earnest. You answer them.’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘There isn’t anymore.’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘There is Earnest, and you know
it. As they left two of the boys pulled down their shorts and exposed
themselves to him and two middle aged ladies who had come out to see what all
the fuss was about.’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘That wasn’t me.’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘No. It wasn’t you. Mr Peabody
recognised the boy who did not pull down his shorts. But he was encouraging them
and laughing. That is how I came to be told.’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘What did my mother say?’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘She said I should deal with the
matter as I saw fit.’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">I gulped.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">I knew then that I was in serious
trouble. I should have realised when she entered the living room wearing a
similar severe looking blouse and skirt that echoed earlier unpleasant previous
experiences. Usually in the evening she wore slacks and a loose top. I
protested that we had only ambled around the flats, that Mr Peabody was a
danger to the public, and any damage done was because he had scared us with his
threat. There then followed a lecture about public schoolboys setting an
example for the local youths and, far from being frightened, we were all
laughing at the ridiculous man and exposing ourselves to both him and two
sensitive women. Not me, I said, and not willies. It did me no good. Mr Peabody
was the stallholder who had got me in trouble before and that is why he
recognised me even if I thought I had changed in the two years since I
overturned his wheelbarrow. Like the previous occasion he would not press
charges, providing I gave the names of my companions and that, in his words, we
all got a damn good thrashing and he got to see the results. I could not comply
with the request to reveal names, schoolboy honour, and in not doing so I knew
that the second part of his ultimatum would be doubly fulfilled.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘What are you going to do?’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘What do you expect?’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘That you will cane me. Or spank
me.’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘Spank you? I think you are a
little too old for that. Besides, that punishment would be too mild.’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘What did my mother say?’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘She has left it in my hands. I
said I would do what is necessary.’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘To please Mr Peabody.’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘Do not be flippant. Earnest, it
does not suit you.’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘Sorry.’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘I have borrowed your friend’s
father’s strap. It seems to me to be appropriate. After all, he is well
acquainted with it and I have no doubt he was one of the other two boys. Boys
you refuse to name.’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘I can’t.’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘No’ I understand that. But it
will not lesson your punishment. I intend to give you eighteen strokes of his
strap. I have no choice. On your bare backside. So get yourself ready. You know
what to expect.’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘Must I?’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘Yes. And then we shall have to take
you round to Mr Peabody. He was insistent on that.’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">And with that final declaration
she moved to the chair, my punishment chair as I strangely thought, and placed
it in the middle of the room. I moved towards it, trembling, fearful, but
resigned. It was as I fumbled with the belt of my shorts, readying myself to
lower them, that I saw Holly standing in the doorway. Transfixed. I paused. I
thought Miss Cavell was going to send her back to her room whilst she strapped
me. But for some reason she decided against it. Holly said she realised quickly
why she had been sent out. She had seen my first spanking two years before,
never forgotten it, and knew that I had also been caned. She could tell from my
demeanour when she came home and, besides, the cane was still lying around.
Almost as a message to the household. She had guessed, or more likely hoped,
that it would happen again sometime during this visit. She would like to watch.
I just stood by the armchair, blushing violently and keeping silent whilst my
sister and our governess had the weirdest debate I have ever heard. By the time
they finished talking I was crimson beetroot, breathing heavily, and on the
verge of tears.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘Watch, Holly?’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘Yes, watch.’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘Watch me give a strapping to
your young brother?’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘Yes.’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘On his bare behind?’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘Yes. Why not.’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘Why not what? Why not on his
bare behind, or why not allow you to watch?’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘Both.’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘Why would it interest you?’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘It doesn’t, but you are going to
strap him anyway. I know that, and I know you have done it twice before. I
could stay in my room and imagine it all.’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘But you don’t want to.’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘No.’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘Why?’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘It might be worse in my mind
than seeing it. I love my younger brother but I know he can be a pain. Probably
deserves all he gets. Seeing you deal with him makes it more bearable.’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘But what about Earnest? If you
stay I could let him retain his shorts and underpants. Save some
embarrassment.’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘Somehow, I don’t think you would
do that.’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘No, definitely not. This will be
as much for Mr Peabody as anyone. It has to be on his bare behind.’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘Which you have seen a few times,
at least twice, so Earnest must be getting used to it.’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘I will not hold back, just
because you are here. It is to be eighteen strokes of the strap and I shall be
obliged if you remain still and silent whilst I administer it.’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘I promise.’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘It will add to Earnest’s
humiliation. After all, he may not have exposed himself, but he was happy for
others to do so. Knowing his sister can see his bare bottom being strapped may
add to his shame.’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘Yes.’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Earnest. Lower your shorts and
bend over the chair. We have waited long enough.’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">I was mortified. It clearly did
interest my sister to see me get strapped, in spite of what she said. Her face
was flushed and her eyes sparkling. I reckon Miss Cavell knew this and decided
it would add to my shame especially as she would not be deflected and I was to
get it on the bare behind. If I had any fervent wishes as I undid my shorts and
pushed them down it was that one day I might see Holly getting the same
treatment. And as I bent over the back of the chair and clung on to the arms my
futile wish was that she would be devoid of knickers when it happened. Miss
Cavell approached my prone position and lifted up my top. Nothing was to get in
the way and I sensed this was going to really hurt. Mr Peabody wanted to see
the evidence. The strap was made of thick brown leather, two strips sealed
together, and was about eighteen inches long and a couple of inches wide. I
knew all this because I saw it on the armchair when she had crossed to move it
into position. She had just picked it up when Holly came in. It could do a lot
of damage to a boy’s unprotected behind. I waited and that behind, mine, felt
the underpants being pulled down. Not all the way down as when I was caned,
probably because Holly was in the room, but enough to make sure both of my
bottom cheeks were fully exposed. I flinched and waited. Eighteen strokes, she
said, and I would not get up if I were you Earnest if you wish to avoid any
extra embarrassment. Just for a second it all went quiet, Holly was clearly
holding her breath, and then the strap landed right across the centre of my
behind with a resounding thwack. I gasped, the pain was awesome. And then the
next followed, and the next, quicker and quicker and harder and harder and I
gasped and squirmed even more. Aaagh, I said, ineloquently. The strapped lash
into my naked backside and sent fiery pain both across it and up into my brain.
After seven or eight I jumped up, clutching my now burning bottom, and crying
tearfully for her to stop. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Looking back I can only think
that Miss Cavell was unfamiliar with the weapon and was testing it out quickly
to see its effect. But a combination of her speed, power, and accuracy as it
savaged my poor bottom made it impossible to stay in place. Fortunately the
half lowering of my underpants meant that, even as I cavorted, decency in front
was maintained. I am sorry I tearfully said as looking into Miss Cavell’s
strangely sad face, I bent over again and presented my throbbing and scarlet
rear. And then something very peculiar happened. She said, very quietly, just
four more Earnest, we will stop at twelve. I think we can satisfy Mr Peabody. Then
she gave me those final four. They were as hard as the previous eight but
slower and more measured. Easier for me to absorb even though I gasped and
howled at each one. I rose and turned and, remembering Holly, pulled up my
underpants and shorts and left the room. Half an hour later, bottom still a
glowing fire, the two of us walked to Mr Peabody’s. The ten minutes I spent
there were the strangest ten minutes of my life.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘I trust you have dealt with the
boy?’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘That is why we are here Mr
Peabody.’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘Has he told you the names of the
other two boys?’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘He will not do that.’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘Schoolboy’s honour eh?’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘Something like that.’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘Then you ought to thrash him
again.’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘That was not part of the agreement.’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘No.’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘You said, Mr Peabody, that if
Earnest was chastised for his part in the unfortunate incident that you would
not press charges against him.’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘I did.’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘And you are also an honourable
man.’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘I am, but I want to see the
evidence.’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘That is why we are here.
Earnest, show Mr Peabody your bottom.’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">I had not said anything, and was
not to do so now. I undid my shorts and turned my back to Mr Peabody and
lowered them to my knees. He walked over to me, so close I could smell the beer
and tobacco on his breath, and roughly pulled my underpants all the way down. I
was glad Holly was not there. Then he lifted my top and gave a small whistle. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘That is certainly a well tanned
backside, Miss Cavell, no doubt about that. Lots of scarlet bruises across both
buttocks, just as it should be. He won’t be sitting down for a while.’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">So Mr Peabody was satisfied and
when we got back home and I looked myself in my bedroom mirror, boys always do,
I could see why. There were numerous thick red strap marks across both of my
cheeks, going purple at the edges. I knew from my previous experience of Miss
Cavell’s cane that these would last quite a while. But unlike that previous
experience, I was only twelve then and now I was fourteen, that night I had my
first nocturnal emission. I had a boy’s first wet dream.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">I never told Miss Cavell.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Spring 1938<o:p></o:p></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><o:p> </o:p></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">I had seen Miss Cavell a few
times in the years between 1934 and 1938. Things were getting very unsettled in
Europe and my father was regularly away and, occasionally, my mother went with
him. Even when she didn’t Miss Cavell would come and stay with us for a week or
so for a holiday. My mother and she got on terribly well, too well I sometimes
thought thinking back to their arrangement regarding me. But I was no longer a
twelve or fourteen year old boy and was in no need of a governess. In the
holidays I often stayed with my father’s parents in the Cotswolds and Holly,
now nearing twenty, had a flat in London. It was quite fun when Miss Cavell
stayed with us because, even though there was never any danger of me getting
smacked, it was occasionally alluded to. Even in front of my mother. Once, I
think I was nearly seventeen, I got a bit drunk on some sweet wine at an
evening dinner and knocked over a vase of flowers and was soaked. Much laughter
followed and then Miss Cavell said, quite seriously to my mother, I would have
spanked him for that a few years ago. I had the decency to blush before we all
laughed again. But in the spring of 1938 we were thrown together again. And
this time it was just the two of us in her delightful small cottage in
Northumbria. It was only for ten days but it was memorable. Especially
memorable for me as it was the last time Miss Cavell caned me. The weekend
before I left. And it was at my request. I need to explain.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">I was in love with her. Had been
ever since that afternoon when she took a twelve year old over her knee and
spanked his bare bottom. I remember thinking on that memorable day that I had
an overwhelming desire to hug her and kiss her after she had dealt with me. The
caning and the strapping I had, the latter when I was fourteen, were momentous
and painful but surprisingly the aftermath of both was not unpleasant. I
particularly remember the Peabody strapping, as I call it, because I gazed at
my backside in the mirror for ages afterwards. I was fascinated by the wide
blazing red strap marks across both of my cheeks, heightened by the pure white
of the surrounding skin. I could not stop touching them, feeling the hard
ridges and the warmth. I reckon it was then that I realised, although the
complete realisation did not come for some years, that I was a total
submissive. I enjoyed pain, humiliating and painful pain, as long as it was on my
bottom. Ever afterwards I had fantasised about Miss Cavell and what she did,
and in my mind I had many repeats. And my body had many emissions. And now, due
to my parents being called away suddenly and not wishing me to be on my own, I
was spending ten days in Miss Cavell’s cottage. Just the two of us. I would
soon be eighteen, my hormones were raging. But not for sex, certainly not with
Miss Cavell. But how I wanted her to thrash my naked bottom. The question was,
could I arrange it?</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘Earnest.’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘Yes?’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘You seem distracted.’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘I am.’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘Why? Surely you are not worried
about what happened today?’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘Only for you, Miss Cavell.’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘Prudence. Prudence, Earnest. I
have told you often enough that you are now old enough to call me Prudence.’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘I can’t. It does not seem
right.’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘Aunt Prudence then,’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘Yes, that sounds better. Aunt
Prudence.’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">We both giggled. Wine after a
super meal had freely followed a trying day.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘Aunt Prudence. Smacker of
naughty boy’s bottoms.’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘Not anymore, Earnest. You are
not a boy anymore.’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘That is what you said to the
policeman.’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘Did I?’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘Yes. You said, when this young
man was fourteen I would have smacked his bottom for this. As it is I shall
just have to pay his fine.’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘He laughed.’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘I know.’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘But he also said, he don’t look
too old to me Miss. My boys are his age and they still get my belt when called
for. You looked aghast.’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘I was embarrassed.’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘At being reminded of your
stupidity, or at being reminded of what could have happened if you were<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>a few years younger?’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘Both.’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘Well just be glad you are nearly
eighteen because, believe me Earnest, much as I have enjoyed having you with me,
a couple of years ago I would have had you dropping those pants.’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">I went very quiet.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘Earnest, do you want to say
something?’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘Yes.’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘Go on.’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘I think you should.’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘Should what?’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘Take my pants down and smack my
bottom.’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">There, I had said it, and the
evening air stilled.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Miss Cavell had a chappie who
used to come round every couple of weeks to tend her garden. Whilst I was there
he brought his fifteen year old son with him. He needed to go to the local
market for some new plants and his son was to tend the garden whilst he was
away. About an hour. Miss Cavell decided to go with him to help choose the
plants. They left in the gardeners van. Her own car was in the road by the
cottage. It was quite a flashy two seater, bright red, and so unlike Miss
Cavell it had fascinated me when she had picked me up from the station at the
start of my visit. Shortly after they left I saw her car keys on the kitchen
table. I could drive, even though I did not have a licence, and in an
inexplicable moment I decided to take it for a short spin. Showing off I took
the gardener’s lad with me as a passenger. The rest is inevitable history.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘Why?’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘What I did was wrong. Taking your
car without permission, getting stopped by that policeman when I nearly knocked
him off his bike, and not being able to produce a driving licence because I
don’t have one.’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘I mean why do you think I should
discipline you? I can get your mother to take the fine out of your allowance if
it makes you feel happier.’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘Don’t tell my mother, please.’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘I won’t.’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘And I shouldn’t smack your
bottom. I think you would enjoy it too much. Lots of men do.’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘I am not a man.’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘No, you are a boy, but a growing
one. As I said, you will be eighteen soon.’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘And I won’t enjoy it. I never
have, or only afterwards.’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘I have always suspected that.
Especially after your Peabody strapping. You spent a long time in your
bedroom.’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">I blushed at the memory.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘So no, Earnest, I will not smack
your bottom. Not spank you as if you were still a little boy but, as you will
be leaving soon, I will cane you. For old times’ sake. But I promise you, you
will not enjoy it. I shall be thinking of the nasty scratch marks on my lovely
car. And also the possible consequences if you had lost control. I reckon that
deserves eighteen, don’t you?’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">I said nothing.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘So let us do the washing up and
then you can go to your room and get ready. I suggest that you take off your
trousers when you get there. And take the cane. I know you are aware of where
it is. I saw you looking at it the other day.’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">And with that she rose from the
table and ruffled my hair. Twenty minutes later I was standing in my bedroom in
only shirt, vest, and underpants holding the awesome weapon that was soon to
sear my behind. And I was both scared and anticipating. Surging with
inexplicable excitement and trembling fear. I touched my penis beneath my underpants;
it was filling and stiffening as I knew it would. My hand was still on it when
Miss Cavell entered the room. She looked but said nothing. Her eyes had that
familiar gleam I had seen before and she had changed into a strict black dress.
She took the cane off me and said, quietly and calmly, </p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘Bend over Earnest and touch your
toes or as far down as you can, and present me that bottom. It will probably be
for the last time.’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">That memory, that instruction,
has remained with me for years. It was the last time and looking back on it, I
now realise how mature my strange sexuality must have seemed at the time.
Seventeen year olds are supposed to be confused about their sexuality. I was
not, either then or now. From that day in 1932 when she had taken me over her
knee and bared my bottom and spanked me I was hooked on discipline from
dominant females. Miss Cavell may have later regretted her part in my awakening
but I am convinced it would have happened with or without her initial push. The
three with a strap at boarding school had released strange emotions in me and
later canings, watching or receiving, produced sensations in my being that I
did little to understand. I just knew they were there. Painful experiences
followed by fascinating aftermaths. But nothing compared with being caned or
strapped by Miss Cavell. I had waited three years until this next opportunity
arose. She knew, and I knew. I was a boy, she was a woman, but in this one
strange dance we were almost equals. I bent over and nearly touched my toes
and, pushing out my bottom, waited for her to lift my shirt. It was a long
wait.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘You present a lovely picture,
Earnest. Beautifully submissive.’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">I said nothing, just waited for
that exquisite sensation I knew was to come. My shirt was slowly lifted up my
back, rolled up in fact to ensure it stayed out of the way, and my tight
fitting white underpants were slowly pulled down. I had worn these especially
for this caning and being tight they had displayed my obvious erection. Miss
Cavell could not possibly be unaware but, bizarrely, I felt no shame as she
pulled the underpants down releasing a stiffness that sprang to its full
height. As the pants slipped to my knees I was deeply conscious of my
burgeoning boyhood and my naked behind awaiting chastisement. I knew she would
expose my flesh. There was no chance of the promised cane strokes being on my
covered bottom; indeed I would have been disappointed if they had. Miss Cavell
had spanked and caned me bare when I was twelve and strapped me in the same
manner when I was fourteen. At seventeen, her decision made, it could be no
other way. I had nothing she had not seen before, albeit not in its current
state. She pressed on my back, told me to stick out my bottom, and tapped the
cane across it. Eighteen Earnest, she said, and I intend them to hurt. Do not
get up. I did not. She gave me the strokes in three sets of six, allowing a
short pause between each set so that I could steel myself for more of the
rising pain. As the first stroke lashed across the centre of my behind I
gasped. It stung far more than I expected. How I absorbed the next five I do
not know, but I did. I slightly rose and rubbed my burning cheeks and noticed
that the rampant penis was already flagging. I bent again and readied myself
for the next set. They and the final six followed fairly quickly and when I
finally rose, vigorously kneading my lacerated backside I had signs of tears in
my eyes and a complete extinction of penile excitement. My shirt dropped,
covering all in front and behind, and Miss Cavell smiled at me and left the
room.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">The penile excitement returned
around an hour later. I was naked, examining my behind in the bathroom mirror
and the fascinating marks and emblazoned weals across my cheeks mesmerised.
Enhanced even more when I touched the hardened warm skin. I was in the
aftermath of disciplinary heaven and, unsurprisingly, my body begged for the
inevitable release. It only took a couple of minutes of gentle manipulation for
the gushing flow to spurt. I slowly subsided and stepped into the waiting
shower, already on to cover any vocal sounds as I ejaculated. I slept well that
night.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Summer 1976<o:p></o:p></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">It was very hot that summer and
lasted longer than any other of the twentieth century. I was directing an open
air production of an Oscar Wilde play and had prayed, fervently, all along that
the weather would stay kind. It was an important theatrical production. Lyme
Regis had invited me to direct it because, to quote their own words I was a
local boy made good. I had turned to theatre after the war and university and
after struggling as an actor, not very good, found my feet in stage management
and, much later, directing. That summer was the 25<sup>th</sup> of my directing
career and may, or may not, have been another reason for the local council
inviting me. At least my name was in the theatrical press and if they could
capitalise on it, who could blame them. And the fee was pretty good. I had
invited both Holly and Prudence Cavell to see it on the third run and,
afterwards, the three of us had a sumptuous meal at a local Indian restaurant.
Holly left early as she had a fairly long drive to the house she lived in with
our ageing mother. I was staying locally in a house I had rented for the summer
and Miss Cavell was my more than welcome guest. We had always kept in touch,
mainly by phone and letters, but the last time we met was at my father’s
funeral and she spent most of the time with my mother. Now we could imbibe for
an hour or so more.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘I wonder why she never married?’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘Married to her job, I think.’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘Cancer research isn’t it?’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘Something like that, far too
scientific for me to absorb.’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘She always was the clever one,
Earnest.’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘Whereas me?’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘Imaginative. Your play tonight
showed it. Rich in ideas.’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘Helps to have imaginative
actors, although I don’t tell them. Far too conceited as it is.’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">I paused and took a sip of
brandy.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘Neither of us have ever married,
Aunt Prudence.’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘Far too late for me, Earnest. I
shall be seventy next year.’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘I know. Makes you only about fourteen
years older than me and yet....’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘When you first met me you
thought I was much older.’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘Yes.’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘I wonder why.’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">She paused, laughed, and took a
sip out of her own brandy.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘No you don’t, you old fraud. You
know exactly why.’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘Because I spanked your bottom.’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘My bare bottom. Lets us be
factually accurate.’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘Yes. Must have made an
impression on Holly. She still remembers it.’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘Really?’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘We were in the ladies after the
play. He’s a great success, she said, I am very proud of him. You must be too.’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘I am, I said.’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘So you should be, she said, you
are the lady who smacked the great director’s bare bottom.’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘He was only twelve or so.’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘In a way he still is, she said.’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">She paused again and took another
sip of her brandy.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘Are you, Earnest? Are you still
a twelve year old boy inside?’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘More like fifteen, really.
Except when I am being theatrically bossy.’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘And when you are not?’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘I go to see people, people who
satisfy a need.’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘A need that I engendered?’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘Not really. I reckon it was in
me from a small child. You merely lit a fire that was already smouldering.’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘I always found you amazingly
mature, Earnest. Most people do not come to terms with their sexuality until in
their thirties. If ever.’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘I had a good teacher.’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘Yes, and you had a delightful
bottom.’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">We both laughed uproariously and
downed our brandies and, at her bidding, ordered another.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘It is a good job you are not
driving, Earnest.’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘Yes. Earnest. Takes me back to
childhood. Thank God, I changed it when I started directing.’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘Earnest directing Earnest. Would
sound a bit funny.’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘I still use it though.’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘When you go to see one of your,
your people?’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘My mistresses. Yes. When I play
the faux schoolboy, in the faux schoolroom, I am always known as Earnest.’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">She took a large sip of her
brandy and smiled at me.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘The Importance of Being
Earnest?’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">‘Yes. The Importance of Being
Earnest. Your Earnest.’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Winter 1999<o:p></o:p></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><o:p> </o:p></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">We are waiting for the ringing in
of the millennium, if indeed that is what the year 2000 is. I am still around,
obviously, nearing eighty and so is Miss Cavell. We still write. She is in a
care home now. Have been to see her a couple of times but it is a long way, in
Northumbria, and driving is not my favourite occupation these days. When she
first moved in I met her son. Never knew she had one, she never talked about
him. Born during the war so a good twenty years younger than me. He clearly
loved her, told me so. The father, an American soldier, did a bunk before he
even knew she was pregnant. Or so she always told him. The son’s name was
Earnest, well Nigel Earnest to be precise, and it made me laugh. Loved my
mother he said, brought me up single handed, combining teaching and me was a
bit of a strain, he said. But she kept a firm grip even when I was in my
stroppy teens. Amazing woman.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">I agreed.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">But I never asked.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Never asked if she ever smacked
his bare bottom.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">But I bet she did.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Earnest Silbury – December 1999<o:p></o:p></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><o:p> </o:p></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><u><o:p><span style="text-decoration: none;"> </span></o:p></u></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><u><o:p><span style="text-decoration: none;"> </span></o:p></u></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p> </o:p></p>Alfred Royhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10230978439930708047noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7782382387501739014.post-79327338837594090292021-02-05T07:27:00.002-08:002021-02-05T07:27:58.032-08:00Report at Four (M/m)<p style="text-align: justify;"><b><i><span style="font-size: medium;">Have been amusing myself in the lonely weeks of January lockdown. Post Christmas, in normal times, I usually kill winter boredom with the odd heavenly massage or a visit to an enthusiastic wielder of a welcoming cane. Or preferably both if commitments allow. But these are not normal times so I have been passing the days with a few whacking tales stories. This, one of them, is a heavily fabricated tale redolent of a day in the 1950s when I and two friends got caned for spitting. The only similarities is being told to report at four to the teacher's staff room and waiting outside for nearly half an hour. My main memory is that the caning was a tremendous disappointment. Even in those far off days I had a strange mind. Enjoy. Alfred Roy</span></i></b></p><p style="text-align: left;"><i><b><span style="font-size: large;">REPORT AT FOUR</span></b></i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">We
all got one, four of us. Report at four. It struck fear into all our hearts.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">All
four of us.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">No
Brainer. We had skipped a PE lesson run by a dim and useless student teacher. Absolutely
hopeless. Couldn’t even keep a proper register.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Do
a bunk. Go into town. He will never know, never report it. Two hours in the
local snooker halls and cafes. Freedom. Heaven. No one will know.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Except
someone did.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">So
report at Four.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Headmasters
summons. And that meant only one thing.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">The
cane.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">And
the cane in the headmaster’ study was no pleasant prospect.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Especially
as he pulled no punches.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">And,
usually, trousers down.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">So
it was said.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Six
was bad enough, the tears told.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Six
with trousers down was awful.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Six
strokes of his cane on a bum barely covered was a prospect both painful and
humiliating.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Everyone
said.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">And
now four of us faced that dreaded prospect.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Separate
or together?<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Or
in pairs?<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">He
had his foibles, his methods. Our beloved headmaster.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">And
we would shortly find out.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">We
would be caned. We knew that.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">How
and in what order.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">We
did not know.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">We
just had a summons.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Twitching
cane and twitching headmaster.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Eager
to mark our upturned bottoms.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Trousers
down or otherwise.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">We
all read our notes again.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Report
at four.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Knees
trembled, stomachs churned, and bottoms, all four, twitched.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">As
they should.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">He
was big, over six foot three.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">And
built like a rugby forward.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">His
arm, the right one, packed<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>a real punch.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">So
it was said.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">When
he whacked his cane across your bum you did not think of flowers or sunsets.
You just absorbed the fire and howled.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">So
they said.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">And
they should know.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Fellow
pupils.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Those
who had it, and those who imagined.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Imagined
him taking down your pants.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Imagined
him measuring and taking aim.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Imagining
him whacking his stick into your cheeks and hearing you scream.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">They
knew.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">And
now it was your turn. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">All
four of you.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">You
stood outside his door. Snooker halls and cafes long forgotten, dismissed.
Knees trembling. You would be in there soon, bending over, trousers down,
bottom in the air waiting to be whacked. Six times. No more imagination. Now
reality. And now you wanted to pee.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">They
said that his marks lasted for weeks.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Get
six from him and the black and purple and crimson stripes could take an age to
fade to green and yellow.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">If
they ever did.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">You
stand in line. All four of you.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">In
his study.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Holding
your notes.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Report
at Four.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">He
towers over you. All six foot three. Brandishing his cane. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Threatening.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Four
strokes each boys. Decided. Four each on most of your well deserved backsides.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">We
flinch. In unison.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Four,
not six.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">A
reprieve. Of sorts.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Your
well deserved fourteen year old backsides.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">I
flinch again. I am fifteen. Is that why he said most?<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">You
two, outside. You two stay here.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">To
both see and suffer.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">He
points to me and Taylor. As we leave we look across at Bailey and Fox.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Bailey
is already crying.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">And
that is before he gets whacked.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">We
stand outside the study. Taylor and me. We could run but we don’t. We broke the
rules. We must pay. And in our imagination we do.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Imagining
what is happening.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">To
Fox.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">And
the tearful Bailey.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Imagine
what is happening to them behind that closed door.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Imagine
crimson strokes of a cane painting their behinds.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Shortly
to be ours.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">We
do not speak. We listen.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">And
then we hear it. The first crisp stroke.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">A
cane hitting a bottom. Bent, proffered, trousers certainly down. Certainly
bent.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">And
a howl, quite loud. A howl followed by another crisp stroke, a golf shot, and
another, louder, howl.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Fox
or Bailey, I think it is Bailey, is getting his four.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">And
once again I desire to pee.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">I
could be in there. I am in there.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">I
am watching Bailey getting his.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">In
my imagination.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">And
when he has, and when Fox has, both tearfully leave. Holding jackets and
clutching behinds.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Behinds
seared and scorched.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">And
now it is Taylor.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">And
me.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Entering
the study of a twitching cane.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Ready
for us.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">I
flinch and wait.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Jackets
are removed.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Nothing
must impede.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Taylor
first. I to watch and wait.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">I
hold my breath and pray.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">He
drops his trousers when bid.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">No
protest, duly submissive.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Surprising
really, as he is such caustic friend. Full face and front on in the playground.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">But
here, with the avenging headmaster, cane in readiness, he meekly accepts.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">So
trousers come down and he bends over.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">His
shirt briefly waving until turned up.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Rolled
into his jumper.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Taylor’s
underpants now resplendent in view.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Blue
ones.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">And
taken down.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Revealing
all.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">A
shock? Not really.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">He,
me, and the headmaster knew they would.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Come
down. Everything, Baring his bum. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">It
is four, not six. And this is why.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Taylor
flinches as his bum is bared.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">I
admire.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">A
lovely bum, a lovely bottom, cream and crisp. Unmarked For now.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I drank it in. Two super naked cheeks,
twitching in anticipation, bent and ready. Lovely orbs ready to be crimsoned by
searing stripes.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Only
four boy, he said, but on your bare behind.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">I
could just about see. I was behind our headmaster but he did not totally
restrict my view. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">I
saw the raised shirt, the raised jumper, the naked behind. I saw the first
swish of the cane as it landed across Taylor’s buttocks. I saw the first
stripe. The crimson line that registered his caning.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">And
I heard the first gasp.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">And
the first shuffling forward of feet assuaging pain.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">I
was transfixed.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">And
I knew I would be next.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">I
drank in his strokes. All emblazoned on both his bottom and in my mind.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">He
took strokes two and three. I flinched. He shuffled feet and indicated tears.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">I
felt his pain, even though it was him, Taylor, who suffered it.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">After
the last he rose. Clutching his bottom and sobbing. It had hurt.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">The
cane had cut into him and throbbed its message. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">He
had changed from an accepting friend in adversity to a crying boy. To a boy,
pulling up blue pants, who knew he had been caned.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">And
I was next.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">The
headmaster beckoned.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">I
moved forward and lowered my trousers.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Slowly
at first, and then with a touch of bravado.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">I
pulled them down, the trousers, and bent over.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">And
then.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Inexplicably.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">I
registered my acceptance.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">I
lifted my shirt, tucked it into my jumper.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">And
I pulled down my own underpants.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Bared
my bottom.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">You
may cane it, I seemed to say, but I prepare.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">And
as I gritted my teeth I sensed a perplexing anger.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">I
had denied the normal ritual. I had not followed the script and in doing so had
enhanced my punishment.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Taylor
still sobbed but all else was quiet.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">You
seem to be keen, the headmaster said.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">I
hope I do not disappoint.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">He
did not.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">I
looked at his carpet and then closed my eyes in readiness.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">My
bottom in the air, exposed, to now feel what I had only imagined.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">I
trembled, legs quivering.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Felt
the touch of the cane across my cheeks.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Waited.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">A
pause.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Then
it, the cane, rose and for a second everything froze.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">And
I still had the desire to pee.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">And
then the second shock.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Six
for you boy, you know why.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">I
didn’t, but the cane stilled any protest.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">The
flight of the unfair six began.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">I
did not feel the first stroke.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">I
heard it crack across my behind and sensed a gasp escape my lips.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">But
I did not feel it.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Not
then.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">The
burning and searing pain came micro seconds later and as it registered in my
brain the second stroke fell across the same tender place.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">It
was then I shuffled forward, still bent, still holding my legs.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Steeling
myself again.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">And
the third stroke of his cane lashed into my behind and induced the sobs that
flowed through four, five, and six.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">The
fourth cut me low across the bottom of my cheeks and I almost rose.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">A
cry escaped my lips and the tears welled.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">The
fifth, the unfair fifth, was higher, a bit of my bum not found til then, and I
moved as if to escape the pain.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">And
then I stilled, screwed my eyes, gritted teeth again. Held on to my legs so
tight I could still blood.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">The
last stroke.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Do
not wait.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Do
it.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Get
it over with.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">I
sensed him take aim.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">The
cane touched my lacerated behind.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Then
rose and fell in a vicious arc.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Across
the centre of what, not moments ago, was unblemished skin.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Now
blazingly chastised.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">I
gasped.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Now
finished.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">I
reckon I moved at least a foot forward through the last three strokes.
Especially the last.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Bent
and bending I took them all and sobbed them all.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">And
Taylor gasped at most.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Gasped
at the burning fire in my behind and the savage marks across.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Crimson
and scarlet like his own.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">He
had seen what I had seen.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">He
had felt what I had felt. Almost.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">And
the man, the headmaster, who dealt it out was well satisfied.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Gingerly
I lifted my underpants and trousers and rose into a standing position. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">I
dressed between sobs and vigorous rubbing of my burning and throbbing cheeks. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Taylor’s
sobs had eased but his rubbing of his bottom still progressed.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">This
was a fire that would not fade early.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">He
gave us our jackets and bid us leave.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Four
had reported, four had been caned.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">In
the manner that all boys should.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Across
their behinds.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Bare
as their mother saw them.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">And
now the final two left.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">He
had no regrets.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Neither
did I<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">I
had peed on his carpet.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Just
a little.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">But
it felt good.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">We
examined our behinds later.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">All
four of us.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">In
the toilets.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Searing
stripes, painted on virgin boyish bums.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">All
crimson.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">All
scarlet.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">All
admired.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Even
the two that I, assumed ringleader, felt unfair.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Every
weal absorbed.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Every
weal felt.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Every
weal stinging and burning.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">And
every weal still throbbing.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">And
we wondered. Collectively.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Will
they ever fade?<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">To
green.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">To
yellow.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 21.3333px;">To nothing.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">They
did, eventually. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">And
was it only I who sighed with regret?<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Alfred
Roy (2021)<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>Alfred Royhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10230978439930708047noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7782382387501739014.post-62873132470888358302020-12-15T12:16:00.000-08:002020-12-15T12:16:42.895-08:00The Paper Boy Scam (F/m)<p style="text-align: justify;"><i>What a year. None of us could have predicted how 2020 would evolve. Hopefully 2021 will be better. I sincerely hope so, as visiting my favourite disciplinarians will require the flouting and waving of a variety of vaccine certificates. Both theirs and mine. And even then it may be a case of covering up the face with some quirky mask whilst pants are lowered for bared behind. </i><i>You could not make it up. But even in thwarted lockdown one can have one's pleasures. Some unexpected, which I have no intention of elaborating other than to say that ITC supplied my home with a much desired rattan cane by post. The best of many on line purchases this year. Another pleasure was writing a few stories. I post the latest here for Christmas consumption. Not festive, pure fantasy and fun. Except the scam. I really did get my entitled 2/- a week collection fee. No guilt, no exposure, no sore behind. Happy Christmas. <b>Alfred Roy</b></i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB; mso-no-proof: yes;"><v:shapetype coordsize="21600,21600" filled="f" id="_x0000_t75" o:preferrelative="t" o:spt="75" path="m@4@5l@4@11@9@11@9@5xe" stroked="f">
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</v:imagedata></v:shape></span><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">You read a lot about scams
these days. Especially during lockdown. Dodgy phone calls, e-mails, even the
odd bit of snail mail. I hate them. And feel sorry for the folks that get
sucked in. I may be old but the marbles are still intact. Never answer the
phone to unsolicited calls, never click on attachments from folks I don’t know,
and don’t divulge my bank or card details to anyone. That is my motto. One of
them. Another is ‘Trust no one, my friend.’ Herod said it to Claudius in a
scene in Robert Graves great TV drama <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">I
Claudius. </i>I remember it to this day. Not a bad maxim. I should know. In the
more innocent fifties, when I was very young, I did a bit of a scam of my own.
Someone trusted me and I took advantage of it. Justifiably. But it got me into
an awful lot of trouble. To put it briefly at fourteen and a bit I won the
admiration of my friends, the wrath of an irate newsagent, and a sore behind
from his schoolmistressy wife. Pants down and twelve with a mean strap. Would
be sweet justice for some who scam today. Let me tell you about my more innocent
one. Or so it seemed until my pants were taken down.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">He told me he was going to write this
piece. Almost sixty years ago and I remember it as if it was yesterday. I
wasn’t as old as he suggests but to a fourteen year old I suppose anyone over
twenty must be ancient. But I was schoolmistressy, unsurprising as I was one.
And in those days I did whack behinds, both male and female.<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">It
all came about because that wrathful newsagent was mean. He paid his paperboys
the going rate for deliveries but would not give us any extra for collecting
money from those folks who did not come into his shop to settle up. In a paper
round of about fifty deliveries that was over half of the customers. So on
collection day a round that normally took healthy fourteen year old bikers
under an hour could stretch to two or more. You would be amazed at the number
of arthritic folks who had to go and search for their purse or wallet. I told
him, bolshie youngster that I was, that he should pay double rate on collection
day. He refused and I and the other paper boys were not happy. But there was
nothing we could do about it. Except that I could. I spotted a flaw in the
collection system that I could exploit to compensate. One paper boy was going
to get a collection fee, even if the others weren’t. Pay attention at the back
and I shall tell you my wheeze.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">We became friends many years after this
event, he reminded me of it at a party we both attended. Not that I needed
reminding, when you strap a boy’s bare behind you are unlikely to forget. He
wasn’t the first I had in that stockroom, bent over a crate. But he was much
the best.<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Simple
really, and all because we recorded the payment details in pencil. Biros were
still an underused novelty. Papers were around 3d or 4d in those days, so a week’s
supply of one paper would probably be around 2/- to 2/6d. 10p in modern money
terms. And that, coincidently was about the amount we should be paid extra for
collections. So I did what I did, devious but justifiable. Or so I told myself.
On my weekly collection I would not record one of the payments. Preferably from
some old codger who was extremely unlikely to visit the shop, either because of
infirmity or distance. I would pay in the balance, totalled at the bottom, and
rub it out when the card was handed back the following week and record the true
amounts. And two shillings, or two bob in the vernacular, had gone into my back
pocket. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As I and the meerkats say,
simples really. Repeated weekly it gave me what, denied by a mean newsagent, I
sincerely felt was fair. And it was. Trouble is I could not avoid showing off
and when listening to fellow paper boys moaning about the long collection days
for no extra dosh I stupidly told them of my wheeze. Only the more intelligent
two or three but it was two or three too many and lead to the ultimate exposure
of both my scheme and my backside.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">It wasn’t just paperboys in those days.
We had a couple of youngsters in the shop and the cafe we owned next door. A
few of them felt my strap as an alternative to being sacked. They did not seem
to mind, once the pain had gone, even if one or two initially resisted at the
thought of getting it bare. My husband knew my penchant, God rest his soul, but
turned a blind eye to it. So even though he did not know it at the time, this
lad was far from the first. I remember telling him so at the party. He laughed
then. And he still does when he visits me at home for tea and old time chats.<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">They
may have been intelligent but they were not as careful as me. I had stressed to
them that if they did not record Mrs Bloggs or whoever’s weekly 2/- payment
that they should do it the following week when they got the collection card
back. I could not stress that enough. What I did not stress was that they
should not doctor payments of anyone who might go into the shop. And that was
where it all went wrong. Mrs Bloggs or Mrs Green or someone ambled into the
newsagent one fine day and, whilst there, said she would pay for that weeks
papers. I might be out on Saturday, she said, or something like that. You can
write the rest of the script yourselves. Two weeks Mrs Blank, the mean
newsagent said, you haven’t paid for last week. I am only guessing but I reckon
a heated exchange took place and later, again I am only guessing, that mean
newsagent and his schoolmistressy wife decided to keep a much closer eye on
their paperboy’s weekly collections. And after four more weeks they pounced.
They had gathered all the evidence of what we had been doing and a report was
off to our school.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">The scam amused me; it was clever but
not clever enough. Someone coming to the shop unexpectedly or a studious
relative visiting on their behalf would easily expose it. A fatal flaw. We
weren’t truly bothered, it was only a few shillings and, arguably, a collection
fee should have been added to the paperboy rounds. So we were never going to
report them to the school or anyone else. But I could see the opportunity to
indulge a special, innocent, pleasure with the main culprit. And he played
right into my hands.<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Now
remember, this was the 1950’s. Telling our school meant only one thing. We
would all be caned and, if they informed our parents, probably get belted at
home as well. Not a pleasant prospect. The other boys in trouble blamed me and
said I should sort it out, conveniently forgetting that they had benefited as
much as I. But being eminently fair I saw their point. I said I would talk to
the newsagent, even offer to pay it all back, and try and stop him reporting
us. I hung around in the shop after we had paid in our latest collections and
asked the schoolmistressy wife if I could speak to her husband. Now the next
bit is important, particularly as half an hour after my request my trousers
were around my ankles, so I had better take it step by step. You probably won’t
believe it otherwise. You probably won’t anyway. I am not sure I do, even to
this day. But, as I said, this was the 1950’s. They did things differently
then.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">‘Why?’<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">‘I
want to offer to pay the money back, if he doesn’t report us.’<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">‘Reverse
blackmail?’<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">‘Sorry?’<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">‘Never
mind. Sit down young man.’<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">We
were in their stockroom, at the back of the shop. They had closed up for the
evening and, as I realised later, her husband had gone for his evening pint at
the local pub. I had always been a bit nervous of her. She had that authoratative
manner that put youngsters on edge. And being tall and slim added to her
presence. She looked at me for a few moments, assessing me, deciding what to do
or say. I had no idea. I knew I was in trouble, serious trouble or so I
thought, so when she spoke I was initially relieved. But that feeling did not
last long.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">‘We
could report you. Not just to the school but the police as well. What you have
done could be deemed as criminal.’<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">‘Sorry.’<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">‘At
the very least. What would happen if we told your school?’<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">‘We
would probably be caned. Or at least they would tell my parents.’<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">‘And
your dad would probably belt you?’<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">‘Yes.’<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">‘And
your friends?’<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">‘They
would get belted as well.’<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">‘And
how is it done?’<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">‘With
their belts.’<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">‘I
know that. But how?’<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">‘I
don’t know what you mean.’<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">‘I
think you do, young man.’<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">I
did but I did not want to spell it out. Apart from anything else it was
embarrassing. She was looking straight at me, her eyes gleaming with an
excitement I did not understand. At least not then. I felt my stomach begin to
churn. Everything was silent in the stockroom. All I could hear was my own
breathing. Mine and hers.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">‘I
think you do.’<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">‘I
would get the belt on my behind. That’s how he usually does it.’<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">‘Over
your trousers?’<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">‘No.’<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">‘Or
on your underpants.’<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">‘Sometimes.’<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">‘But
not often?’<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">‘No.’<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">‘And
for this?’<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">‘I
would get it bare. He would belt me on my bare behind.’<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Such sweet memories of that far distant
day. I can almost hear the conversation now, as if it was yesterday. It had taken
me a while to get it out of him. I was amused at his squirming. But eventually
he had admitted what I already knew. As he has said, this was the 1950s. He
would be belted on his bare behind. And so would his friends. And probably
caned at school as well. Double punishments were often the scourge of kids who
incurred parental displeasure at scholastic discipline. Especially for
something verging on the criminal. I spelt all this out to him. Not that I
needed to. Anything I offered to resolve the situation just had to be better.
When he dropped his pants he would do so almost with relief. Or so I hoped.<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">‘I
would get it bare. He would belt me on my bare behind.’<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">There.
