“Come down now, David. It’s time for your punishment.”
David swallowed. He’d been awaiting those words for the last hour, sitting on his bed in his vest and white Y-fronts, the uniform his father always insisted on when a beating was prescribed. The subtle note of sympathy in his mother’s voice only served to intensify the fear as David stood on trembling legs and opened his bedroom door.
Corporal punishment at home was nothing unusual in 1982. Several of David’s friends were caned at school, and whilst Greenmore High School had a no physical punishment policy, he was far from alone in being caned at home when he deserved it. And boy, did he deserve it! Caught stealing fishing tackle from the local ‘rod and gun’ store, the police had decided to take no action when Mr Fallow explained how he intended to make sure it didn’t happen again. Sentence was duly passed in front of the duty Sergeant at the police station, followed by a long, silent drive home in the new Ford Granada.
Mrs Fallow had a look of resigned disappointment on her face as David sidled into the living room on bare feet, tears already appearing in his red eyes. Two months had gone by since his eighteenth birthday, but so long as he was living at home and not contributing to the bills…..his train of thought was stopped dead by the sight of his father, a vision of cold, unshakable authority silhouetted against the French doors, holding the instrument that would soon be dispensing justice. It was not a particularly fearsome looking weapon – the ‘senior’ model produced by the Bognor Cane Company was deliberately less severe than a true secondary school cane. But David had been punished once before with the same implement, and knew it packed a savage sting in his father’s hands.
More worrying was the severity of his sentence. David’s previous punishments had been the standard four strokes recommended by the manufacturer, but this time would be worse.
“I’m sorry David, but stealing cannot and will not be tolerated. As we discussed at the police station, you are to receive eight very hard strokes of the cane, and I expect you to take them like a man. Is that understood?”
“Yes, Dad,” came the meek reply as David turned towards the mustard-coloured velour sofa that he knew would be the site of his impending suffering.
Mrs Fallow turned away as her son draped himself over the arm of the sofa. She could avoid watching his suffering but could not escape the sound. Those eight brutal thwacks resounded through the living room, punctuated by strangulated gasps, and later grunts and sobs. She knew there was nothing improper or excessive about the disciplinary measures meted out by her husband. But her maternal instincts made her suffering almost as acute as that of her son, who was already struggling upstairs to his bedroom when she finally turned round to see Mr Fallow return the cane to the hook in the under-stairs cupboard.
“Hopefully I won’t need to do that again,” he said with genuine sorrow as he returned to the living room.
“I’ll give him a good talking to when he’s had time to recover” said Mrs Fallow. “He seems to be going through one of those phases, but you did the right thing darling. Not nice, but better than a criminal record.”
***
Emily’s moans became louder and more guttural as David’s thrust deeper into her silky wet warmth. The odour of her armpits mingled with her sex scent to overwhelm David’s senses as his excitement reached new heights. Yet even this was not enough. As his eyes feasted on his wife’s flushed and enervated beauty, his ears filled with her pleasure sounds and every nerve-ending tingled with exquisite luxury…he still needed something else to trip the switch of ecstasy, something his senses could not deliver without his mind’s help.
It annoyed him that his gorgeous wife, unbeknownst to herself, was not enough to bring him to orgasm. He’d never had the courage to reveal what he really needed, so contented himself with replaying painful memories. The thinly padded velour digging into his belly, the sound of his father’s practice swishes….and then the pain. He found it hard to recollect the full ferocity of the biting, burning sting, but remembered his own reactions, how it felt. There was always that one second delay between the brutal whack on his backside and…..oh my god….
“Oh Emily, oh, oh, aaaaah!” came David’s cries of blissful release as memories of painful correction added salt to the sweetness of marital bliss. His powerful spray of warm semen brought renewed cries from Emily, but David knew she hadn’t come – he always had more work to do.
After collapsing on his wife’s soft, silken breasts for a few minutes David slid down her warm abdomen and sniffed the aroma of their mingling love juices. Emily used to insist on wiping down there before his tongue began its feral dance. Not any more. David actually loved all the smells and flavours, and wasn’t at all squeamish about tasting his own issue.
It didn’t take long before the moans turned to squeals and shrieks of bliss, as Emily squirted her pungent nectar into David’s eager mouth.
As they lay in each others arms, hearts still pounding under sweat-dampened flesh, David felt a pang of guilt at his need for recurring memories and fantasies to reach satisfaction, and an uneasy awareness of one key aspect of these mental images: they always, without exception, involved a male disciplinarian. It didn’t matter whether he was reliving actual punishments from his past or creating new fantasies, he had no interest in being punished by a female. And this was odd – he had never identified as anything other than a straight male, never fantasized about gay sex……yet the act of physical discipline had, in David’s mind, to be between men. ‘Take it like a man’, as his father had so often instructed him before beginning his ordeal, seemed to have a double meaning! David realised at that moment that he needed to submit to men – not just for pain, but for pleasure.