I had said it. What she wanted to know and it seemed to excite her more. Her
breathing became heavier. And then she made her proposal. If I took her
punishment, her private punishment, then neither the school nor our parents
would be informed of our thefts. Thefts, which is what she called them, and she
was probably right. But if I agreed to her proposal no one else would know and
my three friends would escape retribution. Escape sore behinds. I would be a
star, a hero, in their eyes. She smiled when she said this. To her it was a no
brainer. To me it sounded more complicated. Either way I was going to get
belted.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">‘If
I agree, you won’t tell anyone. Won’t still get us into trouble?’<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">‘You
have my word.’<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">‘How
many?’<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">‘Twelve.’<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">I
flinched.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">‘With
a belt?’<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">‘No.
That is a man’s weapon.’<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">She
paused, tellingly.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">‘I
have a strap.’<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">I
flinched again.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">‘A
school strap. Not too thick, but it will sting.’<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">She
paused again.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">‘As
it should do, young man.’<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">I
looked at her, hesitating before I asked my next question.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">‘And
can I keep my trousers on?’<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">‘Yes.’<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">‘Oh.
Thank you.’<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">‘But
they are coming down. As are your underpants, if you are wearing any.’<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">My
slight relief was extinguished by her elaboration.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">‘You
mean I am to get it bare? On my bare behind?’<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">‘Of
course. You have already told me that is how your father would do it. Why
should I be different?’<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">I
could think of lots of reasons but I refrained from saying so. My
schoolmistressy employer’s wife was determined and one way or another I was
going to get whacked. This way I had the small consolation of gaining the
admiration of my friends. But just then, in the quiet of that stockroom, it did
not seem like it. Especially as I rose and started to undo my pants.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">The moment was exquisite. I could not
take my eyes off him. A nice gentle, slightly framed, boy coming on for
fifteen. He looked very nervous, unsurprisingly, but he was well used to
discipline. And well used to having to lower his trousers for it. If not at
school, at least at home. I was pleased he was offering no resistance, in those
days boys were very dutiful even when a scorching behind was in prospect. He
undid his trousers and, before lowering them, stared distractedly and turned
himself away from me. He had walked to the large crate I had told him he was to
bend over. It was an ideal height and if he ever wondered why it had a large
and thick blanket covering its top, he never said. He paused and pushed his
trousers down to his knees. I thought for a moment he was going to lower his
underpants but after a secondary stillness he bent over the crate and clutched
its sides. It was a perfect picture; the standard schoolboy white underpants
had a pleasing blue trim and neatly framed a pert little bottom. Deliberately
or not the blue trim on the underpants matched the woollen jumper the lad was
wearing. I nodded an appreciation to his mother, particularly as the pants were
pristine clean. It crossed my mind, briefly, that he may have come prepared. I
took the strap from the wall, had he seen it, and moved silently towards him.
For a moment I just looked, enjoying the sight of two tempting cheeks encased
in the pleasing cloth. And then, gently, my fingers touched his skin and lifted
the waistband of those same pants and effortlessly eased them down his thighs,
leaving them just touching the bottom of his soft, creamy white, buttocks. No
need for more. He was now fully exposed behind and breathtakingly beautiful.
And crying out for my strap, a strap I now laid across his naked bottom. He
gave a slight shiver and gripped the sides of the crate. We both knew this was
the moment.<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">I
saw the strap, hanging on the wall. I don’t know why I had not noticed it
before. It was just as I started to lower my trousers. A thick shiny brown one,
or it seemed thick to me. I told myself it was no worse that my dad’s belt but
I wasn’t convinced. My one hope is that being a woman she couldn’t hit so hard.
I gulped and turned away from her. It seemed very strange bending over that
crate with my trousers around my knees. I sensed her coming towards me, felt
her hands lifting my jumper and tucking it in and then her fingers, cold,
touching my skin. She was slowly easing my underpants down and that was the
strangest sensation of all. When my dad belted me he made me take my trousers
off and pushing me down on my bed would roughly pull my underpants down and
whack almost straight away. Not in anger, but with a desire to get it over with
quickly. He would stop when my howling got a bit too loud and stressful,
usually after twenty or so. But it was always quick, both the baring of my bum
and the whacking of the belt. This was different, this was gentle, almost
ritualistic, and almost enjoyable. If not for me then clearly for her. She was
savouring the preparation. Getting me ready. My naked bottom raised high for
her and her strap. And until she whacked it across my behind I did not seem to
mind. But when she did, when she lashed me with the first of the promised
twelve, I howled. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Oh I did enjoy it. I enjoyed it then and
I enjoy it even more now in the memory. He had a lovely bottom. Soft and
smooth, two beautiful white cheeks, and the first stroke of my strap produced a
lovely large and long red line across them both. That was artistic heaven and
was worth the grunt and squeal he evoked. Raising the strap for a second time
and lashing it down across that divine backside released emotions in me
impossible to describe.<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Christ
it hurt, stung like hell. I wriggled and howled. Pain was racing from my behind
to my brain and, as it registered, the second thwack landed across the centre
of my cheeks. I howled again and gritted my teeth, determined not to cry off.
As I twisted and turned the third and fourth thwacks of the deadly strap landed
on my bare skin. It was hurting as hard as my dad’s belt and I twisted from side
to side in a futile attempt to avoid it. But that strap knew where my behind
was and five, six, and seven, continued their searing work. It was on the
seventh I got up and I am sure she saw all of me for a moment. My twisting
about and contorting against the bench had lowered my underpants further than a
boy desires with a lady disciplinarian. She saw what my mother had not seen for
years. Shamefully I quickly pulled them up and rubbed violently against cheeks
which were hot and hard and stinging. And I was sniffling as I pleaded for no
more. Please Miss I said, and to this day I regret my behaviour. I was not
taking my thrashing like a man.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">I did consider letting him off the final
few. He was clearly distressed and the exposing of his private bits mortified
him. But we had a contract, a bargain, and as he composed himself I reminded
him of it. To clear the slates, to ensure no repercussions for he or his
friends, he had agreed to twelve strokes of my strap on his bare behind. He had
only had seven. There were five more to come. Reluctantly but eventually he
agreed. His crying had diminished to involuntary sniffles and I could see that
he was readying himself for the final part of his discipline. It was then I
made my defining decision. A decision that, in a way, has cemented our
relationship over the years. Certainly since we re-met at that party some years
after this event. Take your underpants right down, I said, they only get in the
way and, besides, you have nothing I have not seen. Either now or in the past.
And when you have done so stretch yourself back over the bench. You have five
more strap strokes to come. And these will be even harder. So steel yourself
young man.<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Surprisingly
I did. My behind was burning and I did not welcome five more strap strokes
across it. She could really lay it on. But in a strange way I felt that what
she said was right. I would suffer the brief pain and the humiliation and it
would be right. Confused young minds have their sexual awakening in the
strangest ways and I realised that I was getting mine. I would store this
experience and in later years begin to appreciate it. So when I lowered my
underpants to my trousered ankles it was with a feeling of exquisite calm. My
backside may be throbbing but my senses were clear. I would embrace her last
five strokes across my completely naked bottom and, afterwards. I would rejoice
in them. And I think we both knew this. I bent over the blanketed crate, legs
now spread as far as I could and showing all, and prepared myself for the final
five consummate kisses. Five searing strokes to my behind that I would remember
for years to come. And tell her about it at the party we both attended many
years later. Sorely, and surely, I had repaid my paper boy scam in spades.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">We were re-introduced when he was in his
early thirties and I was just turned forty. I told you I was younger than he
thought. He told me he had never forgot his strapping and, after a few drinks
and circuitous conversations, realised he wished it again and I willed a
repeat. So we did, many times over the years until we both got too old. So now
he comes to visit me for tea and chats. Nothing else. But we both remember the
day that I gave him a burning behind for his paper boy scam. When I reddened
his bottom to a degree, he swears, that his father never achieved.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And he and I are both glad it happened. Which
is why he is writing this piece about it and allowed me to put in my own
comments. I told him when he had finished it, I do not do computers so put my
pieces down on paper, that I still think that his was the nicest young bottom I
ever strapped.<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">My
three friends were relieved that I had got them let off. They questioned me as
to how I had managed it. I never told them. It was too private. When that
young, and I now see that she was, schoolmisstressy wife of the newsagent made
her proposition I knew I would go through with it. I knew, if not then, but
when I saw her strap. I knew because I had a slight erection. And that is why I
turned away. Not her, not the lowering of my trousers, not the strap on the wall.
I could feel myself growing. And later on she saw it. And she knew. Mrs Bloggs,
paying her paper bill, has a lot to answer for.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Alfred
Roy (2020)<o:p></o:p></b></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></i></p>Alfred Royhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10230978439930708047noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7782382387501739014.post-21724736576597571652020-06-28T04:39:00.000-07:002020-06-28T04:39:12.870-07:00A Victorian Birching Fantasy (M/m)<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 16.0pt;"><font color="#7baaf7">Body Swop<o:p></o:p></font></span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 16.0pt;"><i><font color="#7baaf7">We all need things to do in lockdown and I have often hankered to write a Victorian birching story. So not before time and inspired by pics found on the excellent CORPUN site here is my attempt. Pure fantasy, as if that needs saying given the narrative. Alfred Roy</font></i></span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 16.0pt;"><br /></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 16.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">I
can’t be hearing this. Who is this man? Where am I? Who am I? He is saying
something. I need to lean closer. I am in a dock. I know that. A burly
policeman with big walrus moustaches is standing by me. He puts his hand on my
shoulder as I lean closer to hear what the man is saying. He looks like my old
headmaster, or at least like the Victorian photograph of his grandfather which
hung prominently in the school hall. And the expression on his face is even
grimmer and sterner. And he is speaking. Speaking to me. I lean closer still,
taking in the unfamiliar fusty brown surroundings. I am in a dock and this is a
court, a court not unlike the reproductions that have been cropping up in our
town. But they are shiny, new, glorified cafes. This is real, musty, dark, and
threatening. And I am in the dock and, listening to the dry tones of the florid
faced man, I realise that I am being sentenced. And I do not like, no I am
fearful of what I hear.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">It
was that ragamuffin I met at the fair. The strange fair that turned up in our
town one day and was gone the next. He looked like a gypsy. About the same age
as me, twelve going on thirteen, but thin and wiry and, frankly, unhealthy. A
sickly pallor whereas I had the glowing healthy skin of a well fed and cared
for youngster. But he mesmerised. His eyes glowed and he had a funny, old
fashioned way of talking. He said methinks a lot. He asked me my name. David I
said. I am Wilbert he said. I work here with my dad. We sell potions. Wanna try
one? I declined and then he did something very strange. He took a bottle of
liquid from his pocket, took a sip, and disappeared. I was stunned, shocked,
puzzled. And then he turned up again, behind me, and laughed mischievously.
It’s magic, he said, but I only took a sip. Take a big swig and there is no
saying what happens. And he laughed again. It was almost malevolent. No it was.
Malevolent.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">The
dry tones of the florid faced man are continuing. I have done something.
Something bad. The court takes a dim view of such behaviour, especially one old
enough to know better. That’s what he said. I strained forward even more and
the burly policeman gripped my shoulder even more. You need a harsh lesson
which, hopefully, will curb you of your heinous ways and act as a deterrent to
others. I sentence you to eight strokes of the birch. To be administered in the
usual manner and under the usual procedure. Take him down. And then he stood up
and bowed to the court and left. I was transfixed. Had I heard right? Eight
strokes of the birch. He must have been talking to someone else. And then the
burly policeman spoke, the first time I had heard his voice. Come on he said,
come on Wilbert, let’s get this over with. Can’t be the first time you will
have had your bum smacked. I left in a daze. He had called me Wilbert.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">The
strange boy had laughed at me again and told me to take a sip. Go on Davy, he
said, it’s magic. I was tempted but again refused. Frankly I was both intrigued
and scared. It won’t hurt you he said, my dad is a genius. And he took another
sip and disappeared again only to return behind me some two minutes later. It’s
a lovely feeling he said, try it. So I did. But I must have sipped a little
more than him because the next thing I remember I was standing behind him and I
was wearing his clothes and he was wearing mine. That’s never happened before,
he said. You disappeared and then I must have passed out. Well don’t I look
grand, he said, and laughed uproariously. His clothes felt rough, baggy trousers
and a rough, laced, shirt and large leathery boots. We should change back I
said and he agreed and so we both sipped a little more. And I found myself in
this dock being sentenced to eight strokes of the birch. In the usual manner.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">I
am not stupid. I know what that meant. I have read my history books. Boys who
were birched got it on the bare buttocks. The bare behind. That is what the
books said. I don’t know the details but I was shortly to find out. Unless I
could conjure up the real Wilbert or convince the policeman that they had got
the wrong boy. I was thinking this when he stopped at a cell door. This is
where the doctor will examine you, he said. Make sure you are fit for your
birching. He grinned, but not unpleasantly. Don’t look so worried lad, he said,
it will soon be over. We never like to delay too long, not fair. The doc will
be along in a minute and if satisfied, as he will be, you will be taken to that
room at the end of the corridor. He pointed to a large wooden door about twenty
feet away. I shall be there with our inspector to see fair play, as will the
doctor, and the colleague who is a specialist in these matters. So just the
four of us, no need to be embarrassed. Just do as you’re told, he said, and it
will be over in five or ten minutes. I won’t pretend, you will feel it, Sgt
Colefax is very good with the birch and he takes no prisoners. Just tell
yourself that you deserve it. Makes it easier to take, in my opinion. But I
don’t deserve it, I said, I have not done anything, and I felt myself start to
cry. They all say that lad, doesn’t do any good, he said. But I haven’t, I
said, I don’t belong here. I have come from the future. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">The
burly policeman looked at me quizzically, almost fatherly. Look lad, he said,
you are going to be taken into that room in a few minutes and your trousers and
pants are going to be taken down, you are going to be strapped to the birching
horse, and Sgt Colefax is going to whack your bare arse with his birch eight
times. And nothing you say is going to change that. Take my advice and
co-operate and take your punishment like a brave boy. Tell Colefax what you
have told me and he will cut you in half. There is nothing he hates more than a
lad who tries to wriggle out of what he knows he deserves. Now in you go and
strip off. Doc will be here in a minute.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">‘Pants
off young man, and your top. This won’t take long.’<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">‘I
haven’t done anything.’<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">‘That
is what you all say. The prospect of the birch on the bare bottom turns you all
into angels, in my experience.’<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">‘But
I haven’t.’<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">‘Pants
off, I said.’<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">‘I
don’t belong here.’<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">‘You
all say that. Anything to avoid the birch.’<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">‘But
it’s true. I don’t belong here. I come from 1969.’<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">‘Well,
that’s a new one I must say. Now strip. I haven’t got all day.’<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">‘I’m
not Wilbert, you must believe me.’<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">I
had started to cry again and the doctor, a man as equally burly as the
policeman and with equally imposing moustaches, changed a friendly demeanour to
a more serious one. As he spoke he whipped down my pants and looked me firmly
in the face. We’ll have these pants off and the top if you please. I need to
ascertain your fitness for your birching, though you look a fine healthy young
man to me. Well able to take what is coming. Now come along and don’t waste my
time or I’ll have you before the magistrate again. And that could mean your
eight strokes being increased. Do you want that? As he said all this he pulled
my trousers off, I had already removed the heavy and unfamiliar boots, and then
roughly lifted the shirt over my head. I was naked and shamefully tearful. This
was a situation I had never experienced or imagined. And I could see no way of
avoiding what was to come. I closed my eyes as the doctor conducted his minute
examination. I reckon every bit of me was prodded and tugged and scrutinised,
especially my bottom and genitals. After what seemed an age he muttered
something under his breath, a satisfactory sigh I thought, and told me to get
dressed again. Just the trousers and shirt, no need for anything else, he said,
putting on underclothes just prolongs things in my experience. He put his
stethoscope away in a very officious looking black bag and made to leave.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">‘What
year is this sir?’<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">‘What?’<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">‘What
year is it?’<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">‘I
wouldn’t start that again, young man, I am a busy man.’<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">‘I’m
sorry, but I need to know.’<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">‘You
know damn well what year it is.’<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">‘I
don’t. I don’t know.’<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">‘Just
take what is coming to you and get it over with.’<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">‘I
will sir. I will. I see I have no choice.’<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">‘That’s
better.’<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">‘Just
tell me what year it is. Please.’<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">The
doctor eyed the boy. He seemed in deadly earnest. The doctor wasn’t sure
whether this was a ruse to try and get out of his birching, not the done thing
to birch lunatics generally, or merely to delay it. Irritation vied with
interest. The boy seemed normal, intelligent even, not the usual type who got
birched. And his body, minutely examined, was clearly well fed and cared for.
Soft and healthy skin and well filled plump and creamy buttocks. Not scrawny or
splotched as many who end up here. And he was composing himself at last. The
tears had eased and his voice had lost some of its tremble. He seemed resigned
to his fate, resolved even to take what was coming. That was good. A birching
taken well, however unpleasant, was welcomed by all involved. Screaming and
fighting lads still got their deserts, often harder from Sgt Colefax, but it
left a poor taste. Justice was much better served by an acquiescence and
acceptance. And this boy now knew his fate was inevitable. So he told him.
1898. And then he left.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">I
think the next half an hour or so passed with me in a dream. There was an
unreality about everything that was happening. The date the doctor had said was
buzzing around my head. It did not make sense, nothing made sense, except I now
knew that I was going to be birched. There was no escape unless, miraculously,
Wilbert somehow reversed the spell. And in my heart I knew that was not going
to happen. So I resigned myself to my ordeal and tried to hold back the tears
that seemed forever waiting to swell. I had never in my life been beaten and
now I was to be. In the most painful and humiliating manner imaginable. The
usual manner the magistrate had said. Except I could not imagine it. Did not
want to imagine it. It was beyond my experience. But I was thirteen, nearly,
not yet a man but neither a little boy. I would submit, I had no choice, but if
tears flowed they would be tears caused by pain and distress not by fear. I
closed my eyes and held my breath and waited.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">I
did not wait long. After a few minutes the door opened and the burly policeman
re-entered. He nodded to me and I meekly followed him. The impassive look on
his face told me that this was it. I had done as I was told. I was wearing
Wilbert’s rough baggy trousers and laced trimmed cotton shirt, equally large.
Nothing else. As I walked the twenty or so feet along the corridor to the
imposing wooden door earlier indicated I was conscious of the rough trouser
material rubbing against my naked skin. My naked bottom. Soon to be revealed
and birched behind that frightening door. I had little time to think. The burly
policeman, strangely almost the only friend I had in my dilemma, opened the
door and stood aside. In you go lad, he said, soon be over. The birch stings
and you will no doubt howl but it won’t kill you. And if you keep telling
yourself it is deserved it will go more quickly. And he then smiled, as if
encouraging me to take what I knew I did not deserve, and ushered me in. The
room was dimly lit and small. It registered little. A small window high in the
opposite wall and in front of it a strange looking curved leather contraption
with a variety of straps. Even to my confused dreamlike state it registered as
the place of my execution. I gulped. This was clearly it, the moment of no
going back. And then I saw him. Standing to the left of the doctor in the
furthest corner of the room. Another burly policeman, uniform jacket discarded
and white right shirt sleeve rolled up. And in the hand of that shirt sleeve
rolled up arm it held a frightening implement. Long and thin with what seemed
an enormous number of intertwined twigs, all held together at the handle by
intricate binding. It must have been at least three or four feet long and
spanned a good eight inches at its tip. It looked as if it could do a great
deal of damage. I blinked and looked at the man holding it. His face held no
expression but the eyes studied me disconcertingly. This was Sgt Colefax and
the eyes told me, shouted at me, that the thing in his hand, the dreaded birch,
was shortly to be introduced to my behind. And beyond the impassive eyes I
sensed the slightest glimpse of a smile of anticipation, a hint of relish. As
the other policeman closed the door I sensed myself beginning to cry again.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">It
was then I registered the fourth man. He was standing to the right of the door
and was carrying a clipboard with papers. This must be the inspector referred
to. He looked officious, thin and tall and serious, and clearing his throat
looked at me and spoke. Wilbert Jenkins, you have been sentenced to eight
strokes of the birch for wilful damage to property of the crown. That sentence
will now be carried out. Prepare him Constable Wainwright. In my confusion I
could hardly take in the words. They were dry and impersonal but filled with
menace. Wilful damage to property. A birching offence. Constable Wainwright, so
I now knew his name, took my left arm and eased me gently to the bench. I know
it was gentle because I moved forward willingly if not eagerly. The
contraption, the birching bench, was old brown leather with the distinct smell
of age and wear. Narrow at the base it widened at the top as it curved its six
feet length to a height of about four feet. The further end was supported by
wooden legs and the whole device was raised on a wooden block base. It was well
designed, an ideal shape for someone to be bent along it for a beating. Stand
on the base lad, Constable Wainwright said, with your legs either side and then
lean over and stretch your arms. Soon be over. There was softness in his voice
but I sensed, rather than knew, that if I resisted a different Wainwright would
emerge. Once in this room you were not going to leave unscathed. I did as he
bid, stood on the platform base and put my legs either side of the leather
contraption. Over you go, he said, stretch your arms out. As I did so I felt
the cold leather press against my crotch and with my face touching the widened
top of the bench I smelt its aroma. I was now in the desired prone position
but, fleetingly I thought, if I wished I could still get up. And then something
strange happened. I was in this vulnerable position, enclosed by menacing
leather, four unseen players of the drama behind me waiting to play their part
and I could also see it all. As if by magic I could see what they could see.
Another part of me seemed to be in the doorway watching it all take place. I
was starring in this film of a Victorian drama and I was also watching its
replay. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">The
constable took my arms and leaned so close to me I could smell his garlic
breath. He placed my wrists in straps fixed to the supporting legs of the
bench. I sensed my breathing become more shallow and urgent. Relax lad, he
said, won’t be long. Just need to make you secure. And then I felt, and saw, a
thick leather strap being pulled across my waist and tightened and fixed. I
sensed, frighteningly, the helpless feeling of being trapped. Held in a
position I did not desire and with no way to escape any ensuing onslaught. I
started to cry. I cursed to myself at the incipient tears but fear at what was
close was engulfing me. None of these manoeuvres took more than a minute or so
and then I again felt, and saw, Constable Wainwright lift the baggy shirt and
tuck the ends of it into the strap around my waist. I knew and sensed what was
coming next. Hands were around my waist untying the string of the trousers and
then quickly and efficiently, almost with undue haste, the trousers were pulled
down to my knees and I was bare, naked, and ready. A cool breeze brushed my
bottom cheeks and conscious of their pronounced position I tried in vain to
shrink the size. The tears welled even more and I screwed up my eyes and prayed
all would soon be over. And yet in the doorway I seemed also to be watching my
fate. My potion induced fate.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Ready
sir, said Constable Wainwright, his voice seeming thicker and more nervous than
hitherto. Thank you constable, the dry voice of the inspector responded. All
yours Sgt Colefax. Do your duty. Eight strokes and lay them on, this wretch
deserves it. And you have a nice plump and creamy arse to work on. I flinched,
Sgt Colefax gave a slight deferential laugh, the constable and the doctor
remained silent. I suspected they did not approve of the comment. And then the
doctor spoke. Not the shape of the usual miscreants we get, he said, if I did
not know I would say he came from a good and caring family. Be that as it may,
the inspector said, but he is here to be birched. When you are ready Sgt
Colefax.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">There
was a silence and then I sensed him step towards me. And then I knew, the twigs
of the birch rested on my exposed bottom right across the centre. Sgt Colefax
was measuring his aim. Everything in the room stood still, nothing and no one
moved. The only sound was my whimpering and the heavy breathing of the
onlookers. Sgt Colefax, expression grim, tapped the spraying birch on my
backside, raised his arm to a seemingly impossible height and lashed the twigs
across my naked cheeks. For a moment I was stunned. The impact seemed to take
all the breath from my body and then, after a second, the stinging fire
engulfed my behind. I wriggled and tried to shift my position and clenched my
teeth determined to slow the spread of any more tears. And then the birch
lashed into me again, harder this time, but still central across both of my
raised orbs. A plump and creamy arse they had said. A plump and creamy arse
well raised, an easy target for an expert. Now scratched and wealed from a
deadly implement. And the sting and the pain was starting to spread. And then
the third stroke hit me, slightly lower this time, and I screamed. The pain was
becoming unbearable. And when the fourth stroke lashed into my naked rear,
higher up my cheeks, I knew I could no longer hold back. I cried and howled and
begged to be let off. Constable Wainwright, standing near my head, brushed my
hair and said, hold on lad, hold on, only four more to go. I merely wailed. The
pain and throbbing in my behind, my sore and lacerated behind, was engulfing my
whole being. Burning wires drilled into my naked flesh and he says hold on.
Only four more to go. I do not remember much of the rest, of those four
strokes. I know they stung and fired into my behind in ten seconds intervals. I
know that Sgt Colefax put his full force into them, almost as if my howling and
pleading had fired him to even greater lashes. I know that I screamed
unmercifully when those avenging twigs savagely connected with my upturned
cheeks. And I know that I wet myself, my bladder becoming uncontrollable as the
pain consumed my backside. But I do not remember much more. I did not see those
last four strokes. It was as if a mist had descended to try and shut out the excruciating
pain in my rear.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">‘Feeling
any better lad?’<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">‘A
bit. Still very sore. Still throbs.’<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">‘Hardly
surprising. It’s only been an hour. Did the doc’s ministrations help?’<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">‘You
mean the cream?’<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">‘Yes.’<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">‘A
bit. Told me it was to stop infections.’<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">‘It
does. Won’t stop you being unable to sit down for awhile though. You’ll have
those birch scars for at least a couple of weeks. Maybe more.’<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">‘He
told me that Sgt Colefax really laid it on, especially the last four. Hadn’t
seen him whack anyone that hard for months.’<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">‘It’s
your arse lad. He doesn’t often see one as good as yours.’<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">‘That’s
what the doc said. Said a plump and creamy bottom like mine almost begged for
the birch. Made me blush. He also said something else.’<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">‘Go
on.’<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">‘He
said I was too well fed to be a gypsy. In too good a condition. Don’t feel it
at the moment though.’<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">‘You’ll
recover.’<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">‘Before
I go home. I will go home won’t I?’<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">‘Depends
where home is lad. I mean, after all, you weren’t given a custodial.’<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">‘I
have told you. I have come from the future.’<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">The
burly Constable Wainwright gave me that quizzical look he gave me when I first
said that. Before I was birched. He looked displeased then, but less so now. I
had grown to like him, in spite of the strange circumstances. This large man
had strapped me down in the birching cell and pulled down my pants and bared my
bottom for Sgt Colefax’s dreaded birch. I should hate him. But I couldn’t. He
had stroked my hair and gently talked me through the last four strokes. He had
helped me dress and did not mention my bladder disgrace. And after the doc had
inspected me he had come to chat and see how I was. I think he saw it all as
his duty. He approved of my being birched, approved of me having eight savage
cuts delivered to my raised bare behind. I reckon he would have done it himself
if directed. Boys, lads, needed a lesson, and a sharp birch across their bare
arses, their bare and plump and creamy arses, is the best way of teaching it
when they stray. And in his eyes I had strayed. But, I told myself, Constable
Wainwright cares for boys, lads, even if he does not care for their behinds. He
looked at me sternly, but not unfriendly. I could get Sgt Colefax back to give
you another four or six for that comment, he said, or even do it myself. And
then he grinned. You are a strange lad he said, far more intelligent than most
we get here; I hope we don’t see you back. And he didn’t. I fell asleep in the
holding cell shortly after he left and when I woke up I was standing in a
deserted field. In my own pristine clean school clothes. And the real Wilbert
was nowhere to be seen.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">This
was where the strange fair was, the fair that appeared suddenly and, so I was
later told, disappeared in the same manner. Now it was just a deserted field
and the only indication of what had happened was a small purple bottle
discarded on the ground. The potion. I resisted an impulse to pick it up and
decided to make my way home. I would not explain to anyone where I had been or
what I had suffered. Who would believe it anyway. 1969 boys do not get birched,
and certainly not in the manner considered usual in the days of 1898. On my way
home I met no one but the following day I went back to school and, puzzled, I
was summoned to the headmaster’s office on arrival. I will not bore you with
the details but the summation was that he was unhappy. I had insulted a new
master at the school, totally out of character apparently, and the headmaster
was concerned. What had provoked it?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
had no idea and offered, lamely, that I had been feeling ill the day before.
Well you certainly would be after he dealt with you, he said. Most
disconcerting. He seems a bit of an authoritarian. Insisted you must be caned.
Most rare in these days. I, reluctantly, agreed, I hope you have recovered.
Very few boys get six of the best in these times. The headmaster smiled at me,
clearly concerned, and hoped that I had recovered from both my illness and my
caning. Most uncharacteristic David. Spitting at a new master and kicking him
in a private place, most uncharacteristic, I had to sanction your punishment.
You do understand? I did. That is what this interview was all about. The
unexpected caning of a, normally, well behaved boy. It was Wilbert, I was sure
of it. I asked the headmaster the name of the new teacher, just out of
curiosity. A Mr Colefax, he said, very much a disciplinarian. I think you boys
need to be careful. After he gave you your six of the best he said to me, he
said to me, headmaster, in the old days I would have taken his pants down and
those six would have been on his bare backside. These days’ youngsters get it
so easy. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">So
Wilbert had been caned whilst I had been birched. Made me feel a little better
even if I knew that in his case dignity had been retained. But it had happened.
When I returned, in that desolated field, I had doubted it. But when I arrived
home I went to my room and dropped my pants. In the mirror, reflecting back at
me, my bottom showed the many lacerations of a serious birching. A birching
that I could never show my mother. Or her new man. A very nice chap, very
fatherly and attentive. His name is Wainwright. I sometimes wonder when I have
heard that name before. I think it lies in a bottle in a desolated field
waiting for the return of Wilbert.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Alfred Roy<o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
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<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><br />Alfred Royhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10230978439930708047noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7782382387501739014.post-10999673939867998362020-03-10T07:28:00.000-07:002020-03-10T07:28:05.685-07:00The Late Mrs Brown (F/m)
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<i>Just been studying my posts and
realised I have not done an F/m story for over two years. Bit of a surprise as
they are the most popular reads and great fun to write. The fantasy schoolboy
in me enjoys creating situations I rarely, if ever, experienced, but clearly
desired. The trick is finding something fresh to embellish and enhance the age
old theme. I hope I have with this one.</i> </div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">The Late Mrs Brown</span></b></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">I
didn’t know her well. At least not in recent years. She was well over ninety
when she died and I had lived in Manchester for most of my working life. But
now an early retired and still single, my partner of many years having found
new pastures, I sold up and moved back to the small village of my childhood and
youth. In all the stress and strains of the move I had not given her a thought.
Thirty five years away meant I had lost touch with most in the village and my
elderly widowed father was in the nearby care home. One of many reasons why I
moved back. Visiting from Manchester was never easy. My main schoolboy friend,
Stuart, still lived in the village and still worked on the farm he joined the moment
he left school. Muck rather than maths was his motto. It did not take us long
to renew old acquaintance and have a regularly meet at the Mucky Duck, the
village one remaining pub. It is actually The Black Swan but nobody, locals or
visitors, ever called it that. I also re-met Mavis, the girl we both fancied at
school. Now fifty plus and plump she reignited nothing in me. Probably just as
well as she had married Stuart and produced him three bright and healthy
children. Or so they told me over a sumptuous reunion Sunday lunch a couple of
months after I moved in to the cottage I was renting. It was at that lunch that
I was reminded of Mrs Brown.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">We
were talking about people I knew in the village when I was growing up. I say
we, but Mavis did most of the talking. Stuart was as monosyllabic as ever and
Mavis, dressed in Sunday best with a fetching old English apron, effused enough
for all of us. I suspected that she rarely had an opportunity to show off and I
was marked down as a special occasion. Lots of folks got mentioned, most dead
and all forgotten. Mr Pepper who kept the now closed chemist shop. Cyril Jones,
who left under a cloud sometimes in the 1980s, and no one knows why. And little
Tommy Pemberton who drowned in the village pond when both Stuart and I were
still at primary school. As I said, all forgotten and, presumably, all dead. And
then Mavis mentioned Mrs Brown. Stuart’s reticence became even more marked and
I mumbled something along the lines that although remembered, unlike the
others, I presumed that she had also long gone.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">I
knew that was not true. A few weeks after returning to the village and staying
at the Black Swan whilst sorting out my cottage rental, I bumped into her in
the one remaining village shop. Her crisp and authoritarian voice quickly
evoked old memories. She may have become old and frail, readily witnessed as I
turned around, but the strict persona was still there. Stuart’s friend, she
said, back in the village at last. It sounded like a rebuke. Not surprising,
given that memories of Mrs Brown were never pleasant. And one particular
evening after school when Stuart and I were just into our teens is seared, as
the saying goes, on my memory. It may have been forty years before, but some
things are never forgotten. And judging by Stuart’s less than effusive grunts
not forgotten by him either. Mavis twittered and served a splendid pudding and reminisced
about Mrs Brown. We both, silently and collectively, just remembered.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">It
was sometime in the 1960’s. I can’t remember the date but it was around the
time of one of many general elections, and posters of Harold Wilson and his ilk
figured prominently on many advertising boards. But I do know that it was a
Wednesday. I know it was a Wednesday because that was the day that Mrs Brown, a
near neighbour of both of us, did evening classes in the village hall. That did
not interest Stuart and me. Mainly for old fogies or so we gathered. What
interested us was the fact that Mrs Brown’s house was uninhabited between
6.00pm and 8.00pm, as there was no Mr Brown as far as we knew. He was never
mentioned or seen in all my growing years. No, Mrs Brown lived alone but she
did have regular visitors. Everyone in the village knew this, it was no secret.
There was a very posh card in the post office window and an impressive brass
plate on the wall of her cottage. Both displayed the same benign message.
Camilla Brown. Member of the Institute of Chiropodists and Podiatrists. I
remember asking my mother one day what a podiatrist was and her answer intrigued
me. Something Mrs Brown isn’t, she said, and following my response issued the
usual parental ‘never you mind.’ Stuart giggled when I mentioned it to him.
It’s to do with feet, he said, but according to his elder brother Mrs Brown
attended to much more than feet. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">Early
teenage schoolboys have lots of time on their hands. Stuart and I were no
different and aimless walks and equally aimless conversations filled much of
the hours between school and evening meal. We talked about Mavis, pert and
pretty and blossoming, and we talked about Cyril Jones, a smelly schoolboy we
both loathed. And we talked about Mrs Brown, the mysterious, to us, Mrs Brown.
Who was she and what were her visitors? Fertile young brains decided she was
probably a clairvoyant or a witch. Or even a courtesan. I had no idea what the
latter was but had heard my father use the term unflatteringly about some
actress who was in the news. Stuart didn’t think so. Mrs Brown took exercise
classes for oldies and courtesans were lazy. Or so he thought. More likely to
be a witch and dance naked with her afternoon visitors to her cottage whilst
conjuring up spirits. I did say our brains were fertile, dangerously so as it
turned out. I do not know which of us suggested it but on the following
Wednesday around 6.00pm, we decided to have a close look at Mrs Brown’s
cottage. Excitement eclipsed sense and our road to a very painful, and
humiliating, ending was set. And still remembered forty years on. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">Cutting
to the chase, why not, Mrs Brown caned us both. Twenty strokes, unequally
shared, on our backsides. Boy did it hurt and boy did we cry. I thought I would
never stop. And we never told anyone. Ever. And definitely not the details. But
if I leave it at that you may be disappointed. The why and the wherefore would
be left tantalisingly hanging. So, in the interest of 1960’s history and how
things were dealt with in those days I shall give you a blow by blow account.
Literally. From the moment we entered her cottage conservatory to the moment,
twenty minutes later, when I fumbled with my snake belt and lowered my pants.
Tearfully regretting my stupidity. A stupidity still remembered but strangely,
no longer regretted. Mrs Brown, now known as the late Mrs Brown, introduced me
to a painful but ultimately heady experience I can neither explain nor deny. And
I have no intention of doing so. I will just stick to the facts in all its
fascinating development. We watched her go; it was already getting dark so we
were not seen. Or so we thought. Giggling nervously we crept round to the back
of her cottage. I swear to this day that neither of us knew what we were going
to do. If a plan had been formulated neither of us was aware of it. But we were
in luck, or as some would say bad luck. The conservatory had two large windows
and one of them had been left open. It was an easy job for me to climb through;
I was and still am much smaller and slighter than Stuart, and even easier to
release the inner catch on the sliding conservatory door. Within five minutes
we were both inside. We checked the back door to the cottage but,
unsurprisingly, it was locked. Not being real burglars we had no idea what to
do. The conservatory did not seem promising. A small table, a couple of comfy
old chairs, a few plants dotted around, and a low long bookcase with drawers
either side. All were locked and any attempt to open them would cause damage.
At that stage neither of us fancied attacking them. We were not vandals, or so
we told ourselves. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The bookcase was
filled with a variety of books and, failing anything else to do we decided to
explore them. Most were boring, medical books, foot books, history books, and a
few novels by such as Dickens and Austen. We were beginning to think that our
adventure was a waste of time when, on the bottom shelf, Stuart spotted a
couple that looked more interesting. We took them out. Large tomes with lots of
pictures. ‘The Art of Massage’ and ‘Sensuous Massage’ were two that I can
remember but the one that sticks in the mind and fascinated was called ‘The
Kama Sutra.’ We opened it and were gobsmacked by the pictures. Naked folks,
male and female, in all sorts of positions. I giggled and Stuart even more so.
So much, as he told me later, he almost wet himself. We were so absorbed in our
discovery we did not hear the key in the door to the cottage turn. It was only
when Mrs Brown, standing in her doorway, spoke that we realised she was there.
I dropped the book and saw the grim determination in Mrs Brown’s face and the
menacing gleam in her eyes. She stared at us for what seemed an age before she
spoke. ‘I was told you boys were here’ she said calmly, ‘you had better come
with me.’ And with that she turned and went back into her cottage. I suppose we
could have run but it did not occur to either of us. Or not then. So we meekly
followed her, fervently regretting our abortive and pointless adventure. If we
got out alive we would be eternally grateful.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">Mrs
Brown, tall and dominating, eyed her two incipient schoolboy burglars with a
venomous gaze which chilled. Caught, red handed, in her cottage Stuart and I
had little in the way of defence. We waited with bated breaths, in her cosy
kitchen, her reaction to the violation of her property. Mercy suggested that
she would send us off with a threat to tell our parents if anything like this
happened again. Fear induced the frightening thought that she would call the
police and we would suffer the awful consequences. Neither prospect appealed.
But neither did the one she proffered. It involved neither police nor parents.
Retribution deferred, in a sense. Except by her. And we were about to find out
what that entailed. I reckon, given what followed, we were either very brave or
very foolish.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">‘So
what do you suppose I should do? Call the police? Or your parents?’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">‘No.’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">That
was me.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">‘No,
Mrs Brown.’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">That
was her.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">‘No,
Mrs Brown.’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">That
was us, in unison.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">‘Why
not?’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">‘It
will get us into trouble.’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">That
was me again.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">‘You
are already in trouble. Serious trouble.’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">She
emphasised the ‘are’ and the ‘serious’.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">Both
of us twitched nervously.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">‘You
break into my house, violate my privacy, and disrupt my evening plans and you
think I should just tell you not to do it again and send you away.’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">‘I
don’t know.’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">That
was me again, Stuart being his usual silent self.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">‘You
don’t know?’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">‘No,
Mrs Brown.’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">‘Well
I do young man. I will send you away and tell you not to do it again and will
not tell your parents. Or the police.’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">‘Thank
you, Mrs Brown.’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">We
said this together, relieved.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">‘After
I have dealt with the matter myself.’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">Our
relief instantly dissipated and I looked at Mrs Brown with a growing awareness
of her dominance. Dressed in black top and tight black trousers her short
silvery hair contrasted well with the thick gold chain she wore around her
neck. She wasn’t young, certainly older than my mother, but her presence and
piercing dark eyes gave her an authority most adults of my acquaintance lacked.
I feared we were not going to escape unscathed.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">‘You
stay here.’ she said, pointing to me, ‘And you come with me.’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">And
with that she turned and left the kitchen and Stuart, as before, meekly
followed.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">The
next fifteen minutes were excruciating. Stuart had followed Mrs Brown into the
hallway and the kitchen door closed firmly. I was left on my own, suddenly and
unexpectedly. For a few moments I was conscious only of the silence that had
descended over the cottage. There was a faint tick from a clock in her hallway
and the tiny patter of rain falling on the conservatory roof. But all else was
a menacing quiet. And here I was marooned, or so it seemed, in a strange house.
I wandered aimlessly around Mrs Brown’s kitchen, examining a splendid Aga that
my family could not afford, and studied the variety of colourful plates and
cups on her shelves. Somehow it was necessary to fill the time, I told myself.
Gradually I was drawn towards the hallway door through which Stuart and Mrs
Brown had left. I opened it. Beyond, on the right, was a door to another room.
It was closed and I assumed that is where they were. The silence continued,
even more menacing, and the ticking of the clock grew louder as it grew nearer.
It was as I was wishing that I had never got involved in this stupid caper and
desperate for my own familiar home that I heard raised voices. I jumped. It was
Stuart, it couldn’t be anyone else, saying ‘no’ and a quieter, indistinct
voice, responding. I strained to hear what Mrs Brown was saying, what had
prompted Stuart’s uncharacteristic outburst, but to no avail. Everything went
very quiet again and then I heard an unmistakeable sound followed by an even
more familiar response. I froze for a moment and then went back into the
kitchen and sat down on a small stool near the Aga. I was trembling. There was
no mistaking it. I was a 1960’s schoolboy after all. Stuart, my taciturn friend
Stuart, my erstwhile burglar friend Stuart, was being caned. And that meant one
thing. I was going to be next.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">‘Well,
have you anything to say young man?’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">‘No.’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">‘No,
Mrs Brown.’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">‘No,
Mrs Brown.’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">‘Then
I think we should get this over with. I very much doubt if this is a first time
for you.’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">‘No.
No, Mrs Brown.’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">I
had lots to say, of course, but I could not see the point. The situation I was
in was crystal clear. We were in Mrs Brown’s cosy sitting room, gently lit by a
number of old fashioned wall lights. Stuart was nowhere to be seen; I guessed
she had let him out through her front door before summoning me. Summoning
seemed about right. She stood in the middle of the room, elegantly poised I
thought, and in her right hand she held a cane. A familiar sight to schoolboys,
if not in this bizarre situation. If I had any doubts about what she intended
to do, and I didn’t, they were readily dispelled. I listened to her,
transfixed, as she calmly spelt out how this mad evening would end. If I had
any regrets, and I had lots, it was the regret that it was not already over.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">‘I
have dealt with your friend, and I now intend to deal with you in the same
manner. The alternative is that I report you to the police and I doubt if
either of you would wish that. Stuart certainly didn’t and he took his caning
well. A brave boy. I expect you to do the same. So, when you are ready young
man, lower your trousers and bend over the end of that sofa.’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">I
gulped. I had been caned before at school a couple of times but both times by
male teachers and neither had told me to lower my pants. Mrs Brown was clearly
of a different ilk. Perhaps she thought she did not have the strength of a man,
I reckoned she would, and that thin underpants would be enough to compensate. I
flinched and stared at her, ready to protest like Stuart had volubly done. At
least I reckoned he had before he bent over her sofa. After that all I heard
was the swish of a familiar cane and a number of large howls. Annoyingly I had
not counted the strokes. But it did not matter because as I stood there opened
mouthed and motionless, Mrs Brown enlightened me.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">‘I
intend to give you twelve strokes as opposed to the eight I gave your friend.