***
It was a dull Monday in the Finance Department at Citygate Alliance Insurance. After his team meeting, David had a few moments to think. The Finance conference was scheduled for next Monday to Thursday at Winkleton Grange Hotel in Wiltshire. Many of his colleagues had booked Friday as a day’s leave to allow a long weekend, but not David because Emily was going away for a friend’s hen weekend – seemed a waste of a day’s leave as he’d be alone that weekend anyway. What if he took the day’s leave without telling Emily? She’d assume he was going to work, and she’d be on the train up to London by the time he was due home. Anyhow, David’s mind returned to his work. He had month-end reports to complete, and he could hardly use his company’’s network to look up gay BDSM parties! He’d wait until lunchtime.
Lunchtime came, and David ate his sandwich in the car, whilst exploring his deepest fantasies on his phone. He didn’t feel comfortable looking at gay dating sites, and started to search on spanking and discipline. Most involved men and women, but David’s caning fantasies were always male-centric so he kept scrolling. And then he saw it – Hardstroke Academy for Boys, an occasional event run by the Redskin BDSM Club in a secluded country house in Wiltshire, where men could explore their disciplinary fantasies and memories in a realistic school setting. He felt himself becoming hard as he read on: opportunities to be teacher as well as pupil…..multiple implements available, including canes, birches and tawses…..accommodation provided, with a chance to ‘relax’ with the other participants. And, best of all, there was a session starting on Thursday evening after the Finance Conference, with lessons taking place the following day.
It didn’t take David long to set up a private email account and message the organisers – he’d need to pay cash of course – and by the end of the day it was booked!
***
Emily wondered what had got into David that evening – surely the Finance conference hadn’t been that stimulating! She felt his tongue darting around in a place it rarely visited, expertly orbiting her sensitive rim whilst his nose nestled in a more sweetly scented hollow. As her moans grew louder he hauled himself up and slid into her glorious depths. Ironically, this was the first time in a long while that he didn’t need to make any mental effort – the assault on his nerve endings sent him into paroxysms of joy within about twenty squelching thrusts.
“Sorry darling, I expected to last longer,” he muttered, embarrassed, but Emily seemed content enough.
“I don’t know what all those accountants have been doing to you, but it’s lovely to see you so excited and relaxed. Now it’s my turn for some fun…” and at this she spread her thighs, revealing swollen pussy lips that were already the source of a honey-scented river leading to a soaking wet patch on the sheets below. David needed no encouragement, and was soon lapping up the ambrosian fluids whilst luxuriating in Emily’s smells and noises. Her squirt, when it came, was accompanied by a litany of rhythmic grunts that faded to a tranquil breathless calm, David’s head resting snugly on her inner thigh for a few peaceful moments.
Any guilt David felt about deceiving his wife was extinguished by the pleasure he had been able to give her, sparked by his anticipation of forthcoming adventures. Would he ever come clean with Emily and try to incorporate discipline into their relationship? David didn’t know, but that was a question for another day.
***
The final plenary session of the Finance Conference had drawn to its dull, self-important conclusion, and David was expected to stay for drinks – supposedly an important ‘networking opportunity’, but he really couldn’t concentrate as he discussed the new Enterprise Resource Management system with a young IT manager. As soon as he was able to extricate himself he collected his small suitcase from the reception area and was briskly crossing the car park.
It took David ten minutes to plan his route – he couldn’t risk putting anything into sat nav, either in his car or his phone. ‘Leave no trace’ he told himself, as his breath quickened in a mix of nervousness and excitement, and soon he was on his way.
Coppice House turned out to be every bit as forbidding has his fervent imagination had led him to believe. At the end of a woodland track, its Victorian utilitarian splendour shrouded in the sinister shade of tall trees, lending it a gothic aspect that was only partially lightened by the presence of six other cars on the spacious gravel driveway. At least I’m not the only sad pervert in the area, thought David as he took his suitcase out of the boot and strolled toward the heavy oak door.
***
“You’re late!”
David registered the stern reprimand before he’d properly become aware of the youthful figure greeting him at the door, aged perhaps thirty, wiry ginger hair framing a handsome square-jawed countenance, cold blue eyes gazing laser-like through squarish glasses. David knew him to be Gavin Watson, owner of the Redskin Club, who was acting as Head Master for the session – but he was confused. The first evening was supposed to be a chance to meet the other ‘pupils’, chat over dinner and try on school uniforms. He wasn’t expecting school discipline to commence until the next day.
“I….I thought the drinks reception was at 6pm,” David stammered, “and it’s only 5:30!”