You were clearly the one who climbed in through my conservatory window and you
were the one who damaged a valuable book when you dropped it. But like him you
are also be caned on your bare backside. It’s the only way with boys.’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">I
was undoing the snake belt on my grey trousers and in the process of lowering
my trousers when she said this. The shock hit me like a thunderbolt. Bare. I
had never been caned bare. Dad had spanked me a couple of times on the bare,
but that was with his hand, and a few years ago. And no woman, not even my
mother, had ever laid as much as a feather on me. I blushed deep red and
trembled, tears beginning to well. Instinctively I turned away from her. Should
I run or submit? Part of me wanted to run but another part, a strange all
consuming part, held me in Mrs Brown’s presence and dictated my actions. I
would let her cane me, given I had a choice of sorts, and mercifully trust it
would be over quickly. Please God it would. Unlike Stuart I have, or had, a
very small bottom. And twelve strokes on it, underpants down, was a lot more
than it had ever received.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">The
room fell silent. All I could hear was Mrs Brown’s heavy breathing, I had not
noticed that before, and my own sniffles. I steeled myself, pushed my thin grey
school trousers down to below my knees, and bent over the arm of her sofa. No
way was I going to take down my underpants in front of her. That would be too
humiliating. And, vain hope, she might forget or relent. I stared at the bright
cushions on the sofa, anything to take my mind off the situation, and waited.
What had she said when she told me how I would be caned? ‘It is the only way
with boys.’ I puzzled on this phrase as I sensed her move closer towards me.
Her perfume was strong but pleasant and her hands when she touched my waist
were light and soft. I wondered for a moment what she was doing but did not
have long to find out. She eased my shirt and jumper a few inches up my back
and I sensed warm air on my now exposed skin. And then, after a moment of
hesitation, she placed her fingers in the side of my underpants and gently
pulled them down to my knees. It was a slow process and, strangely, I assisted
her by raising myself slightly to ease their passage down towards my thighs. I
was now acutely conscious of my nudity, or at least the bits that mattered, and
I screwed my eyes in anticipation of the coming pain. I did not have long to
wait. A cold sensation touched the centre of my naked bottom, a cane readied to
do its work registered in my brain. ‘You have a nice bottom, young man. Do me
the honour of raising it slightly. It will be so much better for both of us.’ Weirdly,
I meekly did as she bid, and screwed up my eyes even more. Tell yourself, I
said, the first stroke is always the worst. I doubt that it was but as it lashed
across the centre of my naked cheeks it induced an anguished howl. The second
stroke, in the same place but harder, induced an equal loud cry. The third and
fourth were slightly lower and I struggled to stay in place. The pain in my
backside provoked the urge to rise and rub. But it also provoked a sudden and
unexpected thought. Mrs Brown had caned boy’s bottoms before.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">How
I took the remaining eight I do not know. She considerately allowed a rest
after the first six and, surprisingly, allowed me to get up and rub the weals.
I was shocked at how hot and rough my bottom felt but, mercifully, the
throbbing eased a bit. As I rubbed I was conscious, shirt and jumper still
tucked up my back, of my exposed boyhood. I blushed at this displaying of my
penis to a woman I hardly knew and, at her signally discreet cough, I bent back
over her sofa. How strange. My bare bottom had been displayed to her gaze for
over five minutes and, other than the excruciating pain delivered to it I no
longer registered any embarrassment. My penis, and other bits, were a different
kettle of fish. But those and other thoughts dissipated as I sensed and felt
the adjusting of my shirt and the cane steadied on my warmed backside for my
second six. It was then that Mrs Brown made a second strange comment that
registered. ‘You may be in pain, young man, but unlike your friend you seem to
think it is well deserved.’ Why did she say that? The searing pain in my
backside was awesome. The baring of my bottom was humiliating. Every stroke
made me gasp and flinch. A burning cane across my bare bum was an experience alien
to me. But she was right. I had revealed myself to her, lifted myself for the
lowering of my flimsy underpants, almost welcomed her cane as it hit me on my
naked cheeks six times. And readily put myself back for the second six. Now
eagerly delivered with increasing strength and intention. I gasped, howled,
screwed my eyes, gripped her sofa, and prayed for the end. Every cut registered
a fire in my brain and intensity in my bottom which, I was convinced, no amount
of vigorous rubbing could dispel. But I took them, tearfully by the end; I took
all the twelve strokes she gave my bare bottom and triumphed at my will. Forty
years later I still remember it with pride.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">I
didn’t see Stuart for a couple of days, I think we were avoiding each other,
and being half term neither of us was at school. But on the Saturday he called
round my house and suggested we went into the local park. He told me that what
I heard was true. Mrs Brown had caned him eight times and she had made him take
down his trousers and underpants first. Threatened him with the police if he
didn’t and the prospect of that, plus his dad’s belt, clinched it. He hoped,
being a woman, that it wouldn’t hurt. It bloody well did, he said, and he had
eight very purple and red weals on his bum to prove it. I told him he was
lucky, or at least luckier than me, as I had twelve long red stripes on mine. I
had been looking at them every day in the bathroom mirror and they were still
there, emblazoned as scholastic retribution. We agreed we would not tell anyone
and that we would avoid the showers at school for a few days. We also agreed
that at the first opportunity we would give Cyril Jones a beating up. We could
not prove it but we both suspected that he had seen us on the Wednesday and
told Mrs Brown. Hence her coming back. It made sense to us. We had both,
separately, seen him in the streets since our canings and his sickly grin and
eagerness to cross on the other side of the road blazoned his obvious guilt. At
least to us. We were both still worried that Mrs Brown might inform the police,
or at least tell our parents, but rationalised that she might have some
explaining to do if she did. We had the evidence still clearly marked on our
backsides. And mine didn’t completely fade for about three weeks by which time
I reckoned that the crisis was well past. We never did beat up Cyril Jones. By
the time we had the opportunity the desire for revenge had dissipated. But we did
scare him into a confession, so honour was served. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">And
that was that. Except it wasn’t. Sitting waiting for a train a couple of years
later I had a decidedly uncomfortable conversation with Mrs Brown. Both of us
were going to London but, fortunately, she was travelling first class so our
meeting was brief. She never mentioned that Wednesday evening, and I had hardly
seen her let alone spoken to her since, but it was written in her eyes. And she
asked me how Stuart and I were getting on now we were leaving school. That
sealed it. Why equate me with Stuart out of all the boys I associated with if
she wasn’t remembering. I blushed and muttered something about staying on. Me,
not Stuart, he was going to an uncle’s farm. Mercifully our train arrived and
we made amicable partings. I never saw her again until a few weeks after I
returned to the village. And again she immediately referred to Stuart. ‘Stuart’s
friend’, she had said, ‘back in the village at last.’ Nearly forty years
between our two brief conversations and both intertwined two burglar
schoolboys. It must have ranked as a high point in her life. In fact I knew
that it was. At about the midpoint between those two meetings, I must have been
about thirty, I learnt something about Mrs Brown that my maturity should have
suspected. My partner and I attended a fetish party in Manchester. Neither of
us were particularly adventurous but a mutual friend was keen and so we decided
to give it a go for amusement. Our only condition was that we would not dress
up, weird or otherwise. It was a surprisingly respectable gathering, almost
disappointingly so, most fetish interests being kept firmly under wraps. Other
than a few strange gadgets and books scattered about, one or two leather clad
folk, and a few whoops of laughter and intriguing noises from separate rooms it
could have been any thirty something party. Wine flowed freely and, as we said
later, we did enjoy ourselves and met a few interesting people. One of them was
a rather imposing female college lecturer of our own age who classed herself as
a keen observer of people’s peculiar interests. Especially those of a sexual
nature, she had said and laughed heartily. In the way of such meetings, small
talk is often the order of the day. My partner was in deep discussion with a
couple she knew well, not leather clad ones, and I was left alone with the
college lecturer of the hearty laugh.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">‘I
gather you were brought up in Compton Beasley.’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">‘How
on earth did you know that? It’s not exactly on the map.’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">‘I
was talking to some friends about it, just now, and your partner said that’s
where you came from.’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">‘I
do, but why were you talking about it. We don’t have any murders there, as far
as I know.’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">I
was given another reprise of her hearty laugh.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">‘I
should hope not. And we weren’t exactly talking about Compton Beasley. We were
talking about a lady who lived there. Still does apparently.’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">‘Oh.’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">‘Mrs
Brown. Camilla Brown. Do you know her?’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">I
hesitated, and she registered it.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">‘Vaguely.
Why is she of interest? Has she done something?’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">‘I
should hope not, but in her own field, this field....’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">She
indicated the room and the crowded mixture of people.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">‘.......to
some of these people, very well known.’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">‘Oh.’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">‘Very
well known indeed.’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">I
hesitated again and chose my words carefully.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">‘I
gather she is, or was, a very distinguished podiatrist.’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">I
now knew what that word meant.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">The
laugh, deep throated, was even louder this time.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">‘Is
that funny?’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">‘No,
not really. She is a podiatrist, in the village. But Mrs Brown is very
distinguished in another field. Mrs Camilla Brown is a very distinguished
dominatrix.’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">‘Really?’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">‘One
of the best. Ask her clients.’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">And
with that she laughed again and walked away.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">I suppose in a way, I was one
of her clients. Albeit a young one.</span> <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">It is the only way with boys.</span></i><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">You have a nice bottom, kindly raise it, it will be
better for both of us.</span></i><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">Unlike your friend, you seem to think it is well
deserved.</span></i><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">The voice of a professional.</span><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">I
said as much to Stuart when we attended her funeral, a few weeks after the
Sunday lunch with Mavis. Mrs Brown had died peacefully in her sleep at the
grand old age of 93. Retired village podiatrist and physical instructor. And so
much more. And only a few, my mother amongst them, had suspected as much. I
found it quite comforting. My trousers and underpants had been taken down by an
expert of the disciplinary craft and twelve very hard cane strokes had
christened my bare bottom. And it had not cost me a penny. Stuart and I retired
to the Black Swan, Mucky Duck, and drank her health. I reckon she deserved it.
Especially from me. A caned bottom was, and still is, very pleasant.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">Alfred Roy</span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike>Alfred Royhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10230978439930708047noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7782382387501739014.post-21523671089708581152019-09-04T09:19:00.000-07:002019-09-04T09:19:12.992-07:00Leicester Governess Revisited
<br />
<h2 style="margin: 24pt 0cm 0pt;">
<em><span style="font-size: x-small;">After this visit I returned with a friend for a dual session. I think she enjoyed it as much as we did. Regardless, she put a photo of our bottoms on her twitter account. Fame, of a sort, at last.</span></em></h2>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 9pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">It
has taken a long time but I have finally got to drop my pants for this lovely lady
again. She is great fun and seriously awesome. The smile on her lips and the
fire in her eyes turns a willing but fearful oldie back to a trembling fifteen
year old long before the cane in her hands has swished. Bending over her bench
waiting for my underpants to be pulled down was sensory heaven. The sixty cane
strokes that followed on my shamefully bare bottom were painfully hell. But I
loved it all. Therapy at its finest. Why had I waited so long?</span></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 9pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-size: 9pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Not
my fault I told myself. For reasons I have no wish to elaborate, contact had
become elusive. Desire thwarted. But suddenly, following a lazy summer
afternoon text, she responded. I was staying with my brother and shortly to
return home. Idly I had mused on popping in to see my favourite Governess for
sixty of her finest. A forlorn muse I thought. Silence had reigned for months.
But now, following a positive response, fantasies regenerated and imagination
switched into overdrive. In summer heat a short drive on my way home would
culminate in longed for disciplinary heaven.</span></span></span></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 9pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-size: 9pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-size: 9pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">She
was everything I remembered. Tall, imposing, friendly and firm. The years on me
shed away as we talked. I morphed to fifteen from whatever. This lady canes
bums with aplomb and mine, after afternoon pleasantries, would be no exception.
The sixty stroke therapy she offers, for a very reasonable fee, is pure
disciplinary perfection. There is no touchy feely warm up, no suggestion of
unseemly sexual services, and no props or devices to enhance the senses. It is
pure get ready, suitably attired, and over her punishment bench for sixty
strokes across your bare behind. And you know that you deserve it. The
endorphins will kick and this therapy, writ large, will take you on a journey
that has no equals. The National Health never offers thus.</span></span></span></span></span></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 9pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-size: 9pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-size: 9pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-size: 9pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I
prepared, nervously, and stood before her in small vest and tight fitting
underpants. Very clean, very light blue, very complimentary. Or so I hoped. A
severe look, a quick order, and over her bench I went with bottom suitably
raised and hands steely gripping the rails. I was ready, especially when those
light blue pants were pulled off leaving me only in a small top covering my
upper half. My bare bottom was ready for my first ten of sixty, my mind
desperately trying to embrace the zone. It was a sturdy cane, thankfully neither
too thin nor thick, and my Governess expertly whacked it into my willing behind
with gentle force. Painful but pleasant and I relaxed. The first ten, or
twenty, or thirty would be well within my discomfort range. But I had no illusions;
I had been here before and knew that this sixty stroke therapy was a slow
build.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 9pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-size: 9pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-size: 9pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-size: 9pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-size: 9pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The
power increased and my bottom responded in burning sensitivity as that first
thirty were delivered in sets of more painful tens. Number twenty three was a
bit low and I raised my first howl but the rest, all twenty nine, whacked
pleasingly against the only target I wished to be hit. As I rose for a most
welcome hiatus I eagerly rubbed my disciplined backside, simultaneously
conscious of both the burning throb and hardness across both of my cheeks. In
classic schoolboy manner I looked in one of her many mirrors and was surprised
that the burning pain was merely reflected in gentle pinkness on my bum and the
odd reddish stripe. An expert had whacked causing distress but not destruction.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 9pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-size: 9pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-size: 9pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-size: 9pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-size: 9pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-size: 9pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I
bent over the bench again. Thirty more therapy strokes to come and, at my
request, restraints were applied to arms, legs, and back. No crying off for
these as my upturned sensitive bum beckoned the avenging cane. And avenge it
did. I felt everyone, much harder than the first thirty and a few despairing
howls rang in the air. But I did not begrudge, it was what I wanted. A hard
cane across my naked bum. And I got it, all expertly applied to that central
cheek area which signals pain and induces emotions in equal proportions. Each
vicious stroke released a feeling in my being that I cannot explain. Nor need
to. But as the last few created a savage fire across my behind that could only
be assuaged by unseemly amplified gasps of anguish, I knew I had reached a
pinnacle of exquisite disciplinary pain. Released from my restraints I rose
with an inexplicable joy in my being and an invigorating throb in my behind.
The hardness on my cheeks was now enhanced and, helpful mirror, the gentle
pinkness had deepened to a pleasing red.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I had no desire to dress, no desire to cover up. For ten or fifteen
minutes the Governess and I chatted, her severely dressed and me merely in
short vest which covered nothing of importance. As it should be. She could
admire her handiwork and I could calmly float into that state of blissful
serenity such a severe caning evokes. And I could continue to rub my ever
burning bottom.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 9pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-size: 9pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-size: 9pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-size: 9pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-size: 9pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-size: 9pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-size: 9pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Eventually
I dressed and prepared to leave. Before I did I was given an unexpected leaving
present. Eyes blazing she said she was displeased with something I said. I know
not what; it did not matter as clearly I was due for a late disciplinary bonus.
And this I remember almost as much as what had gone before. I stood by the
bench like a naughty school boy as she undid my belt and roughly lowered my
jeans and underpants to my knees. Bent over and top lifted out of the way she
gave me ten extra hard strokes of the cane to my now familiar bare bottom. I
howled. But if the pain was high the pleasure was higher still. As I drove home
I vowed that her cane would, very soon, provide the same service again. My
bottom and the Governess’s cane may not be a match made in heaven but on that
lazy summer afternoon it was certainly one made in Leicestershire. As I have
said, an awesome experience.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 9pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 9pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Alfred
Roy</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 9pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 9pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 9pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 9pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 9pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></span></div>
Alfred Royhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10230978439930708047noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7782382387501739014.post-59043820216330675732019-03-01T09:26:00.000-08:002019-03-01T09:26:48.442-08:00Bottom Marks in Life
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">It
has recently occurred to me that it has been a long time since I did a blog on
this site. Ignoring my last year statistical review you have to go back to
January 2016 to find a muse on the infinite and tantalising<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>ways one can bare an eager and willing
behind. So it is time I revisited my favourite vice and mused some more. And
this time I wish to concentrate on whacking’s most pleasing aspect. The marks.
The stripes and splodges, red or pink or blue, painted on the pale flesh of
those fascinating bottom cheeks.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I
first realised this fascination when I was very small. A primary school teacher
smacked my bottom, shorts pants pulled up at the legs, and a firm and large
hand applied to both of my naked orbs. Tiny girls sniggered and tiny boys,
fearful of the same, were transfixed. I cried copiously at a well deserved
spanking, sand thrown into an insufferable female child’s face was my crime.
But as the tears dried I sensed the pleasing tingle in my bottom. And this
strange pleasure was doubled when I looked at that small bottom in a mirror and
firm pink handprints on my white flesh cheeks spelt out the reason for the
tantalising throb. At four and a half, I could not have been any older, I had
unknowingly discovered a kink that would dominate my life. Or at least the fun
part of it.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">That
first experience of scholastic chastisement sowed an incipient seed that was
destined to grow and flower as the years progressed. It is best illustrated by
the fascination shown when classmates were caned. To witness or hear of a
school caning was exciting in itself but to see the result in post communal PE
showers, at least twice weekly in the 1950’s curriculum or so it seemed, was an
undiluted pleasure. Cane stripes across a fellow schoolboy’s bottom conjured up
delightful and sensuous feelings thankfully devoid of the necessary pain. Broad
and flaming red or purple lines across the centre of an otherwise pure and
white male bottom painted peculiar desires in my mind. I may have feared the
pain that gave birth to the picture but to recreate on myself I would suffer
much.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I
did not have long to find out. I was given two searing strokes to my bum, in
front of a class of unsympathetic friends, when I was about thirteen or
fourteen. Those two strokes seared and fired into my behind and, tears now
dried, remain long in my memory. But the stripes they left in their wake remain
longer still. Only two strokes but my pale bottom cheeks were emblazoned for
weeks with the black and the blue, fading gently to green and yellow as time
passed, and fascinated as nothing else. I was almost sorry when they were
finally gone. I had endured two minutes of excruciating pain for endless happy
days of dropping pants and savouring the savage lines on the virgin bottom
reflected in my mother’s mirror. The sight was heavenly and, frequently,
engendered my first teenage masturbations. To relive the causing pain was
pleasure undefined. </span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">It
is hardly surprising then that through my adult life I have suffered much for
those tantalising stripes. In my thirties and forties, latterly renewing my
desire for the corporal punishment world, results were pleasing. A bottom rarely
whacked produced some heavenly results. Fingers tracing red lines and weals on
an otherwise marble backside made all pain worthwhile. A pictorial fascination
that those not so inclined would find bizarre. Not easy to recreate in my autumn
years. The lines are less pronounced these days and the results fade quickly.
Sadly a bottom much beaten recovers too quickly. Pain and pleasure briefly rise
and evaporate. My primary school teacher, baring my four and half year old
behind, would understand. Those exquisite nether stripes will not last forever.
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Alfred Roy</i></span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></span></div>
Alfred Royhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10230978439930708047noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7782382387501739014.post-81353222105255789842018-12-05T09:52:00.000-08:002018-12-05T09:52:02.396-08:00Boy's Day Out (F/M)
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<span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: x-small;"><em>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. <strong>Alfred Roy</strong></em></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">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.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">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.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">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. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">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.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">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. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">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.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">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.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">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.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">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.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">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.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">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.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">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. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">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.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">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. <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Alfred Roy</b></span></span></div>
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Alfred Royhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10230978439930708047noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7782382387501739014.post-63593424309700711232018-10-07T10:10:00.000-07:002018-10-08T01:58:02.910-07:00The Artist's Model (F/M)<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><em>Weird it is where inspirations for stories come from. This one, I tell no lies, follows a conversation with an artist at a studio open day. The bits about being a model in my youth is true, the rest is pure fantasy. And I did not buy one of her very abstract, male nude, paintings. Alfred Roy</em></span></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><strong>The Artist's Model</strong></span></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">The
thing to do is concentrate. Close your eyes and think about days on the beach
or in the garden tending flowers. Walking through fields of poppies on a warm
and promising morning. Think about anything really. Anything except about where
you are, what you are doing. Standing in the middle of an unwelcoming room,
surrounded by ten eager pairs of studying eyes. Eyes that microscopically
examine every inch of your skin. At a distance that dilutes warm breath and
dulls whispered words. Thankfully. For you are naked, as naked as the day you
were born. Not a stitch on, and that day you were born was a long time ago. Conscious
of those eyes you finally close your own and think about those days on the
beach. It is a nice feeling, standing naked and being stared at, but an hour is
enough.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘You
did well.’</span></span></span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘Thank
you.’</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘And
you did not move too much.’</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘I
tried.’</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘Much
appreciated, by me and my students.’</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘Can
it be a problem?’</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘Occasionally,
yes.’</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘Especially
if the bits move.’</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">At
my response she laughed.</span></span></span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘Talking
of bits, we all think you have a nice bottom.’</span></span></span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘Really.’</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘Yes,
all of us. Me and the students.’</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘I
am flattered. Considering my age.’</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘You
shouldn’t be. One young lady said that he may be well over fifty but his bum is
definitely only fifteen.’</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘Skin
tight.’</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘Small
and smooth, it does not age like face and hands.’</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘Spoken
like an artist, madam.’</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">She
paused, and became more serious.</span></span></span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘Is
that why you agreed to do it?’</span></span></span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘What?’</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘Pose
nude for us?’</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘Because
I think I have a nice bottom?’</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘Yes.’</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘Partly.
I like being naked and having a nice bottom, as you say, is a bonus.’</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘For
you or us?’</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘Both,
I think.’</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">She
paused again, and her face took on a very serious tone.</span></span></span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘How
do you keep it in shape?’</span></span></span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘Many
ways’</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘Such
as?’</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘I
walk a lot.’</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘Of
course.’</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘And
watch my diet.’</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘Don’t
we all.’</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘And
exercise. Mainly at home, I do not like gyms.’</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘Too
crowded?’</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘Too
sweaty.’</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘Anything
else?’</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘Do
you need to ask?’</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘Just
curious.’</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘I
think you know.’</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘Try
me?’</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘It’s
kinky’</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘I
adore kinks.’</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘I
have it whacked.’</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘Your
bottom?’</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘Where
else?’</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘Often?’</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘Frequently.
At least once a month.’</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘Just
to keep it in shape?’</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘Oh,
I wouldn’t say that.’</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">She
laughed again, but this time it held a hidden promise. For the first time on
that strange day my loins tingled.</span></span></span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">We
were sitting in a small and cosy cafe. I had met her at one of her artistic
open days. Fifty, severe, but fun. And desperate to sell her strange but
compelling art. Male nudes in abstract, rich and diverting, full of complex
swirls and stripes creating a modernistic slant on the age old form. I did not
understand but they intrigued and, after a third visit, I bought one. Pale
blues and orange with just a hint of the male form. We had chatted on all my
visits and there was a relaxed air between us, established well before the
money changed hands. She did art classes, regularly, and finding older males
willing to strip off wasn’t easy. A comment prompted by my amplified thought
that posing in the nude was very pleasurable. I had done it in my youth but
now, regrettably, much too old. She did not agree. Such volunteers were always
welcome, just extremely rare. So I volunteered and, a month later, had stood naked
in her studio for an hour thinking mainly of flowers.</span></span></span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘You
intrigue me’, she said.</span></span></span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">You
intrigue me.’ I said.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">We
both laughed.</span></span></span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">I
saw her again two weeks later. This meeting was different. We were in the same
cafe, drinking the same weak coffee, and continuing our previous conversation.
Except that this one had an alternative slant.</span></span></span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘Well,
that was unexpected.’</span></span></span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘My
phone call?’</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘Yes.
That and the request.’</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘To
see you in your professional capacity?’</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘My
other professional capacity.’</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">She
emphasised the word ‘other’. </span></span></span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘I
found you.’</span></span></span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘On
facebook?’</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘No.
Another site.’</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘A
specialist one?’</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘Yes.’</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘And
were you surprised?’</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘No,
not really. I suppose I half expected it.’</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘It’s
an old site. Forgotten it was still there.’</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘But
you must get feedback. Requests.’</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘Occasionally.
I ignore them. Long time ago.’</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">I
paused. Thinking. Drinking my weak coffee.</span></span></span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘But
you didn’t ignore mine.’</span></span></span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘No.’</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘Why?’</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘You
were my model, remember?’</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘Is
that the only reason?’</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘No.
We seemed to get on well.’</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘And
we are only having a coffee.’</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘Very
weak.’</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘Madame
Kahlo?’</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘A
daft name.’</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘It
suits. Conjures up visions of a wielded paintbrush.’</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘Or
other wooden implements.’</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">She
laughed and I joined in. I liked this woman and I reckon she liked me. But when
she spoke again my mood changed.</span></span></span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘But
after?’</span></span></span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘After
what?’</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘The
coffee.’</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">I
froze. Registered that strange gleam in her eyes. The slight increase in her
breathing. The stiffening of her body. Intermingled signals I could neither
deny nor ignore.</span></span></span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘After?’</span></span></span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘After
the coffee, what then?’</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘I
don’t know. I go home, I suppose.’</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘Oh
Nigel.’</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">She
used my name, for the first time I think.</span></span></span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘Oh
Nigel. You disappoint me. Why would you go home?’</span></span></span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘Because
we met for coffee. You said so, on the phone. You made that clear.’</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘That
we meet for coffee.’</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘Yes.’</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘And?’</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘Nothing
else. Or so I assumed.’</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘But
you hoped. Admit it Nigel, you hoped.’</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘It
crossed my mind.’</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">She
laughed, a little loud and disturbing in such a public place.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘Of
course it crossed your mind. It did more than that. I would be surprised if it
didn’t, having found my old website. I do remember our last conversation.’</span></span></span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘I’m
sorry.’</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘For
what? You like having your bottom spanked, don’t apologise for that.’</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘Caned.’</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘Same
thing.’</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘Except
harder.’</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘Of
course.’</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘And
you discovered I used to do it.’</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘A
bonus.’</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">She
gave me that very serious look again, the one first seen when I told her of my
kink.</span></span></span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘And
I have decided I will do it again. As a one off. For you.’</span></span></span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘Is
that wise?’</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘And
no fee.’</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘Even
more foolish.’</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘You
amuse me. And I like you. Modelling for me was fun. My students thought so.
And, as we all said, you have a delightful bottom.’</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘And
you haven’t caned one recently?’</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘No.
I am retired from that. But you seem to have rekindled the interest. I think
it’s the naughty boy in you.’</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘I
am a perennial fifteen year old. So my friends say.’</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘Then
you deserve to be whacked. By me.’</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘Or
Madame Kahlo.’</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">She
laughed again, quieter this time, and more breathless. I think she was getting
turned on. I know I was. The room was beginning to spin and my face was getting
flushed. And the stirring in my loins was unmistakeable. The promise of
discipline across my bottom was a heady prospect I could never deny. Whatever
the circumstances. And I liked this woman, had done ever since we first met.
Spiralling artistic male nudes in hues of orange and blue was one thing, but
being beaten by her eclipsed all. I relished the idea and the reality.</span></span></span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘I
will. Willingly. But there is one thing.’</span></span></span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘Which
is?’</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘I
insist on paying. There has to be a fee.’</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘Why?’</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘It
will not work otherwise.’</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘Too
personal.’</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘Yes.
Sorry.’</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘I
think I understand.’</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘There
has to be that barrier. I hope I am not offending you.’</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘No.
Of course not.’</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘Good.’</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘And
if you have, I know the remedy.’</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘I
hope so.’</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘Oh,
do not worry, I used to be very good.’</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">She
rose, ready to leave.</span></span></span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘Pay
for the coffee Nigel, and I will see you in an hour. Give you time to compose
yourself. Here’s my card. I think I shall enjoy this.’</span></span></span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">And
with that she left.</span></span></span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">The
thing to do is concentrate. Close your eyes and think about days on the beach
or in the garden tending flowers. Walking through fields of poppies on a warm
and promising morning. Think about anything really. Anything except about where
you are, what you are doing. Standing in the middle of an unwelcoming room,
surrounded by eager studying eyes. Eyes that microscopically examine every inch
of your skin. At a distance that dilutes warm breath and dulls whispered words.
Thankfully. For you are naked, as naked as the day you were born. Not a stitch
on, and that day you were born was a long time ago. Conscious of those eyes you
finally close your own and think about those days on the beach. And then you
bend over the bench, laid out conveniently in the centre of the room. It was
not there last time, the day you posed naked for aspirant artists of varied
ability. But it is there now. And now some of those same students watch, not
paint. Watch as you are bent over and tied down. Watch as you are beaten, with
a cane.</span></span></span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘How
are you feeling?’</span></span></span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘Content.’</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘Good.’</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘Content
and sore.’</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘Not
annoyed?’</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘Should
I be?’</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘Possibly.
Some folks do not like an audience.’</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘It
was only three. And I don’t mind. Adds something.’</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘The
perennial exhibitionist.’</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘Is
that why you invited them?’</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘Partly.’</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘Thinking
it would add something.’</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘Did
it?’</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘Yes.
But you should have told me.’</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘A
breach of trust?’</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘Could
be. And knowing, knowing others would be watching, would have added to the
anticipation.’</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘It
might have put you off.’</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘It
might.’</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘But
once in the room, seeing them, I knew you would be hooked.’</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘You
did say you were good.’</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘Very
good, Nigel. Very good’</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘And
you paint the most interesting pictures.’</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">She
laughed, quite loud again, but as were in her flat, alone, it did not matter. I
suppose I could have been angry. Turning up at her flat, studio, and finding
three eager young students waiting. Waiting and eager to see what the afternoon
entailed. They had been well selected, as I later learnt, young and intrigued
embracers of all the senses. Well chosen, well versed, and alive with
fascination. They were to see a man being beaten. That is how she had put it to
them. To see a man release all those mesmerising endorphins as a cane smacked
into his naked bottom. To witness a sensation that defies explanation and is
beyond understanding. Until you have seen it, heard it, smelt it. They would
leave shaking their heads but they would leave richer in knowledge of the human
condition. Or that was her rationale. Mine was more basic. Power surged through
me as, with watching eyes, she told me to strip to my underpants and calmly
explained to the trio what was to happen. I was to be tied down on her bench,
Nigel is a willing participant she said, and I shall cane him thirty six times.
Observe all, marks, movement, distress. Observe all; it may be the only chance
you get. I listened to it all, covered only in my underpants and conscious of a
growing erection. A woman, a cane, three observers, a bench, and me. Almost
naked. Humiliation, anticipation, and fear combined in heady levels. When she
walked towards me, fully immersed as Madame Kahlo, and slowly peeled off my
underpants I was eternally grateful that none giggled at my stiffened state.
They were all enthralled and that made what was to come almost heavenly. </span></span></span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘Did
they say anything as they left?’</span></span></span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘Only
that you took it well.’</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘I
am experienced.’</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘So
I saw.’</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘But
it still hurt.’</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘As
it should.’</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘I
hope they appreciated it.’</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘They
were enthralled. Transfixed. Caning a bottom, a naked bottom, plays havoc with
the emotions of the watchers.’</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘Is
that why you did it?’</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘Partly.
Caning you appealed and my students just added an extra frisson.’</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><br /></span></span></span></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">I
supped the wine I had been offered, a gentle well rounded merlot, and
considered my next response.</span></span></span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘I
am sorry about my erection. I hope they weren’t embarrassed.’</span></span></span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘Were
you?’</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘No.
It added to my humiliation.’</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘I
think they were amused. Amused and intrigued. It added to their understanding.’</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘And
quickly lost.’</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘Of
course. I am, or was, Madame Kahlo.’</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘And
you caned me well. My bottom is well striped and well sore.’</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘Then
a very useful afternoon. For all of us.’</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘Living
art?’</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘In
a way. In a manner of speaking.’</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘Your
health.’</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">I
raised my glass.</span></span></span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘And
yours, Nigel.’</span></span></span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">She
raised hers and we both laughed.</span></span></span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">It
was art. In a way. She had peeled off my underpants and led me to the bench.
Watching eager eyes saw me bound and naked across her bench. A soft backside
upturned and ready and with a hardness in front that signalled agreement. As
those eyes watched and absorbed, her cane lashed into my upturned cheeks. I
gasped at each strike on my buttocks but as I drank in the fire and pain I
blessed the presence of witnesses. Witnesses to the painting of the hues of her
blues and orange across my nether cheeks. Living art. Living pain. Living
submission. Observed by some of those who had, on another day, drawn my
nakedness. Now they could draw my pain. Thirty six strokes. All lovingly
created on my bottom as carefully and as cleverly as any painter’s brush. They,
I, and Madame Kahlo were well pleased.</span></span></span></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">Or
I hoped so. Next time, if there is a next time, no students will be present.</span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">Alfred Roy (2018)</span></span></i></div>
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Alfred Royhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10230978439930708047noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7782382387501739014.post-74621484948838697492018-06-16T09:24:00.001-07:002018-06-16T09:24:49.230-07:00Guest Story - Shorts on Fire by Africanus<div style="text-align: justify;">
Something a bit different. A guest story from a follower of my blog. Personally I would have the lad dropping the shorts but, otherwise, good enough to post here. Not a precedent I hasten to add even if, teasingly, I suspect a sequel when those pants will come down. In the meantime enjoy <strong>Africanus.</strong> Makes a change from <strong>Alfred Roy.</strong><strong><em><span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></em></strong><br />
<strong><em><span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></em></strong><br />
<strong><em><span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: x-small;">Shorts On Fire ( A Mrs Dwaine Story)</span></em></strong></div>
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</em></strong></span></b></span></div>
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</b></span><br />
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<b><em></em></b><em></em><span style="color: red; font-family: inherit; font-size: x-small;"><strong>
</strong></span><br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br />
<br />
On that broiling Saturday afternoon – with the pavement almost cinder hot and uncomfortable to walk on – I was to report to Mrs. Patience Dwane for a caning. A punishment for inattentiveness with the formidable Xhosa matriarch assuring me that I would feel each and every stroke and would not be negligent for some time to come.Before the discipline itself I would need to face the ordeal of purchasing a school cane.The towering Patience Dwane had insisted upon Mr. Khan’s Bazaar. Pliant, quality canes capable of teaching me a proper lesson were stocked by this gentleman.I should mention Mrs. Dwane and Mr. Khan would handle everything else. My plan had been to cautiously survey Khan’s premises and select the right moment to make an appearance but the searing Eastern Cape heat put paid to that. I almost threw myself inside Khan’s Bazaar to escape the furnace.It was a place of shadows, mercifully cool and devoid of customers. I had only just got my bearings in the gloom when my shoulder was lightly tapped.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
“Would you be liking a cold drink Sir, our refrigerator has an excellent selection.”</div>
<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
It was a tempting offer but I declined and asked whether he was Mr. Khan.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
“Yes indeed I am.”<br />
<br />
<br />
“Are you sure you are not wanting refreshment, your accent suggests you are from England and must be feeling this African weather.”<br />
<br />
I stammered no thank you and then took a deep breath and stated my actual business. <br />
<br />
Mr. Khan did not blink or raise an eyebrow and beckoned me further into his premis<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
A moment later I was confronted by a substantial wicker basket containing an array of canes – some with crook handles - and others finished with a leather grip.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
The proprietor gave the basket some thought and then selected two with crook handles. He briefly looked me up and down and then studied the canes again.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
“This one I think. Mrs. Dwane has requested a similar type many times before.”<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
“I know my customers well you see!”<br />
<br />
<br />
A light laugh from Mr. Khan and then as if by magic he reached behind him and extracted a large brown paper bag from a shelf. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
“We shall get it wrapped for you Sir. I think you do not wish folk to know you have misbehaved and require a caning.”<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
“You see Mrs. Dwane today I think for a most painful but useful lesson?”<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
I nodded my head and my already hot face burned some more. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Three minutes later I was out on the street. The cane had been expertly bent and wrapped and Khan had accepted a ten rand note without making any further comment. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Crossing over to the side of the street with some shade I plotted a route to Mrs. Dwane’s home which avoided going past the bookshop where I worked. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
My uncle (and employer) was in the habit of standing outside his shop because in the hottest, driest months a display of books he was eager to be rid off lived outside. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
He would no doubt been intrigued about the curious brown paper package and I had no intention of being cross-examined by my relative on the matter. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
So I avoided Devon Street altogether and took a more roundabout route through the old part of town where the first English settlers had built their small, humble townhouses. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Much to my delight the heat had driven nearly everyone inside and I was able to use this solitary walk to reflect upon on my relationship with the imposing Patience Dwane. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
**<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Books lay at the heart of the matter. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Or rather my inability to order the correct editions for Mrs. Dwane and then having got the order right I had failed to diligently pursue our suppliers in faraway Cape Town.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
After a third fruitless visit to my Uncle’s bookshop Mrs. Dwane had taken me to one side and without causing a scene had administered a prolonged scolding. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
I was an idle young man!<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
No eye for detail!<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Did I treat all my customers this way?<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
I had better pull my socks up and get her books!<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Someone should give me a shake!<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Patience Dwane in full flow had proved to be an overwhelming experience. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Glowering down at me, hands placed on her broad hips and listing my faults I found her to be intimidating and yet hugely intriguing.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
She was magnificent, utterly commanding and by the time she had finished I felt humbled and then apologised for all I was worth. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
There was a curt nod of her proud head and then a long, elegant finger had pointed in the direction of the telephone on the front desk. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
I had some calls to make and next week there had better be some books!<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
And with that she had swept out of the bookshop.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
A week later she strode back into my life looking even more majestic than ever in a grey trouser suit and some high heels adding to her considerable height.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
A young black man – around my age – was trailing in Patience Dwane’s wake.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Once again I was skilfully steered to one side so she could interrogate me and assumed that commanding stance of hands planted on hips and looking down on me. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
“Well young man, do you have my books?”<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Mercifully I did and had even secured a small discount for the various delays. I was treated to a brief but dazzling smile from above.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
“So you can be a good boy! I was beginning to believe you were idle and someone who had not been raised correctly. And where are my books?”<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
I pointed back to the counter and a carefully wrapped pile I had placed to one side. I made a move to fetch them but found a restraining hand placed on my shoulder.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
A crisp volley of Xhosa was directed at the young man who headed for the counter and rather elegantly took up a carrying position. Mrs. Dwane returned her attention to me. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
“My godson Albert. A nice young man but often forgetful, lazy and clumsy. But I have a proven remedy for such shortcomings.”<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Still reviewing me from-on-high Mrs. Dwane smiled again.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
“Every so often I set the seat of his shorts on fire.”<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
I had gulped at this point and my face had coloured some more. My reaction both amused and encouraged Mrs. Dwane. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
“A good caning and a mighty sore bottom!”<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
There was a moment of silence and I was being studied very intently. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
“I think that maybe you and Albert are much alike and perhaps you have also benefitted from some cane strokes in the past?” <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
“In fact I am sure of it; I can read your face!”<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Mrs. Dwane stepped even closer to me and lowered her voice to a whisper.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
“And what Patience Dwane is thinking now is that a certain young Englishman would very much like to apologise for disappointing Madam so much.” <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
“And that the same young Englishman can either offer some contrite words and we conclude matters. Or perhaps he opts to make amends like Albert does?” <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Mrs. Dwane stepped back and folded her arms.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Approximately three minutes later I had made my choice and been given instructions.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Saturday afternoon, visit Mr. Khan first and then the cane from Patience Dwane.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
**<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Mrs. Dwane’s neighbourhood highlighted the fact that she had been successful.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
It was a new district of the town which the Xhosa professionals and entrepreneurs had moved out to and there were driveways with BMWs and glimpses of swimming pools. South Africa was changing fast and for the better!<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
I clutched my package - praying it would remain intact – and reviewed the business card I had been given containing Mrs. Dwane’s details.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
After a frustrating wrong turn I finally found Accra Street and walked to the very end of the road and noted that this was the very edge of town where the scrubland began.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Taking the deepest of breaths I approached an imposing front door and rang the bell. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
The door was opened by a truly beautiful and lithe Xhosa girl and I quickly realised that Patience Dwane could afford a maid. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
“Madam is busy with work but you are to come in and wait for her.”<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
“I shall take the parcel for Madam, follow me.”<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Mrs. Dwane’s employee quickly led the way and to my surprise I found myself standing on a large expanse of terrace at the back of her home.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
We finally came to a halt at the far end of the terrace where there was a table with a jug of water and a glass. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
More ominously a low, sturdy stool which I knew would play a part in upcoming events. The young woman gave me a brief smile.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
“Madam says you may have a glass of water. But then you must stand by the stool and be quiet and perfectly still. You are to wait like this.”<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
A demonstration was given; the maid placing her hands on top of her head and standing directly behind the stool. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
“Drink the water, you look hot. But you must be ready for Madam.”<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
**<br />
<br />
<br />
Some twenty minutes passed before Mrs. Dwane appeared on the terrace. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Another trouser suit and this time completed with a stylish and colourful African turban. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
She approached me slowly and with an almost regal elegance and bade me good afternoon. The cane from Khan’s bazaar was tucked beneath her arm.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
“You will go across this stool in a minute or so and I will deliver a sound punishment. A good beating on your bottom for being a lazy boy and wasting Madam’s time.”<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
“Mr Khan’s canes – as you will discover – get fine results.”<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
She stepped closer to me – as was her wont – and then effortlessly spun me round.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
“A good backside I think. When did this bottom last receive some correction?”<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
I was turned again. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
“Speak up boy, Mrs. Dwane requires an answer!”<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
My answer came in a stutter. Not since prep school many years before. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
There was a loud tut-tut from Patience Dwane.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
“Too long, far too long for an idle boy like you!”<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
“England must be becoming a very soft place indeed.”<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
“Albert and his brother Peter go over my stool once a month. More if they need it.”<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
“I think it is good we have met. This cane has plenty of work to do and I shall keep it here and just for you.”<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
My wrist was then grasped and together we approached the stool.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
I could feel Mrs. Dwane’s considerable might as she positioned me to her liking. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
And it is pointless to deny that submitting to a strong, implacably determined and mature woman like this was not exciting.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
She could seemingly move me as she wished and with her considerable ease due to her physical strength and experience. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Finally, I was placed in a tipped over position with my head down by the terrace and bottom proffered for what I knew was going to be a proper hiding. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Mrs. Dwane knelt down close to my head. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
“Three wasted journeys. So three sets of six from Madam.” <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
“You may cry and shout. My maid is quite used to the songs young men sing when their bottoms are being caned.”<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
**<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
I’ve mentioned Mrs. Dwane’s uncommon strength and on that afternoon it was used to considerable and dramatic effect.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Before commencing she applied a vice like grip to the waistband of my summer shorts both to tighten the target area and hold me in place.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
The grasp was inescapable and raised my bottom for the cane even more.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Six vigorous, excruciating strokes then ensued that had me gasping and I was astonished by her ability to wield the cane and keep me pinned over the stool. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Mrs. Dwane released her hold and I found myself writhing over the seat and throwing my hands back to try and massage my scalding rear.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
That earned me a sharp tap of the cane. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
“Hands away! I want that bottom to smart and those shorts pulled up good and tight.”<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Thirty seconds later she seized my shorts again and I felt both excited and terrified as the material was pulled even tauter and by this demonstration of power. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
“More cane strokes for you, head right down.”<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
A further six – delivered every ten seconds or so – had me yelping and after the fifth stroke I made a futile attempt to wriggle my thrashed bottom out of the way.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
This was easily dealt with by my disciplinarian who simply hauled me back onto the middle of her punishment stool and delivered the next stroke with some extra heft. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
I squealed as the cane bit into my hauled-up shorts and smacked my palms on the terrace to cope with the considerable pain. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Sore, sorry and panting I was held in place across the stool for a further minute before I heard the rattle of the cane on the nearby table.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
I was ordered to rise and could not help performing a ridiculous jig. Just as she had promised, Khan’s cane did indeed get some fine results.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Patience Dwane – not even remotely out of breath despite her exertions - reviewed this dance with some amusement.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
“A bit of dancing is good! Shows me a bottom is stinging and a boy is learning.”<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
The cane was reached for again but this time held halfway down the shaft and Mrs. Dwane purposefully planted her right foot on the centre of the stool.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
A high platform was being created consisting of Mrs. Dwane’s shapely and mighty thigh. I was beckoned to come closer.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
“Get up and over. The last six will be over my knee.”<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
“Don’t worry my leg is more than strong enough.” <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
I made a very poor effort of mounting this glorious stand and Mrs. Dwane’s notable might was required to hoist me up.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Eventually I was tipped right over and was treated to a dizzying view of the terrace from my perch and the delicious experience of being in contact with a sturdy, warm thigh.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
“More beating for this bottom, now hold still.”<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
I kicked and yelped my way through the last six which came in rapid succession – the strokes whipping home - and was then left dangling across Mrs. Dwane’s raised thigh. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
She was in no hurry to let me down from this compliant posture and assuredly had the stamina and know-how to keep me up there for as long as she saw fit. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
A hand was placed gently on my bottom and began to explore the just-caned area.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
“Shorts on fire – yes, good and hot – but next time no shorts and I pull down the underpants as well. You will receive correction on a bare bottom.”<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
I was left hanging there a tad longer before Mrs. Dwane applied a mild smack (which still made me flinch) to signal I was to be lowered.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
She skilfully returned me to terra firma and instructed me to adjust my shorts. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
As I performed this task – which made me wince as the material had been pulled tight and my bottom was striped - she flexed the cane thoughtfully and then bade me to move closer to her. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
To my surprise and delight I was totally enveloped in a tender hug and she rocked me gently from side to side as she whispered in my ear. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
“More punishment for you in the weeks to come, more visits to Mrs. Dwane’s house.”<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
When I was released there was a final dazzling smile and Patience Dwane turned sharply and strode across the terrace.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Both conquered and chastised, I drank in the sight of her superbly rounded, trouser-clad bottom and long, powerful legs and savoured the scent of her perfume.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Much to my astonishment I found myself needing to adjust the front of my shorts.<br />
<br />
<br />
**<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
A fortnight later.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
The weather had somewhat relented and I was engrossed in rearranging a troublesome shelf of books for my uncle.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
There was a polite cough from behind me designed to gain my attention. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
A smiling Mr. Khan was standing there. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
“Good morning Sir. During your lunch hour please come to the Bazaar. There is a gift waiting for you from Mrs. Dwane.”<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Two hours later I slipped into Khan’s shop and was once again steered towards the back of his rambling premises. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
A black, hard-backed book was then presented to me. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
“There is no charge Sir. Mrs. Dwane has purchased the item and you are to keep it safe and read the contents at your leisure.”<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
I gave Mr. Khan a somewhat perplexed look.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
“I believe it is a Punishment Book Sir, your Punishment Book.”<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
ENDS<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br /></div>
Alfred Royhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10230978439930708047noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7782382387501739014.post-27220830378676697042018-05-02T07:23:00.002-07:002018-05-02T07:26:37.545-07:00Your Favourite Stories - A Statistical Review<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">The perspicacious amongst you
will have readily noticed that dilatoriness has been the order of the day
recently. In other words, sharp sighted folks may think that things have gone a
little quiet on this blog. Nowhere near as bad as another blog I have on
theatre, not a thing there for months. Shall not regale you with the reasons,
far too boring, but rest assured that whilst theatre visits have been pretty
well nonexistent these last few months the travels of the pants down variety
have still featured regularly in my life. Usually for fully naked massages, no
other way in my opinion, but also, occasionally, for well deserved and long
overdue bottom whackings. Taking all of your clothes off for pampering is fun,
preferably by another male but not compulsory, but baring your bottom whilst
retaining much else is so much better. There is something so very wonderful in
bending over a bench waiting for the tee shirt to be raised and the underpants
pulled down. And then the lovely whacks on the over eager bottom. And unlike
massages when a male is definitely favoured by me, chastiser gender is
immaterial. Just be good and accurate is all I wish for and want. And both
genders have warmed up my behind during the last few months. So, in spite of
dilatory blogging, there is still life in this old dog. Or certainly in his
backside.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">One thing I have been doing
whilst waiting for story scribing inspiration is studying my statistical hits
on whacking tales. Moving up to around 250,000 hits now, so I have a pretty
clear idea of what appeals. Three thoughts come readily to mind.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt 36pt; text-align: justify;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: red;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">A story will always
win out over a blog.</span></span></b></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt 36pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">17 of my stories
have registered over 1,000 hits each. The top one, <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Fridays at Three O’clock,</b> currently stands at 12,850 and two
others, <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">The Boston Landlady</b> <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">and Miss Pringle Solves a Problem,</b> have
both passed the 10,000 mark. Only one blog, <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">My First Caning,</b> has reached over 10,000 and only 7 have passed the
1,000 hurdle. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt 36pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt 36pt; text-align: justify;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: red;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">A Female whacking
the bottom wins out over the male.</span></span></b></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt 36pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">8 of the top ten
stories involve a female dominant whacking a young bottom, In addition to those
recorded above <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">The Reluctant Schoolboy,</b>
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">The Past is Always Present, Mistress
Fredericka, A Lesson for Miss Jones, </b>and<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"> Aunt Mildred </b>all figure up there in the top ten. Surprisingly the
last two of these have a girl baring her bottom. Only <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Yesterdays Boy</b> (autobiographical) and <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">The Headmaster’s Dilemma</b>, stories of the male caning a male intrude
in the higher echelons. This preference for the female chastiser is underlined
by the blog statistics with <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">The
Leicester Governess, I Have Never Seen Whipstock Grange</b> and <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Caning as Therapy</b> all being in the top
ten blogs. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt 36pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt 36pt; text-align: justify;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: red;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">The Cane is Tops.</span></span></b></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt 36pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">A theme that runs
through most of the top stories and blogs is that the wielding of a cane across
a bare bottom trumps much else. All of the top ten blogs involve someone being
caned and 3 of the top 5 stories have a similar scenario. Statistics are
undoubtedly skewed by the fact that I enjoy writing blogs and stories involving
the cane much more than other scenarios but the fact that they figure so highly
suggests like minded readers. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">So an interesting set of
statistics. Most of those singled out above are on the currently top ten list (see
right column) and easily linked. And this, in itself, is another statistical
skew. Folks are lazy, I reckon, and the top six account for 47% of story hits
and 55% of blog hits. Success breeds success is my uncharitable thought. A
thought underlined by the fact that my currently featured blog (see top) <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">How to Bare a Behind, </b>has taken a big
jump up the table in recent months. Currently working on a new story (The
Artist’s Strange Model) and musing on posting an old long one (A Light Shines
in Ruislip). All this and the above await comments to my e-mail. </span><a href="mailto:alfred.roy@btinternet.com"><span style="color: red; font-family: "calibri";">alfred.roy@btinternet.com</span></a><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> Postings
there have been conspicuous by absence recently. Are you all too busy being
whacked?</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">Alfred Roy</span></div>
Alfred Royhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10230978439930708047noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7782382387501739014.post-91318489828981394042018-02-05T03:53:00.000-08:002018-02-05T07:43:57.798-08:00Memories of Gerry (M/m)<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><em>I have an old friend who regularly deals with my bottom when I visit him. We oldies can still have fun. He enjoys my stories, the male ones, and I often read one to him over an evening tipple. Due a visit shortly and realised I did not have a suitable new one. So dashed this off, total fiction except for the caning. Hopefully when I sit down to entertain him with it my own backside will be suitably tingling. A late Happy New Year to you all. Alfred Roy</em></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><strong>Memories of Gerry</strong></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">I never did forget that summer of
1957. I didn’t forget it for a number of reasons. My parents divorced after
years of acrimony, my grandmother died, and I spent two weeks in hospital
recovering from some unspecified bug. Food poisoning someone said, but it
seemed a lot worse to me. I was fifteen and miserable. Family and health had
induced ill humour. But I recovered and that recovery was helped, nay enhanced,
by a hospital bedside companion who remained a close friend for all of the
following sixty years. He was the main reason I did not forget that summer of
1957. Gerry. Outrageous Gerry. Fun, anarchic, irascible, witty. Call him what
you will. Diminutive Gerry Robinson was irrepressible. Same age as me, and as I
found out due to go to the same small private school, and instantly likeable.