“How dare you answer back, insolent boy!” barked Mr Watson. “If you’d read the letter properly you’d know there was a registration, paperwork and health and safety session at 5.00. Don’t worry, you haven’t missed anything. We’ve waited for you. However, you cannot expect this matter to remain unpunished. Please come in.”
David was led through the oak-panelled hall into a large reception room filled with around twenty other men of varying ages. Several were smirking at him, and one was clutching his buttocks and wincing as if in great pain.
“Please let me introduce our last arrival of the evening, Mr David Fallow. David will now apologise to you all for keeping you waiting for the registration and briefing session. Once all the paperwork has been signed and the briefing is complete, David will receive four of the best in front of you all for being late. He will then be allowed to join you for dinner. Now, what do you have to say to the rest of the class, Fallow?” The sudden use of his surname jarred, reminding David of what he had signed up for.
“I’m truly sorry for failing to read my letter properly and for delaying the start of the session. I will of course submit to the punishment Mr Watson has prescribed.” David’s voice tailed off to a near whisper as he saw the party nodding in approval, amid a few sniggers.
The health and safety briefing was more involved than he could have imagined, the participants sitting in a U shape watching and listening intently to information about caning and belting technique, where to aim at, types of implement, safe words. At times he felt like he was still at the Finance conference, but with somewhat more stimulating subject matter! I guess some aspects of modern life can’t be avoided, even when acting out your most primal fantasies, mused David. By 6.20 the briefing was over and they were signing disclaimer forms and (for those like David who needed to be discreet) making cash payments. This was the point of no return – David was about to willingly suffer the first caning he had received since the age of eighteen.
Mr Watson collected everybody’s forms and read through them studiously. This was clearly a professional operation, with nothing left to chance. When he looked up from the paperwork those cold, steely eyes fell inexorably onto David.
“Right. Before we can relax and have dinner, Fallow and I have some unfinished business. Stand in the centre of the room, boy!”
David obeyed, feeling shamefully vulnerable amidst a semicircle of smirking gay men. He became aware that Mr Watson had left the room, but it was not long before he returned, holding an implement much more fearful than that with which his father had tormented his backside all those years ago.
Mr Watson motioned towards the seat facing into the semicircle, from which he had been instructing the class a few minutes earlier.
“Turn the chair round so the back is facing into the group….good boy…now drop your trousers and underpants.”
David felt his embarrassment turn to exhilaration as he felt the cool air on his private parts amid the stirrings of arousal. He realised to his surprise that he wanted the other men to see his nascent erection, but before he had time to feel proud he heard those dreaded words.
“Now bend over the back of the chair and grip the seat. This will hurt a great deal, but I expect you to take it with fortitude.”
(‘Take it like a man’, remembered David)
The room was immersed in a deathly silence. David expected to hear some practice swishes, but he had underestimated Mr. Watson’s expert confidence. The first swish he heard was instantly followed by a slashing impact that seemed to slice through his bare buttocks. A moment later the pain struck. A vivid slice of burning agony that made him gasp for air as he grimaced and then panted. At least he didn’t cry out that time.
Before he’d had time to process that first assault he heard the same swish and felt the same impact, but a centimeter or so lower. ‘This guy knows what he’s doing’ thought David. Or rather, he started to think that before the overwhelming, biting sting branded his bare bottom for the second time. ‘Only two to go, stay strong David….’
‘Thwack!’ This was the worst yet, landing close to the ‘sit spot’ that Mr Watson had told them about at the briefing.
“Ahh!” cried David as he felt tears welling up, and his right foot lifted off the ground.
“Keep still, Fallow. Last stroke coming up.” David knew what to expect from the briefing. ‘Always make the last stroke count….the sit spot is often the best target.’
Before he could try to imagine what a stroke directly on that target would feel like….well, he didn’t need to imagine it.
“Yaaargh!” came his guttural yell as the scorching agony branded the sensitive flesh at the tops of his thighs. David fell forward so that his weight was on the hard wooden chair back as he struggled for breath.
“Good boy, Fallow. Let that be a lesson to you. As for the rest of you – well, you know what to expect tomorrow, and perhaps in the dorms tonight. Every one of you is going to receive corporal punishment – it’s what you’ve paid fair, after all – and at least one of you will get three times as many strokes as Fallow has just endured. Anyway, time to relax and have some dinner!”
***
The atmosphere at dinner was convivial and celebratory. Gavin, not in character now, sat at the head of the table and talked avidly about his experiences in the BDSM scene. The others were for the most part more experienced than David, but he found the company friendly and welcoming. The only other ‘newby’ was Malc, a slenderly built electrician whose well-toned frame belied his forty-eight years. The youngest was Arthur Price, a handsome lad of nineteen who was constantly making eyes at Zac Weinman, a post-graduate law student of twenty-three.
There was a general sense of surprise and disbelief when David revealed that he was married…..to a woman! Was his gay side really that obvious, or was it that straight men didn’t normally book to go on gay BDSM retreats? That was hard to say, as David chatted freely with one of the older participants, a retired army Major called Gerald Carter.
After dinner drinks took on a surprisingly sensual turn, when Arthur and Zac began kissing passionately by the grand piano. Gavin looked a little uncomfortable at this turn of events, and before long intervened with a short speech.
“Err….I know we’re all here to enjoy ourselves, and the disciplinary aspect doesn’t start until tomorrow,” he shot a knowing glance at David, reminding him that he was the exception, ‘but I’d appreciate it if you could confine intimate behaviour to the dormitories. David, I’d like you to take on the role of Housemaster. You will have your own bedroom, between the dorms, which contains all the implements you will need to maintain discipline. I don’t wish to tell you your job, but I think Zac and Arthur here may give you some trouble tonight.” There was some general sniggering at this last comment, and Arthur shot David a knowing glance as if in anticipation of punishment later that evening.
The ice had been well and truly broken at that point, and David soon realised he was in for a busy evening – clearly all the ‘boys’ were keen to feel his stern disciplinary touch and would not be behaving themselves!
***
“I will expect you to maintain discipline in both dormitories tonight. Any horseplay must be punished severely – I will show you your tools.”
The House Master’s study/bedroom was spacious yet cosetting, a single bed accompanied by a large desk under the only window and a high-backed chair. There were three doors – one from the corridor, through which they had entered, whilst the other two, on either side of the room, led into the ends of the two long and spartan dormitories of ten beds each. Gavin was indicating the contents of the small wardrobe in the corner to the left of the desk. There was a large and vicious looking beechwood clothes brush, a two-tailed black tawse and a long, whippy cane.
“As you’re new to Hardstroke I’ll accompany you on the pre-lights out inspection.” Gavin led the way into Dorm 1, where the boys were standing by their beds, already wearing their regulation striped pyjamas.
“What do I see here?” enquired Gavin, reaching down to pick up the partially concealed vintage Fiesta magazine under the pillow of Arthur’s bed. “Well, boys will be boys,” muttered the Head, “but of course this is precisely the sort of lewd behaviour that your new House Master here will not tolerate. How do you propose to deal with this matter, Mr Fallow?”
“Wait for me in my study, Price. You’ll be sleeping on your front tonight. Six of the best.” Arthur nodded submissively, with a hint of a smirk.His new Housemaster was clearly going to be effective..
The rest of the Dorm 1 boys seemed satisfactory, but as soon as they moved to Dorm 2, passing the expectant Arthur on the way through the study, they were met by the sight of feathers floating in the air and Gerald Carter swinging his pillow at the head of Nathan Grant, a thirty-year-old car mechanic David had briefly had a flirtatious exchange with over dinner.
“That’s enough” shouted David, needing no help from his mentor this time. “The policy on pillow fights is clear (David had actually made it up on the spot!). All members of Dorm 2 will be treated as equally guilty. Every one of you will be going to sleep with a sore backside tonight, courtesy of my clothes brush. As soon as Price has had his caning I’ll deal with all of you!”
“Well it seems I can trust you to maintain discipline in the dorms,” muttered Gavin approvingly. “Good night.”
There was a deathly silence in Dorm 2 as Gavin left and David returned to his study to deal with Arthur. David’s excitement welled up as he ran his eyes down the shapely teenage body standing to attention by the desk.
“You won’t feel like pleasuring yourself by the time I’ve finished with you!” improvised David, realising the absurdity of his words as he uttered them. “Get those pyjama bottoms off.”
The sight that greeted David, as Arthur smilingly complied, sent his pulse racing. He must have been seven and a half inches, and fully erect, veins protruding and a bead of pre-cum already forming. An idea formed in David’s mind as he thought about his next instruction.
“Take those two pillows and place them on the middle of the bed. That’s right, one on top of the other – I need your bottom up high. Now, please lie face down on the bed so that the pillows are under your hips.”
As Arthur positioned himself, his youthful manhood primed and nestled against the pillows, David opened the wardrobe and felt the well-oiled dragon cane. This will really hurt, he thought as he made several whooshing practice strokes and adjusted his trousers to allow room for his hardness. He now rested the thick, dense rattan against those soft, yet muscular, teenage buttocks, trying to visualise the cane passing right through the young man’s flesh as if impacting the pillows beneath – a technique he’d learned in the induction session earlier, and already felt the effects of!