He lifted my spirits far more than any medicine or medical ministrations. When
we were discharged, fortuitously on the same day, we vowed to meet up at
school. Hopefully, we both said, in the same house. Roll on September I
thought. That long gone summer would become memorable, mainly because of Gerry.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">We got into trouble almost from
the first day. A pompous housemaster with spiky ginger hair had what I
discovered in later years was a rotacism. He could not pronounce the letter R.
Inevitably, although he directed nothing at us, I took to calling my friend
Gewwy. We giggled and those giggles were seen and registered. An enemy of
ginger haired was made on day one. And on day three we discovered he was to be
our housemaster. He will find an excuse to cane us, I said somewhat ruefully. Gerry
laughed. It will be ‘Bend over Wobinson’, he said, and we giggled as only
fifteen year boys could.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">Surprisingly he gave us a pretty
easy time for the first month or so. We didn’t see him that often as his few
teaching duties were mainly Latin and Greek, two subjects both Gerry and I had
opted out of in favour of German and French. Our paths mainly crossed outside
teaching hours when he did his best to maintain discipline among twenty or so
young teenage boys. By the end of that first month we were well aware of how
that discipline was maintained, this was 1957, as two of our fellows made early
evening visits to his study and returned ruefully rubbing behinds. Eager
questions followed and information, followed by unseemly displays, elicited.
The marks on small behinds were impressive, no wonder they had ruefully rubbed.
‘So he only gives six’ Gerry said, ‘Or that seems to be the minimum. And on the
bare bot. The wotter.’ We both laughed but the warning was registered. Neither
caned boy had done anything particularly heinous as far as we knew. One had
been caught smoking and the other returned half an hour late from a sanctioned
afternoon in town. Do something very wrong, especially in the eyes of an enemy,
and it might be eighteen with a rod wrapped in barbed wire. I amplified these
thoughts to Gerry. ‘A wod wapped in barbed wire. Weally?’ We both laughed a
little bit, knowing, I think, that such taunts were getting a little thin.
Especially when repeated a day or so later, Ginger Spike overheard. He did not
say anything then but we knew he had registered our mocking tones. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">We got our next warning just
before the Christmas break. I am unhappy with you two boys, he said. Quite mild
really, considering that we had blown an electrical fuse on the lighting box
for the schools’ festive theatrical production. Three minutes of blackout does
not sound much, except when it is in the middle of a bit of old Shakespeare.
Not totally our fault but we were assisting and found it quite funny. Gerry
particularly so. ‘Oh wherefore art thou Romeo, has an extra piquant zing when
the poor sod is completely in the dark.’ Ginger Spike, consumed in the
seriousness of theatre, abhorred our levity. But not a caning offence,
thankfully. You don’t whack boys for laughing, not even in 1957. It did not
occur to us then that he was biding his time, saving up his corporal
investment. Nor, stupidly, after a more direct threat of future retribution.
That was a caning offence, at least for Gerry if not for me. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">A mutual passion we had
discovered when occupying adjacent hospital beds was horseracing, especially
National Hunt racing. His father had owned a couple of point to pointers and
used to ride in his younger days and Gerry was often taken to race meetings. My
parents did not have the same involvement but regularly attended top meetings
in a business capacity. Aintree and Ascot were often dinner table discussions
in our house. So I subscribed to Gerry’s enthusiasm. His father’s friend owned a
horse which was running in a valuable handicap hurdle at Newbury early in the
new year. Gerry was keen to back it but had little money and no means of
placing a bet. So he did the next best thing. He took bets on the other horses
in the race from other race keen school fellows. In other words he made a book.
A heinous offence both for him and the boys who bet with him, if found out.
Worthy of any caning. My only involvement was to act as Gerry’s studious ledger
clerk. Never liked sums, he said, ignoring the obvious fact that betting on
horses involved little else. We, or he, would have got away with it if one
inconsiderate and overloud oik had not subsequently blagged about his
substantial win. The father’s friend horse had lost and this one irksome
schoolfellow had placed one pound with Gerry on the 15/1 winner. He was
delighted, as was Gerry who made a profit on the book he had created, until the
celebrating blagging reached the ears of housemaster Ginger Spike. The blagger
was caned, severely we heard, but puzzlingly repercussions for us seemed
curiously delayed.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">By the third day after Gerry’s
only winning punter had received his scholastic desserts we were completely on
tenterhooks. Why had we not been summoned, or at least Gerry, and thrashed on
our deserving behinds. Having a bet was clearly much less heinous than running
a book. We found out on the fourth day, immediately after a dreary day of
rugger. Ginger Spike ran some of these sessions and he was on duty, whistle
happy as always, on the first inter house game following the Newbury race. He
timed his acknowledgement of our involvement in the clandestine betting
exceptionally well. Always had my suspicions of him after that. We had just
come out of the showers and, catching us both naked, he issued his strange
summary of events. I think he took much pleasure in making us squirm whilst we
were in a state of unwanted nudity. ‘I have caned one of your class fellows, as
you know. For betting on horses. And I have confiscated his winnings. I have my
suspicions as to who acted as his bookmaker. If I find any pwoof of that, or
any other misdeeds, then he or they shall suffer as none other has at my
hands.’ He could have been saying this to any in the changing room but Gerry
and I, and he, knew it was directed at us. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">All of these events should have
told us that Ginger Spike was merely biding his time. It would have taken
little effort for him to get the proof, or pwoof, he needed. The blagging boy
who pocketed £16 was no hero. Promise to reduce his sentence, six of the cane
we heard on his bare backside, and he would have sung like the proverbial
canary. But pompous Spike of the ginger persuasion was a patient man. This is
all hindsight of course, honed with sixty years of life’s perspective. He could
have been an idiot, but I do not think so. No, he was content to bide his time.
Catch Wobinson and his limpet like friend in something particularly dreadful
and slates of mocking tones, theatrical mishaps, and clandestine bookmaking
would be wiped painfully clean. He had our bottoms very much in his sight and
we, who should have known, blissfully ignored the signs. All we said, pleased
that he had left us naked and subdued, was ‘Bugger.’ Or at least Gerry did. ‘Bugger’,
he said, ‘Confiscated the winnings. Wish I had only given the oik odds of 8/1.’
I laughed. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">A week later, a cold wet
Wednesday early in February, that laughter faded. Big time. This will take some
explaining. The school had a trainee teacher, learning the ropes. Or learning
the wopes, as Gerry took delight in saying when Ginger Spike made the
announcement. The trainee had been around for about a month and regularly got
played up by boys who knew no better. A school tradition I was reliably, or
unreliably, informed. I felt a bit sorry for him. Tall and gangly, and not much
older than us, he seemed totally out of his depth. No idea of how to control a
class of combustible fifteen year olds. On that fateful Wednesday he was in
charge, a loose phrase, of the physical education class. Not my favourite
activity. For some reason, purely fortuitous I think, Gerry and I were chosen
as opposing captains for a red and blue team game of basketball. Seven a side.
It all went well until the incompetent trainee left us alone for a few minutes
with an airily instruction to carry on playing. That seemed to be a signal for
two opposing lads who detested each other to start a fight. Within five
minutes all was chaos, not diluted by the returning trainee who appeared incapable
of dowsing schoolboy flames. It was left to me and Gerry, diminutive Gerry, to
try to prise the main protagonists apart. By now this was most of the opposing
teams, boys being boys, as some fight and ask the reasons afterwards. Order
could not be restored, or not until Ginger Spike appeared. Tall, pompous, and
full of flaming nostrils. The two fighters were singled out and ordered,
immediately, to his study. As they were, he stressed, meaning in their PE kit.
No need to change, he said, and that said all we needed to know. A whacking was
on the cards. And then he dropped his bombshell. ‘And in half an hour, you two
as well.’ he said, pointing to me and Gerry, ‘You and Wobinson. And no need to
change either.’ And with that he left the gym leaving four boys to contemplate
an inevitable fate. And two of them could not see the justice of it. Only an
opportunity not denied.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";">I never did forget that caning. I
never forgot it for a number of reasons. By itself it was definitely
undeserved. But as Gerry and I recognised and agreed, it was going to happen
one day so might as well get it over with. Ginger Spike had us on his list and
our Captains day was the day of overdue retribution. So we resigned ourselves
to our fate, even if resolve was a little less than steely as we saw two very
subdued pugilists leave his study. But the main reasons I did not forget it was
because of the impression it made on both my fifteen year old bottom and my
equally fifteen year old mind. When we knocked on Ginger Spike’s study door the
air was already rich in heady expectancy. When we left some twenty minutes
later roads to adulthood and sexuality were clearly defined. Or at least for
me.</span></div>
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<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">We said little when we entered
his study. An acknowledgement that we were there because we had been summoned
and a registering of the cane on his desk. He glanced at both it and us,
clearly relishing the situation. We were both a let down to the school, he
said, ‘Clearly diswuptive and, it seems, incapable of taking wesponsibility.’
Gerry almost corpsed at this pronouncement but, thankfully, giggles from both
us were mercifully suppressed. I think fear of what was to come eclipsed all
other feelings. We knew damn well that we were going to get six, we did not
want it notched up to twelve. He addressed Gerry first. ‘Wobinson, I shall deal
with you first. Not because I think you are the lesser of two evils, but you
are the smaller.’ If that was meant to be a joke it fell on unreceptive ears. ‘You
will be given six of the cane on your bottom. Long overdue in my opinion. So
kindly bend over.’</span></div>
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<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">If that had been it, a cold and
clinical bending over, and six whacks across Gerry’s PE shorts then I reckon
things might have turned out different. I would have seen and heard his caning,
sympathised with his pain, and reluctantly taken his place when all was done.
But it was not like that. As I have said before this was 1957, or to be more
accurate 1958, and this was a small private school. And this was a vengeful
housemaster who had stored up many grievances. So he approached the bending
Gerry, roughly pulled down his shorts to his knees and lifted his PE vest to
the middle of his small back. A rule of our school was that you did not wear
underpants for physical education. Considered unhealthy. So poor old Gerry was as
bare as the day he was born. At least from waist to knees. His bare bottom
stuck out like a small and gleaming early evening moon. And I was transfixed. I
moved from being fearful of what was to come for me to being fascinated by what
was to happen to Gerry. A caning on the bare backside was an experience beyond
any normal understanding. And when Ginger Spike put words to the picture it
both increased fascination and enhanced anticipation. I was becoming consumed
by a desire I did not understand. ‘Six stwokes on your bottom, boy, I said. I
did not say you would have any modesty. If ever a boy deserved his bare bottom
to be caned, it is you.’ And with that he lashed his cane across the naked rear
of my best pal, and a howl sprung from unseen lips as a savage line crossed the
two nicest bare cheeks I had ever seen. I flinched. And I did so five more
times as Ginger Spike’s cane did its worst. Gerry, to his credit, never moved
in spite of his gasps and howls and by the sixth stroke his bottom was fiery
red with weals which would take long to fade. Each one had been painted on his
behind to perfection, and each one had etched me further along a road I would
take years to understand. Gerry rose, sobbing quietly, and pulled up his PE
shorts. A rueful rub of his bottom and he stepped aside. But not before an
encouraging glance at me. It hurt, he seemed to be saying, but it’s over. And
then he rubbed his bottom again, more vigorously it seemed. I gulped and
waited, heart pounding and all inside stirring. ‘You now boy.’ Ginger Spike
said, now in full flow, ‘Bend over and get what you clearly deserve. Six
strokes.’</span></div>
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<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">I did as I was told. This was
inevitable and now I knew all that was to come. He would hardly cane Gerry on
the bare behind and allow me some modesty. Fleetingly the thought crossed my
mind that he might, after all he always saw Gerry as the more reprehensible. And
with the thought came an inexplicable feeling of possible disappointment
coupled with a surging of anticipation. Bent over, touching my ankles as I
could in those days, I knew that I wanted Ginger Spike to take down my pants. I
wanted him to cane me on my bare backside. And not just because that is how he
had caned my friend. I just wanted it. I had a desire, there is no other word,
to be bereft of my lower garments and exposed to the gaze of both present. The
chastised and the chastiser. Somehow I knew the pain would be more bearable if
my naked bottom felt the savage kisses of the cane.</span></div>
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<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">I need not have worried. Words
that should have created fear strangely thrilled. ‘You will not be spared,
boy.’ he said. ‘I caned your friend on his bare bottom, well deserved, and you
will receive the same.’ It was said in a voice unfamiliarly clear, increasing my anticipation. And with that he put his hands in the waist of my
flimsy PE shorts and pulled them down to my knees. I felt surrounding air brush
my bottom and my genitals, sensed the exposure. And then my equally flimsy vest
was roughly pushed up my bending back. There could now be no illusions, I was a
picture of submissive nakedness. And all could see. My bottom was exposed and
waiting and my private parts dangled freely and wantonly. I was a boy waiting
to be caned and the way it was to be done, for those who witnessed and those
who suffered, it would be glorious. Gloriously bare. I sighed and when the cane
lashed into me, after a preliminary tap, I reckon my first unexpected howl was
wrapped in that anticipatory sigh. I did cry, of course. I couldn’t help it. It
hurt like hell. After the third stroke I almost, unlike Gerry, nearly rose
clutching my burning bum. Rough hands pressing on my back and threatening extra
strokes prevented it and, after a pause, I felt the three remaining cane whacks
across my, by now, lacerated backside. The sting was indescribable and all
thoughts of pleasurable anticipation were expunged. After the last,
particularly vicious stroke, I rose. Copiously sobbing, woefully subdued, I
pulled up my pants and rubbed those parts of me that I was convinced would
never heal. I had been caned six times on my bare bottom. It was my first
experience and the most impressionable. Such things happen when you are
fifteen. Ginger Spike was not a sensitive soul but maybe he recognised
something in me for he gave us a few minutes to recover. Minutes in which my senses moved from acute pain to confusing pleasure. The warmth of chastisement had pleasing compensations. By the time we left my
spirits had revived. My bottom may have been throbbing for England but I felt
serenely calm. Gerry had also recovered his generally irrepressible spirit.
‘Thank God he pulled my pants down without saying anything.’ he said. ‘If he
had said dwop your shorts Wobinson I would have giggled so much I would have
got twelve.’ That was the extent of our post whacking’s banter. A couple of
hours later it turned more serious.</span></div>
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<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">We showed each other the marks.
Boys do that. Whatever the pain, the humiliation, displaying the stripes on
otherwise virgin bottoms seemed to be as much a part of growing up in the
1950’s as the sneaky cigarette behind the chemistry lab or the passing around
of dubious magazines such as Spick and Span or Naturist Monthly. I was
transfixed both by the sight and the feel, he allowed me, of Gerry’s small
bottom. He touched mine, almost obligatory but cursory, but my fingers lingered
on his still warm flesh much longer. The weals fascinated and the contrast
between the six livid lines against alabaster cheeks enthralled. If my tracing
fingers could have stayed on his delightful bottom for a week it would not have
been long enough. He sensed it and, sensibly pulled up his pants. ‘You are
kinky’, he said,’ I guessed that when you were being caned. When old Ginger
Spike pulled down your PE shorts your willy popped out. Standing up like a
flagpole.’ Gerry Laughed and ruffled my hair, as if to diffuse the
uncomfortable mood. ‘Don’t worry’, he said, ‘ We shall still be friends. Even
if some who I will not mention would not appwove.’ And he laughed again.</span></div>
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<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">We did stay friends. For another
sixty years. Through school, university, growing up and ageing. He married and
had four children and, at the end, eleven grandchildren. We didn’t meet often,
my job took me to the USA a lot and Gerry spent most of his mature years nurturing
a business always on the cusp of failure, so he told me, in Newcastle. We
rarely talked of school or our perplexing youth, although he did occasionally
in the early years teasingly allude to our caning by Ginger Spike and both our
dawning realisations of my sexuality. ‘You are a strange one,’ he used to say,
‘That old bugger gave you a taste for the weird, no doubt about that. Do you
still indulge?’ I just smiled and we let the matter drop. Never raised again
until three weeks ago, just before he died. He was lying on his hospice bed,
full of all sorts of mysterious things to kill his pain, and seemed strangely
animated. One of his ministering angels had a rotacism and constantly called
him ‘Mr Wobinson.’ It brought back old memories, long buried. When I arrived,
sombre and fearful, he said he had been thinking about me a lot that morning
because of his nurse. ‘Our early days’ he told me, and laughed as only he
could. ‘Hospital beds when we first met and now hospital beds when we are to
part. And that school. And dear old Ginger Spike.’ I remained silent, content
with my suppressed tears to let him continue, if he wished. ‘Nasty bugger.
Never liked him. But in a funny sort of way he sealed our relationship. Bend
over Wobinson. I almost wet myself.’ And then he smiled and closed his eyes
briefly. Remembering days past.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘Bend over Wobinson.’ I place my
flowers by his grave, speak briefly to his ageing widow, and walk slowly back
to my car. ‘Bend over Wobinson.’ How many times over the years have I heard that
phrase. I took it as my own a long time ago. You need a name for adult school
play and parties and ‘Wobinson’ evoked both Gerry and Ginger Spike. So whenever
I dropped my pants in various and far flung places I did it to that telling
soubriquet. I have been known as ‘Wobinson’ in the disciplinary world for nigh
on sixty years. Now that, if I had ever told him, would have truly made Gerry
laugh.</span></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">Alfred Roy</span></i></div>
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Alfred Royhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10230978439930708047noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7782382387501739014.post-8999855536069982512017-12-14T11:02:00.000-08:002017-12-14T11:02:04.415-08:00The Folk Next Door (F/M)
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><em>This was meant to be my Christmas blog. Given all the white stuff that has been falling, and the strange facebook and youtube pics inevitably generated, I had conjured up my own version of winter antics those cold flakes inspired. Let's face it, in my youth, I rolled naked in the snow many times. Beats anything on modern over sensitive websites. Worthy of a kinky blog I thought. But Christmas thwarts all the best intentions. Time pressures mean that well intentioned blog has to wait until bleak January days and the story intended for that slot goes up now. I enjoyed writing it, hope you enjoy reading it. And in spite of those times pressures I shall shortly fit in a pre festive visit to a favourite disciplinarian. I put off a lot over Christmas but baring my bottom for a serious whacking is not one of them. Happy Christmas, whatever you get up to. <strong>Alfred Roy</strong></em></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><strong>The Folk Next Door</strong></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Did I hear that? Did I hear that
right? Thought it was DIY at first, do it yourself. A bang, a nail in the wall,
home improvement. But then, no, more like a whack. A whack of something. Listen
carefully. Yes a whack, a whack of something. On a behind. Possibly, I hoped, a
bare behind. Listen carefully, listen, listen for a howl or a whimper. That
would clinch it. Yes. Another whack, definitely. Another whack and a low key
howl. Someone next door was being whacked, with a strap or a belt I thought,
but definitely being whacked. And it must be on the behind. But who, who lived
there? My mind worked overtime. A mother and her son. No one else. I should be
shocked, I should be incensed. I wasn’t. I was intrigued. And, sad to say, I
was jealous. Jealous of the behind that was being whacked. I would so much like
to be him. How I would so much like to be him. </span></div>
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<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I had seen her a few times since
she moved in. Nice woman, not more than forty, and definitely my type. My type
in the sense that she seemed to be both nice and stern. A no nonsense woman I
thought, and thought it even more when I found out that she was deputy headmistress
at a local private school. That really kicked in all my juices. I have a thing
about the headmistress type, have done ever since I was an impressionable
youngster and got severely spanked by one. Fixed my sexuality and personality
in one defining ten minutes, which have stayed with me for the following twenty
years. She may be around my age but I dropped most of them when I saw her
shortly after she and her teenage son move in. And listening to his whacking,
no doubt about it now, I dropped the remaining few. By the time she stopped,
and it must be her whacking that whimpering behind, I was twelve or thirteen
again. The thing is, or was, would I ever get the chance to tell her.</span></div>
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<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I first spoke to her a couple of
weeks after they arrived. Thinking back, I should not be surprised at what I
heard. She was full on, a woman of statements rather than questions. We have
just moved in, she said, you must be Justin. I was told you lived next door,
she said, on your own. Estate agents are very helpful. I trust we won’t disturb
you, she said. I have a teenage son, Andrew, but he is very well behaved. Most
of the time. My house rules do not allow loud music after eleven o’clock, she
said. And smiled. A disarming mile which made me feel about ten years old. A
strange thought I considered as she waltzed off to her car, an upmarket
Renault. A strange and exciting thought. And now I know why. </span></div>
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<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">It was two days after the
evocative noises from next door that I had my first chance to speak to her
again. She was offloading her weekend groceries. Waitrose I imagined, she did
not seem like a downmarket shopper. I was wondering how I could subtly allude
to the earlier day without raising suspicions, but I need not have worried. She
went straight for the jugular. Hope we didn’t alarm you on Thursday, she said,
Andrew has been difficult lately. We had an argument. I was concerned about the
noise. A pause followed by a smile preceded the last statement. Her son had
been difficult, they had an argument. It happens. But the pause and the smile
before her remark about the noise unnerved me again. That noise, a strap on a
behind, was unmistakeable and she knew it. Was she testing me or was it just a
statement of edited fact intended to deflect? I just nodded and said something
about kids growing up needing control. Not a problem. And it wasn’t. Except my
blushing and sweating when I said it. If she registered it she did not respond.
Just thanked me for my understanding and went indoors. I just stood there,
admiring her car and thinking that I must start shopping at Waitrose.</span></div>
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<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Our paths did not cross for a few
weeks. I went away on business and, shortly after returning, her and her son
took a summer vacation in France. Her ex husband lived there and they met up
during the holidays apparently. They came back on a miserable early September
weekend whilst I was in the middle of some overdue decorating. I was working on
the bedroom wall which divided our terraced houses when I heard it again. And
this time there was no mistaking the scene. Raised voices made things
absolutely clear. The boy was tearful, pleading almost, but the muffled angry
voice of the mother did not allow for interpretations. I said I would strap
your backside if it happened again, she said, and I do not break my promises.
Lay still, she said. And then I heard it. A resounding whack and a howling
shriek. Louder than before, as if all inhibitions of both chastiser and
chastised were released. He knows. Him next door knows, or guesses, so I can
whack with abandon and you can scream. And they did, and I stood transfixed for
at least five minutes. Listening to every stroke of that strap across a
trembling behind and soaking in every howl and cry. Fourteen year old Andrew
suffered for those excruciating minutes and I relished every second of it. I
imagined flaming eyes and indefatigable resolve from a determined woman, I
imagined a boy bare and distraught with bottom flaming red, and I imagined a
merciless strap combining the two in a picture richer in intensity for being
unseen. And when it stopped I imagined, or heard, the quiet sobbing and the
heavy breathing. I could not see their exhaustion but I could feel my own. I
sat on my bed, quiet with my thoughts, and re-imagined it all. If only I could
tell her.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Tell her what, I thought. That I
had heard it all, that I knew what she did. That it had re-kindled desires in
me that had lain dormant for years. Not true. Those desires were far from
dormant. I had never indulged in such practices but I had read books and
magazines about them. Men and women disciplining each other. Did not do much
for me. I was firmly in the schoolboy camp. And hearing Andrew being whacked
fired both imagination and wish. When I was his age a dragon of a headmistress
hauled me out of class one day, I had spit at a particularly obnoxious girl, and
dragged me to her office. Disgusting child, she said, one of the worst in the
school. As I did not have a reputation this seemed unfair. But I did not
protest. And I did not protest when she told me to pull down my trousers and
underpants and bend over her chair. A broad leather one if memory serves me
right. I did so and as she lifted my shirt I saw out of the corner of my eye
the large strap she had taken from her desk. It was at that moment that I
realised that I was going to be whacked on my bum, my bare bum, by this dragon
whom I both feared and respected. And the thought brought a strange warmth and
excitement to my being that was not expunged by any of the searing six strokes
of the strap she whopped into my small and naked backside. They stung, they hurt,
they made me sob, and standing I rubbed hands over burning cheeks and sobbed
even more. But as her tongue gave additional stings and trousers covered the
attacked rear I felt an inner contentment. It may have hurt, it may have been
unexpected, and it may have been humiliating, but being strapped on the bare
bottom was nice. That was my fourteen year old assessment. And I have never
changed. </span></div>
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<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I did tell her, but not
immediately. Two days after her son’s strapping I spoke to her in her garden.
We were both doing a bit of tidying up in mid September sun. She thanked me for
taking in her post whilst she was away, three overlarge parcels if I remember
correctly, and apologised for not telling me that they would be away for nearly
four weeks. Not a problem I said and smiled my most sincere smile. A few more
pleasant exchanges whilst we did our respective weeding and then, unexpectedly,
an invitation to pop in for afternoon tea. Time we got to know each other, she
said, and Andrew is on a course and my school is still out. A surge,
inexplicably, thrilled my body. I knew not why. It was merely an invitation for
a neighbourly chat. But the way she issued it, the way she looked at me,
suggested a hidden agenda. I felt commanded, and going inside allowed imagination
to run rife. Tomorrow afternoon. Tea and chats. With a mature woman not averse
to strapping a behind. If I could not prise that subject, and my own desires,
into the conversation it would not be for the want of trying. But I was not
scared, or cautious, because something in the invitation told me it would be a
road worth following. Lying in my bed that night, re-running all in my fevered
mind, I sincerely hoped so.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">It was easier than I thought. We
were only five minutes into the tea and biscuits, and preceding chat on
respective backgrounds easily prepared the ground. I was a private individual
with a long distant failed marriage and she was a divorced woman relieved to be
out of a relationship which never worked. But unlike me she had the baggage of
her fourteen year old Andrew. Not that she put it like that. Just that having a
teenage son limited her freedoms. Freedom to do as she wished. What did she
wish I asked? In retrospect I am sure that was an innocent remark, and again I
saw that disconcerting smile before she replied. The smile when she had
offloaded groceries and apologised about the noise. I blushed to my toes and
felt an inexplicable surge run through me. Truth be told I felt like this ever
since I stepped into her lounge. I had dressed deliberately school boyish,
white shirt and grey jumper with pale blue tight jeans, and seeing her in a
severe black dress only enhanced my fantasy. Was she playing up to it or was
she completely unaware? I fervently hoped she was on my perplexing wavelength.
What did she wish I asked again, filling a weird and unexpected silence? She
smiled again and poured more tea. And then she said it, and it was almost as if
I had written the script. It wasn’t what she wished that was important, she
said, it was what I wished. What do you wish for Justin? That is what she said.
I know because I have replayed it in my mind many times since. And her eyes,
pale blue, pierced into me and conjured up visions of the long past dragon
headmistress. She didn’t comment but she must have seen the sweat pouring off
me. I cannot say, I said, it seems so bizarre. But you fascinate me, and as I
said this, I almost held my breath. If one can hold one’s breath and speak at
the same time then I managed it. She merely smiled again and said tell me, tell
me what you wish. So I did. Something about that room, the afternoon of cosy
chats, the way we were both deliberately or inadvertently dressed, something
released long suppressed inhibitions. And I told her. Told her about my long
gone headmistress, my fourteen year old experience, and my long years of denied
desires. Desires kindled or rekindled by evocative sounds through a brick wall.
Imaginations fuelled and emotions crystallised. And she listened. Attentively
and patiently. We must talk again she said. Next weekend. Andrew will be
visiting his father. We will have more time. I felt both elated and deflated.
Elated that she had not thrown me out as a dangerous pervert, deflated that she
had not taken matters further. But, rationalising, her son was due home soon I
thought. We finished our tea and she tidied up as I made to leave. The tension
had dropped considerably and prosaic matters regarding off street parking,
noisy neighbours and ridiculous house prices filled the next twenty minutes or
so. So what she said as she opened her front door both surprised and thrilled.
And also unnerved. You may get your wish Justin, she said. You may get what
Andrew gets. And she smiled that disconcerting smile again, only eclipsed by
the closing door. The note dropped through my door exactly seven days later.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Come tomorrow, it said. Dressed
as you did last week. Three o’clock. Celine. That was all. Ten words. Come
tomorrow, dressed as you were. So she had noticed. She had registered the white
shirt and grey jumper, the retreat to childhood, and understood. Or so I hoped.
I read and re-read those ten words over and over again. Come dressed as you
were. As you did last week. Last week when I confessed all in a moment of
private madness. Confessed that for twenty or more years I had bottled up a
secret desire. A desire to be thrashed, thrashed on my bottom, my bare bottom,
with a strap. And I had confessed it to her, distant sounds and cosy
conversations combining in release, confessed and hoped. I would come, Celine,
at three o’clock as commanded. I would come and I would be prepared. The
thrilling surge in my body as I read her words again told me that I would not
want it any other way. Tomorrow, tomorrow after many long years of waiting I
would get my desire. Tomorrow I would be thrashed. Thrashed on the other side
of our dividing wall, a wall that had re-awakened that strange desire.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I found out a couple of days
later, long after the fire in my bottom had dimmed, that there was no Andrew.
No Andrew, no teenage fourteen year old son, and no private school
headmistress. She did not tell me at the time, at the time of my three o’clock
appointment, did not tell me that there was no Andrew. No anyone. Just her,
working her special trade from the terraced house attached to mine. Looking
back I should have guessed. I had never seen the boy, never seen anyone, except
her. Driving her posh Renault to Waitrose. If she had visitors they were men,
or women, I had never seen. But it all makes sense. Now. She never flinched at
my confession, expressed no surprise at my interest. The noise beyond the
dividing wall, the deliberate howls and raised voices. And how it inflamed my
latent desires. All designed and natural, to her. And she, Celine, was willing
to fulfil those desires. Willing to put me in the place of the anonymous and
fictional Andrew, if only for half an hour. Entering this fiction made our private
connection work in a way it could not on any other basis. I was thrashed as a
surrogate son, not as a willing and paying client. And it made it special.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">It was very special. She said nothing
as she opened her door. Just that smile, the smile that had unnerved me when
she had apologised for the noise. She indicated her living room and I walked
in, trembling and anticipating. I could have got this so wrong but I did not
think I had. And she and the room confirmed it. Severely dressed in a black
dress she pointed to a small table in the middle of the room. On it was a large
and thick strap. Threatening shiny leather designed for one purpose only. It is
for my Andrew she said. All my Andrews. I did not register that strange phrase
at the time, all my Andrews, but it makes sense now. And it seemed to make
sense as I followed her instructions. No preliminaries, we did not need them. Instructed
I lowered my jeans, transfixed at the bizarre development of unexpected events,
and bent over the small table. She lowered them further, expert hands, and
pulled down my underpants. No preliminaries, she said. Just what you want and
desire. She pulled my underpants down to my knees, leaving me exposed from the
waist down. A naked bottom, as naked as I had dearly wished when first hearing
the sounds from her house, naked and desperate to be thrashed. A nice bottom,
she said, a very nice bottom and so eager to fell pain. I said nothing, I had
floated to a separate heaven awaiting the culmination of my long held
fantasies. Jeans and underpants down at my knees, my bare bottom in the air,
and a vicious strap I had noted and absorbed brushing my naked skin. And,
unseen, a woman whom I desperately desired to do her worst. To make me howl and
scream as she had done through our mutual terraced walls. For the next few
moments or minutes, I would be her Andrew. And I was. She thrashed me expertly
and I did howl and scream. But not too loud, more gasps and pleas. The strap
whacked into my naked behind around thirty times, light at first but
increasingly severe, and I gasped more and bellowed pleas of mercy. But I did
not relent, and neither did she. It was as if we both knew that this was an
affirmation of a consuming desire. By the end in which I sensed a burning
bottom inflamed by her unrelenting strap I was almost crying out for the
strokes to be harder. When you have waited twenty or more years the appetite
can be ravenous. I said that I had floated to a separate heaven, that was no truer
than when I arose. The pain had been awesome, the sting in my backside burning
and fearful, and the incessant throbbing mesmerising. And as she pulled up my
underpants, a gentle touch much appreciated, I registered a slight stiffening
in that private area which had dribbled in appreciation. You may have howled,
she said, but my strap clearly inflamed your juices. I blushed and mumbled
something. I know not what but, inside, it was a blessed thank you. I had
waited for over twenty years to have my pants taken down again and to be
strapped, bare bottom, by a fearful woman. Headmistress, Celine, a mother next
door. No matter. Fantasy had been fulfilled, ambition satisfied. I went home
content. And I still had not met Andrew.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">A second note came two days
later. Clearly this was a woman who did not use phones. The first had been a
summons, come dressed as you did last week, this was merely a polite request.
Was I up for coffee that morning? I could not refuse, did not want to, the
memories of two days before still etched in both my bottom and my mind. I loved
what this woman did and her presence, for whatever reason, thrilled my being.
To be close to her and near to that perverted promise eclipsed all else. I
knocked on her door within an hour of the note arriving. Coffee, she said,
nothing else. But she smiled when she said it and, once again, I was ten or
twelve years old. Those alien to such a mindset could never understand, but she
did. I think that is why the ‘nothing else’ suggested ‘not yet.’ In both our
minds. It was then she told me, over coffee, that there was no Andrew. She
lived on her own and practiced an age old trade. It suited her, regarding me,
to suggest a fictional son. Explained the noises. What she did not know, could
not have, that those noises would resurrect and fire long suppressed desires.
How could she know that the man she had moved in next door to had never
forgotten a dragon of a headmistress who had whacked his bare behind when he
was fourteen? Never forgotten and never wanted to. And was desperate to re-live
it. It was a bonus to both of us, her moving in. She got a compliant neighbour
and I got a free session. I amplified these thoughts and she laughed. Laughed
not smiled. A ‘one off’ she said, you intrigued me. I have to earn a living.