‘Thwack!’ The brutal force of the first stroke surprised David as much as it seemed Arthur. The flexible rattan seemed to wrap around those shapely cheeks before bouncing and slicing their agonising fury into the lad’s buttocks. Initially Arthur’s response was stoical, but a gasp escaped him as the searing pain lit up myriad nerve endings. This was followed by fast panting as Arthur tried desperately to ready himself for the next. But it came too soon.
“Yaaargh!” came the satisfying yell, which seemed to force more blood into David’s increasingly rock hard member. Sniggers and imitation yells of pain came through from the dormitories, prompting David to call out for quiet.
Arthur’s beautiful backside was now decorated by two pairs of ugly deep red ridges, each of which was guaranteed to turn purple in a day or so.
David continued to lay the strokes on quite rapidly, his quickening pulse and throbbing arousal seeming to compress time. Arthur grunted and writhed on his feather-soft torture bench as the angry stripes multiplied with surprisingly accurate placement.
There was a delay before the final stroke, as David took fastidious aim at Arthur’s sit-spot.
“Raise your bottom a little please,” he instructed, taking sadistic delight in forcing the young man to cooperate in his own torment, and then…..
‘Shwack!’ came the final, angled cut, eliciting an agonised roar from the well-punished lad.
“OK, you can get up now. Your disgusting magazine has been confiscated by the Head, and I expect no self-abuse. Understood?”
“Yes sir,” came the smirking, heavily ironic reply as Arther stood up, his erection so firm David could almost feel it throbbing.
“Now make yourself decent and get to bed,” muttered David as he returned the instrument of correction to its wardrobe home.
Arthur made as if to leave the room, but as he put his hand on the door handle hesitated and shot David a knowing smile. Both men froze.
“Come here,” said David in a softer voice, unzipping himself as the lad fell into his arms. Their tongues danced and slithered together as Arthur’s pyjamas fell to the floor. David’s fingers explored the freshly raised ridges on Arthur’s tender cheeks, eliciting gasps of mixed pain and excitement, before gently probing his ring.
David was still wearing his ‘business casual’ clothes from the conference, and it took him a few seconds to strip, by which time he was greeted by a glorious sight – Arthur was now on his back, the pillow that had supported his stomach during his punishment now propping up a red raw posterior, both knees touching his shoulders and feet in the air. David knelt on the bed and instinctively went down into that heavenly valley, his tongue dancing delicately around the rim of Arthur’s dilating crater, bringing moans of delight, in stark contrast to his barks of agony five minutes ago.
“There’ll be some lube in the drawer,” gasped Arthur. As David creamed himself he remembered that despite his youth Arthur was a regular – an experienced player in this bizarre game of pain and pleasure.
Pleasure….that was all David could think about as he thrust his vein-hard shaft through that tight muscular orifice into a new world of manly sensual delights. As he pumped vigorously, velvet caresses enervating his swollen glans, acrid body odours mingled with the musky scent of the two men’s cocks to send both men into grunting ecstasy.
“Let me turn over,” said Arthur, just as David was approaching his peak. Difficult though it was, David managed to pull back from the brink, and before long he was re-entering that well-lubricated tunnel of joy. This time he was able to reach under and grip Arthur’s rigid shaft and pleasure him, yielding groans of bliss as prostate and cock worked together. ‘Yes, yes!’ cried the younger man as the gates flew open and seemingly litres of thick juice spurted onto the bed that David would soon be sleeping on.
As David thrust rhythmically towards his inevitable crisis he became aware that they were not alone. Arthur’s grunts and cries had easily carried into the two dormitories, and the doors had both been opened. Never the exhibitionist, David felt a little uneasy, but he was too far gone to worry. As his grunts grew louder and his thrusts more violently rhythmic, he shot his warm load into that heavenly arse.
Sniggers and applause echoed through the three connected rooms as David collapsed on the bed beside Arthur. Any sense of shame was tempered by his realisation of where he was and what the men were all there for. As he looked down at the semen oozing from Arthur’s rectum, his disciplinarian side quickly reasserted itself.
“Did I give any of you tickets to watch my sex life? You boys disgust me! Half of you are due a good hairbrushing as it is, and I think I’ll make it the same for everybody. Stand by your beds and strip from the waste down. Every one of you boys is going to bed with a red raw backside tonight, and don’t expect any leniency. And shut both doors on the way out.”
For the next hour, howls of anguish echoed through the two long dormitories as the heavy clothes brush did its painful duty. The operation started with all ‘boys’ kneeling on all fours on their beds, under strict instructions to push out their bottoms and not to touch their invariably rock hard members! David progressed from bed to bed, blistering each bare backside without mercy. There was no set number of strokes, David simply continuing until he sensed each man’s pain threshold had been breached.
What David didn’t count on was how high a masochist’s pain threshold could be! By the time all twenty bottoms were glowing bright pink and the howls had faded to sobs it was as much as he could do to collapse into his semen-spattered bed. As he lay there, heart pounding, he could hear sundry moans from both dormitories, accompanied by a rhythm section of knocking headboards. David drifted off to sleep with a contented smile. He’d had no idea that pleasure and pain, kindness and torture, dominance and shame, could all coexist in such a warm and intimate group. He looked forward with excitement to the following day’s lessons and some more strict discipline.
***
Breakfast was a subdued affair the next morning. Sore bottoms and lack of sleep seemed to have dulled the raw erotic thrill of the previous evening, not to mention a sense of dread at the prospect of further corporal punishment on already sore and bruised flesh.
“English is first, with Watson’ said Derek Walsh, a skinny middle aged insurance broker who had yelled particularly loudly during his clothes brush beating the night before, and perhaps got away with fewer strokes as a result. “Then I see Mr Fallow here is taking maths!” David looked up, confirming that he had indeed agreed to be teacher for one lesson, maths being his degree subject. He had some deliciously sadistic ideas for tests and penalties, but gave nothing away.
The lesson began well enough. A well-planned, realistic grammar lesson about the prepositions, it was starting to feel like being back at grammar school again until Mr Watson asked for some examples of prepositions.
“Doggy,” called out Malc, to copious sniggers from around the oak panelled classroom.
“Dear oh dear. It seems we have a comedian in our midst.” Watson glared at Malc before opening his desk drawer and taking out a particularly vicious looking three-tailed tawse. “Out at the front now boy!”
So this was how Gavin plans to give our bottoms a rest, thought David as Malc, without being asked, held out his two hands, left on top of right.
The tawse swooshed through the air and met the proffered palm with a crack. Malc winced in pain and swapped his hands over. Five more strokes followed on alternating hands, leaving the tradesman close to tears and nursing both throbbing hands between his thighs.
“I trust I won’t be hearing any more wisecracks. Now, where was I……?”
A ball of paper hit Watson’s forehead, accompanied by gasps and restrained laughter.
“This is beyond a joke!” Roared Watson. “Whoever did that needs to own up immediately or the entire class will be getting caned.” His perceptive eyes scanned the class, homing in on the back left of the classroom, from where the object seemed to come. “It was you, wasn’t it?”
The question was directed at David, who was looking down at his desk with a barely concealed smirk. David looked up and nodded.
“Go and wait outside my office until the lesson is over. It’s a good thing you’re teaching after break, because you won’t want to sit on those hard chairs by the time I’ve finished with you.” David got up and left the classroom, his trousers bulging at the front.
***
“OK, young man, come in” said the approaching Head, as David got up from the chair in the corridor and followed Watson into the office. There was something incongruent about being caned by a ‘head’ who was twenty years his junior, but David was too excited to care as he followed the muscular young redhead into his office.
“I am sick and tired of unruly behaviour from boys during lessons. If you refuse to learn in the classroom you’ll have to learn a much harder lesson here in my office. Get your trousers and pants down.” David didn’t hesitate to obey, not least to relieve the pressure on his rigid member.
“Now bend over the back of that chair and grip the seat. You are to receive a minimum of twelve strokes, but if your hands move from the chair extra strokes will be added. Understood?”
“Yes sir,” replied David, a slight tremble in his voice betraying genuine fear, a dissonant accompaniment to his erotic arousal. Twelve! Four had been hard enough to take! David heard the familiar swooshing practice strokes, and could tell instantly that this was a longer and heavier implement than the one he had been issued with as Housemaster, but was unsure whether it was the same weapon used for his introductory four strokes.
The first stroke was so hard it pushed him forward , his weight shifting onto his tense hands. And then, after a second or so….had he just been branded with hot steel? Before David had time to process or express his suffering, the second line of searing agony was branded across his hirsute cheeks, forcing him to gasp and grimace.
As Watson warmed to his task, a smirk appearing on his freckled countenance, he seemed to find more energy, the third and fourth strokes wrapping and flexing into every crevice of David’s sensitive loins. He peered closely at the evidence of his handiwork, eight pink tramlines at almost perfectly regular intervals, and couldn’t resist a glance at David’s turgid, throbbing manhood. He adjusted his trousers to allow space for his own arousal.
David’s grunts gradually turned to yelps as his punishment progressed, but his erection persisted, every bit as hard as that of his tormentor. At last Watson reached the last two strokes, and decided with sadistic glee to aim low. David howled as stroke number eleven branded his sit-spot, but this did not assuage Watson’s cruel intent. The last stroke was not only the hardest of the set, but it landed diagonally across the older man’s shapely thighs.
“Yaaagh!” screamed David, as he jumped up and hopped around for several seconds.
“Back in position!” barked the gloating headmaster. “I said twelve was the minimum, and if you’d remained in position that would have been the end of the matter. I must confess that was a little low, but you’re still getting a penalty stroke.”