But providing you don’t cause me neighbourly problems, and here she smiled
again, I might give you a special Christmas present when December comes around.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">And she did. A severe caning the
like I have never had, nor would ever want again. On a Christmas Eve I shall
never forget. Thirty six strokes on my bare behind. I floated and squealed in
equal proportions. As we sat drinking a very nice vintage port afterwards, she
smiling her enigmatic smile and me comforting my burning bottom, a small
thought passed through my mind. She asked me what it was. I was just thinking
about Andrew, I said. He must be very glad he doesn’t live here.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Alfred Roy (2017)</span></div>
Alfred Royhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10230978439930708047noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7782382387501739014.post-76606267335360067232017-11-08T04:18:00.000-08:002017-11-08T10:18:11.993-08:00Hotel Booking (F/M)<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><em>Bit of a strange one this. Pure fantasy, with a twist. Knocked out whilst confined to study during household decorations. I must have been bored. The scenario never happened to me but must be something that appeals as some years ago I wrote a story </em><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><em> </em><a href="https://whackingtales.blogspot.com/2012/06/room-service-mm.html">Room Service </a></span></span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><em>in which a young man is thrashed in a hotel room by a predatory <span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">male. I reckon it is the anonymity that ticks my boxes. Enjoy as my little prelude to a Christmas message. That, like my next whacking, is just around the corner. Alfred Roy</span></span></span></em></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><strong>Hotel Booking</strong></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">He ordered his second drink and
returned to the corner seat. A plush, red leather, curved area that was both
comfortable and secluded. That and his second whisky on the rocks induced a
pleasant ambience in his being. Nerves, initially consumed in havoc, were
calmed and in control. About time he thought. Pulling up in the car park of the
well established if discreet town centre hotel, can a town centre hotel be
discreet he thought, his nerves and anticipation had been in overdrive. He had
spent four or five weeks musing on this meeting and then nervously made contact.
The response had induced a further week of frantic e-mails, hasty re-arranged
appointments, lame excuses, and finally confirmation. Yes he would meet her at
the hotel suggested, yes he would pay the cost of the room in addition to her
fee, very reasonable, and yes he wanted the full works. Complete scholastic <span style="font-family: "calibri";">domination. For two heavenly
hours. How he longed for it. But how he had fretted both after the e-mails and
the initial telephone call. Worried about so many things. Most allayed now, in
this hotel sitting on this comfortable corner seat with his second whisky, less
than half an hour to lift off. How and why he had fretted now seemed a little
overdone.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">She had been so reassuring. Do
not worry she said, I have been there before. The rooms are soundproofed and,
besides, they know what I do. They are as discreet as me. They do not want
trouble. And we will be out by nine and they can re-let the room. Good business
for everyone. You can’t meet at your place and I only operate on this basis.
Purely professional. So do not fret, do not worry, just meet me at the hotel
and look forward to having your bottom smacked. And everything else. It sounds
well overdue. Those last few words had tantalised his being long after the one
and only phone call had been completed. Look forward to having your bottom
smacked. And everything else. How he desired it, wanted it, was desperate for
it. Twenty seven and discovering his sexuality. A like minded friend had told
him about her. Amazing. She ain’t young or particularly attractive but she is
the bee’s knees. Especially for latent schoolboys desirous of his fantasy
headmistress. That is what the like minded friend had said and each word etched
in his being and stiffened, literally, his resolve to have a session with her.
Or, more appropriately, to be sessioned by her. He had got the distinct feeling
that in this bizarre tango there was only one leader and it would not be him.
Another box ticked, another twitch in his groin. The downside, there is always
a downside, she only played at your place or at specially selected hotels. The
first was a no-no, the second did not appeal. Initially. It scared him but, as
in so many things, fear and desire are a potent mix. He tortured himself for
days, fantasised for a few more, and finally phoned her. Yes he had references,
important, yes he knew what she did, important, and yes he wanted it.
Desperately. He desperately wanted her to cane his bottom. So much so he was
prepared to meet someone he had never met in a hotel room he had never visited.
And he booked it in advance. Room 223. And if anyone on reception smirked he
was not aware of it.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">He knew her straight away. Or he
thought he did. The reception desk was well in his sight line, deliberate, and
the woman making enquiries fulfilled all of his fantasies. Medium height, buxom
but not overweight, mid forties and pleasingly dressed and pleasant of face.
Every inch a schoolmistress, but a schoolmistress with a touch of elegant
frivolity. She looked both fun and severe and he was convinced she must be the
lady his like minded friend had dubbed amazing. If she picked up her case, a
heavy brown one, and went straight to the lift he would be disappointed.
Devastated in fact. The woman on the phone had made it clear, references or
not, that this was a first meeting and she would not go to his room until they
had met. He held his breath and prayed. But she did exactly that, took a key
and moved off to the lift. So much for fantasies. A few minutes after she left
a small and elderly lady, slightly confused it seemed, entered the lobby and
made querulous enquiries of the receptionist. Something about them not being
able to accommodate her Pekinese. He drank a goodly quality of his whisky and
said to himself, please do not be her. Please, do not be her.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">He was still containing his
disappointment when a voice whispered in his ear. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘Martin?’ It is Martin, isn’t
it?’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">He froze.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘You can look at me. I won’t
bite.’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">He turned his head and held his
breath.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘At least not yet.’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">She sat down, drink in hand, and smiled
warmly. The buxom woman he had seen at reception. His puzzled expression evoked
a response.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘I always book in. It looks odd
otherwise. They have an office where I leave my case. This is non alcoholic, by
the way. In case you were thinking.’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">He still said nothing.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘It is Martin isn’t it?
Christopher’s friend? I am rarely wrong.’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘Yes.’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘And if I was, well, no harm
done.’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘No.’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘Just sorry to have bothered you,
a smile, and go. But you are Martin aren’t you?’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘Is it obvious?’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘Oh yes. Schoolboy written all
over you. Your friend Christopher told me all about you.’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘All?’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘Enough.’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">She smiled enigmatically and it
was a smile that held a hint of promised indulgences. And the words that followed
confirmed it. Martin felt stiffening in his loins as he listened. The words
were heavenly, a blessed fulfilment of an all consuming desire.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘Enough to know that I shall have
a willing pupil. A very boyish one, if I may say so. I reckon I shall enjoy
beating your bottom. I usually do, but it is a bonus to have one so young.’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘Thank you.’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘Even if my fee is still the
same. One has to make a living.’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘Yes.’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘And you have been beaten
before?’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘A long time ago. At school.’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘But not since?’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘No.’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘Interesting.’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">She mused on this word and a
silence fell between them. He finished his drink and waited for her to speak
again.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘But you are ready?’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘Yes. Yes Miss.’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘Ready to be caned?’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘I have been ready a long time,
Yes Miss.’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">As he said this, Yes Miss, a
surge fired through his being. He had definitely been ready for a long time and
she seemed safe. Safe for an anonymous meeting in an equally anonymous hotel.
Never had he felt so excited. His friend said he would, given his personality
and desires. And she was good, so it was said. He would have all those desires
fulfilled. So Yes Miss it was. And he was ready.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘I cane hard.’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘I know.’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘Very hard.’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘He told me.’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘Your friend?’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘You have dealt with him, more
than once.’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘Then you know what to expect.’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘I think so.’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">Whether he did or not the
prospect, and the words, increased the stirring in his loins. He sensed his penis
beginning to twitch uncontrollably. She must know, he thought, she must realise
what she was doing to him. Her smile said she did.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘I do not believe in pretending.
I like my scenes to be real. A cane should hurt.’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘Yes Miss.’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘But it should also excite.’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘I hope so.’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘Creating both fear and desire,
Martin.’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘Christopher, my friend, said it
did. He said it, you, turned him on.’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘In spite of my age and
appearance?’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘Because of it.’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘And you?’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘Yes. Yes Miss.’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">She smiled and as she did so her
eyes flashed a glistening warning.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘I like to please, as well as
give pain.’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘Thank you Miss.’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘Then I suggest you go up when
you are ready.’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘Now?’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘I think so. The room is only
booked until nine,’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘Yes.’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘And neither of us wishes to rush
things, do we?’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘No. No Miss.’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">She leaned closer to him and
whispered.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘Then prepare yourself, young
man. Keep all your clothes on, for now; I do not like it any other way. I shall
do all that is necessary as we progress. I shall look forward to this Martin. I
shall be up in ten minutes. Leave the room unlocked, I do not wish to knock, it
does not suit my style.’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘Yes Miss.’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘And do not be afraid to cry. It
often helps.’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">As she said this she raised her
drink and smiled at him again. He nodded and did as she bid. He finished his
second whisky and, slightly light headed and warm, rose and walked towards the
lift. He fervently prayed that no one around could see the erection he was
convinced trumpeted the promised scene that was to follow in room 223. In ten
minutes or so he would be being caned on his bare bottom. For the first time in
many years. And he was aching for it. Aching for both threatened pain and
promised pleasure.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">He stood trembling, hands on head
and eyes closed. He had removed his shoes and jacket, as instructed, and the
remaining shirt and jeans clung to him in a heavy sweat. He sensed and felt the
soft hands undoing the buttons on the jeans and, as they loosened, thrilled at
the same hands pulling away nether clothes and tantalisingly caressing lower
curves. His curves, ready and willing for what was on offer. In this case a
preliminary inspection. That is what she had said as she closed the hotel door
and dimmed the central room light. He had gulped and, commanded, removed the shoes
and jacket and stood stock still. Eyes fervently closed. And then the hands had
started to explore. All was silent, only his heavy breathing and the drift of
perfume indicated the presences in the room. Room 223. He sensed, felt, his
jeans being pulled down to his ankles and registered the slight touch of
coldness from the room on his exposed flesh. Only his legs but soon, very soon,
all of him was revealed and sensed the cold air. His underpants, cotton and
light blue, specially selected for this mistress were slowly pulled down. His
bottom and penis, the latter magnificently erect, were brought into view. He
felt so vulnerable, so consumed in all his being. This was what he had so
fervently wished for. Controlled, humiliated, exposed. In an anonymous room
with an anonymous woman. And she was not there for prosaic sex, the usual
coupling. She was there for other reasons and the thought of what would follow,
a cane across his eager bottom, increased that magnificent erection. Martin, partially
naked and tantalisingly exposed, wanted all she had to offer. To his friend Christopher
he offered many silent thanks and sighed. The sighs died when soft and
caressing hands ceased their exploration and a large and heavy strap whacked
into his naked and trembling behind. Martin’s discipline had begun. His
anonymous mistress in the anonymous hotel room did not disappoint. Standing
still, hands on head, he absorbed twenty or so strokes of her straps across his
bare bottom. They neither decreased nor enhanced his erection. They merely
complemented it. The feeling was heaven and when she pulled his underpants over
his burning bottom Martin wondered what was to follow. He did not have long to
wait. Instructed to pull up his jeans he did so and, breathlessly, followed all
else she said. He bent over the chair she had placed into the middle of the
room and readied himself for a promised cane. She gave him twenty four strokes,
six on his jeans, six on his underpants, and twelve across a behind she
lovingly bared again in preparation. They stung like hell, especially the last
twelve, but Martin drank them all in and willed it to continue. Never was pain
so pleasurable, none more so than, when bid, he looked into the hotel room
mirror and admired the savage weals burned into his glowingly warm backside.
‘Touch them’ she said, ‘Enjoy the warmth, the ridges, the sting. And when you
are ready Martin, strip’. ‘Strip completely, I wish to see you as you wish to
see yourself. Naked.’ And she did. And for over an hour more a naked Martin suffered
and devoured exquisite humiliation that even his fevered imagination had not
contemplated.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">They sat in the bar of the hotel,
the three of them. Martin, his amazing Mistress, and his friend Christopher.
The session in room 223 over, Martin and his tormenting chastiser had retired
for a relaxing drink. Alcohol, she had said, this time, and her smile alluded
to the possibility that Martin had quite exhausted her. Perversely, a subdued
Martin seemed pleased. The bar lounge was empty and conversation, albeit subtly
low key, could be free and uninhibited. It was during a few intensive exchanges
that Christopher turned up, clearly expected if not by Martin. He bought a
drink at the bar and joined them. If Martin was surprised by this it paled into
insignificance as a strange three way conversation progressed. A conversation
that both churned Martin’s stomach and, weirdly, disturbed and enhanced his
pleasure of the evening. If he never knew before how perverse his sexuality
was, he certainly did now.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘Your wife?’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘Yes. Did you not guess?’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘No, why should I?’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘No reason Martin, I just thought
you might though.’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘My names is Christine, by the
way.’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">The woman who had just done
things to him he had only dreamed of, in an anonymous hotel room, turned and
smiled at Martin. She sipped her drink and continued.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘Christopher had told me all
about you and, well I thought it might be fun.’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘So you don’t normally do this
sort of thing?’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘Oh yes. It’s my living. And my
pleasure.’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">She smiled and looked at
Christopher.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘And she is very good Martin,
isn’t she?’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘Yes. Yes, she is, very good.’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">His mind wandered back to hotel
room 223 and he blushed, beads of sweat returning.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘And you don’t mind?’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘No. Should I? After all, it is
how we met.’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">How they met. Christopher and
Christine. At a dominatrix party, a couple of years before. They clicked and,
strangely, fell in love. A normal relationship Christopher said, except once a
week or so when she beat him. And except those weeks when she sent him to
someone else to do the same. It was at one such someone else’s house, an
afternoon party, that he had met Martin. A voyeur, a man on the side, watching
but desperate to be involved. They became friends and, eventually he told him about
Christine, Madam Christine. Except he did not say her name or that she was his
wife. Merely of what she did.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">And it was what she did that
Martin was still thinking of when he journeyed home. Christine, his friend’s
wife. What she did for a fee, a substantial fee. And for pleasure she had said.
Did Christopher know? And if he did, did he care? Did he know or guess that his
wife had taken Martin, a man much younger than himself or her, to a hotel room.
And in that hotel room she had thrashed him, caned him, made his bare bottom
beetroot. And when she had done so she had stripped him naked, tied him to the
bed, spread-eagled, ran her hands all over him and brought him to a climax that
Martin had only previously imagined. Her feverish hands and his throbbing
behind had combined in releasing an explosion of perverse desire from his
bursting cock. Never had he come so willingly and so desperately. The
experience was wonderful, and the reliving of it with his new found knowledge
even better. He already hankered for a repeat. Christopher was a friend, a like
minded friend and, as Martin told him in a pub a couple of weeks later, being
beaten by his wife was an amazing experience. Christopher smiled. No bother, he
said, and next time, if you want a next time, she might do it for free.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘Providing you let me watch.’ </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘Let you watch?’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘Yes. Does that bother you?’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘No. No, strangely it doesn’t.’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘That’s what Christine said.’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘Oh.’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘She said, and she knows these
things, Martin has an exhibitionist’s bottom.’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">Martin just laughed, laughed to
cover his embarrassment. But he knew Christopher was right. His penis had never stopped
twitching from the moment he met Madam Christine. He fervently desired her to thrash him again.
Discovering she was Christopher’s wife did not diminish his feelings, it increased them. And now,
in the pub, with the strange proposal? Martin twitched even more. To have his humiliation watched took strange desire to new heights. Even higher than room 223 in an anonymous town centre hotel. He could not wait.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">To be continued</span></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">Alfred Roy (2017)</span></span></i></div>
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Alfred Royhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10230978439930708047noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7782382387501739014.post-50591869547228428352017-09-02T08:27:00.003-07:002017-09-02T08:27:42.572-07:00A Caning From Three Angles (M/m)
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<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><em>A little while since I posted. Have been busy but, as new photo at the side shows, found time to indulge in a favourite hobby. Much justified seeing as hits on this blog now total 200,000. I find it pleasing that so many people enjoy the same strange passion as me. When I was young I thought I was the only one. I mean, how can anyone really enjoy being caned on their bare bottom? Lots of us as the internet regularly illustrates. Long may it continue. If anyone has found any better fun than dropping your pants to be whacked then I have yet to discover it. Age limits activity these days but writing stories, such as below, compensates. Never happened to me but I can fantasise. An F/M story next time - Hotel Appointment. Like to keep all the folks happy. 200,000 times apparently. Alfred Roy</em></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><em><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><br /></span></em></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><em><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><br /></span></em></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><strong>A Caning From Three Angles</strong></span></span></div>
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<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></span></b></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"></span></b><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The Headmaster’s View</span></span></b></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">It
has to be done. The boy deserves it, far more than most. A particularly nasty
piece of work. Bullying minors and blackmailing them. I rarely sanction canings
but this one was an easy decision. Either this or being expelled. Or both. No,
I settled on the caning but make it a harsh lesson. That was my decision.
Reading the report on his crimes made that decision easy. Eight strokes. Eight
strokes on his bare behind. That would teach him. So I thought. Until I saw
him. Now. Standing here in my study. He looks so young and vulnerable. So
innocent, so scared. Have I misunderstood?</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></span></b></div>
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<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The Games Master’s View</span></span></b></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Thank
God he agreed. I thought for a moment he was going to decline my
recommendation. Going to suggest that the boy should be suspended or, even
worse, just given a detention. No sir, no headmaster, he deserves a good
thrashing. A few strokes of a cane across his backside, preferably a dozen,
preferably bare. Show the little bastard that we do not condone his actions.
And I will do it, willingly, it is well overdue. He looks like an angel,
standing there, but do not chicken out. This little beggar deserves everything
he is going to get and, by God, I shall enjoy it. That bum is going to be very
sore if I have any say in it. Even if you relented to only eight. I shall make
them feel like twelve.</span></span></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></span></b></div>
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<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Master Andrew’s View</span></span></b></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Not
much chance here. The headmaster is a wimp; he looks more scared than me. And
that gym master is a bastard. Been itching to whack me all year. Probably wank
off to it afterwards. Especially as he got his wish. I have asked the
headmaster to agree to your pants coming down, he had said. A bare arse
thrashing boy. I was supposed to be impressed, supposed to plead. I spit at
him. See you in court I said. He repeated it. Bare backside, eight strokes
though I reckon you deserve at least twelve. How he enjoyed keep saying it.
Your pants are coming down boy, your pants are coming down. Tomorrow. If he
doesn’t bring himself off at the thought probably the headmaster will. Me? I
have had worse. And now I am here, in the study, and hate and fear are eclipsed
by a surfeit of despising. Just get it over.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The Set Up</span></span></b></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The
headmaster sipped his glass of water. How he hated situations like this. A
young boy trembling. A master fired up with indignation and revenge. And
himself, arbiter of an unpleasant task he would wish left to others. Corporal
punishment was rarely sanctioned these days. Almost outlawed, but not quite.
Reserved only for the most serious cases. And this one was serious, so much so
that he had agreed with the gym master. Yes the boy could be caned. Yes he
could be given the maximum of eight. And yes he could have his pants taken
down. It was still allowed at a private school. Even if not condoned. But all apprised
of the circumstances would agree. He thought. Would agree that the boy’s pants
would have to come down. And, naturally, he would have to be there. To watch,
to ensure fair play. To ensure no overstepping of the mark. No going too far
when a boy was caned on his bare backside. This boy. Trembling and nervous. The
first to suffer such for at least three years. He had shuddered when the gym
master said this. Three years since we sanctioned such a punishment. Almost an
attempted rape that was and the instigator was subsequently expelled. Only a
nicety in the procedures had allowed him to be caned first. Much deserved. But
this boy, this boy, was his sin so bad?</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Yes
headmaster, the gym master had said. Bullied twelve year olds and threatened
them if they did not pay him protection money. A nice little scam, a nice
earner, for a year or so until one of the little ones absconded and revealed
all to his distraught parents. Deserving of being expelled but a caning first.
Or as a substitute, a reprieve. He didn’t care as long as his sturdy cane
whacked into that boy’s bottom around a dozen times. Long desired to do it but
never dared. This was his chance. If not twelve then at least eight. And pants
down headmaster. Make him suffer as he made the juniors suffer. Make him feel
something he will never forget. And then expel him if you want to. Send him
away with thick and fiery red stripes across his rebellious arse. Will be an
hour well spent.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">He
told the boy of the headmaster’s decision. He never flinched. Five and a half
feet of pure, sixteen year old, venom. He and the gym master loathed each other
with a passion. Got your wish, he said. Always wanted to get my pants down, he
said. And the wimp has agreed. Surprised you haven’t got a hard on, or maybe
you have. The gym master refused to rise to the taunting bait. His hour would
come when this boy was bent over, trousers and underpants down, awaiting his
cane on his bare flesh. He could wait and the boy knew that. False bravado
ahead of a daunting experience. He spat in the face of the threat but inwardly
quaked. But whatever transpired he was determined not to cry. He hated the
bastard of a gym master and despised the wimp of a headmaster. They might see
his naked bum but they would never see tears.</span></span></div>
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<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The Preparation</span></span></b></div>
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<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">It
was all so classically evocative. The diminutive and venomous Master Andrew,
eyes ablaze with a mixture of fear and loathing, the sadistic Games Master rich
in eager anticipation, and the tall and perturbed Headmaster weighing up
justice with humanity and order with excess. The boy had to be caned, as
decreed, and he had to be caned on his bare backside. As persuaded. But if the
Games Master was bent on a private vengeance, long festered, he was there to
ensure the ultimate sanction stayed within acceptable bounds. In a study rich
in leather bound furniture and washed with afternoon sun, he laid out the
inevitable procedure. Long and tortuous it seemed to a boy with a twitching
behind and a games master holding a twitching cane. If the one feared, in spite
of his outward bravado, and the other relished, both combined in wishing that
the punishment would soon commence. The boy in hope it would quickly be over
and the master in equal and fervent hope that it would be as imagined. The
prolonged peroration, delaying to both the inevitable tableau to follow, was a
headmaster using words to steel his resolve and allay his doubt. It was only
five minutes or so from the boy entering the study to bending over the low
backed leather chair but it seemed like an eternity. Never were words so
unnecessary and wasted.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The Dialogue</span></span></b></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The
Headmaster spoke.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘You
know why you are here boy?’</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘Stupid
question.’</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘Do
not be insolent boy, you will only make things worse.’</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">It
was the Games Master who spoke, relishing the expected insolence.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The
headmaster again, surprisingly apologetic.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘I
just wish to be certain you know why you are to be caned, that is all.’</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘Because
I got found out, because some brat blagged to his folks.’</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The
headmaster studied him and absorbed his response. Sympathy was rapidly
dissolving.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘Do
you feel no remorse?’</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘There
is only one thing he will feel, Headmaster.’</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The
Games Master again, impatiently tapping the cane against his right thigh.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘Let
him answer. Well, do you?’</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘Yes.’</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘Good,
that is progress.’</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘For
being found out.’</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The
boy spat out the words and followed with a few more.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘Unlike
all the other bastards who have been doing the same for years. But he likes them;
he turns a blind eye to them. It’s only me he wants to get.’</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘That
is not true, Headmaster. I have no agenda.’</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘Bollocks.’</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The
boy spit out the word and the Headmaster flinched.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘It’s
bollocks. He has been itching for an excuse to cane me for months. That little
oik gave him one.’</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The
Games Master again.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘I
have no agenda, Headmaster. I agree that I have long felt that this boy
deserves to be taught a hard lesson. Which is why we are here. But it is not
personal, definitely not. It is only what is deserved. Deserved and just.’</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The
Headmaster sipped water from the glass on his desk and pursed his lips.
Combining thoughts and words were proving difficult.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘Putting
aside this perceived animosity do you accept that what you did was wrong? Threatening
younger boys and stealing money from them?’</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘I
didn’t steal. They gave it to me.’</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘In
return for what?’</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘Things.’</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘Bollocks.’</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">This
time it was the Games Master uttering the expletive.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘He
was running a protection racket, Headmaster. If they did not give him cash he
would beat them up. We are wasting time. He deserves to be thrashed and he knows
it.’</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The
Headmaster pursed his lips again.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘Is
that true?’</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘Of
course it is true, and that little shit knows it. Don’t be deceived by the
angelic face.’</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘Language,
Master, language. I repeat, is it true?’</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The
boy considered before answering. To deny was to prolong and, although fearful
of what was to be done, he wished it over. Just so long as he did not cry. He
did not want to give that satisfaction to a man he hated.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘Yes.
Yes it is true. They paid me so I would not beat them up. But I am not the
first, or the last. Just the one that that shit, that shit, wanted caught.’</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘Then
you leave me no choice.’</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">As
the Headmaster said this there was almost a hint of regret in his voice, a hint
that the Games Master was determined to extinguish.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘There
you have it Headmaster. Out of his own mouth. His own words, so perhaps we can
now get on with what we are here for.’</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The
cane tapped impatiently, yet again, against the twitching and rigid right
thigh.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘Yes.
Yes. Of course.’</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The
Headmaster took a deep breath.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘You
will be caned, Andrew Bailey. Caned for a heinous offence. It is with regret
but with justification that I sanction it. Your Games Master, Mr Bennon, will
administer the caning. Eight strokes.’</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘Think
yourself lucky, boy. I wanted twelve.’</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The
Headmaster ignored the interjection.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘Eight
strokes of the cane on your buttocks. The normal punishment at this school. But
in view of the seriousness of your offence...’</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘That
bastard gets his wish.’</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘Quiet.
The Headmaster has not finished.’</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘In
view of the seriousness I have agreed that the caning shall be delivered to
your naked backside. I would therefore ask you to prepare yourself and bend
over that chair. The sooner this is over the better.’</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">A
moment of silence as all absorbed the fateful words.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The
boy gulped but hid his nervousness. He knew it would come to this and he was
not looking forward to it. Putting aside the humiliation of taking his trousers
down and showing his bare bum the thought of that cane hitting him eight times
was loosening his bladder. He was scared but he would not show it. Not to that
shit of a Games Master. Just do not cry he said to himself. Anything, any pain,
but that.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The
Games Master felt a surge through his being. The Headmaster had said it at
last, eight strokes with pants down or words to that effect. The warm surge
thrilled his body and the look on the boy’s face, anxiety tinged with contempt,
thrilled him even more. Imagination was about to become reality and if he
stiffened in contemplation it was hardly surprising. But for the next few
minutes, heady with anticipation, control was all. </span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The
Headmaster breathed deeply and pursed his lips again. The boy’s gaze was
unnerving and the Games Master was visibly twitching. He prayed that he had
made the right decision.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘Take
down your trousers boy. It is time you were caned.’</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Any
of the three could have said that.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The Caning – The Headmaster’s View</span></span></b></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Take
down your trousers boy; it is time you were caned. He had uttered the words he
had been rehearsing all morning and their effect was electric. What had been
promised was about to be delivered. There was no going back, all three knew
that. He watched, mesmerised, as the boy shrugged and approached the leather
chair. Only the combined heavy breathing of the three broke the enveloping
silence. The boy, face set grim and determined as he struggled with the buckle
on the belt of his trousers. The Games Master, eyes ablaze and body stiffened
with eager anticipation. And he himself, transfixed by the scene evolving
before him in his study. A boy, a boy he had decided he did not particularly
like but a boy all the same, was about to be caned on his naked bottom. And he
had sanctioned the man at his side, determined and ready and vengeful, to
administer it. He watched as the boy loosened his belt, undid his trousers and
pushed them down to his knees. He sensed the keenness in the Games Master
growing and inwardly resolved to ensure that this caning, however deserved and
however severe, remained within bounds. It was to be eight strokes across the
boy’s buttocks, nothing more nor less. He would ensure no loss of control. The
boy hesitated before bending over the chair as if coming to a decision. He
guessed at what it was and the following action confirmed it. The boy pushed
down his underpants to his knees and, contemptuously and almost provocatively,
pulled up his shirt to his waist and bent over the back of the leather chair.
Presenting an almost studied central nakedness which indicated that his
backside may be about to be violated but he retained some control, some strange
dignity. It invoked a grudging admiration, in him if not in the Games Master
who snorted at such at an action, at such a display. Wishing no doubt, he
thought, that such revealing action was a key element of the drama that the
Games Master had intended for himself. No matter all was now ready and he
watched as the bending boy was approached and the cane which had twitched in
readiness from the first moment pressed into the naked bottom. When you are
ready Mr Bennon, let us get this over with. Eight strokes, no more, as we
agreed.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></span></b></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The Caning – The Games Master’s View</span></span></b></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">When
you are ready Mr Bennon. Of course I am ready. I have been ready ever since
this little oik entered your study. Given his small frame and angelic looks I
feared for a second that you might let him off. Until the shit opened his mouth
and condemned himself. He’s scared now, I can tell, in spite of that grim face.
He knows I am going to lay on the cane as hard as I can even if you don’t. But I
shall keep control, shan’t give you any reason to relent even if he screams his
bloody head off. I’ll make sure every one of those eight strokes will be across
the centre of his pretty little arse. I have been practising, been waiting,
been wishing this opportunity. I shan’t screw up. And as a bonus I have to say
it is a nice arse. Small and tight and very boyish and, thankfully, as clean
and pure peach as I could wish. A boy’s arse absolutely designed for a caning,
for having livid red stripes across it. Oh, how I shall enjoy this. Pity he
pulled down his own pants, I was looking forward to that, looking forward to
showing him who was in charge. But, no matter. He did himself no favours with
the Headmaster in exposing himself like that, pulling up his shirt and almost
waving his tiny cock at us. A late two fingered salute no doubt. But at least
he has bent over, not resisting like I thought he might, and that delectable
naked arse is twitching in anticipation. Not so much as me, as I am sure he
knows. I am going to enjoy this Headmaster, and yes I am ready. I place my cane
across Bailey’s naked bottom, let us call it that, and take a deep breath. I
have waited so long, so long. Even if it is only eight.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></span></b></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></span></b></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The Caning – Master Andrew’s View</span></span></b></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Take
down your trousers boy, it is time you were caned. Pompous git. Nervous as well.
Hey, it is me being caned, not you. Reckon he wouldn’t be so nervous if I was
getting them on my trousers and a less sadistic beast was doing it. I am ready
anyway, ready as I can be. Eight strokes across my bare bum. Does not bear
thinking about, so I won’t. But shan’t give them any pleasure, especially that
bastard of a Games Master. Hide the twitching, hide the nerves, hide the
filling bladder desperate to pee. Just get on with it I say. I shall pull my
own pants down, everything, and pull up my shirt. Show them I do not care, that
I have nothing but contempt. They can have a good look at my bum and my cock
and my balls and reckon on what they are doing. And I will not scream, I will
not cry, I will take that bastards eight strokes on my bum and then get out of
here. I will not be humiliated either. Showing my bits is no big deal, even if
that nasty cane cutting into me will be. It is soon over, I hope. Bending now,
sticking up my bum, begging him to whack it. And he will, especially as I am
sure he has got a hard on. Pervert. Oh, God, it is touching my bum. The cane.
And it feels so cold and hard on my bare skin. I must not cry. I tell myself,
whatever else, I must not cry. I can see the Headmaster standing to my right.
Catch his eye. I must not cry.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The Caning</span></span></b></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">It
was as all had anticipated. The Headmaster, the Games Master, the Boy. The
classic dance, age old, played so many times over so many years in so many
places. A boy bent down, in this case over a chair, trousers and underpants
around his knees and bare bottom sticking provocatively into the air. A man,
rigid and stern, standing to his side and slashing his cane across the twin
orbs of the twinkling boyish buttock cheeks. Creating a picture of livid red
stripes that induced both anguish and appreciation. Anguish from the one
suffering and appreciation from the one administering. And the arbiter, the one
watching, ensuring that all was in acceptable bounds. In this case eight
strokes, no more, and all delivered centrally across the boy’s two cheeks. </span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Thwack, thwack, thwack, thwack, thwack,
thwack, thwack, thwack.</span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">It
does not sound much.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Thwack.</span></span></i></b></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The
boy squealed, in spite of himself, and the headmaster flinched.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Thwack.</span></span></i></b></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The
boy squealed again, the headmaster flinched again, and the games Master admired
the growing red stripes.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Thwack.</span></span></i></b></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Will
he rise, he is struggling, and that was the hardest yet.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Thwack.</span></span></i></b></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">That
was good, he squealed so loud I thought he would rise. The Headmaster is transfixed;
he cannot take his eyes of the boy’s bottom.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Thwack.</span></span></i></b></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Aaagh.
That was vicious, all agreed. Wriggling, squirming, surges of desire from the
wielder, a mesmering fascination from the Headmaster. It cannot stop. It will
get harder.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Thwack.</span></span></i></b></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">It
did. The Boy screamed, half rose, A trickle of blood on the edge of the the
deepest red weal. The games Master sensed, almost felt, the pressing of his
erection. The Headmaster groaned but did not move. The boy started the gentlest
of whimpers as the blood trickled down his naked thigh.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Thwack.</span></span></i></b></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The
boy screamed again, and screamed even more, begging to be let off, rising,
pushed down, one more to come. The Headmaster agitated, wandered around, drank
in the naked bottom, waited. The Games Master pressed the hand holding the cane
against his groin then raised it for the final time.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Thwack.</span></span></i></b></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Aaaaaaaagh.
Screams. Tears. Abuse. Rising. Clutching buttocks. Swearing. No more. No more.
No more it said. You have won, you have won, you bastard. The Games Master
stepped forward, cane raised, grabbed the boy’s shirt. Lifted it high to his
shoulders. Ready to strike again. The Headmaster, the wimp, the prevaricator,
stepped in. Eight. Eight he has had. We all three need to calm down.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">And
they did.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Thwack, thwack, thwack, thwack, thwack,
thwack, thwack, thwack.</span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">It
does not sound much.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">But
it is.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Aftermath</span></span></b></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The
boy stood by his mirror in his room. Tears in his eyes. He had failed but with
some justification. The pain had been excruciating, he had almost passed out.
But he had not cried off, until the end when the last vicious stroke had cut
into him. So he smiled and lowered his trousers and his underpants and turned
around. He studied the eight livid weals across his behind. They would be there
for some time. All eight. Evenly spaced marks across both of his small cheeks.
Raised, hard, vivid, and purple. Turning black at the centre. He touched them.
Scabby. His fingers moved and contrasted the feel with the smoothness of his
untouched skin. Eight strokes, parallel lines, only an inch and a half or so
from first to last. That Games Master knew his trade. It was a caning he would
not forget. His bottom, still hot, said so. He pulled up his pants. Two hours
later he lowered them again and looked again at the stripes. And this time,
this time almost in defiance, he masturbated. Brought himself off.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Elsewhere
in the school, separately, as imaginations were fuelled and situations relived,
two others were doing the same. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></span></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Alfred
Roy (c) 2017</span></span></i></b></div>
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Alfred Royhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10230978439930708047noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7782382387501739014.post-85187471308493643662017-06-07T09:34:00.000-07:002017-06-07T09:34:07.709-07:00The Retired Headmaster (M/M) - with accompanying picture
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><em>This story is self explanatory. The preamble should make it clear. In reality I thought I was going to meet up with such a person during the spring months. It did not happen, sadly. However I did manage to make a visit to an old friend and we created the situation I had desired with someone new. The photo on the side is the result. No longer a thirty year old bottom, as per the story, but one that thoroughly enjoyed being whacked. One may be getting old but one can still enjoy this most delightful of perversions. Enjoy the story, even if you have to avert your eyes. Alfred Roy</em></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">The Retired Headmaster</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">It’s a phrase that always caught
my eye and created a tingle elsewhere. And if I followed it up, a spring
infused my steps. Retired Headmaster. Just two words, but two words rich with
special promises and pleasures. Met one or two in my time. Whether they were
real headmasters or no, I cared not, the soubriquet was enough, especially if
they looked the part. Have been hankering recently to again meet up with one of
those like minded folks who still promote themselves as such but distance and
obstacles have so far thwarted. It hasn’t stopped me thinking that such a visit
is long overdue. Headmistresses, retired or not, don’t come cheap and the male
of the species often perform their pleasurable tasks for free or just a nominal
sum. To someone who cares little who bares his behind and stings it, as long as
it is done with expertise and relish, the situation is a no brainer. So I shall
continue searching and hoping and, in the interim, muse on a Retired Headmaster
experience I had some years ago.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">He was a fussy little man,
dapperly dressed in three piece suit and bowtie, and reminded me more of a
floor manager at an expensive department store than retired headmaster. But he
had a malicious twinkle in his eyes and a warming smile when he discussed the
afternoon arrangements. Both facets set me at my ease and suggested promise. We
had communicated a couple of times before meeting. I travelled a lot in those
days and his palatial detached house, so he told me, was only a short detour on
my regular journeys along the A1. The Great North Road. I could call in on my
way back south in a summer heat that was heavenly both for the warmth and the
adventure. My northern meetings had been dreary but necessary and it was only
the thoughts of our meeting that kept up my spirits. Hardly surprising. I had been
put in touch with him by a like minded friend and our couple of telephone chats
established a rapport. He liked caning bottoms and I liked mine to be caned. As
a schoolboy. We could be made for each other he said, and chuckled. His parting
words, as we confirmed my visit, lingered throughout my business trip and
haunted every free moment. I shall take down your pants of course, he said. All
boys should be beaten on their bare bottoms. Yours will be no exception. I said
I would not have it any other way. Headmaster or not, retired or not, he
certainly ticked all my boxes.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Such anticipation, of course, can
frequently lead to disappointment. It had happened to me a couple of times. I
once, famously, spent seven hours in travelling for six of the best on my
shorts. All over in five minutes. That was it. The man who did it was happy. I
wasn’t. He had not stirred from his house. I journeyed home, three and a half
hours, with a slight sting in my bottom and a strong feeling of frustration in
my head. Could this be the same? A week or so spent in anticipation for five or
ten minutes of fleeting pain and little pleasure. I sincerely hoped not. I
reckon that seven hour jaunt, and other experiences, was why I turned to
professionals. Male and female. At least with them you get your sixty or ninety
minutes. They earn their fee. But amateurs, I use the word kindly, can be
unpredictable. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I need not have worried. From the
first tentative knock on door, the house was all he said, and the warm
handshake I sensed we would gel. Long journey, he said, let us have tea and
talk. So we did. I told him my desires and fantasies and experiences at school,
the latter particularly intrigued, and he told me what he intended to do. Allow
an hour, he said, I have no wish to rush. That appealed. No seven hour
frustration here, I thought. I had bought my PE kit, white top and shorts as he
had requested, and changed into them after the refreshing tea. Leave on your
underpants, he said, you may need the extra protection. And then he smiled. Do
not worry, they will be coming down. I tingled and, hastily changed, went to
the room he indicated. A headmaster’s study in all its splendour. A large desk
and equally large leather chair. A small bench on which, attired as ordered, I
sat and lots of impressive bookcases. And in the corner, near latticed windows,
a stand full of various implements. All designed to mark a behind. I waited for
about ten minutes and, shamefully, played with myself in anticipation. Only
through my shorts and underpants but, waiting, my desire was clearly strong. I
prayed he would not see.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I should make it clear at this
stage that I looked every inch the schoolboy. I was in my mid thirties,
slightly built, and with a very young face. My love of corporal punishment had
been kindled at school and flowered through my twenties. I was, and still am,
fortunate in that my bottom matched my face. Young and boyish but deceptively
capable of taking severe cane strokes. Made me popular at the caning parties I
regularly attended in those days. In anticipation of my meeting with this
retired headmaster I had refrained from any indulgence for a number of weeks.
Most caners that I know and knew appreciate a virgin, unmarked, bottom and mine
was pristine smooth, hairless, and unblemished. Every inch checked in bathroom
mirror, and every inch ready and eager to be painted in scholastic stripes. No
wonder I was playing with myself.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">He caught me. I was so absorbed
in my lower fumbling I did not hear, or see, him enter the room. His manner had
changed, stern had replaced fussy and steel supplanted warmth, and I guiltily
blushed as he bid me stand. He expressed disgust, naturally, but secretly I
reckon he was pleased that my furtive actions had introduced a verisimilitude
to our preambles.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘Do you usually indulge in such
disgusting habits?’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘No, sir.’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘In the headmaster’s study?’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘Yes sir. Sorry sir.’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘You will be boy. You are here to
be caned as you know. Gross insubordination. In view of your unseemly behaviour
I shall increase both quantity and severity of the cane strokes. Do I make
myself clear?’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘Yes sir.’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘I think twelve strokes, six on
your shorts and six on your underpants will suffice for the insubordination and
then a further twelve on your bare behind for this latter offence. Do you
agree?’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘Do I have a choice sir?’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘Do not get glib with me boy or I
might have those shorts down straight away and give you them all on your naked
backside.’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘Yes sir, sorry sir.’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘Yes sir, sorry sir. How many
times have I heard boys say that when they know that their bottom is about to
be beaten. It’s too late to be sorry, too late. It is time to bend over and
take your punishment. Punishment well deserved and punishment delivered to
where nature intended. To your bottom. A bottom that will be very red and sore
by the time I have finished. Bend over and touch your toes.’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">He was in full stride through all
this, pacing and pacing up and down the room. I stood transfixed and a little
thrilled. As the pacing increased he crossed to the latticed window and
selected a cane from his copious selection. It was red, medium thick, and made
for a goodly swish as he flexed it. He amplified my thoughts when he referred
to it as a senior cane, redwood, designed to sting the most obdurate of
behinds. His face was flushed and his eyes gleamed in anticipation. Bend over,
he said, touch your toes or grasp your ankles. Six strokes boy. His voice was
thick and, as I replied and did as instructed, my own was almost as breathy. I
couldn’t touch my toes but I did manage to grasp my upper ankles and keep my
legs straight and steady. I was conscious of both my upturned bottom and,
reassuringly, the fact that it was covered by both shorts and underpants. That
cane looked vicious. I was both headily expectant and slightly scared, both
feelings enhanced by the thrill I felt when large hands explored my covered
rear. He may be a retired headmaster and I a naughty schoolboy but, prior to
delivering his first set of stings, fantasy allowed a short sexual frisson that
reality would frown upon. I sighed as those hands explored all of my nether
curves. My bottom cheeks, my crack, my testicles and penis, all felt the
clothed touch of exploring hands. Did he do this when he was a real headmaster?
Did he desire to do it and resisted? Was he at last fulfilling suppressed
passions? I cared not. All I thought was do not stop, do it more, cane me, and
then when my pants are down do it again. When the redwood cane touched my
bottom for the first of my first six I was as stiff as the hardest pole. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">When it landed, hard and straight
across the centre of my clothed bottom, I was not so keen. It stung like hell
and the fiery line engendered caused a shuffling of feet and a reaching
forward. Hold still, he said, clearly consumed by the corrective act. I did,
manfully and painfully. The line throbbed and I knew I had been caned. Albeit
only one stroke. Two and three quickly followed and I gasped at both the
intensity and the residual pain. My poor bottom was developing an all consuming
heat and staying down, ankles grasped, was proving difficult. Retired or not,
true or not, this headmaster certainly knew how to cane a boy’s bottom. I
readied myself for strokes four, five, and six and prayed they would be quick
and accurate. The pain in my rear was eclipsing all other thoughts and desires.
My penis had flagged, my breath had exhausted, and the burn on my cheeks was excruciating.