The extra stroke landed right on top of the tramlines, and whilst massively painful was sweet relief compared to the previous two. David remained in position, panting softly, until told to get up and make himself decent.
***
After a delightful twenty minutes of puerile misbehaviour on the ‘playground’ (actually a sizeable lawn area behind the main reception room) David finally reached the part he had been most looking forward to – his chance to play maths teacher! He stood by the blackboard, glowering at the unruly specimens arrayed before him, and glancing periodically at the three canes arranged in a tall container in the corner.
“Differential calculus…” began David, only to be interrupted by Carter, the retired Major.
“Isn’t that another name for kidney stones? My Dad was in agony with those!” David fell silent, glaring at the Major before pacing over to the cane rack and selecting one of medium thickness.
“Agony, did you say Carter? Come to the front of the class and we will demonstrate to the class the meaning of the word.” Carter obeyed in silence. “Trousers and underwear down, over my desk.” David indicated the front of his desk, so that Carter’s naked posterior would be on full display to the whole class.
As Carter’s white Y-fronts came down, David noted with satisfaction the springy resistance of the elderly gentleman’s erect member. He also noted the shapely and well-toned shape of his victim’s buttocks as Carter quickly and obediently adopted his position.
The eight strokes were delivered with full force, raising angry looking ridges and bruises on the two stately cheeks but surprisingly restrained vocal responses from the Major, who clearly had a deep understanding of the importance of discipline.
“Good lad” murmured David as he returned the implement to its place. “I always appreciate a boy who can take his punishment well. Now, does anybody else think they can endure eight as stoically as Major Carter, because I’m more than happy to test your endurance. But first let’s see how much calculus you remember from school.” As he said this he picked up a pile of printed test sheets that he knew would utterly bewilder most of the ‘boys’.
“Of course, it would be unreasonable to expect many of you to remember enough calculus to get more than one or two marks out of twelve. Unfortunately for you lot, I’m a thoroughly unreasonable man. One stroke for every wrong answer, to be delivered at full force on the unprotected buttocks. Weinman, please hand the tests out – you’re the only one I have any hope for in this exercise”. Young Zac eagerly took the pile of tests and distributed them with a self-satisfied smirk.
***
“OK, your thirty minutes are up, you’ve had plenty of time to show me what you can and can’t do. As it’s lunchtime now, please hand in your papers on the way out. We’ll reconvene after lunch, when I’ll be very impressed if anybody avoids a painful thrashing!”
David made a point of marking Zac’s paper first, and was delighted that, despite making a good effort on all questions he only scored seven out of twelve. The thought of applying five whistling strokes to those tender cheeks had him rock hard before he’d realised that the next highest mark was that of Major Carter, who managed a mediocre four marks, and that everybody else had scored between zero and two. The after lunch session would be a test of his stamina, as well as the boys’ pain endurance!
With a deep sense of satisfaction, David joined the boys in the dining room, where a classic ‘school dinner’ of sausages and mash awaited him.
***
“Aaagh!” yelled Zac, as the third of five searing stripes of agony burned into his voluptuous 23-year old bottom. David had to adjust the front of his trousers, much to the amusement of the adult schoolboys lined up against the wall, each with their own bulges to manage!
The final two strokes were deliberately low. If the smart young student was going to get away with only five strokes they were going to be cruelly painful, as was evident from the diagonal red stripes that traversed his upper thighs – not to mention his lupine howls of torment.
“Next!” came David’s cold instruction, as Zac made himself decent and stood against the opposite wall.
“Carter, you’re excused. I don’t think your backside can handle another eight.” The military gentleman looked offended at this affront to his stoical discipline.
“But please, Sir, I don’t want any special favours. I’d like to receive my punishment like all the other lads.”
“OK, good boy, have it your way. Please prepare yourself.”
As the elderly gentleman’s underwear slid down for the second time, David caught himself wincing at the angry purple ridges that he was obliged to aggravate. He did not go easy, however, and the previously stoical officer could no longer contain his reactions, soft groans gradually supplanted by grunts and yelps.
As expected, the discipline session took a long time, For a full hour or so the classroom resounded with the strangely sensual sounds of harsh boyhood discipline: the soft rustle of clothing being adjusted, the intimidating swoosh of practice strokes, the nauseating thwack of lithe rattan against defenceless flesh, the grunts, the yelps…..all blended together in a cathartic symphony of suffering as each boy in turn received his prescribed dose, a steadily increasing number as the cruel master worked his way through the test scores in descending order. After the final five boys had howled under their twelve cuts David found himself panting in a sweet blend of exhaustion and exquisite arousal, the air now thick with the erotic smells of sweat and moist, turgid penises.
***
“I do hope you haven’t misbehaved on your hen weekend,” said David in his newly honed schoolmaster voice, keenly aware of the irony. “I know what you girls get up to, and….Blackpool of all places!” His hand stopped its gentle run down Emily’s spine and tapped her right buttock suggestively. This brought a mischievous glint to the young woman’s eye as she dropped her gaze submissively.
“Well, we did drink a few too many cocktails Friday night, and Erin and Liv got a bit flirtatious with some young lads, but…”
“But what, young lady?”
“Well, I tried to behave, and I did remain faithful darling, but Erin and Liv invited the boys back to the flat for a foursome. I only watched, I promise!”
David gazed at his wife with an ice-cold stare before passing sentence.
“Of course, I trust you darling, and believe you. But you really shouldn’t have got involved in any such lewd activities. I think a good hard spanking would serve as a salutary reminder to resist such adolescent impropriety in future. What do you think?”
Emily’s expression combined bewilderment, titillation, indignation and submission in varying proportions as she struggled to process what her husband had suggested.
“What’s got into you honey?” she asked, as the glint returned to her eye. “You’ve never suggested anything like that before!”
“What’s got into me? You don’t want to know!” thought David, in silence. “Don’t worry sweetheart. It’s just an idea to spice up our fun times…”
“Yes, sir!” Emily cut in, “I have acted irresponsibly and allowed myself to get sucked into inappropriate behaviour. Please deal with me as you see fit, kind master.” David was shocked at his wife’s readiness to submit, and felt himself becoming hard. Within moments he was Mr Fallows the Housemaster once again, and Emily his latest miscreant charge.
“Very well. I commend you for your honesty and penitence, but please do not expect leniency. Fetch your heavy wooden clothes brush and return immediately.” Emily hesitated, fear flickering across her pretty face for the first time. “I do not expect to have to repeat my instructions, girl. The longer you take to prepare for your punishment the worse it will be!”
Emily was already at the top of the stairs by the time David had finished his reprimand, and within thirty seconds stood before him, eyes downcast and alluring in her nakedness as she held out the brush, handle first, to her master. David felt like he was in a dream as he took the hard, heavy implement, so similar to the one he had used to torment like-minded men in the dormitory. For all these years he could have been doing this to his lovely wife!
“This is going to hurt like hell, but you’ve earned it! Please kneel on the bed and bend forward. Feel free to bite into the pillow.”
For the next three minutes the bedroom resounded with the cracks, sobs and yells of excruciating domestic discipline. Emily’s tender skin, stretched as tight as a drum by her obscene punishment pose, was quick to change colour, first to salmon pink and eventually bright red, and her pussy was soon as inflamed as her buttocks. As her breathing quickened into erotic panting, David decided to complete her castigation with a few painful whacks to the backs of her thighs, each of which drew agonised roars.
As David finally retired the implement to the bedside table, Emily thrust out her red-raw backside, legs parted to reveal her dripping wet glory hole.
The soreness didn’t seem to bother Emily as she gasped and grunted in rhythm with David’s steady pounding. The squelching of her ripe pussy, punctuated by shrieks of joy, told off her impending peak, and she was soon shuddering and gasping for breath before collapsing in a radiant afterglow.
“Did I give you permission to come before me?” David surprised himself with the meanness of his disposition, but Emily didn’t seem to mind as she panted on the damp musk-scented sheets.
“I’m sorry….Sir,” came the meek reply. “Please don’t spank me again, I don’t think I can take any more!”
“Well, judging by the colour of your backside I think you’re right. But I know of a suitable way you can repay me for your disrespect. Get back in your punishment position.” As Emily obediently knelt and bent forward, she felt David’s cock probing her tight anus, and instinctively relaxed her ring in submission.
“Bad girl!” muttered David as he penetrated the second backside he had enjoyed that weekend, noting how much tighter his wife was compared to young Arthur, “How dare you take your pleasure before your master?”
Emily grunted in pain as her master thrust hard and rhythmically against those tender, sore arse-cheeks. David’s grunts spoke of more pleasant sensations, and it was but a minute before he collapsed, panting, on top of his newly submissive slave-wife. They lay in silence for several minutes, processing the new dynamic in their relationship as they luxuriated in the warmth of each other’s body.
“Thank you for disciplining me, good Sir,” said Emily eventually, as she felt David’s warm residue ooze from her sore bottom, “and please accept my apologies for my unauthorised orgasm.”
“That’s alright, sweetheart, you are forgiven.” David was now back to his old self – at least until his wife needed disciplining again.
Hardstroke Academy for Boys had taught David many valuable lessons about himself, and it now seemed his lovely wife would be joining him on a painful but exhilarating journey of submission and discipline – a journey he now realised had begun all those years ago on the arm of the living room sofa.