I closed my eyes and beseeched those prayers. It did little good. The latter strokes
stung and burned and my discomfort rose to new levels. But I remained
submissively down and pain eased as a short intermission was followed by
exploration of my ravaged backside and the gradual lowering of my shorts. That
was perverted bliss. Resting, as they were, on my ankles I was now conscious of
hands exploring my tight fitting, and thin, underpants and my increased
vulnerability. The burning bottom and eager, manly hands, returned my penis to
its earlier full state and flagged a silent acknowledgement that the second six
strokes should be delivered. He took his time. The hands explored for what
seemed an eternity. But I was not complaining. The burn in my bottom had moved
from discomfort to pleasure and the hands, and my submissive position, merely
enhanced it. As manly fingers and palms caressed filling balls and throbbing
cock of eager student, a side benefit one could say, a small and slightly
covered bottom was indicating its readiness for more of the same. Six more cane
strokes, six more as hard as you can, but this time on buttock cheeks only
thinly protected. He needed little urging. Silence was only filled by heaving
breathing. His palms stroked and lingered on my heated curves for just a few
moments longer and then, pressing my back and urging me to straighten my legs,
he lashed six fairly quick and hard strokes of his redwood cane across my ready
and upturned bottom. I gasped, I squirmed, I edged forward, I did not rise but
continued grasping ankles, I squealed out loud, and finally I rose clutching my
savaged bottom and howling. It had hurt, by God it had hurt, and I could see
from his smiling face that he was well pleased. He was well pleased and I was
well tanned. So much so that, burning rear notwithstanding, all in front had
yet again flagged. Two minutes of cavorting and vigorous rubbing ensued and
then a comment, many comments, that continued both the pain and thrill of a
heady afternoon of scholastic fantasy.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘I see that my ministrations
have, once again, removed your erection.’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘Yes sir. That second six really
hurt.’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘So I see. The next twelve will
be even more painful. Over my desk, I think. I cannot see you holding ankles
for those.’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘No sir.’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘Especially as those underpants
are coming down. Bare bottom boy. Twelve strokes of my redwood cane on your
bare bottom.’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘Yes sir.’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘Yes sir, no sir, yes sir. Is
that all you can say? No matter. Your little penis will no doubt rise again, in
fact I think it already has, but twelve hard strokes across that bottom will
expunge all that. But given its manifestations I reckon it is time I saw it.’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘Yes sir.’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘That and your little bottom of
course. Given my exertions I have earned that right.’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘Yes sir.’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘Then hands on head and stand up
straight. I want no distractions.’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">And he didn’t. I placed my hands
on my head, stood up straight, closed my eyes, and waited. Five seconds later
my underpants were pulled down to my ankles and large hands explored my
blistered backside and my, by now, full and urgent balls and cock. I was in
heaven. They say pain comes before pleasure, pleasure follows pain. This was
writ large in this anonymous house on my long journey home down the Great North
Road. I had been caned, a hard twelve strokes on my covered bottom by a retired
headmaster who, before this day, I had never met. And now with shorts and
underpants at my feet I was being explored in the most intimate way. I sighed
and gasped as large soft hands stroked my very private parts and then gently
turned me round to inspect and explore my lacerated bottom. Fingers
tantalisingly traced the weals on my backside, followed by a gentle rubbing of
palms on the same burning skin. I closed my eyes and drank in the twin sensual
pleasures of large hands on my bottom and twitching cock in front. I prayed I
would not spurt before the pain I had to come. Twelve hard strokes of that
redwood on my naked bottom. The thought made my penis twitch again and it was
almost with relief that I was bid to lay over the desk. It had been cleared of
all paraphernalia and the smooth leather studded top did not cause discomfort.
I stretched my arms, as instructed, and gripped the far side. The action caused
my white PE vest to rise up my back and emphasised my lower nakedness. Shorts
and underpants were still at my feet and as I waited they were removed. To
allow me to stretch my legs he said. They allowed much more, so much more. He
wanted my legs stretched wide and, lifting the vest, my back and bottom arched.
I could not see the final picture but I could imagine it. Naked, except for the
small vest now pushed to my waist, my small buttocks were accentuated and ready
to be thrashed. And in between my genitals were exposed and vulnerable. A true
boyish picture for a headmaster, retired, to fulfil his own desires. And I had
no complaints. It was all I wanted. Providing the cane, already experienced on
covered bottom, connected only with my bare cheeks, I could endure. However
painful. I closed my eyes and sensed the cold cane pressed against the centre
of my bottom. A bottom already well striped and still warm. This was it. This
is what I had travelled down the Great North Road for. This was my all
consuming wish. A savage cane to lash my bare backside, and to be done by a man
who desired the same even more. A match made in heaven. He did not disappoint.
My retired headmaster, or at least for this blissful hour or so, did what he
had promised and threatened. He thrashed that cane into my exposed bottom the
twelve expected times. Each stung like hell, each created its own particular
fire. Most across the centre of my bum, but some slightly higher or slightly
lower. But all in the area of the buttock curves and none stray enough to cause
alarm. He knew his job, he knew his target. What had he said? The area that
nature intended, or something like that. He was experienced, he was good, and
he was enjoying himself. Ten or fifteen seconds apart each vicious stroke
caused a resounding thwack on my naked skin and each made me gasp and squirm.
But I suffered it all, gritted my teeth, absorbed the pain, stared at his
latticed windows for relief, and gasped breath and shed tears. Not many, but
enough to know that my bruised behind had sent the appropriate message to my
brain. The last two were harder and quicker, he sensing perhaps my weakening
resolve, but the task completed he sighed and tapped my legs with the implement
of much discomfort. All done, he said, well done, he said. No blood. I said
nothing. I just lay there, across his desk, naked and beaten and serene.
Strange? Yes, but strange in the way only those who seek such pleasures can
understand. He understood, my retired headmaster, he understood. And I
understood him. I had taken his gift but, in doing so, had returned it. I
sensed that we were both happy even though only I, as is usual in such cases,
only I had a very sore bottom.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘You took that extremely well.’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘You gave them extremely well
sir.’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘I aim to please. And call me
John.’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘Yes sir. John.’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘No regrets?’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘No sir. John. No John. It was
all I wanted.’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘And needed?’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘Yes.’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘Good. I must say you have a nice
bottom. Actually a lovely bottom. Could have been designed for corporal
punishment.’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘I have often been told that.’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘Oh?’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘Even at school. A chemistry
teacher once told me that I had the nicest bottom he had ever caned. I didn’t
appreciate it at the time.’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘How old were you?’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘Thirteen.’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘Did he take your pants down? Did
he do it bare?’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘No sir. John. No. But I think he
would have liked to.’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘Didn’t we all.’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘You say we. So you were a real
headmaster?’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘Of course.’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘And did you?’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘Did I what?’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘Take down the pants of your
boys. Cane them bare?’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘No, never. Not done, even in my
day. We could still cane, of course. Often did. But I had my fantasies.’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘Now realised.’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘Yes.’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘You are very good.’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘As I said, I aim to please.’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘You did John. Sir. God, how I
needed it.’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘For this relief much thanks.’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘Hamlet.’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘Very good.’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘Thank you sir.’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘Worthy of another twelve before
you go.’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘Yes sir.’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘Then back to my study boy and
pants off. I wish to see that bottom again.’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">And he did. And I got another
twelve with the redwood before departing. Nothing else. It had been clear from
the first session that he was happy to play with a boy’s genitals prior to caning
but all else was off limits. That would have to wait until I got home. Spurting
my built up tension would be fuelled by imagination and recall. As it should
be. Headmasters, even retired ones with unfulfilled fantasies have their rules.
I and all on the Great North Road would understand. At least I hope so.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">(c) Alfred Roy 2017</span></div>
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Alfred Royhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10230978439930708047noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7782382387501739014.post-18248754488731201372017-03-05T09:00:00.000-08:002017-03-05T09:00:25.639-08:00Christmas With Nurse Nettles (F/m)
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="color: lime;"><span style="color: magenta;">I suppose this should have been my Christmas piece, given the title. But sheer laziness and domestic distractions delayed. A sequel to <strong>Taking Care, </strong>which I enjoyed writing immensely. Reckon it is all those<strong> </strong>explicit showers.<strong> </strong>A particular fantasy of mine.<strong> </strong>Like the Simon of the piece I am probably a pervert. But, as my wife says, pretty harmless. Most of what I do these days is in my head. It makes those real times when I bend over, pants down, really special. Enjoy. <strong>Alfred Roy.</strong></span></span></span></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><em><br /></em></span></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><em>How do I start this? I am back home
after ten heavenly days with Nurse Nettles. Ambrosine Nettles, the no nonsense
nurse who had been taking care of me through the summer. (See my other piece
called, unsurprisingly, <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Taking Care</b>).
Gives you the background to all of us. Me, the one armed Simon, my siblings
Sophie and Adam, my strange dad, and nursie. It was a summer never to be
forgotten. Especially by me. When nursie left, as she did suddenly, I reckon I
was in love with her. She dominated my fifteen year old thoughts. Pervert my
elder brother called me, but in a nice way. Perhaps I am, or becoming one. I
got to enjoy the showers she gave me and, unexpectedly, I even more enjoyed the
smacks she gave to my bottom. So much so I contrived situations that resulted
in much more than a gentle hand slap to a bare cheek. Strange desires released
and ultimately thwarted when she left. It should come as no surprise, it did
not to a smirking Adam and Sophie, when dad announced a skiing winter holiday.
For all except me. Not possible in my condition. One arm gone in a car accident
and the other only partly mended. I was to stay with Miss Nettles for the
Christmas period in her cosy cottage in the Cotswolds. More smirks from the
revolting and knowing siblings. I could have jumped for joy. I reckon one small
bit of me did. Or at least twitched. There, I have started my piece so telling
of those ten days should prove to be easy. It was certainly a roller coaster
ride.</em></span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Dad put me on the train the day before
they all set off for Switzerland and Miss Nettles was waiting for me when it
pulled into Cheltenham. She, like dad, said how disappointing it must be for me
not to get a winter skiing holiday and I said the same to both of them. No, I
said, I would rather be spending Christmas with my nurse. Perhaps it was the
way I said it but both, separately, gave me a strange and similar look. It
could have been along the lines of our Simon is growing up, I had turned
sixteen in November, but I don’t think so. I think dad’s look was more like ‘be
careful’ and Nurse Nettles was, well Nurse Nettles was more like ‘be good’. I
had no intention of being either. Sophie and Adam would understand.</span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The first few days were a bit
disappointing. I arrived at her cottage on the 20<sup>th</sup> of December and
shopping and Christmas preparations were clearly the order of the day. Or week.
Food shopping in Broadway and everything else shopping in Cheltenham and
Stratford. Money seemed no object and we arrived back at her secluded cottage
on the outskirts of Chipping Campden literally loaded with goodies of every
description. A few friends and relatives were joining us on Christmas Day and
an old and special friend the day after Boxing Day but, other than that, it was
just us two. She told me this many times on our regular jaunts around the
Cotswolds in her old but impressive BMW. Just us two she said until the New
Year. That will be nice, Simon. And your dad has been very generous. That got
me thinking. Was dad paying for all this? Did he own the cottage? She laughed
when I voiced the latter thought. Good God, no. I bought it out of my earnings
many years ago. She laughed again and pressed her foot on the accelerator. As
we speeded along a country road I was becoming very familiar with, I suppressed
the desire to ask if that was from her National Health nursing earnings. Some
things are best left unsaid.</span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I said the first few days were
disappointing. They weren’t totally as I still required help when showering. My
one remaining left arm was improving but was still heavily strapped with
plaster and bandages. The hospital told me that early Spring should see their
removal and, with exercise, a return to normal. Adam had laughed at that as his
eighteen year old mind could only envisage one particular form of exercise.
Well overdue he reckoned. I said nothing. But it did mean I still needed help
when showering. Since the summer a variety of nurses come medical helpers had
done this duty but none, thankfully, caused any consternation to them or me. I was
getting used to be being naked with strangers and as these were of the ageing
and/or male variety my once a week all over obligatory ablutions passed without
embarrassment to either party. I knew it would not be the same with Nurse
Nettles, my Ambrosine. The prospect hung over me from the moment dad said I was
to stay with her. At sometime in that pre-Christmas period she would say that I
needed a shower. I knew it, she knew it, and it dominated my thoughts. The last
time she had showered me, long ago in those summer months, I had my first and
involuntary ejaculation. When you are fifteen you do not forget that. </span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">It was after our second shopping trip,
Stratford in heavy rain showers, that the hitherto unspoken promise was voiced.
Dinner was in the oven and a pleasing fire was flickering in an old fashioned
grate. A shower before dinner will do us both good, she said, after such an
exhausting day. You first, you haven’t had one since you got here, and then you
can watch the food whilst I have mine. So upstairs young man and get ready. Two
thoughts instantly struck me. I was to undress myself, I could do that easily after
so many practises, and the ‘get ready’ indicated some assistance. My bits
twitched in anticipation and Nurse Nettles smiled. I think both of us were
remembering the last time she soaped my naked skin. As Adam regularly said, our
bruvver is a pervert.</span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">It did me no good, perverted thoughts or
otherwise. My shower was conducted with professional and clinical expertise. I
was standing under it when she entered the bathroom, the crisp white nurse
uniform adding to both the excitement and the formality. Warm water cascaded
over my nakedness within seconds and a large soap bar scrubbed all of me with
efficiency. As per her usual methods Nurse Nettles left no inch unwashed. With
a confidence grown from familiarity, and lacking any embarrassment, I told her
it was nice when she washed my bottom and the bits in front. All this prompted
was an increase in the water temperature and a vigorous washing of my hair with
a strong smelling shampoo. I protested and received a first firm smack of her
hand to where nature intended. A first smack of this Christmas break.
Inevitably it had the usual effect on me and as I stepped out of the shower a
second smack to the same place followed. I now had sharp stings on each of my
bare cheeks. Nothing else, except a knowing smile, as a large white towel
enveloped a growing erection that was now thankfully covered up. Dry and dress,
she said. Pyjamas I think and then keep an eye on the food. And you can open
the wine, she said, at sixteen a small glass is permissible. I was a bit despondent
that she had decided not to dry and talc me but given my excitement this was
probably wise. I needed to calm down before dinner. I didn’t.</span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">There was a good reason for that not
calming down. For some reason, which soon became clear, Nurse Nettles had redressed
in her nurse uniform after showering. We listened to some obscure classical
music during dinner, a lovely beef stew, and she outlined the plans for
Christmas Day. Two days hence. A nephew and niece plus the niece’s boyfriend
and three villagers would make up a party of eight and I would be expected to
help with the preparations. Then a quiet day on Boxing Day before the visit of a
very special friend who, she smiled as she said this, I would like enormously.
And in preparation for her, she said, I think it is time you were spanked.</span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘Spanked?’</span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘Yes.’</span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘Why?’</span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘Why not?’</span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘I haven’t done anything.’</span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘You have, but do I need a reason?’</span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘No Miss.’</span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘Exactly. You have been wanting one ever
since you arrived.’</span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘Sorry. Is it that obvious?’</span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘It was when I showered you, young man.’</span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘Sorry.’</span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘No need to apologise. I was going to
spank you anyway. I promised your father I would before Christmas Day.’</span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘My father?’</span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘Yes. He said smack Simon’s bottom at
least once before Christmas. He will thank you for it.’</span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘I might not.’</span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘And make you more controllable and
contented before the onslaught of all my friends.’</span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘Ok.’</span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘You don’t have a choice, Simon. So no
need to agree.’</span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘I am gathering that.’</span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">And with that she pulled out her chair
and bid me to rise and place myself over her knee. I had hardly had time to
absorb it all. One minute we were eating our dinner and discussing Christmas
plans and the next I was upended over her ample knee and feeling her large hand
explore my pyjama covered bottom. It did not stay covered for long. Six or so
hefty smacks to my behind and she pulled the pyjamas down and gave me a further
twenty or so to my bare skin. They stung, especially as she increased the tempo
and severity as the spanking progressed. By the time I rose, rubbing my behind,
the heat emanating was extensive and fierce. Ow, I said, that hurt. Good, she
said, a little taster before my special friend arrives. What does that mean? I
said. You’ll find out was her only response. And with that she pulled up my
pyjamas and cleared away the dinner. All questions were deflected and I went to
bed intrigued, excited, and a little scared. I had been promised, or
threatened, with something from someone I had never met. And I had to get
through Christmas Day first. I fell asleep with a full erection, one that I was
in no condition to satisfy. I needed help and my showering angel of a nurse
knew it. </span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Christmas Day was hectic. It was lovely
but hectic. The three villagers, all elderly males, were clearly old friends of
Nurse Ambrosine, and her younger relatives made for a nice mix. Her nephew was
only a year or so older than me and, after an uneasy start, we got on well. He
and his elder sister were clearly very fond of our Nursie and during chats with
him, another Adam, I learnt that she had helped her brother bring them up after
their mother died. That got discussed over a sumptuous dinner and one bit of
the conversation intrigued me. One of the elderly villagers, a retired
architect, started it. Something along the lines about her smacking their
bottoms to keep them in line. The conversation was not pursued, I reckon the
niece was embarrassed, but I formed the distinct impression around the table
that all the bottoms seated, except the niece’s boyfriend, had been vigorously
smacked at some time by Nurse Nettles. I asked her about it that evening, when
we were alone. She merely smiled and said all her charges, old friends and
young relatives, were special. The following day, Boxing Day, she gave me my
second shower and my best Christmas present. Ever.</span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘That was nice, Miss.’</span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘You deserved it. You needed it.’</span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘I know. I can’t thank you enough.’</span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘No need.’</span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘And I didn’t feel embarrassed. Not with
you.’</span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘Even though you’ve only just turned
sixteen and I’m, well let’s just say I am older.’</span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘Ancient?’</span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘Careful.’</span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘Sorry.’</span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘I understand Simon. Probably older than
your mother and have just done something she never would.’</span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘God, I hope not.’</span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘You are a growing boy. You have needs
and, let’s face it, you cannot do anything yourself.’</span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘Not yet, no. Hopefully soon.’</span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘Your father understands.’</span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘Sorry?’</span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘It was one of the reasons he wanted you
to stay with me. You can spank him and wank him, he said. Quite seriously.’</span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘Now I am embarrassed. Putting it like
that.’</span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘You shouldn’t be. It is perfectly
normal.’</span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘Being wanked by your nurse?’</span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘You would be surprised how often it
happens. Men, boys, need relief. Nurses know that.’</span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘And fathers?’</span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘Fathers know more than their sons ever
give them credit for.’</span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘I am learning all the time.’</span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘And only sixteen? <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Just thank yourself that you are lucky knowing
someone like me.’</span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘I have always thought that, Miss.
Always.’</span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I have always, ever since the early
summer. Dad was right. Nurse Nettles was exactly what I needed in my condition.
Only one arm and that in plaster and hormones running riot. Hormones
additionally fuelled by that same nurse baring my behind on occasions and
spanking and caning it. Pervert, Adam said, but a nice one. I think he meant me
not Nurse Nettles. She was special. The Boxing day shower was mid afternoon
after a lovely walk through the Cotswolds countryside. I knew it was going to
be special because she took me upstairs when we came back and took all my
clothes off herself. She had that determined look about her which I only
usually saw when she intended to discipline me. By the time my vest was pulled
off and my underpants pulled down I had an erection that only a blind man could
ignore. There was heavy breathing and not just from me. I felt a line was about
to be crossed. The last time I ejaculated when being showered it just happened.
This time I was sure it was intended. Especially when she said that things must
be difficult for me, having no use of my arms. Arm, I said, I only have one. By
that time I was stark naked and ready to step into the shower. She turned on
the water and washed my hair, taking an age or so it seemed to me. Soap my body
I was thinking, soap my body and everything else. Eventually she did. Arms,
legs, back, chest, buttocks, shoulders. It was heaven. The water cascaded and
the soap bar conducted its dance. Everywhere. Everywhere except my protuberance
which screamed for blessed relief. I closed my eyes and wished as hands and
soap explored all of my naked skin. And then her hands moved to my genitals.
The soapy warmth touched all my personal flesh, my balls, my shaft, my bottom,
my crack in between. Explored, teased, entranced. Cleansed. And then the hands,
her hands, stroked my shaft up and down. Gently, but with no mistake. This time
intended. This time she intended to give me that blessed relief. I knew it. She
knew it. A Christmas treat for a frustrated boy. Her left hand cupped my full
and eager balls, her right hand expertly worked my stiffened penis. Up and down
with a fine finesse she stroked it. Stroked it and pumped it until, far too
soon, I gushed forth a flood of semen which seemed to have been stored for
months. Six, seven, eight times I spurted the cream that had been so pent up.
As the hands squeezed and caressed I saw stars and flowers and rainbows and,
eyes closed, gasped at the beautiful intensity of it. I did not want it to end.
Forever. But eventually it did. My penis twitched and died and the hands lessened
in their intensity. Balls were gently caressed and the one on my shaft eased
its gripped. I sighed and did again as two sharp smacks hit my behind. Just to
bring you back to earth, she said. Water continued its cascade and pleasant
stings on my bottom vied with dying desire in my cock. That was beautiful, I
said. She said nothing but, as she dried me, I sensed that the talcum powder
she applied had an added gentleness. Almost as if, as it dusted my personal
parts, she was saying well done. And much deserved. It was later, much later,
as I was getting ready for bed that she reminded me of the morrow. My friend is
coming she said. Just for the day and she is really looking forward to meeting
you. She has never caned a sixteen year old and that, my boy, is the price for
today’s pleasantries. All questions from me were deflected. Spent but excited,
Adam and Sophie would understand, I fell asleep.</span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘Can’t you give me a clue?’</span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘Such as?’</span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘Well, when for a start.’</span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘When she comes back from Stratford.’</span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘When’s that?’</span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘When’s that what Simon?’</span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘When’s that Miss.’</span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘Around five I would imagine. She
doesn’t like driving in the dark.’</span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘But she isn’t staying here?’</span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘No.’</span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘She seems nice.’</span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘She is, most of the time.’</span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘But she likes caning people.’</span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘Oh yes. Makes a very nice living at
it.’</span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘And you want her to cane me?’</span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘It’s my Christmas present to her, and
your cost for yesterday.’</span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘I’m scared.’</span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘You should be. She’s a no nonsense
woman.’</span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘And excited.’</span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘Your father’s son.’</span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘That’s what Adam and Sophie say. They
reckon I’m a pervert.’</span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘You are Simon. I realised that a long
time ago. And so young. It usually takes folks years to understand this
particular need.’</span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘I still don’t understand. I only know
the thought makes me feel funny.’</span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘And you feel ‘funny’ now?’</span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘Yes.’</span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘Then be patient. She’ll be her soon.
And when she arrives she will take you into that other room, take down your
pants and cane your bare backside. Hard.’</span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I gulped. We had met her earlier in the
day. She was younger than Nurse Nettles, but not by much and with darker hair
and taller, and reminded me of some of my teachers at boarding school. She
studied me with an intensity that slightly unnerved. I could feel my feet
shuffling. She was staying in a local hotel and needed to visit her elderly
father in Stratford whilst she was here. Just dropping by to meet me, she said.
It sounded like a threat as I am sure it was. And when I get back, before
dinner she said, I will have my Christmas present. At that comment both Nurse
Nettles and Christine, as she was known, laughed. I looked at my feet that were
still shuffling nervously. Over a light lunch and wine for them, only a small
one for Miss Christine as she insisted on being called, I relaxed a bit.
Especially when I sensed that the whole thing may be an elaborate joke. I
sensed that when my Nettles asked her if she had been busy leading up to
Christmas. The usual clients she said, nothing special. The youngest was in his
thirties and the oldest over eighty. It never ceases to surprise. She sipped
her wine and said, looking at me, when you are twenty or so I should love to
deal with you. Ambrosine says you are a natural. But I thought..., and tailed
off as relief vied with disappointment in perplexed confusion. Nurse Nettles
laughed. You see what I mean Christine. He doesn’t want to wait until he is
twenty. So when you come back from your father you decide. A box of chocolates
or ten minutes alone with Simon. She returned about four thirty and left around
seven. She never got the chocolates.</span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘So Simon, you like being caned?’</span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘No Miss.’</span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘Oh, I thought you did?’</span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘No Miss. It hurts. I don’t like it.
But.....’</span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘You like what it entails. You like the
build up?’</span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘Yes Miss.’</span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘And afterwards?’</span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘Yes Miss.’</span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘So a little pain on your bottom is a
small sacrifice?’</span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘Yes Miss.’</span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘Does that thrill you?’</span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘What Miss?’</span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘When I say that. A little pain on your
bottom?’</span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘Yes Miss.’</span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘The thought of the pain or the thought
of your bottom being prepared for it?’</span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘The getting ready.’</span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘Having your pants taken down?’</span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘Yes Miss.’</span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘Having your bottom bared for my cane?’</span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘Yes Miss.’</span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘In spite of the pain?’</span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘Yes Miss.’</span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Nurse Nettles had left us. Left me and
Miss Christine alone. A strange intimacy was created and both of us sensed it.
She made me stand and walked around me, seemingly examining me. I sensed a
thrill in my being, enjoying this subtle domination. I was dressed in jeans and
Christmas jumper, a Nurse Nettles present, and the latter amused the tall and
determined woman who assessed every inch of my body. She talked as she did so,
playing her role and also living it. If this was a special Christmas present
from Nurse Nettles, mine as well as hers, then Miss Christine was eager to
ensure that both of us got full benefit. It was as she told me that I was to
get twelve strokes of her cane, six on my underpants, that she started to undo
my jeans. As the top button of my jeans was released she emphasised the six on
my underpants, the new Calvin Klein’s she said. Yet another present from Nurse
Nettles. She trusted I was wearing them. I was. Small, tight, pale yellow, with
a blue band. I had opened the box on Christmas Day after all our guests had
left. Miss Christine will like those she said. She was right. As she undid the
remainder of my buttons and pulled the jeans down to my knees she admired the
colourful display. Beautiful she said, and beautifully filled. And then she
laughed. I am so going to enjoy caning your bottom, Simon, she said. And after six
on your bright pants I shall take them down and cane your very bare bottom
another six times. And as she said this she led me to the small table in the
corner of the room. It was just the right height and had been dutifully cleared
earlier in the day. I bent over it, my jeans by now around my knees, and made
myself as comfortable as I could. Miss Christine was to my left. Dissatisfied,
she made me grasp a leg of the table and arch my back and, as I did so, she
turned up my Christmas jumper and pulled my jeans further down my legs. I need
a good target she said, smoothing her hands over the yellow underpants as she
did so. I sensed her adjusting the pants, ensuring that no obtrusive crease
would spoil her view or detract her aim. Such a lovely bottom, she said, no
wonder your Ambrosine likes smacking it. As she said this she picked up her
cane. I had seen it earlier, in the corner. Long and medium thick, designed to
hurt. It had been left there deliberately and, equally deliberately, I had not
referred to it. But now I was destined to feel it and fear and anticipation
induced familiar stirrings in my penis. When she laid it across my Calvin Klein
covered bottom I was stiff. I remained that way all through the first six of
Miss Christine’s cane. Partly because the strokes were fairly gentle, little
more than stinging taps across my bottom, and partly because she kept up
incessant chatter with every whack. Such a springy backside, so boyish, and so
smackable. And so pert and willing. I think I could do this all day. Each
utterance brought forth an extra stroke of the cane across me. I squirmed as
the heat rose in my behind in spite of the gentleness. And then she stopped and
eager hands inserted themselves in the blue waistband of my bright yellow
Calvin Klein underpants. I sensed them slowly slipping down my thighs, exposing
my naked bottom to her gaze. Nice and pink and warm she said, rubbing her hands
over my upturned skin. Two lovely little peaches, two little shining moons, no
wonder Ambrosine raves about you. My young stiffness burst to its fullest
condition. This was heaven. And then she brought the cane down much harder
across my bare behind, spurred on by the vision I assumed. It hurt and I
squealed and did so three more times as three more strokes laced my skin.
Christmas present she said, two more to go, hold tight. I did and squealed even
louder when strokes five and six burnt into my bum. Ow, I said, and rose
clutching my by now fiery bottom with my one free hand. That bloody hurt. Miss
Christine merely smiled, pulled down my Christmas jumper, and said that
swearing would get me on a report to Nurse Nettles. Then she gently kissed me
on my cheek and pulled up my underpants. It was only then that I noticed my
penis had shrunk in painful shock. Some Christmas present.</span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">With one notable exception the rest of
my Christmas break with Nurse Nettles passed without much incident. We saw in
the New Year with those same old village friends who came on Christmas Day and
all were extremely well behaved. Only one, an elderly chap slightly the worse
for wine, hinted at things unspoken. How I wish I had a Nurse Nettles to stay
with when I was sixteen, he said. And winked, mischievously. I merely shrugged
as teenagers are supposed to do and Nurse Nettles smiled in silent approval. Given
that the period from Boxing Day to the New Year lasted a week or so it was
hardly surprising that I endured two more vigorous showers from my nurse. Both
were extremely professional and efficient. And, from my view, disappointing. They
were conducted early in the morning, quick as a flash, and me decently covered
up with towels both before and immediately afterwards. I have to do this, she
seemed to be saying, you are my patient as well as my guest. I said nothing.
Christmas was clearly over. Except it wasn’t. She was due to drive me back home
three days after the New Year and on our last full day she dropped a small
bombshell. Two actually, one firing fear and anticipation and the other
inducing an overdue thrill. Given what she said the two bombshells were clearly
linked. I would not have had it any other way. As Adam and Sophie would say, I
am a pervert.</span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘Home tomorrow, Simon.’</span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘Yes.’</span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘So. There are two things I need to do.’</span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘What?’</span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘What, Miss’</span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘What, Miss?’</span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘One pleasant, one not so.’</span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘Oh?’</span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘And, as this is our last full day, it
will make sense to combine them.’</span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘Yes Miss.’</span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘You say that as if you have some idea
of what I intend to do.’</span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘I think so.’</span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I was right. New Year, Christmas over.
Friends and relatives all gone, including Miss Christine. Only memories remain.
Memories of my final spank and a wank. As my father would put it. Both were
heaven. Taken over her knee and, pants taken down, smacked vigorously on my
bare bottom. To remember her by, she said. Twenty or thirty times. And then,
upstairs, stripped and showered. Everything including my much reddened rear.
And finally, searching mature hands giving me a blessed climax. One I could not
do yet for myself. As I say, heaven. But then, Nurse Nettles was an angel.</span></span></i></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Alfred
Roy (c) 2017</span></span></i></b></div>
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Alfred Royhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10230978439930708047noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7782382387501739014.post-9775422006797770972016-12-14T03:06:00.000-08:002016-12-16T03:50:08.721-08:00Taking Care (F/m F/f)<br />
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">This is not a Christmas story but it does hint at the end of one to come. I have been suffering for a few weeks, shingles, which has made me very unsociable and grumpy. Two folks usually give me a Christmas spanking and both have had to be cancelled. Hence this pretty long story and, unusually for me, a good deal of semi sexual detail. Pure fantasy of course although, I suspect, nurses such as Miss Nettles figure in many an over active male mind. Happy Christmas. Shingle bells, shingle bells, shingle all the way. Alfred Roy</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;"></span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><strong>Taking Care </strong></span></span></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">I should be embarrassed. I was the first
time but, when you have been bathed half a dozen times, you get used to it.
Well I did anyway. My brother said it’s because I am only fifteen and don’t
have his hormones. I also don’t have his arms. Well one of them. My right one.
Have to wank left handed, he said, when you start, or get someone else to do it
for you. He seemed amused by this but I reckon he was covering up distress.
That’s what my sister said. She’s my twin and we are two years younger than
Adam. They were both gutted by my accident, you could see that in spite of the
forced hilarity. I lost the arm in a car accident about eighteen months ago
and, to compound the difficulties, my saved left arm is taking yonks to heal.
But, eventually, the hospital let me home and dad employed a nurse come home
help to see us through. Had to really as mum, in the car with me, is back in
hospital and not likely to come out again for months. Can’t have three
teenagers causing riots, he said, during the long holidays. You’ll all need a
firm hand. Not sure, then, if he meant that literally but, looking back, it was
a portentous comment. That summer was one never to be forgotten.</span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">I suppose you could say we were an
incredibly lucky family in some ways. We had a fantastic house in the country
and we all went to private schools. Never any money problems, mum had inherited
wealth and dad a highflying job which took him all over the world. We wanted
for little. But in other ways, we also had our fair share of bad luck. The car
accident was just one of many. Adam spent two years in hospital, on and off,
when he was little with heart problems. Thankfully, now fixed. And Sophie, bane
and love of my life, was the twin I nearly lost when our holiday boat capsized about
five years ago. Adam said we were jinxed and repeated it after the car
accident. True I said, but we have all survived. Unlike Tom he reminded me, as
is he needed to. Tom was the eldest of the four of us, five years older than Adam.
Or would have been. About two weeks before my accident he was killed in
Afghanistan. Dad reckons that mum was thinking of all that when she lost
control of the car. As I said we are an incredibly lucky family. </span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">But what we lack in luck we make up for in
humour and resilience. We get the resilience from dad and the humour from mum,
or is it the other way round? Thing is they both had both qualities so we,
Adam, Sophie and me had double portions of the two. That’s what Adam said, and
Sophie repeated it when Miss Nettles arrived. The nurse come home help. Miss
Nettles. Ambrosine Nettles. Thirty five, serious, old fashioned. In manner and
dress. You’ll need your humour with her Sophie said and giggled. And your
resilience Adam said, in spades. Glad she’s not my nurse. I just looked open
mouthed. I’m Simon by the way and I have just got off to a bad start with dad’s
little helper. We all stared in amazement as Miss Nettles walked up the garden
to the house. What had dad done?</span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">She had arrived on the Wednesday afternoon
of the start of a long and glorious summer. We three were in the garden
drinking beer. That might sound a bit strange for two fifteen year olds and
their seventeen year old brother but it was homemade stuff, one of dad’s
passions, and we had been virtually weaned on it. Miss Nettles, our Ambrosine,
in starchy nurse’s uniform and light brown coat seemed singularly unimpressed.
She carried a small case, a holdall, and a distinct frown. Are one of you
children, not Simon obviously, going to help me with these, she said. No
introductions, no hellos, just a veiled instruction. Adam looked nonplussed and
Sophie smiled her widest and most insincere smile. I don’t like you it said,
almost instantly. I looked at Adam and said I would lend a hand but it’s at the
hospital. We all corpsed and Adam spluttered in his beer. Our Ambrosine merely
smiled icily and said, unnervingly calmly, then Adam, it is Adam isn’t it, can
show me to my room. We can introduce ourselves at tea. And with that she
flounced, or something equally dramatic, to the house.</span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">We questioned dad closely that evening.
Who and what is she and where does she fit? Simple he said. He was to be away
for six weeks and she was to run the house and nurse me. She came highly
recommended and it would be best if we co-operated. Apart from her, Miss
Nettles, and a cleaning lady who came in three mornings a week we would be on
our own. It was either that or shutting up the house for the summer and sending
us away. He reckoned we would prefer this option. We did but not because of Our
Ambrosine, as we called her behind her back. She seemed to have little sense of
humour, was over efficient, and insisted on us obeying a few house rules for
her stay. As the latter included being in bed by ten and not drinking dad’s
beer in the house we were unimpressed. But other than that she generally left
us alone. Except for me. She was a qualified nurse and tended to my remaining
arm with a professional expertise. In fact in her nursing role she was almost
likeable, it was the unfamiliar role of controlling three teenagers which
caused her most discomfort. There was just one aspect of that nursing role that
caused me some initial concern. She was determined to carry on where the
hospital left off and that included me showering at least twice a week. For
some reason that didn’t bother me too much at the hospital, different nurses on
different days and a sense of anonymity. But at home with a person I was seeing
regularly unnerved me a bit. And hormones were beginning to kick in, in spite
of what Adam said. I’ve got used to it now, and other things, as she has been
here two weeks and made me shower at least six times. But I still shudder at
the first time, especially as, bizarrely, I got what I reckon was my first ever
serious erection.</span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">I had been getting pretty good at most
everyday things. I could dress myself and go the lavatory without help, thank
God. Both tasks took five times as long as normal but it was better than the
alternative. But showering, as they told me in hospital, was difficult if not
impossible. Mainly because I needed to keep my damaged arm dry. So I used to
close my eyes and let them get on with it. Initially bed baths but, as I got
stronger, trips to the shower with the available nurse. Usually an older, no nonsense,
one. I got used to it so did not get too agitated when, on her third day,
Nettles said I needed to shower. To save time she took my clothes off in the
bathroom and that, I reckon, was her first mistake. In hospital it was just a case
of taking off the pyjama top and pulling the cord on my pants. Within a blink I
would be naked. But at home the command, that is what it was, came at the end
of a day when we had all been having fun in the garden. She had to strip an
awful lot more. Shirt, shoes, socks, jeans, underpants. One by one. I found it
exciting as well as embarrassing. Especially when she pulled my underpants down
and off. Sorry Miss, I said, looking at the stiffness in my cock. She ignored
it. You are a boy she said, it is to be expected. I stepped into the shower,
hoping my strange growth would go away. It didn’t and it got worse when she
turned on the water and started to rub me with the soap. First my back and
chest and then my legs and buttocks. The last bit took my breath away and I
closed my eyed firmly and tightly when her hands went to my private bits. They
need cleaning as well she said, even the stiff bit. I thought I would die. She
did it briskly and efficiently and quickly moved on to washing my hair, taking
care to keep my one arm away from the water flow. I had survived and breathed
thankfully when I realised my unexpected erection was subsiding. I learnt two
things that day. One was that no boy has any control over his appendage. It
rises and falls at will. The second was that some folks, some women, have
strange habits that please. This one certainly did. As I stepped out of the
shower she delivered a sharp and resounding smack of her hand to my wet and
naked bottom. They must have heard it downstairs. Ouch, I said, what was that
for? For failing to control yourself, Simon, for having unclean thoughts. I had
not a clue what she meant, all I knew was that I had a sharp sting on the left
cheek of my bottom and, truth be told, it felt rather nice. Nettles by name, and
Nettles by nature. How much so I was yet to find out.</span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">The first clue came from Adam, my older
and so called wiser brother. She’s Nettles by name and nettles by nature is our
Ambrosine, he said to me one morning, adding, I reckon that’s why dad employed
her. The phrase struck me as the one I had called to mind after she first
showered me. After that she took care to ensure showers took place in the
morning before I dressed. No slow and hormone inducing stripping and no
subsequent hand stinging slap on bum. Don’t you know he said, pouring himself a
second cup of disgustingly thick Turkish coffee and lighting a cigarette, much
frowned upon by Our Ambrosine. He looked at me quizzically. She’s out, he said,
shopping with the cleaner. And, proceeding to puff on his clandestine weed,
told me what I clearly did not know. You must have been on one of your hospital
visits, which is why you missed the drama. What drama, I said. Our Nettles got
cross with Sophie, he said. Last Tuesday. She came in late the night before and
gave her some lip. Asked to apologise the next day more lip spurt forth. Upshot
was Miss Nettles gave her a spanking, Sophie, right there and then in the
kitchen, in front of the cleaner. No messing, knickers down and on her bare
behind. She howled for England. I heard it. All over when I got to the kitchen
but no doubt what had happened. Sophie was bawling and rubbing her behind and
threatening Miss Nettles, utterly calm I might say, with all sorts of dire
threats. The cleaner looked gobsmacked, as I was. But amusing all the same. Do
Sophie good. But today she threatened me with the same. You are not too old at
seventeen, she said, to get what Sophie got. Just because she caught me smoking
one of these, he waved his cigarette around to emphasise the point. Just let
her try, he said. Just let her try I echoed the thought. Sophie spanked by Miss
Nettles and hating it and Adam threatened with a spanking from her and
dismissing it. And me? Listening to all this. What did I, Simon, think? Fifteen
year old Simon remembering the showers and the smacked behind, albeit
fleetingly. I thought it might be rather nice. Might be rather nice to be
spanked by Miss Nettles, especially if she did it on my bare behind.</span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">She did. Only a few days after Adam
related the story of Sophie’s spanking. And she did it exactly as I had wished,
exactly as I had fantasised. On my bare behind after a serious lecture and slow
and deliberate preparation. Could she read my mind? It was my own fault. Adam
had said, amongst other things, that he thought Miss Nettles was a bit of a
sadist. Her flushed and animated face after spanking Sophie clearly indicated a
woman of strange passions. He had read too many dubious books I said. She was
strange but not a sadist. He disagreed. Wouldn’t surprise me, he said, if she
had straps and canes buried in her bureau ready to wreak havoc on our behinds.
Such women exist and not just in books. It got me thinking. Dad had made it
clear that Miss Nettles had been employed to keep an eye on us. And he had said
something else which did not register at the time we questioned him but was
beginning to take on a special significance. You either accept her, he had
said, or I shut up shop for a couple of months. She comes highly recommended
and I have given her full powers. Full powers. Now what did that mean? Did she
have disciplinary implements buried away in her room, ready to whack us with? I
decided to find out. I decided to search. My timing was bad and, being so, I
discovered that Miss Nettles, Our Ambrosine, was indeed a woman not to be
messed with. No canes, no straps, either discovered or used but a hand of
vicious and stinging qualities. Especially when applied to a fifteen year old
backside. As the first smack landed emphatically into my bared bottom my
fantasy died.</span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘You do know I have spanked Sophie?’</span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘Yes, Adam told me.’</span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘So it will not surprise you, Simon,
that I intend the same for you.’</span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘That’s abuse. You are my nurse. Besides
I don’t have any arms.’</span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘Not strictly true and not relevant. I
do not intend to spank your arms.’</span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘I am too old to be spanked.’</span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘No boy is too old, not even Adam if he
deserves it. You certainly deserve it, invading my private space. What did you
expect to find?’</span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘I don’t know.’</span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘I think you do, but I am not
interested. You have stepped out of line and your father has given me
permission to deal with such matters as I see fit.’</span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">As she said this she drew me closer
towards her and started to undo my trousers. We were in her bedroom, the room
in which I had been caught. She had closed the door and locked it. A sure sign
that I was in serious trouble. As my pants were pulled to my knees I registered
what she had said about dad. He’d never spanked us, and neither had mum, but
both had said that it would probably do us all good occasionally. Well they
were getting their wish. I thought that as my underpants followed my trousers
down my legs. She was sitting on the edge of the bed and pulled me towards her
and over her knees, my bare bum upended and ready for action. I shouldn’t feel
too embarrassed as she had seen all I had many times. But not like this, not as
a little boy over her knee waiting to be spanked. I had mused on the
possibility many times since she spanked Sophie and the idea appealed. That
appeal faded the moment her left hand lifted my shirt and her right connected
with my bare bottom. My howling was about to begin. Boy could our Miss Nettles
spank. Both of my poor cheeks were walloped at least a dozen times and I
struggled manfully, arms or not, to wriggle free. But her left arm was firmly
around my waist, holding up my shirt to ensure that the area to be spanked was
well exposed, and my soft and vulnerable bottom was well and truly smacked. I
could not see but the heat rising from my bum suggested a picture of vivid red.
By the time she stopped, and the spanking could not have taken more than a
couple of minutes, I was in tears. She raised me up and, as she lowered my
shirt, did the decent thing and gently massaged my bottom. After all, she said,
I could not do it myself. Standing there, pants still at my knees, her soft
hand on my naked bum almost made the earlier stings worthwhile.</span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘Dry your tears Simon, it wasn’t that
bad.’</span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘Tell my bottom that.’</span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘Sophie took it better, even if she was
abusive afterwards.’</span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘Maybe she has a tougher bum.’</span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘Nonsense. Boy’s bottoms are much more
resilient. You will be fine within half an hour.’</span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘Doesn’t feel like it at the moment.’</span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘Good. Will teach you to behave
yourself.’</span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘And if I don’t.’</span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘Then perhaps you will feel my cane.’</span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘Cane?’</span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘The one you couldn’t find.’</span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">She was redressing me during all this
and she could not have failed to notice the erection I was displaying. It had
started as she rubbed my bottom after the spanking and, as much as I tried, I
could not control it. Pulling up my underpants and trousers was an exercise in
physical delicacy. She made no comment but, when dressed, she patted my burning
bottom again and said that I was a strange but interesting boy. My cock twitched
again. It might only be fifteen but it was getting weird sensations. I told
Adam all this the following day. You are a masochist he said, nothing weird about
that. Lots of men like being spanked and they got their fixation in childhood.
I reminded him that I was not a child but, wafting away the smoke from another
of his revolting cigarettes, declined any other comment. Sophie joined us and
smirked that she had heard that I had suffered as she had and mused that only Adam
was now a Nettles virgin. Unlike you, Adam said, our Simon quite enjoyed it. I
was about to protest when Sophie said something that got me thinking. It runs
in the family, she said, all at least amongst some of us. We both asked her
what she meant and she just pulled a face, one of her most irritating habits. I
discovered the facts behind the enigmatic comment later. I overheard the
Pauline our cleaner, she said, talking to Our Ambrosine on the day she spanked
me. Full of admiration, the cow. Said it was long overdue. We were all nice
kids, she said, but spoilt, and a few smacked behinds would do us all good. I
didn’t say anything but in Sophie’s case I was inclined to agree. I loved her
to death but she could be a monster on her bad days. Bloody cheek, Sophie
continued, she wouldn’t have been so eager if it had been her bare bum getting
walloped. But the most interesting comment came from Nettles. Their father
agrees, she said, which is partly why he hired me. I can combine nursing with
old fashioned correction. A smacked behind can help to develop an individual on
the right path and he should know, she said. I reckon she would have said more
but they saw me in the doorway and stopped talking. Now my darling Simon, my
‘armless brother, what do you make of that?</span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">I didn’t know what to make of it other
than the fact that Nursie Nettles had arrived with a dual mission. Tending to
all my medical needs was the obvious one, with a not now so hidden agenda to
discipline us when needed. With ‘old fashioned correction’ to quote Sophie
quoting Nettles quoting dad. And dad should know, she had said. That was the
most perplexing comment and as such I dismissed it from my mind. Besides I had
other things to think about. Our Ambrosine said I was well overdue for a
shower, she had not had time that morning, and it would be the first one since
being spanked the day before. A strange surge went through my young body. Apart
from the first time she had given me a shower my appendage had behaved itself.
She had been quick and efficient and professional and, being early morning, my
mind was only slowly awakening. But today’s was late morning and followed both
the previous day’s private and personal walloping and the discussions with Adam
and Sophie. I flinched when she made the announcement, just before lunch, and
blushed profusely when my revolting siblings both gave knowing smirks. I don’t
need a shower I said. I’ll be the judge of that, she said, in a manner which
defied contradiction and engendered a sense that this lady was finding her
feet. Upshot was that ten minutes later I was standing in the bathroom in my
birthday suit, eyes closed and fervently praying that nothing of me would rise
to the auspicious occasion. The prayer failed.</span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘Your bottom seems to have recovered
remarkably well, Simon.’</span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘Yes Miss.’</span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘One would hardly know it had been
spanked.’</span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘No Miss.’</span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘I shall have to do better next time, if
there is a next time, I usually leave shining beetroot cheeks for at least
a<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>couple of days.’</span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘It hurt Miss, and Sophie agrees with
me.’</span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘It is meant to Simon. There is no point
otherwise.’</span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘Yes Miss.’</span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘And Sophie would have felt more
discomfort, such a small and tender girl’s bottom.’</span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘Yes Miss.’</span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘You seems very dutiful today, Simon. I
am pleased.’</span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘Yes Miss.’</span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘I shall have to take your pants down
more often.’</span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">And on that point she laughed and turned
on the shower. The water, thankfully, engulfed me and took my mind off a penis
which had stiffened more and more as she had chatted. I think she knew the
turmoil she was creating in my mind both by the situation, me naked and
waiting, and by the conversation. Fixated as it was on my spanking of the
previous day. As the soap and water, and her soft and large hands, went to work
I concentrated on the task in hand. Trying to forget the heady conversation and
the memories of the previous day I sensed those hands doing their expert job.
Cleaning all of me, all my orifices and personal bits, washing my hair,
massaging my bottom and legs, cleansing my back. If I had been capable I reckon
I would have spurted on that day and I reckon she knew that, hands exploring my
young body interspersed with comments on my spanking. By the time I stepped out
of the shower and a warming towel dried my body I was ready, and she knew it,
to be spanked again. To be spanked, or anything else she had in my mind. What I
did not know, and in fairness neither did she then, what she eventually had in
mind was a damn sight more than a spanking. And this next time it was not
private and personal. This next time was a threesome. I got caned and I did not
get it alone. When I bent over the leather chair with my bottom in the air I
was following fifteen year old twin Sophie and seventeen year old Adam in a
painful disciplinary dance. By then we definitely knew that dad would be
pleased. We knew because we found a letter that he had written to her. We knew
because she caught us reading it. And we knew because all of us, sentenced to a
caning, reckoned she had left it lying around as a trap. Sophie read it out and
her eyes widened in amazement as she did so. Adam and I just stood transfixed
as a veil was lifted from our eyes. Dad had planned this and the realisation
coincided with our realising that Nurse Abrosine Nettles was both watching and
waiting. A short hiatus in this narrative will allow that letter to be
displayed in full. It explains a lot.</span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘My Dear Ambrosine, it has been so long
since I saw you last I hesitate on how to begin. Life has been pretty dire for
my family over recent months. First Tom being killed and then the car accident.
It has taken us months to get back on an even keel and now my lovely wife is
back in hospital. I should close up the house and send my kids off to relatives
for the summer but I know they would hate that. They are mad but lovely and will
make for fantastic and amusing adults. We are all a bit bohemian and all we
lack, as I often tell them, is a bit of old fashioned discipline. I know that
your special services have helped me through many traumas. My wife understands,
always did, my need to visit you every few months. Always put me back on an
even keel and helped, even enhanced, my coping with the commercial world. I
reckon it would help my kids if they got a taste of your special medicine. Not
that I want to be around to see it. Much too soft with them. I hinted that you
would fit the bill when we spoke on the phone. Simon needs nursing care and the
fact that you have that qualification as well makes you a bit of a shoe in.
Contact me at my office and we can finalise the details. Basically I would like
you to live in for the month or so I am away, look after Simon and sort out the
other two delightful reprobates. And smack the bottoms, hard as you like, of
all three when they need it. They will thank you in later life. Regards,
Nigel.’</span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">Sophie was singularly unimpressed by the
reference to being reprobates and Adam thought it a bit off that dad was
sending strange letters to a strange woman advocating that she smack his seventeen
year old son’s bottom. I felt it all made sense given what I had experienced at
Our Ambrosine‘s hands. Not only had she spanked me but she regularly bathed me,
and on the last occasion she seemed to relish talking about it. The spanking
not the showering. To talk and reflect on smacking bottoms to a naked and tumescent
boy. I was getting hooked on the things my dad needed, must be genetic, but the
prospect did nothing for my siblings. Sophie desired not a repeat and Adam
abhorred an introduction. But the variety of feelings from thrill, to fear, to
distaste, mattered not a jot. Three siblings with mixed emotions turned and
listened as the incriminating letter dropped from their hands. All three, eyes
firmly fixed on our Ambrosine Nettles, learnt very quickly that they were going
to be caned. We were lined up in book laden study so revered by our dad. By now
the scenario was well established. Musings and clandestine letters, not to say
the earlier spankings of me and Sophie, spelt out what was expected. Miss
Nettles had been given carte blanche to our undeserving bottoms by dad and she
was not to be thwarted. She made that clear. He loved us and hated the thought
of sending us away when circumstances conspired against us. Him on serious
commercial business and mum in hospital. But his arrangements had a downside.
At least for us. A stinging Nettles bent on fulfilling her brief. If we refused
to accept her sentence, six strokes each, she would resign and throw the house
into confusion. We had no choice. Sophie cried at the thought, Adam gulped in
resignation, and I both hated and thrilled in equal proportions. But we
accepted. Report to the study, she said, for six cane strokes each on the place
that nature intended. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And then the house
could come to some sort of order. We slowly and fearfully made the small
journey, all of us thinking we had to do this for dad. I said we were a weird
family.</span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">To an outsider it must have looked very
strange. Three teenagers, the eldest only seventeen, standing in only their
underclothes in front of a crisply uniformed nurse. Why she was wearing her
nurse’s uniform I do not know but, with a vicious looking cane in her hand, it
added a special frisson. At least for me. Nurse Ambrosine Nettles was in her
element, full disciplinary power sanctioned by an absent parent, was about to
give consummate vent to her special remedies. She said she would deal with
Sophie first. Well she was a girl and the youngest by twenty minutes. On that
basis I thought I would be second in line but for some reason she decided that
Adam would be next and I would be last. When bid, Sophie stepped forward,
already in tears, and bent over the leather chair that had been conveniently
placed in the centre of the room. Its low back made it ideal for its intended
use. I can’t remember the last time I had seen my twin’s knickered bottom. I
must have over the years but in this situation it fascinated, especially as I
was to receive what she was currently getting. Her knickers had been pulled up
tightly and smoothed across her cheeks and her top lifted, expertly. Nothing,
other than flimsy cotton, stood in the way of Our Ambrosine’s cane. She rested
it on Sophie’s cheeks and, unsurprisingly, they twitched in nervous
anticipation and the tears enhanced. Be grateful these are not coming down,
Nettles said, emphasising the point with a couple of light cane taps. Sophie
twitched again and immediately followed with a loud and piercing scream as the
cane lashed across the centre of her bum. A second stroke joined the first and
Sophie jumped up, tears flowing and screams pleading, and rubbed a bottom that
was clearly on fire. I was transfixed as Adam, standing next to me, shivered in
teenage fear. Get back Sophie and stay down, came the command, otherwise I
shall not spare your modesty. The threat worked and Sophie took the final four
strokes, if not stoically, at least with grim resolution. Nurse Nettles allowed
her to leave the room, still clutching her bottom and howling, and I considered
her lucky that we did not get to see her bared bottom. The whole process had
taken no more than two or three minutes and it was with flushed face and steel
in the eyes that our chastiser summoned Adam to the chair.</span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘Adam you know what to do. Bend over the
chair.’</span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘And if I refuse this assault on my
person?’</span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘Then I shall resign my position. It is
as simple as that.’</span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘Perhaps I don’t care.’</span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘Oh, I think you do Adam. It isn’t just
that you and Sophie will go away. Simon will have to go back into hospital.’</span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘He might like that.’</span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘I doubt it, he is getting used to me
and my methods.’</span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘Unlike me?’</span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘And it is what your father wishes.’</span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘He wishes us to be caned? I doubt it.’</span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘He wishes you to stay together and,
though you don’t agree, he thinks having your bottoms smacked occasionally will
do you good.’</span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘I don’t call what you just did to
Sophie a bottom smacking.’</span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘It was deserved Adam. As is yours. And
if you keep me waiting much longer I shall take down your underpants as extra
punishment.’</span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘You wouldn’t.........’</span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘What. Wouldn’t dare Adam? I think you
know me better than that. Now bend over the chair and let us get this over. It
will hurt but it will not take long.’</span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">I listened to all this, fascinated. Adam
was trembling, in spite of his superficial bravado, and Our Ambrosine Nettles
had the determined look of an avenging nurse. Adam was going to be caned and he
knew it. I was enthralled, both at the prospect and that I would be next. My
big brother was about to get his bottom whacked and when he bent over I could
not help but admire his shapely backside. Fuller than Sophie’s small backside
and distinctly boyish. And enhanced by the tight white trunks which clung to
every curve. Nurse Nettles took her time, I think she appreciated the male
bottom on the cusp of manhood and her hands smoothed out the covering cloth
and, erotically, made Adam spread his legs and lift his backside. A good
target, she said, and a good bottom. Well qualified for discipline. And
discipline he got. She walloped that cane into him six times, about ten seconds
apart, and Adam gasped at every stroke. But though he wriggled and squirmed he
absorbed each one and never attempted to get up. When he did, after the last
stroke had seared the centre of his behind, he had tears in his eyes and hands
rubbing away almost as vigorously as Sophie had done. She let him go, to
recover his composure in private and so it was just me left in the room with
the medical woman from whom I had no secrets. And this time it was not for a
showering or a spanking, or all the other many things she did for me. This time
it was for a caning. Six times. On my bottom. And I had seen what she had done
to Sophie and Adam. I was both scared and thrilled and now it was my turn. I
have to say I was a little disappointed. I bent over meekly, unlike Adam. I
lifted my bottom, as instructed, and enjoyed her rearrangement of my underpants.
I fearfully awaited the cane and screwed up my face when the six strokes
struck. And when I rose I had a few tears and lots of rubs to my behind. I had
taken my caning better than Sophie but not as well as Adam. And she said so. I
mumbled something and gratefully left when she dismissed me. The pain in my bum
was excruciating and I knew it would throb for a while. But I did not mind
that. What I minded, what disappointed, what left me with a sinking feeling of
emptiness was one thing. One thing that I most desired when I bent over in
readiness for the cane. I desperately wanted my Nurse Nettles to take my pants
down and do it on my bare bum. For that, all pain would be bearable. And she
didn’t. She did not take my pants down and cane me on my bare bottom. So,
later, it was left to my boyish fantasies. I mused on this for a long time
afterwards and eventually, somewhat reluctantly, raised it with Adam. We were
in the library playing chess, about two days after we had our caning threesome.
Unlike me he had not spent time examining his marks. It won’t happen again was
all he said. I said I had found it all exciting, in spite of the pain. And the
marks on my bum are amazing. You are a pervert, he said, just like dad. But, I
shouldn’t worry, he added, it was just a strange normality and indicated high
intelligence. Except in my case, he added. I reckon he was right, not the
intelligence bit, and something that happened a couple of weeks later made me
think even more so. Nurse Nettles gave me an enema and, discomfort or not, the
experience was thrilling.</span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">I was standing in front of her dressed
only in underpants and top. No need to get dressed, she had said, after an
early morning shower which, thankfully, had not sent my jimmy pointing up to
the ceiling. Wisely she had decided that early morning showers caused less
embarrassment. I had ignored the instruction even though she had amplified the reason.
My tablets were causing havoc with my insides and an enema was well overdue.
Her words. I had been given a couple in hospital, not pleasant, and was not
really looking forward to a repeat from nasty Nettles. My bottom had recovered
from my caning but the memory lingered. But she was insistent and, before
breakfast, I found myself on my bed wearing only my top. She had taken down my
underpants and when I lay on my bed, turned away from her with my knees up to
my chest, I was conscious of an unwanted incipient erection. She had seen it
but made no comment. Only my bottom seemed of interest. The cane marks have
cleared up nicely, she said. I hope you have learnt your lesson. I made no
reply, conscious only of the oiling of my anus and the slow and gentle
insertion of the cold and unkind tube. Warm water gradually flowed into me and
I steeled myself for the inevitable reaction. She made me turn to her and her
hands gently massaged my stomach. They were no more than inches from my penis,
thankfully now declining, and the feeling was not unpleasant. When you are
ready, she said, and shortly I was. She helped me to the bathroom and, in spite
of the excitement at exposing myself to her again, I was glad when this
incident was over. I took vicarious enjoyment from her seeing my naked bottom
but, deep down, I wished it prior to being disciplined. Showering and enemas
were not the same. And I particularly wished her to see that naked bottom just
before she caned it. I thought it might have happened when we were left alone
after she caned my siblings but, in that desire, I had been frustrated. A week
after the enema I was to get my wish. Thinking back, I realise now that such
desires should remain in fantasy. </span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘You have engineered this Simon.’</span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘No Miss.’</span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘Oh, I think so.’</span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘Yes Miss.’</span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘You get Adam and Sophie drunk by lacing
your father’s beer, very dangerous I might say, you persuade them to join you
in running naked around the garden, and you post photographs of the event on my
website. You must have known you would be caught.’</span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘It was a laugh.’</span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘Not very funny. Fortunately nothing
gets posted until I have checked it. You must have known that.’</span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘I said it was just a laugh.’</span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘How did you find it?’</span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘What? Miss.’</span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘My website.’</span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘It was in dad’s letter to you. Your professional
name.’</span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘Very clever. But not so clever with the
photographs. Apart from your arms, you were all clearly recognisable.’</span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘How? I didn’t show faces.’</span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘But you showed bottoms, Simon.
Especially yours, with which I am very familiar.’</span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘Yes Miss.’</span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘So you will get your wish. I will cane
you, twelve strokes on that bottom. On your bare bottom, which I think is what
you most desire. But for lacing your brother and sister’s drink. Nothing else.
So I should say take down your pants but, as things are, I shall have to do it
for you.’</span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘I’m sorry, Miss.’</span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘You will be, but as I said Simon, you
have engineered it.’</span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘Yes Miss.’</span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘You really are your father’s boy.’</span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">And I was. I desired nothing more than
what was proposed. A pervert was what Adam had called me, a chip off the old
block. He was right. At fifteen I had discovered the joys of being whacked. I
did not understand the thrill, but thrill it was. Standing waiting for her to
do what she intended was nothing short of heaven. Rich in my imaginations and
overwhelming in the reality. The fear of pain, and I was scared, was eclipsed
by the heady anticipation. She approached and I drew in my breath as she undid
the top of my jeans. All buttons quickly followed and she dragged those same
jeans down to my knees. The low leather chair had been pulled to the centre of
the room, the same room in which three siblings had been caned in their
underclothes, and she walked me to it and bent me over. Not three siblings now,
not two watchers and one with covered modesty, just the one, me, and modesty
was not on the agenda. I felt her warm and large hands caress my bottom, very
pleasant, and drew in my breath as the fingers teased the waist band of my
underpants. Within a moment I felt them being pulled down, slipping down my flesh,
exposing all I had. I was captivated. She had seen all before, seen my bare
bottom many times, but this time it was not for a showering., This time it was
to feel her cane, twelve times. I could hear her heavy breathing, sense the
tension in her body, and responded by raising up my bottom. Signally my acquiescence
in what she intended to do. I desperately wanted her to cane me, and I
desperately wanted her to do it like this. My jeans and pants at my knees, my
top lifted, my bare bottom begging for her savage kisses across it. I sensed
the feeling in my loins with which I was becoming so familiar and told my mind
I did not care. As long as she caned me I did not care what happened. Or I
thought I didn’t. When the first stroke lashed into my bottom I could have
screamed with agony. It was vicious, much worse than when she did it on my
underpants, and tears welled in my eyes at the searing pain. </span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘Aagh. That hurts Miss.’</span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘It is meant to Simon. I am not doing
this for fun.’</span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">Thwack!</span></span></i></b></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘Aagh. It stings. No more please, Miss.’</span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘You brought it on yourself, Simon.’</span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">Thwack!</span></span></i></b></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘Aaaagh.’</span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘So stay still.’</span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">Thwack!</span></span></i></b></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘No more please, no more, I am sorry.’</span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">Thwack!
Thwack!</span></span></i></b></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘Oh my God. Aaagh. Oh my God. It hurts.</span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">I rose, clutching my bottom with my one
good arm, turning towards her and begging for forgiveness. I told her I was
sorry, told her that I did not think it would hurt so much, said it was all a
mistake. I was in tears, disconsolate, the searing pain in my bum throbbing for
all it was worth. I told her I was not enjoying it. She laughed and said she
never expected me to. It was clear then that if I had a childish fantasy she
was bent on destroying it. Reluctantly, pain still throbbing, I bent over the
chair again.</span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">Thwack!</span></span></i></b></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘Aaagh. Please Miss, no more.’</span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘That was quite gentle, Simon.’</span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘It hurt.’</span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘It is meant to.’</span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">Thwack!</span></span></i></b></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘Oow.’</span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘Only four more to go.’</span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">Thwack!</span></span></i></b></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘And all deserved. Your bottom is
looking lovely, beautiful stripes.’</span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">Thwack!</span></span></i></b></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘Aaagh. Oh God.’</span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘You should have them for a few days.’</span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">Thwack!
Thwack!</span></span></i></b></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘Aaaaaaaagh. Christ.’</span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">‘And hopefully you will be cured.’</span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">I looked at my bottom in the bathroom
mirror. Three days had passed since my caning and on each of those three days I
had, with an effort, undone my jeans and pulled both them and my underpants
down to my knees to inspect the damage. On the first day I lifted my top to see
the reflection of my naked cheeks I had gasped at the sight. The stripes on my
bum were vicious, purple and red lines across both white bottom cheeks. They
fascinated and the fascination grew as each day passed. The pain had been
worthwhile and Our Ambrosine’s attempt at a cure had failed. She knew that
herself by then. My most recent shower from her had made that clear. The
stripes are hardening, she had said, I had better wash your bottom with care.
They will be there for days yet and however much soap I apply they will not go
way for a while. As she said this, and as the soap rubbed against my lacerated
cheeks, she and I noted my erection. I had been stiff from the moment she
undressed me and soap and words merely enhanced it. It was as she washed my
genitals, delicately as always, I came. For the first time in my life. I said
sorry, I could not help it. I did not truly understand it either but I knew
that the feeling had been pretty special. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She merely smiled and turned the shower water
to freezing cold and gave me a hard smack on my naked and bruised bottom. It
was the last time we had any contact that summer. She left the following day. </span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">Adam questioned me about it. All a bit
sudden, he said, did I know the reason why? I said I didn’t but perhaps she was
feeling guilty about whacking us. I didn’t believe that and neither did Adam.
It was left to Sophie to come up with some sort of solution to the mystery. Dad
was coming home early, later that day, and Our Ambrosine was going to meet him
at the airport and then head off home. She had lots of catching up to do
apparently. Sophie saw her packing and waiting for a taxi whilst we were still
in deep sleep. Don’t disturb them she said, just say good bye and tell them I
will be seeing them again, especially Simon. Sophie<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>looked at me and grinned. Sounds like a
threat, Adam said, but one that our little pervert would like. I said nothing.
I just closed my eyes and drifted into memories. I think I know why she left.</span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">It was a strange Christmas that year.</span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">I spent it with her, Nurse Nettles. Dad
and mum, now out of hospital, and Sophie and Adam left for a much deserved
skiing holiday. I couldn’t go, not in my condition. So I spent Christmas and
the New Year with Nurse Nettles, Our Ambrosine. But that, as is said in the
best stories, is best left for another day. It was a heavenly two weeks.</span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">Alfred
Roy (2016)</span></span></i></b></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span></i></div>
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<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span></i></b></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span></i></div>
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<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span></i></div>
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<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span></i></div>
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<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span></i></div>
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<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span></i></div>
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<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span></i></div>
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<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span></i></div>
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<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span></i></div>
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<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span></i></div>
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<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span></i></div>
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<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span></i></div>
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Alfred Royhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10230978439930708047noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7782382387501739014.post-70154975107434545512016-10-26T03:36:00.000-07:002016-10-26T03:36:25.359-07:00Chemistry Lessons (M/m)
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><em>This story, working title The Bunsen Burner, is a mixture of fact and fiction. The first part actually happened although whether I got four or six strokes with an unusual implement the second time I bent over time has blurred. The second part is pure fantasy but it is based on what that Chemistry teacher said the second time he whacked me. 13 words which haunted me for years and loosely inspired this piece. Enjoy, but please do not be tempted by rubber tubing. It is not nice. <strong>Alfred Roy</strong></em></span></span></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Herewith the facts</span></span></b></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">When
I was about 13 or 14 I had an idiosyncratic chemistry teacher. He was very
short sighted, bottle top glasses, had a rich and comic nasal voice, and avidly
supported Stockport County. Perhaps those facts are related. He talked for
England and was easily distracted. Chemistry lessons regularly morphed into the
respective merits of his beloved County and their league rivals, all it took was
a classroom wag to float the latest football result. I was an arch wag in his
class and, my speciality, was to pretend consummate obtuseness and perplexity
at the simplest of chemical experiments he conducted. How my inane questions on
litmus testing lead to a Stockport drubbing from Plymouth Argyle or Accrington
Stanley only time and history knows. But, believe me, it regularly did. Egged
on by fellows, I and others easily distracted. But he wasn’t stupid. He knew
who those wags were and me, and those others, fairly regularly suffered another
of his idiosyncrasies. That strangeness was his rubber tubing, usually attached
to a Bunsen burner – chemistry’s standard prop, but applied in the 1950’s to a
special purpose. Simply, he whacked us with it. And that was not fun. A couple
of foot in length his special piece of rubber tubing slammed into upturned
behinds frequently, but not excessively by the standards of the time. It stung
like hell and on the couple of occasions I got it, comic class repartee
overstepping the mark, tears filled eyes and burning throbs filled bottom.
Laughter faded quickly on such occasions.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">One
whacking I particularly remember is the day that a close friend and I decided
to play at marbles. I need to explain. Chemistry lessons require lots of
paraphernalia and, even in those days, an element of health and safety. So
forty boy classes were split into two and half did physics and half did
chemistry. In the same lab complex divided into two with a linking corridor.
Doors were often left open and, one day, my friend in Physics and I in
Chemistry, went in for a little bit of marble rolling. We could see each other
so something was bound to happen. Silly, but fun. Until we were caught. We were
whacked, not for what we had done – pretty harmless, but for our unspoken and collective
disrespect for authority. That’s my interpretation anyway. The doors were
closed, and always afterwards, and I was summoned to the front. I know not what
my friend suffered but Mr Bunsen, let’s call him that even though he was always
known as ‘Pop’, told me in no uncertain terms that I was to get four from his
favoured implement. Such pronouncements always produced a hushed tone in class,
someone being whacked was serious, momentous, exciting. I enjoyed it. Except
when it was me. I stepped forward, bent down as instructed, felt my coat being
lifted, and waited. It did not take long. That rubber tubing whacked into my
behind with venom. God, he might be comic, with a comic implement, but he could
lay it into a behind. Mine. With stretched trousers fitting tightly to my
boyish curves. I held onto ankles, gritted teeth, and absorbed each of the four
fiery stings. By the time I rose, face flushed and tears welling, the room was
totally silent and the bottom, my bottom, throbbed all the way to Stockport. I
rubbed the rear and listened to the lecture and gingerly sat down, Vowing never
to muck around again, or at least not until the pain and burn in my buttocks
faded.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">One
thing I do remember from those far off days, and this will lead later into the
fantasy element of this piece, was that the marks on my behind fascinated. They
were so unlike thin vicious lines from a cane or red splodges from a PE slipper
or paddle. They had their own distinct charm, thick and rich marks evenly
spread across the buttocks. Red and raised with rough edges the four marks on
my backside told a special story. If I did not masturbate to them I reckon I
must have tried. They were so erotic. I remembered that coda the next time I
suffered the rubber sting. I reckon ‘Pop’, Mr Bunsen, was in a particularly bad
mood and I, idiot, had been particularly obtuse. We were doing some strange
and, obviously important, experiment and were all told in no uncertain
circumstances not to pull out a particular glass plug. Red rag to a bull
really. I couldn’t resist. On our table, at our experiment, I of four boys did
exactly that. Just to see what would happen. That was what I said later after
chaos had ensued, that was my excuse. Did me no good. Rubber tubing, on the
behind, six this time. But a little different. Not in front of the class, not
this time. In a separate room. And when he did it, when Mr Bunsen bent me over
and whacked me six times with that strange implement on my little bottom he
said something as I rose. As I rubbed my behind, throbbing with distressing
fire, he said something I have never forgotten. If I have you in here again, he
said, I will take your trousers down. You wouldn’t dare I said through tears.
Just try me, he said, just try me boy. I never did.</span></span></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Herewith the fantasy</span></span></b></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Those
words mesmerised. If I have you in here again I will take your trousers down.
They rang in my ears and tantalised and teased for weeks afterwards. What would
it be like, would he really? Would he really bare my bum and whack me with that
rubber tubing. It scared and fascinated. Trousers and underpants around my
ankles, everything exposed, and his Bunsen burner tubing smacking into my naked
cheeks. So erotic. The experience would be worth the pain. I had to have it. The
incipient fourteen year old masochist would grasp the opportunity and never
regret. A real schoolboy, a real schoolboy’s bum, getting a real school
punishment. On his naked behind. Heaven. It became an obsession. I could think
of nothing else. All my hours seemed to be filled with this heady prospect. I
played out the fantasy. Called into that back room. Undoing my trousers.
Pushing them down to my knees. And then my underpants. Lifting my shirt,
exposing my behind, white and pure, and my penis and small balls. Smooth and
hairless. Boyish in front of a man. A schoolmaster with his weapon of choice.
Designed to mark and pain my bottom. If in those days I could have come, I
would merely at these thoughts. I so desired it. So desired to be thrashed on
my naked flesh. My naked bottom. I could not explain, then or now. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">It
happened of course, and unexpectedly so. The young mind is so easily distracted
and one lunchtime I transgressed badly. Three or four of us had been left to
tidy up the chemistry lab. It was an easy task and gave opportunities for
mischief. One boy, not me, decided to search in Mr Bunsen’s desk. He found his
pipe, the man was an avid pipe smoker, and proceeded to smoke it amongst lots
of chortles and noises of disgust. Another boy, not impressed, produced some
cigarettes. Much more suitable. We were all eager to try. We did. We were
caught. Mr Bunsen had returned for his pipe. He raged. Four each he said, four
each across your behinds with my tubing for smoking. Disgusting at your age.
And then he caught my eye. Not you he said. I will deal with you later. After
these he said. So three boys, three fourteen year olds, were bent over and got
four whacks each to their trousered bottoms and, ruefully wailing, summarily
dismissed. They may have been puzzled at my reprieve, if that is what it was,
but they said nothing. Smarting bottoms still tongues. They left and Mr Bunsen
and I were alone. You had better step into the back room he said. Why, I said,
knowing the answer. I think you know what I promised you boy, he said. No, I
said, trying to prolong the situation. Well let me remind you, he said, if I
had you here again I think I told you I would take your trousers down. You
wouldn’t dare, I said. He looked at me and the rubber tubing flinched in his
hands. He was no longer the Stockport fan with the bottle glasses and the
nasally voice. He was a master intent on filling a promise that had obsessed
me. And we were alone and nothing, absolutely nothing, could stop it happening.
And deep down I did not want it to. You said that last time I thrashed you, he
said, we shall now find out. Yes sir, I said. Then go into the back room and
take your trousers down. I nearly fainted.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I
didn’t faint. If I had I would have missed the heady experience. I walked into
the back room and undid my trousers. It was as I was pushing them down to my
knees that he entered, rubber tubing at the ready. My face was flushed with
rising tears, his flushed for other reasons. Bend over he said. What, I
thought. There was no desk or chair to help me so I bent forward and grasped my
knees and, realising this was not enough, my ankles. He lifted my coat, I
should have taken it off given the intimacy, and then my shirt. They hung
heavily on my shoulders and enhanced the weirdness of the situation. I sensed
him coming closer to me, heard his breathing, felt his hands on my waist. And
then he pulled down my underpants. The mesmerising sensation, long imagined,
mingled with his words. My bottom, naked and exposed, felt the surrounding air
and my boyish parts embraced the freedom of exposure. The pain to come would
almost be worth such clandestine schoolboy thrill and his words, rather than
adding fear, merely encapsulated. I warned you boy, he said, I warned you that
if I had you here again I would take your trousers down. I ought to give you
six but I shall give you the same as the others. But on your bare behind. So
hold on to your ankles as these shall hurt. And they did. All four, not six.
His rubber tubing lashed into my bare cheeks four times, and four times I
gasped and vowed never to give him another opportunity. Four times they
savagely kissed my bottom and four times they burned their distinctive marks on
my flesh. How I stayed I never will know, but I did. And when he had done I
rose, sobbing and rubbing, and not caring that he could see all I had. Don’t
test me again he said, it will be twelve next time. And I shall have you
stripped naked. Pervert I thought as I pulled up my pants and trousers. Pervert
I thought as I looked into his flushed face and left, never to return. Looking
back, years later, I reckon he thought the same of me. <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Alfred Roy</b></span></span></div>
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Alfred Royhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10230978439930708047noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7782382387501739014.post-49573350810909778402016-09-01T07:34:00.001-07:002016-09-01T07:34:35.499-07:00The Gardener's Boy (F/m)
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><em>In one respect this is a little bit of fantasy. A young boy agreeing to be caned for a fee by an older woman. Would the young, he is only about seventeen, so readily accept such a strange proposal? Surely pure fiction. Not so I think. At that age, many moons ago, I often hankered for such a scenario. It never materialised but I can think of situations when it might have done. If only some of the interesting mature women (or men) who crossed my path had been so inclined. So not so strange really. </em></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><em>It is time I did a chatty blog. One will follow shortly but, in the interim, I hope you enjoy this and, possibly, think of those long summer days when you were seventeen and ripe for adventure. Especially the disciplinary kind. <strong>Alfred Roy</strong></em></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><strong>The Gardener's Boy</strong></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">She looked at him. Again. She had
been looking at him most days. He had been working in her garden for nearly a
week. Hired hand. For the summer. A hot summer that never seemed to end. He was
so young. And strong. Stripped to the waist his skin glistened. A student.
Sixteen, seventeen, but with a boyish face and a gentle demeanour. She had seen
him close up, cold and sparkly drinks in hand, and he had smiled and thanked
her. Such a help and so nice. Her gardener said he couldn’t do it all on his
own, couldn’t clear out all the weeds and the rubble for her project. Not on
his own, not in time for the laying of a summer house. Needed help. So she
advertised and got one. A student. A boy of sixteen, seventeen, with glistening
skin. And he toiled in the summer sun and smiled and gratefully accepted the
sparkling and cold drinks. And she watched him. Close up and through her
window. Watched that glistening skin, registered the contours of his body.
Imagined the glistening covered by the tight jeans. The boyish buttocks filling
a growing body. Imagined how they would glitter, exposed to the shining sun. Imagined
how they would react to her thrashing them. For that is what she desired. Not
sex, not a sensual meeting of bodies in copulation. Not sex between woman and
man. Thrashings, discipline, her womanly cane and strap connecting with the
hidden boyish behind. That is what she desired as she watched. That is what she
hoped, and intended, to happen.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">The taste for disciplining boys
had been kindled and fired at the school she worked at in South Africa. Rules
were lax and the legislation confusing. The headmaster, a kindly but practical
man, indicated that a smack on the behind was often the only language that some
understood. Be sparing and discreet, he said, but if necessary do it. So she
did. Tentative at first, but with increasing vigour and enthusiasm. And when,
the first and only time, she told a boy to drop his pants for four strokes of
her cane the thrill she experienced was both heady and life changing. Bare bottom
caning happened at that school, she knew albeit they whispered it. Needed for
some, a last chance. And the boy had been to her before, three times. So she
told him to drop his pants and her breath caught in her throat as his fear
flashed in his eyes. But he did. Drop his pants. Expose his small pale brown buttocks
and she lashed her cane into his skin. Four times. And as the weals rose and
screamed she registered her joy. To beat a boy on his bare bottom was the
ultimate heaven. And she never forgot. Although she never did again, always
after she allowed the pants to remain in place, she never forgot. A step taken,
but not repeated, was seared on her mind. And however much she beat boys
afterward, and for two years more many bent to her cane, none were stripped
bare. But she never forgot. And now she was home, in England, making a home.
And garden. And a young student, glistening in the sun, rekindled old desires. She
had to cane him. She had to have him in her power. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">She got her chance in the third week
of that summer. Her gardener caught a summer bug, not serious but debilitating,
a few days in bed prescribed by his doctor. A long and confusing telephone call
ensued. No, it was not a problem. No, she did not wish for a replacement,
things were coming along nicely and the summer sun showed no signs of fading.
The boy could manage on his own for a few days, she would ensure no jobs
undertaken requiring two men. There was only one disturbing moment, a
suggestion to come and sit in the sun and keep an eye on the boy. Just for a
couple of days. No, it would not be necessary and two days rest in bed would be
much better. By the time the phone call ended both parties were satisfied and
the plans of one were already beginning to form. For two days the boy would be
working at her house on his own. Long enough for what she planned.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘You disappoint me Simon.’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘Sorry Miss.’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">She registered and liked the
Miss. It was the second day of the boy working in the garden on his own and,
early in the afternoon, she had called him to her library. She was casually
dressed in a light summer frock after a welcome shower. The weather still being
hot Simon was dressed in a light short sleeved top and fetching cut off jean
shorts. He looked concerned.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘I have just finished showering.
When I retired I left my purse on the kitchen table. It had fifty pounds in it
to pay my cleaner. It has gone.’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘I’m sorry.’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘So you admit taking it?’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘No. No, definitely not. I am
sorry for you Miss, but I did not take it.’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘So who did?’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘I don’t know. Someone must have
come in while you were taking a shower.’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘The back gate is locked, isn’t
it?’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘Yes Miss.’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘So how did this someone’, she
emphasised the word, ‘How did this someone get in?’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘I don’t know Miss. I was down
the bottom of the garden. I wouldn’t hear.’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘Or see?’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘No Miss.’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘I have checked the gate. It is
still locked. I do not see how anyone could get in the house, unheard and
unnoticed. Besides, why would they?’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘I don’t know Miss.’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘I do. No one came. The only two
people in the house are you and I. Just before I showered you came to the
kitchen to get a cold drink. You must have seen my purse and took your
opportunity.’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘I didn’t.’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘You must have.’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘I didn’t, honestly. It must be
someone else.’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Simon was beginning to look
distressed. Tears were beginning to form and his fingers agitatedly pulled at
his thin top. She studied him, excited by the situation but also sympathetic at
his dilemma. He threw out a small plea.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘I would be daft to. You noticed
straight away, you were bound to suspect me.’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘Yes, but that could be your
bluff.’ She paused reflectively and rose from her library chair. ‘I could
search you of course, you and your belongings. I could even do a strip search.
Would you like that Simon?’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘Please Miss.’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘Please Miss yes, or please Miss
no?’ </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">She knew by the discomfort of his
demeanour that he wished, fervently, to be anywhere but in her house. She gave
a final twist to her interrogation. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘I have done it before. Stripped
a boy suspected of stealing. Such crimes were frowned on at my last school.’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">The boy looked shocked and
squirmed in his own chair. He was in a situation with which he could not cope.
She knew that and her stern eyes relaxed and hinted forgiveness. Confusion
spread across his face and she laughed, a gentle throaty laugh. The sudden
change surprised him. One moment she seemed as an avenging angel,
unjustifiably, the next she exuded an enticing warmth. Sixteen or seventeen
year old hormones swirled in perplexity. She passed him, ruffling his hair, and
crossed to a library cabinet and poured out two ample glasses of a rich red
wine. She handed one to him and then sat down again, studying the flush faced
boy with disconcerting intensity.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘Do not worry; I won’t do a strip
search. No need to. There is no fifty pounds. No theft. I was teasing you.
Drink your wine.’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘I’m sorry Miss, I don’t
understand.’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘There is nothing to understand.’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘So you are not accusing me?’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘No.’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Inexplicably Simon relaxed, even
though he knew he was guilty of nothing.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘Why?’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘Let’s say for my amusement, just
for now. And I wanted an excuse to give you a rest from gardening. Hence the
wine.’ She paused and gave him a warm and inviting smile. ‘How old are you
Simon?’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘Seventeen. Nearly, next month.’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘So you are sixteen.’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘Yes.’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘Too young for wine then?’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘Yes Miss.’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘But old enough for other
things?’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">His flush face deepened even
further and he squirmed again in his chair. Was that, she thought looking at
his crotch, the early signs of an erection.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘Don’t worry’, she said, ‘I am
not going to seduce you.’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘No Miss.’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘Or strip you for a search.’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">For some reason those words shot
a surge through the boy.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘But I am interested in you Simon.
I think you should take the rest of the afternoon off, paid of course, and have
a chat with me. So finish your wine and go and freshen up. You know where the
shower is?’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘Yes Miss.’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">He rose, looking a little dazed.
The sudden changes of his situation, the being alone with this mature but
attractive woman, and the heady wine all combined to confuse his own immature
senses. She wanted something, he wasn’t stupid, but he did not know what. He
half expected her to follow him to the shower room. She didn’t, she remained
seated and amused and as he left she fed out another disconcerting question.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘Tell me, Simon. What do you
think would have happened if you had taken fifty pounds from my purse?’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘But, I didn’t.’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘I know, but let us assume that
you had. Just for amusement.’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘I don’t know. Sack me, tell the
police, something like that.’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘I might sack you, yes, even
though that would set my garden project back. But I doubt if I would report you
to the police, not for fifty pounds.’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘You could take it out of my
wages.’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘On the assumption you had
hidden, or even spent it?’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘Yes, I suppose so.’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Simon sounded vague and she gave
him a beaming smile.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘But unless I fined you, you
would be no worse off for committing a crime.’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘No.’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘Off course, if you were a pupil
at my school in South Africa the solution would have been simple. In South
Africa you would have been caned.’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Simon stared at her.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘Go and have your shower. Call me
if you have any problems with the controls.’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">All in all that had gone well.
Her false accusation had put the boy off guard. All else had comes as relief and
a combination of heady wine and suggestion of strip searches had played havoc
with his emotions. Most importantly he had not run away, got angry, or just
gone back to the garden. He had stayed and, somewhat meekly, allowed her to
explain her teasing. And in that close and private proximity there had been
stirrings of excitement. It would be too much to say it was a desire for the
unknown but the boy, an intelligent boy, was intrigued. She listened as he
showered and then poured two more glasses of wine. Her own excitement at how
the afternoon had progressed was increasing and, by her calculations, the
effects of a second glass would release any remaining inhibitions in a
vulnerable boy. He may not know it yet but she reckoned he would agree to any
reasonable proposal she offered. And that proposal was about to be laid before
him.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘Nice?’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘Yes Miss. Making me a bit dizzy.
Not used to it.’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘Then go easy, it is your second
glass.’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘Yes Miss.’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Simon supped his wine and then
put the glass, still half full, down. He had showered but put on the same
clothes as before. Hardly surprising as the afternoon’s turn of events could
not have been foreseen. By him.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘Besides you need a reasonably
clear head for what I want from you?’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Simon looked up, questioning.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘I have a proposal to put to you.
A nice easy one in some respects. Agree to it and I shall give you one hundred
pounds.’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘One hundred pounds. One
hundred?’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘Yes, one hundred.’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘Who do you want me to kill?’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">She laughed. She knew it was a
lot of money to Simon, a week’s wages as the assistant gardener, but not to
her. Not for what she wanted.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘No one, nothing like that. Be
good and I might make it one hundred and fifty.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Simon gulped.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘Sorry Miss, but do you wish to
take me to bed? Do you wish to be...you know.?</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘Fucked by you Simon? Is that
what you mean? No, you are much too young and, unlike some women, I get no
pleasure from training the young in sexual matters.’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘Sorry Miss, I should not have
said.’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">He picked up his glass and took a
sizeable gulp.</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><br /></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘But I do like training them in
other ways.’ </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Her eyes gleamed and Simon
shifted uncomfortably in his seat. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘When I was in South Africa, a
teacher of English and History, things were different from this country.’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">She paused but the boy made no
response. His eyes remained fixed on her.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘No political correctness at the
private school I was employed by. If boys, it was a boy’s only school,
transgressed it was perfectly permissible to cane them. On their bottoms. I did
it often, not initially, but as I grew to realise that it was a sensible
deterrent. In three years I must have caned over fifty boys. Many more than
once.’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘Why are you telling me this
Miss?’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘Is it not obvious?’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘I’m not sure.’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘I got a taste for it. Do not
look shocked young man. It is wired into the English psyche. I miss it. This
last few weeks I have had the urge to do it again.’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘On me?’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘On you.’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘For one hundred and fifty
pounds?’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘One hundred. The extra is only
if you are particularly good.’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">She held her breath. Acutely
conscious of her rising desire for corrective action, she knew that the boy’s
response was key to the afternoon. An afternoon long planned and fortuitously
available. She thanked God for summer colds on ageing gardeners. She may have
been deluding herself but there was a suggestion in Simon’s demeanour that he
was growing up.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘Can I speak frankly Miss?’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘Please do.’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘I’m a bit scared. When I was in
the shower I still thought that you wanted something else. I have never done it
but I often think of it. But it scared me. But at least I understood. This I
don’t get.’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘You do not need to, you only
need to agree.’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘Or run like hell.’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘You can, but in doing so you say
goodbye to one hundred easy pounds and a nice summer job.’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘You make it sound like
blackmail.’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">She studied him. Clearly his mind
was in turmoil. She wondered, briefly, if he had played with himself in the
shower anticipating the taking of his virginity. Whatever he expected it was
not this. But he had not run. Had not told her she was a nutter. He was calmly
debating. In an atmosphere that was charged with an indefinable electricity.
Again she saw the incipient rising in his crotch. Something excited him in an
afternoon situation that was both bizarre and inexplicable. Against her better
judgement she poured a third glass of wine for herself, adding the remainder of
the bottle to his unfinished drink.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘Finish your drink and think
about it. Nothing is at risk except your bottom.’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘Or my job.’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">She smiled, was this boy coming
round?</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘Tell me Simon, have you ever
been caned?’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘Yes Miss. By an uncle, when I
was thirteen.’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘Tell me.’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘Nothing much to tell. He was
headmaster of the school I went to. Couldn’t whack me there, but my mother let
him when I got home.’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘Did you deserve it?’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘Probably, but none of the others
got caned.’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘What did you do?’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘Drugs. Silly really, we were
caught with them in a classroom.’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘And the caning?’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘At home, in my bedroom.’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘How?’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘On my bum. Four times.’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘Did it hurt?’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘Yes. I howled if I remember.’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘And?’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘And what Miss?’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘How were you dressed Simon?’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Simon sipped his copious glass of
wine. Would he speak the truth or what she wanted to hear? Or would both be the
same? He grimaced.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘He did them on my bare bum.
Pyjamas pulled right down. I was shocked, embarrassed. I have never forgotten.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">She smiled, a knowing smile.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘That, Simon, is how it should
be.’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘And you want to do it to me?’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘Yes.’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘On my bum?’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘Bottom, Simon. A much nicer
word.’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘Bottom, Miss. Sorry.’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">He eyed her squarely and firmly,
assessing the situation.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘How many Miss?’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘You want all the details?’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘Yes Miss.’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘You surprise me Simon.’ She
paused and rose to look out of the window. When she turned back to him her face
was flushed and her voice thick and trembling. ‘Thirty strokes of my cane. The
one I used on the boy’s in South Africa.’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘Thirty?’ Now Simon paused and
when he spoke his voice was even higher pitched than before and some of his
later confidence had ebbed away. ‘I shall die.’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘I doubt it, boys have the most
resilient bottoms.’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘I couldn’t.’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘I think you can Simon. Think of
it as a small discomfort for a large fee.’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘Will it hurt?’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘Of course.’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘So you will cane me hard.’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘There is no other way Simon. No
point to it if it does not hurt.’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘For me, not for you.’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘Naturally. I will lead you in
gently but, make no mistake, you will be howling by the time I am done.’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">She noted again the rising bulge
in the boy’s crotch and the heavier breathing.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘The idea excites you Simon?’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘No. It scares me.’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘But it also intrigues you?’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘A bit. How will you....how will
you do...you know?’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">She laughed, gently but with
anticipation.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘That’s for me to decide young
man. But, since you ask, I intend twelve strokes as you are and eighteen with
those lovely shorts taken down.’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘On my underpants?’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘Oh no, definitely not. Not for
one hundred pounds.’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘On my bare bum. Bottom?’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘Yes.’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘For one hundred and fifty pounds
if I am good.’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">He chuckled at his bravado, the
wine and the situation having the desired effect.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘You are full of surprises Simon.
But let me surprise you. I shall take my time, we have all afternoon, but if
you fail to take all the thirty strokes of my cane, for whatever reason, then
your fee is halved. Agreed?’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Simon stood up and gulped down
the last of his wine.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘Agreed Miss.’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘Then go upstairs, first door on
your left, and wait.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">As he left the room she
involuntarily shuddered. The boy was drunk; there was no doubt of that. Drunk
and excited. Not so intoxicated that he would ruin her fun, she had sensibly
removed the second glass of wine after his initial sip, but enough to lower or
remove all his inhibitions. A surge of desire shot through her as she realised
he would be a toy in her hands for the next hour or so. And she would have no
guilt. She would handsomely pay for the stripes that would paint his behind and
afterwards he would most likely sleep off both pain and the wine. She smiled at
the irony of the situation. In later life, if he got a taste for correction, it
would be him doing the paying. But at nearly seventeen and with a delectable
bottom she was sure most disciplinary eyes would die for, financial roles were
reversed. She mused on these thoughts as she climbed the stairs and entered the
first door on the left. He was standing in the middle of the room, hesitant,
unsure of what to do. She closed the door and studied him. It was a small,
sparsely furnished, room containing bookcases, a writing bureau, and sundry
comfortable chairs. It was her retreat and, chosen for this particular purpose,
a low backed and heavy leather chair had been placed in the centre of the room.
Simon was looking at it, touching its black sheen as she entered. He stiffened
as she entered the room and, pleasingly, she sensed a small air of submissiveness.
The small top, pale green, clung to his upper body and the distressed denim
shorts fitted admirably for her purpose. The contours of Simon’s bottom were
well defined in the tight clinging cloth. Almost ideal, she thought and
approached him. His heavy breathing became more audible and, once again, she
registered the swelling in his groin. The wine, the situation, possibly his own
personality, was turning him on. She mused on whether such stirrings invited a
further erotic twist before proceedings began. It was a risk, but one she was
prepared to take and her cultured long fingered right hand brushed the boy’s
clothed behind. Soft and firm and delightfully bouncy. All combined. He did not
resist, showed no response other than a greater effort at stillness and,
confidence growing, she rubbed the full palm of her hand up and down both of
the plump and beckoning cheeks. Exquisite. Or that is what she thought, Simon’s
opinion was not asked but the twitching bulge in his shorts suggested approval.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘Nice.’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘Yes Miss.’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘So do I take it that you are
ready?’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘Yes Miss.’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘Then bend over the chair. Twelve
strokes of my cane across your delicious bottom.’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">She was surprised that he did as
told so readily. The leather chair was suitably low and, gripping the arms to
steady himself, Simon’s bottom presented a pleasing picture. Raised and curved,
tightly covered in denim which veiled little, the twin cheeks twitched in
anticipation. Whether through fear or excitement she still did not know but
ready the boy was and she was eager to commence a chastisement of financial
inducement and consent. The reasons mattered naught to her and, breathing
deeply, she crossed the room and extracted hers scholastic cane from a drawer.
Medium thick, brown and shiny, its two foot six length had seared many a South
African bottom. Now her gardener’s boy would receive the same treatment. Only
more so. This was thirty, not four, and this was agreed by both parties. She
sighed and approached the chair. She touched the cane to the boy’s bottom and
tapped gently on the bare flesh just below the small shorts. He stiffened and
took a deep breath. She then lifted the cane and tapped the centre of his clothed
bottom, memories flooding back, and spoke gently to him.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘Are you ready Simon?’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘Yes Miss.’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘I’ll go gently at first, unlike
with my schoolboys, as you have so many to come. But they all will sting,
Simon. Try not to get up.’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">He didn’t. Amazingly he took all
twelve strokes with agreeable deference, so much so that she made the last
three really whip into his behind. These brought a rising of his body and
shuffling of feet but his hands never left the arms of the chair. Each of the
twelve strokes hit the centre of his bottom and each of the twelve brought
forth rising gasps and signs of distress. But none made him jump off the chair.
It was with growing admiration that she bid him rise. South African schoolboys
cried more for less.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘You took those well, Simon. I am
impressed. You must have a very tough bottom, my South African schoolboys used
to jump up yelping after one or two.’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘Yes Miss.’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘How does it feel?’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘Sore Miss. Very sore.’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘So not such a tough bottom?’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘No Miss.’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘And eighteen to come.’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘Yes Miss.’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘As we agreed. On you bare behind.’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘Yes Miss.’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘So, with or without your
permission, I think I had better continue and get those shorts down.’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘Yes Miss.’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘Get to the bottom of things.’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘Yes Miss.’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘Right. Place your hands on your
head and stand up straight. Your real caning is about to begin.’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">She smiled, relishing the
situation, and Simon gave an involuntary twitch but did as instructed. She
noted as she approached him that he had closed his eyes. His face was flushed,
either from the wine or his initial caning or both, and like her his breathing
was heavy and anticipatory. She placed her hands on the top of his shorts and
undid them, slowly undoing each button down to his crotch. Released, the shorts
easily fell away and she deftly peeled them down to his lower thighs and
instructed him to take them off. When he had done so she picked them up and
held them, almost as a trophy of her planned afternoon. A pleasant surprise
awaited her. Simon was naked from the waist down, no underpants unlike as
indicated earlier, and a display of off white skin from waist to thigh
contrasted with the rich brown of his legs. She touched that skin, warm and
soft, just below his waist and pressed her palm in a smooth action across his
middle. The genitals below twitched in eagerness. Already tumescent, her gentle
caress produced a quickness of rigidity to be envied in the young. Smiling, her
hand moved to his back and softly caressed the exposed bottom. Perfectly white,
except for the warming marks of her ministrations, Simon’s bottom was ripe and
as full as a summer peach. The pureness of the flesh, the beauty of its shape
entranced and excited her. She ran her fingers and palm across both cheeks,
exploring every curve, every crevice, drinking in the exquisite shape of an
almost perfect behind. She had no idea where Simon was at this moment, she only
knew that she had gone to heaven.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘Beautiful, Simon, beautiful. You
have the most perfect bottom. I shall enjoy this.’ </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Sensing the moistness in her
being, enjoying the surge of disciplinary desire, she uttered her favourite
words. Words that she had uttered so many times at the school which had kindled
that desire.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘Bend over. Bend over the chair,
Simon.’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Adding the words never issued at
a school, only here on a private summer afternoon.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘I am going to beat this lovely
bottom Simon. Beat it, cane it, eighteen times. Eighteen times I am going to
cane this boyish beautiful naked bottom and eighteen times you will howl. I
shall be disappointed if you don’t. But remember with each cutting sting the
promised fee. It will be worth it.’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">And, taking a deep breath, unable
to contain herself any longer she lashed her cane across the centre of the
bending, willing, bottom. Lashed it with a vigour not seen in the previous
twelve. The exposed flesh had spurred her desire and increased her strength.
The boy gasped and twitched and a livid red line spread across the centre of
his cheeks. But he did not rise. He gripped the arms of the chair and swore not
to get up, however much the cane stung. And it did. Time after time after time.
Each stroke seemed harder than the previous one and with the increasing pain
and fire in his behind the boy struggled more and more to remain in place. He
half rose after the sixth stroke and stood completely, clutching his bottom,
after the tenth. She had been amazed, given the force she had used, that he had
stayed in place so long. By that tenth stroke his bottom was seared with savage
red lines from the top of his cheeks to the lower crease and the fiery pain,
throbbing and thumping, had brought watery tears. But he did not linger, did
not rub his behind for long, just uttered an apology and immediately bent
again. Thrusting his bottom higher in the air as if to urge the completion of
the task. Naked, shamed, exposed. His boyhood hanging free between the dusky
legs. Such a vision needed no urging. One by one the remaining eight strokes
rained down on the boy’s submissive behind, a behind that seemed to represent
all those South African boyish bottoms of her past. And this was here, and
bare, and willing. Albeit in increasing distress. But it mattered not to her,
and seemed not to him, and those last eight strokes fired their searing burns
across that naked and youthful lower flesh in a joyful climax. Her Simon, her
boy, had danced to her rod and her satisfaction was beyond understanding. And
he had played his part. Exhausted she threw down her cane, held herself
intimately, and listened quietly to his gentle and intermittent sobs. His
lacerated, bending, bottom glistened in the summer light. Framed by his short light
top and his rich brown, sun kissed, legs his bottom still cried out innocence
and purity. But now it had been well and truly spanked with her purest cane.
Just at that moment as she sat and studied, exhausted and drained, and he
remained bent, exposed, and submissive it seemed so right. So, so right.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></b></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Coda One</span></b></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">She paid him the promised one
hundred and fifty pounds. He had earned it. He had been so good. She also,
because he deserved it and she had been so fired with desire when caning him,
allowed him to ejaculate. And she had helped. When he rose from the chair she
had soothed his burning bottom and the earlier rigidity had quickly returned.
Once again she admired and envied the young. She placed her hand around the
thickened shaft of his penis and, merely with no more than twenty or so
elongated movements, released a teenage spurt. As she did it she kept her other
hand firmly on his burning and naked buttock cheeks. Combined sensations in the
boy readily sent forth his spray. Neither spoke. There was no need. It had been
a perfect summer day.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Coda Two</span></b></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">The gardener was eager for
information. Was he right he had asked? Was he right to absent himself for a
couple of days? Give the boy a chance to earn himself some additional cash. It
was clear how the woman of the house had looked at him that she had designs on
the boy. So did she? Did she offer something and did she pay for it? Oh yes,
the boy had said. She had offered something. And he had accepted and earned one
hundred and fifty pounds. Great said the gardener wishing that someone had paid
him one hundred and fifty pounds to lose his virginity. Paid him one hundred
and fifty pounds to get into his trousers. Mind you, he said sucking on a pipe
long out, she was a schoolteacher as I warned you. More likely at your age that
she whacked your arse. The boy smiled ruefully, said nothing, and surreptitiously
rubbed a behind that was still very sore.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Alfred Roy (2016)</span></i></b></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
Alfred Royhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10230978439930708047noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7782382387501739014.post-91770371698065238012016-06-08T10:09:00.001-07:002016-06-09T03:10:01.139-07:00A Wakefield Detention (Miss Hardcastle)<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<em><span style="font-family: "cambria";"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: #4f81bd;">A Wakefield
Detention</span></b><span style="color: #4f81bd;"> </span><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: #4f81bd;">– a visit to Miss
Hardcastle and friends.</span></b></span></em></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<strong><em><span style="color: #4f81bd; font-family: "cambria";"><br /></span></em></strong></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #4f81bd; font-family: "cambria"; font-size: x-small;"><strong><em>I gets around on my travels, always willing to try new experiences in the interests of my blog. Venturing to Wakefield was a journey I never expected to make but well worth it. </em></strong><strong><em>Age may wither but the spirit remains and a sore behind was a small price for this northern pleasure. </em></strong><strong><em><span style="color: #4f81bd; font-family: "cambria"; font-size: x-small;"></span></em></strong><strong><em>They whack bottoms hard in that part of Yorkshire. </em></strong></span><span style="color: #4f81bd; font-family: "cambria"; font-size: x-small;"><strong><em>This report is for Miss Hardcastle but all are welcome to read. Who knows, if she don't like it, I could be baring all near the Pennines again. Alfred Roy</em></strong></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
</div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">Given that the staff on this
visit to the notable Miss Hardcastle’s equally renowned detention class
numbered three I suppose I could have called this piece The Wakefield Trinity.
An incorrigible threesome of the severe headmistress herself, a delightful
matronly watcher christened by me the Ofstead Inspector, and a fun loving head
girl who went by the soubriquet of Violet Bubblegum. Or something similar. An
awesome trinity indeed. Unlike the motley collection of pupils who them in
charge spent a pleasant afternoon dealing with. In a variety of creative and
painful ways. Including yours truly, who journeyed 180 miles to accompany a
close northern friend to a disciplinary class long desired. By him, if not me.
But, given that I have had much fun on occasions at its southern cousin,
Whipstock Grange, I ventured on the long travel up the boring A1. 180 miles to
have your bottom smacked. I must be mad but if I am, to quote someone else, it
is a fine madness.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">If I learnt anything at the
school detention it was stand up whenever Miss Hardcastle entered the room and
don’t, ever, end a sentence with a preposition. So that is something I ain’t about
to put my pen to. The other thing I learnt, long ago and continue to do so, is
that blogging such shenanigans here needs lashings of descriptive disciplinary
antics to capture the reader. A pant lowered and raised gets more hits, so to
speak, than any number of examples on the corrective use of a pronoun. Shallow
lot, pupils and readers alike. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">Fortunately pants and underpants
were regularly lowered for a variety of indiscretions. Most deliberate, like my
northern friend stating that the King who named a spaniel was called Cocker.
Think about it but not too long. If he was dealt with first it was but a brisk
flick before my own small shorts and nether garments were around my ankles for
a dozen cane strokes from Bubblegum across my bare backside. Raised high in the
air as I bent over an accommodating stool. Not sure of the transgression which
caused my initial whacking but as said Bubblegum alluded to me as motor mouth
it may be something to do with giving her a surfeit of lip. A little later,
first visit to headmistress Hardcastle’s private room, more serious thwacks
were given to my now warming bottom. First a strap and then a cane and shamefully
naked cheeks stung like bees on a bender. That registered, but not as much as
the fact that large uncovered windows gave a bird’s eye view to the overlooking
offices. They do things differently in Wakefield.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">One unexpected difference was a
splendid afternoon tea of sumptuous cakes and resumption of proceedings under
the control of the Ofstead inspector. Deceptively gentle, kind and cuddly, she transmogrified
into a harsh disciplinarian of awesome power. My motormouth is still
gobsmacked. She had, from the back of the class, oozed friendly persona. From
the front her cane and strap, and her voice, fired venom to both ears and
backsides. None escaped. Even if a pupil from the wilds of Berkshire begged,
and received, only gentle strokes to his pleasingly rounded naked bottom. By my
calculation his journey was even longer than mine. I still wonder if it was
really worth it. Mine was, both from her and a final castigation from Miss
Hardcastle. She had us all bent and bare over a dividing rail in the large and
scholastic hall and a candy striped cane left marks on behinds that will take
longer to fade than the memory. Two weeks later, Sudocream profits soaring, I
still have mine. They fascinate, like they did in schooldays, a bare bottom
violated with scholarly wrath. The fee paid is redeemed in full every time I
look. And I still do.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">So Miss Hardcastle, Miss
Bubblegum, my Northern friend, and all others delivered their promise. I drove
home, all 180 miles, very sore in the nether regions. But it was worth it. We
into corporal punishment in all its guises may be very odd folks. But dropping
your pants, offering your bare behind, and being whacked by enthusiastic mature
ladies beats lots of the alternatives for oldies. And with like minded fellows
in an old fashioned schoolroom, thoughtfully arranged. And as a bonus that
Ofstead lady sent me off with a farewell spanking. My behind glowed like a
beacon and, as I left, my smile lit up the streets of Wakefield. Old ladies
walking dogs will never know the reason why. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Alfred
Roy</i></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></div>
Alfred Royhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10230978439930708047noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7782382387501739014.post-81979872818788057672016-04-02T09:50:00.000-07:002016-04-02T09:50:26.474-07:00Strange Interview (F/M)
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">This one is a bit different. Mainly a series of conversations regarding a special bit of corrective therapy for a troubled mind. I hope it makes sense (the narrative is in italics to help) as it does to me. The nearest I got to this in reality was with The Leicester Governess. All delightful woman and a vicious expert with an awesome cane. Her sixty stroke therapy did things to my bottom that I had often dreamt about. I saw her twice a couple of years ago and constantly hanker for a third visit if circumstances allow. This is the sublimation whilst I continue to dream. Willing bottoms, bent and bare, were made for such people. <em>Alfred Roy</em> </span></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><strong><br /></strong></span></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><strong>Strange Interview</strong></span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">It was a large building. A large block
of flats and offices. Dr Strange, MD PhD DScPT, was on the third floor. Black
lettering on gold plate. Impressive. Hence the exorbitant fee. For a
consultation. Introductory rates. A deep breath and I enter. Booked over a month
ago. Referred I suppose, in a way. Not by my GP. By a friend. A friend and a
colleague in theatre design. He knew my proclivities, my interests, my
obsession. Get it sorted he said. Go to Dr Strange. She’ll help. So I looked
her up. Not easy. Easy to find, not easy to digest. Nothing, no hints, in her
blurb. Lots of psychological babble and reference to medical conditions I neither
knew nor cared about. But sexual therapy cropped up, buried in the text. So I
booked and now, black lettering on gold plate resplendent, I enter.</span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">You have an appointment?</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Yes.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Time?</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Now.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Now?</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Two Fifteen.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Then not now?</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">In ten minutes.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">You are early.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Yes.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Sit down.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Yes.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">And wait.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I did. Sit and wait. For twenty minutes,
not ten. I should ask but she looks daunting. Secretary? Receptionist? Hard
faced. Young, glasses, severe. Hair straight back in old fashioned bun. Crisp
white blouse. Is it her? Is it her who does it? Doubt it somehow. The phone on
her desk rang and she ceased her prodigious typing to answer it. Someone else
making an appointment. For two weeks time, the earliest available date. Dr
Strange is fully booked she said. Until then. A forty five minute appointment,
same fee as I am paying, is recorded in the diary and she puts the phone down.
Looks at me, doesn’t smile. Dr Strange is running late, she says, can happen.
No apology. I nod and still wait. For a further ten minutes and then the
receptionist’s internal phone rings. I am ushered in to a large and airy, very
expensively furnished, room. More like a penthouse flat. Except for the
imposing desk.</span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I
am running late.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">And
I was early.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Were
you?</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Yes.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">My
last patient arrived late.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">It
happens.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">He
won’t be late again.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">No.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">And
you?</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I
shall be on time, if I come again.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Ah
yes. This is your first visit</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Yes.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">A
consultation.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">A
consultation, yes.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">To
find out?</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">To
find out, yes.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">To
find out if what I supply is what you need.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Yes,
Doctor.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">You
are twenty two.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Yes.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Nearly
twenty three.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Yes.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">One
of my younger patients.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Am
I?</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Yes,
but surprisingly not the youngest. She is nineteen.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">She?</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Girls
have the same needs as boys.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Yes.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">And
the same problems. Are you are on medication?</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I was ready for that. I was on lots. For
depression, anxiety, insomnia. All the usual suspects. I showed her the list;
my friend said it would help to be prepared. She studied it and I studied her.
Attractive in a manly way. High cheekbones and strong jaw. But also very
feminine. Slim tall figure, I saw that when I entered the room. Taller than me
by at least three or four inches and I am average build. Short blonde hair and
pale lipstick. Nice slim hands with elongated fingers. But it was the shoulders
and arms I most noticed, cloaked as they were in expensive cashmere top. They
could swing a cane, I thought, and as I did I shuddered. I think she read my
thoughts.</span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">But
it is not helping.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">No.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">With
your problem?</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">No.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Would
you like to tell me?</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I
would, if I knew where to start.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Why
not try the beginning?</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The
beginning.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">When
you first felt the urge to be punished.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Caned.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Disciplined.
Whatever. The form you filled in is very vague.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The
questions were vague.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Were
they?</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Some
of them.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Give
me an example.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The
ones asking me about my dreams.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">And?</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">My
parents. My schooling.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Were
they not relevant?</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Not
really.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Then
tell me what is.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">My
drives, urges.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Which
are?</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">To
be caned.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">On
your bottom?</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Yes.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">For
pleasure?</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I
don’t know.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">For
pain?</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Yes.
Probably.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">For
guilt?</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Yes.
Yes definitely guilt.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Why?</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I knew all about the guilt thing. My
theatre friend and I had discussed it often enough. I had never been caned, at
school or at home, but I knew of people who had been. And it fascinated me. I
read books and articles on it and, sensuality apart, the assuaging of guilt
seemed to be a major drive. Better than pills one blogger said and it struck a
chord. So much so that I thought it might help me. Black clouds had dogged me
most of my young adult life. I was desperate to try it, and truth be told the
idea also excited me. I confessed as much to my GP. He was very understanding
but warned me to tread carefully. Suggested, not totally convinced, that I get
a friend to do it. First time. We discussed it, my theatre friend and I, and he
just laughed. You need a professional he said, but a good and legitimate one.
And, said with all seriousness, one who knows what they are doing. Having your
arse whacked needs an expert. Two weeks later he found me one. Or so I was
hoping.</span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I
think, or hope, it will clean a slate. Help me to adjust.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">And
give you pleasure?</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Is
that important?</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I
don’t know. Tell me?</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I
don’t think so. Or at least not....</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The
first time?</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Yes.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">So
what is important?</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">That
it helps.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Even
if it hurts?</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Especially
if it hurts.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Have
you ever been caned?</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">No.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Suffered
any form of corporal discipline?</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">No.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">As
a child?</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">No.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">As
an adult?</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">No.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Indulged
in any sadomasochism for pleasure?</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">No.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Even
mild forms?</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">No.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">So
how do you know it will help you?</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I
don’t.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">But
you want to try?</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Yes.
Desperately.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">What
is it that appeals?</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I don’t
know. It just does.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Being
controlled?</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Yes.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Being
made to do things you are afraid of?</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Yes.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Being
made to feel pain?</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Yes.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Being
humiliated?</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Yes.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">In
what way?</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I
don’t know.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Don’t
you?</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">No.
Yes. Being made to......</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Being
made to what?</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I would have to tell her. After all I
was paying a lot for her time. Bruce, my theatrical friend, had said that there
was no point in holding back. Tell her all the things you would never tell
anyone else. All your desires, your fears. Get your money’s worth. Ain’t much point
in forking out so much and clamming up. No one, other than you and her, will
ever know. Bruce said. He is very sympathetic, very understanding, but also a little
amused. I could see that. The way he smiled when he poured some wine and said
he hoped the skin on my backside was thicker than the one on my personality. I
knew then that, as part of my consultation, he expected me to be caned.</span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Being
made to do what?</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Take
my trousers down.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">And?</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">And
my underpants.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">And?</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">And
what?</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">You
tell me.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Being
made to take everything down and bending over.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">As
they did at school?</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Not
my school.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">In
the olden days.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Yes.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">And
being caned.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Yes.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Say
it.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">What?</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Say
what you are thinking.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I
thought I had.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Not
quite.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Being
made to take my trousers and underpants down.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">And?</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">And
being caned.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Go
on.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Being
caned.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Yes.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Being
caned. On my bottom.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">On
your bottom?</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Yes.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">On
your bare bottom?</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Yes.
On my bare bottom.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">On
your bare bottom.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Yes.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Good.
That wasn’t so bad was it?</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">No.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Say
it again?</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">On
my bare bottom.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">No.
All of it.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">What?</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">From
the beginning.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Being
made to take everything down. Trousers and underpants. Being bent over and
caned on my bottom. On my bare bottom.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">And
that is what you want?</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Yes.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">A strange thrill surged through me as I
said the words. I had lived this possibility so many times, books, magazines,
videos, and now it seemed so tantalisingly close. Talking about it openly
seemed to act as a heady release to my emotions. A sympathetic stranger, albeit
one being paid, was unearthing my buried desires. My craving as Bruce called
it. I knew as I watched Dr Strange write copiously in her notepad, elegant
fingers holding a shiny gold pen, that I would be disappointed if I left this
consultation without a small taste of what I was convinced she offered. Mingled
with the heavy breathing I tried to disguise and the sweat I tried to ignore
was the first, unwelcome, signs of submissive stirrings. I tried desperately to
deflect my thoughts. This is not the time, I thought, to be getting an
erection.</span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I
can help you, but it may take time.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">How
much time?</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">That
depends.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">On
what?</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">How
well you respond at first.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">At
first?</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">To
being caned.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">You
mean, if I don’t like it.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I
mean you liking it too much. I offer therapy, not gratification. There are many
practitioners who offer the latter.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">So,
if I like it you refer me elsewhere.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Not
necessarily.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">What
then?</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">As
I said it depends on how you respond.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I
don’t understand.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">You
will. I do not hold back.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Meaning
I might scream.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I
would hope you do, or at least cry out. Only with serious pain can their being
any hope of helping you with your depressions.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">And
my guilt?</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Yes.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">So
what happens now?</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">My
secretary will book you in for six thirty minute sessions. Weekly. After that
we will assess where we are. You are familiar with my terms?</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Yes.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">And
you are happy to sign the consent form?</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I
already have.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Good.
Then let us not waste any more time.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Are
you?</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Yes.
As part of your consultation. A preliminary session.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I
didn’t think.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Call
it getting to know you.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">And saying that she pressed a button on
her desk. A door at the far side of the room, a door I had not noticed,
immediately opened and a young woman entered. She was dressed in a smart white
uniform, very medical, smiled at me and beckoned me to accompany her. I rose.
Somewhat in a daze. The last part of my interview had flown by and not prepared
me for this. From hoping that I might get caned I now, suddenly, realised I was
about to be. And the thought sent shuddering fear, mingled with inexplicable
excitement, through my being. I meekly followed the assistant, taking one last
look at Dr Strange as I did so. She was still writing copious notes.</span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Do
you need the facilities?</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The
facilities?</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The
bathroom. Before you get ready.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Oh
yes. No.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Are
you sure?</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Yes.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">It
takes about fifteen minutes.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Oh.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">And
you are tied down.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Oh.
Yes.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">But
you are comfortable?</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Yes.
I think so.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Then
take off your clothes.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">All
of Them?</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">All
of them except your underwear.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">My
underpants?</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">You
can keep them on for now.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Thank
you.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Do
you wear a vest?</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Yes.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">You
can keep that on, but remove your shirt.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Yes.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">And
your shoes and socks.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Yes.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">And
I will get you ready.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Yes.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Dr
Strange likes her patients ready.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">A small smile and she left me to
undress. It was as she did so that I noticed the small bench in the far corner.
It was dark brown leather, medium height and length, and sloped downwards so
that it was a good foot lower at one end. Any doubts I had about its purpose
were dismissed by the leather straps at each end and a larger one in the
middle. So that is where you are caned I thought and I was still thinking it,
fearfully, when I had dutifully stripped to my vest and underpants. I had come
so far I would have to go through with it, or at least for this introductory
session. I was still fixed on the bench when the assistant returned.</span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">That
is where you are tied down.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Yes.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">It
is necessary. The cane strokes are painful.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Yes.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">They
are meant to be.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">How
many?</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Sorry?</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">How
many will I get?</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Thirty.
The first time.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">God.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">In
three sets of ten. After that each session is sixty.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Sixty?</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">In
four sets of fifteen.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">And
if I scream?</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">It
is good. Don’t worry, this room is soundproofed.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">She
thinks of everything.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">You
need to get ready.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I
thought I was.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">On
the bench.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">To
be tied down?</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Yes.
The straps on your wrists and ankles.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Yes.
I thought so.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">And
then the large strap across your back.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">No
wriggle room then?</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">No.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">A
good target?</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Yes.
And then I shall prepare you.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Prepare
me?</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">For
Dr Strange.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">For
her to do her worst?</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Or
her best.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Yes.
This is meant to help me.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">It
will.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">So
you prepare me?</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I
get you ready.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Strapped
down?</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Yes.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">And?</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I
take down your pants of course. </span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Of
course.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Your
underpants.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Yes.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Dr
Strange likes to see the bottom, the target, when she enters the room.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Who
wouldn’t.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">She gave a small laugh at that comment.
It was the first time she had raised more than a slight smile. Her sheer
professionalism had never, for a moment, hinted at any lack of normalcy in the
situation. Perhaps there wasn’t, at least not here in Dr Strange’s therapy
room. I moved to the bench and bent over it. It was very comfortable and the
leather was soft and warm to the skin. She strapped me down, remaining silent
throughout, and if the straps on my wrists and ankles were tight they were not
uncomfortable. The thicker one across my back was. She had lifted my vest to my
upper back and pulled the strap tight. No wriggle room I guessed. And if I was
conscious that my bottom was raised on the sloping bench and pretty vulnerable
I soon registered the final act of the preparation drama. Excuse this, she
said, it is necessary. And her fingers linked into the waistband of my
underpants, clean and white I am glad to say, and pulled them down to my lower
thighs. I doubted if they would go down farther, given that my legs were
splayed out to the legs of the bench. Pulling them down so far meant that my
lad bits were on show behind. Maybe that is why she then lifted my pants up a
fraction. I didn’t ask. I was just conscious that my bum was totally bare and
about to be caned. Thirty times. And, I reckoned, Bruce my theatrical friend
would want details of every stroke.</span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Thirty?</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Yes.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Thirty?
All on your bare bum?</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Where
else.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Christ.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">That’s
what I said.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">What?</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Christ.
Screamed it. Many times.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Can
I see the marks?</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Bruce!</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Just
wondered.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Then
keep wondering. Suffice to say it bloody well hurt.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">So
you won’t go again?</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I
didn’t say that.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">So
you will?</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Probably.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Do
I take that as a yes?</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Probably.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I
take it that it helped.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Yes.
It did. I floated home.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">With
a stinging bum.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">You
may laugh, but yes.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">And
a large erection.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">No.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Not
even when she did it?</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Especially
when she did it.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Pants
down, bare bum, cane whacking down on your arse. Were you asleep?</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">It
released something.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">What?</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The
pain, the submission, the sensations. Daft as it may sound but that few minutes
were the calmest I have been for ages.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">In
spite of the pain?</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Because
of the pain.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">And
tied up with your pants down.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Yes.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Then
you should go again.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I
think I will.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">And
I still think you should show me your bum?</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I did of course. I knew I would. The
marks had fascinated me when I first saw them after Dr Strange had dealt with
me. Searing red lines crisscrossed pale cream cheeks. I didn’t count them, not
possible, but I had felt them landing. All thirty. And I had screamed and
yelled as they cut into me. If the first stroke was the biggest shock, the
other twenty nine had cut and stung as I could never imagine. Dr Strange did
not pull her considerable punches. I didn’t know she had entered the room until
her assistant spoke. He is ready she said and I heard a door close and assumed
she had left. There seemed to be a long silence and, for a moment, I imagined I
had been left alone. I could not see, bent as I was over the angled bench, only
a dull coloured wall filled my vision. And then a hand, a cold long fingered
hand, touched my right bottom cheek and gently drew its palm across my bare
skin. I held my breath as those hands lingered and then, tantalising, lifted my
vest away from an increasingly vulnerable bare bottom. Bizarrely I was enjoying
this ritual, rich fantasies graphically being realised. My lower nakedness was
fastened to Dr Strange’s bench and my whole being seemed to strain in readiness
for a cane which now tapped impatiently on sweating skin cheeks almost crying
out for its sting. ‘I think you are ready’ she said, ‘I think you are ready for
your thirty strokes. Do not be afraid to cry, it will be best to cry. They are
going to hurt. It is the only way.’</span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I
am ready.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Say
it again.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I
am ready.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Ready?</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Yes.
(<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Thwack)</i></span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">That
ready?</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Yes.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">And
That? <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">(Thwack)</i></span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Christ!</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">And
that? <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">(Thwack).</i> And that. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">(Thwack).</i> And that. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">(Thwack).</i></span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Aagh!</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Is
that all you can say?</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">It
hurts.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">It
is meant to.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">By
Christ it hurts.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Are
you crying?</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">No.
Not yet.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">It
will help if you do.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I
think I will.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">And
scream. Screaming out can be very good.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I thought
I had.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Give
way young man. Don’t worry this room is soundproofed.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Thank
God.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Then
scream <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">(Thwack).</i></span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Aaagh.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">And
scream. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">(Thwack)</i></span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Aagh.
Aagh. Christ. It hurts.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Give
way. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">(Thwack). (Thwack). (Thwack). </i>Give
way.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Oh
my God. Oh my God. Enough.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">No.
Not enough. Only ten. You have twenty more to come.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I
can’t.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Can’t
what?</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I
cannot take any more.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Yes
you can. Your bottom looks very nice.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">It
is on fire.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Of
course.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">It
stings.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">It
is meant to. And you can take it.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I
can’t.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">You
can. Tell yourself you can. Your bottom was designed for this.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Was
it?</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Yes.
You need it and you can take it.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I
need it.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Good.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">And
I can take it.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Your
bottom can take it. It is springy. Resilient. A nice bottom to thrash.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Is
it?</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Oh
yes. This caning is well overdue.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Oh
Christ.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">What.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I
think I have wet myself.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">What?</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I
have wet myself. </span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Ah.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I
am sorry.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">That
is good. (<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Thwack). (Thwack). (Thwack).</i></span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Aaaagh!</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">That
is very good.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">It
just happened. I am sorry.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">It
means you are giving way. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">(Thwack).
(Thwack).</i></span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">And
I am crying. Oh my God. It hurts . It hurts.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Calm
down.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I’m
sorry.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Float.
Relax.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Pissed
myself.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Giving
in. Ridding yourself of guilt.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">My
bum is on fire.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Yes
your bottom is on fire.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Peeing
myself.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Expunging
your guilt.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Yes.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Of
course. So give yourself up.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Yes.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Get
ready for the other fifteen.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Yes.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">You
can take them?</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Yes.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Even
if they hurt.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Yes.
Yes.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">And
you want them to hurt?</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Yes.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Say
it.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Yes.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Say
it. I want them to hurt.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I
want them to hurt.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Again.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I
want them to hurt. I want you to cane my bottom and I want them to hurt.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">You
want them to hurt.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I
want tears in my eyes. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">(Thwack)</i> Aaaaagh.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">To
hurt your guilt.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I
want them to hurt.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">To
wash away your guilt. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">(Thwack)</i></span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Yes.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Guilt,
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">(thwack). </i>Hurt<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">, (thwa</i>ck). Pain (t<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">hwack).</i></span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Yes.
Oh yes.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Then
get ready.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I
am.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Because
these will wash away the guilt. These last few will really hurt.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Yes.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">These
will really sting your backside.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Yes.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">So
scream.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Yes.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Do
not be afraid to scream</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Yes.
Yes. Yes.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">These
will cut your bottom in half. Do not be afraid to scream.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">They did and I did. Scream. Through all
of the remaining strokes. It should have been thirty overall. I reckon I got a
few more. But it seemed to work. The intensity of her words coupled with the
intensity of the pain in my bum released a pleasure in my being which was akin
to floating on a golden cloud. That is how I felt on the way home, that is how
I described it all to Bruce. He laughed, but kindly, and I slept well that
night. I somehow knew I would. The fifteen minutes of therapeutic verbal
exchanges intermingled with the slash of Dr Savage’s cane across my naked
bottom was a heady mix of mental and physical emotions. She certainly knew her
job. I said that to the assistant as she slowly released me from the bench and
I rose and cleared my head and dried my eyes. My hands caressed my bottom,
burning and hard to the touch, and I apologised both for my accident and the
disconcerting acknowledgement that my penis was responding to the afterglow. I
pulled down my vest in a futile attempt to cover the growing appendage. She
smiled. Do not worry, she said, both responses are quite normal. It is s sign
that you are relaxed, at ease. I did not feel so and hastily pulled on the
underpants that she considerately handed to me. My nakedness, my erection, my
ravaged backside fazed her not at all. Her only concern was that I had received
benefit from my caning. Dr Savage is very good, she said, but her methods do
not suit everyone. I let that understatement pass but, obliquely, gave her the
re-assurance she required as I left. I booked, and paid in advance, for my
second appointment. And that, as the hard faced receptionist reminded me, would
be sixty strokes. I didn’t like her. For all her interest she could have been
booking my car in for a service.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But the
assistant who prepared me and the Dr Savage who warranted the excessive fee
were different. If you take up the therapy, the assistant said as I dressed,
and Dr Savage agrees to treat you then you do realise that the strokes are
doubled. I nodded. Doubled, she said, sixty strokes of her cane across your
naked bottom. If she hadn’t said it so matter of fact I would have been
thinking this was some sort of verbal turn on. I know I said. It was as I left
that a smile was put in my face and a spring in my step. We both agree, Dr
Savage and I, that you have a lovely bottom. And such a nice one to cane. Those
echoing words and all else which had preceded them gave me a departing thrill. Now
I knew. I desperately needed discipline.</span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">You
do know she is a man.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Who?</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Dr
Strange. Or at least she was.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Dr
Strange was a man?</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Some
say she still is.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">You
are winding me up.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">No.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I
think you are Bruce.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Does
it matter?</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Yes.
No. I’m not sure.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The
caning worked?</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Yes.
I think so.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">And
you will go again?</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Yes.
I think so.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">So
it doesn’t matter.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">No.
As long as she is a woman now. No.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Because
you enjoyed it.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Because
it worked. What she, her, did worked.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">But
you wouldn’t want to be caned by a man?</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">It
wouldn’t have been the same.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">That’s
not an answer.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I
prefer to be caned by a woman. I think. How did you find out?</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">What?</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">About
Dr Strange being a man. If she was.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Or
is.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I
doubt it.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">You
should know.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">How
did you find out?</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">A
friend. The one who gave me her number.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Why
didn’t you tell me?</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I
didn’t know, then.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I
might not have gone.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Really?</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Yes.
No. I don’t know.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I
reckon you would have.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Would
I?</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Shame
if you hadn’t. Whatever her sex, then or now, Dr Strange has made you float.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I
still do.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Bruce’s revelation about Dr Strange both
disturbed and excited me. Was she once a man? Was she still a man? I thought of
our first meeting and my initial impressions. Attractive in a manly way. High
cheekbones and strong jaw. But also very feminine. Slim tall figure with nice
slim hands and elongated fingers. But it was the shoulders and arms I had most
noticed, cloaked as they were in expensive cashmere top. They could certainly
swing a cane. That is what I thought and my thirty stroke consultation confirmed
it. Male or female she was very good and, virtually naked and deftly secured,
she had caned my exposed bottom with skill and consideration. Yes, it had hurt.
Yes, I had screamed and embarrassed myself. But at the end, bottom bruised and
throbbing, I had floated for the rest of the day and evening. For the first
time in a long time I felt at ease with myself. So I went back, went back for
all my therapy sessions. And I have never regretted doing so. And I have never
regretted not asking about her gender. Somehow, bent over her bench, tied down
and underpants deftly lowered, it never seemed relevant. Especially when I
screamed.</span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Alfred
Roy (2016)</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></span></div>
Alfred Royhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10230978439930708047noreply@blogger.com