Date: Sat, 17 Apr 1999 10:34:23 -0700 (PDT) From: Bpell Subject: The Chronicles of St.Barnabas part 4 (A BL classic by Colin Murchison) 4. Hot Buns Into the dorm they came, unbuttoning pants and kicking off shoes, arms flailing as shirts were whisked off, until the dormitory looked like a speeded-up-movie, shots of cocks and bottoms flashing by so quickly you couldn't be sure you'd seen them. The sound track, too, was speeded up, as the boys chirped and chattered while undressing and getting into their pajamas. In a trice all the boys were pajama-clad, slippered and robed, and had left the dorm to make the most of their half hour or so of free time: watching TV, playing ping-pong or quieter games, or . just reading. The horde of locusts had come and gone, and once more the dorm was quiet. Ronnie had disappeared in the crowd. I was left alone. Then, rudely, the buzzer, euphemistically called "the bell," sounded, and back into the dorm they came, slower now, but just as faithfully as Pavlov's salivating dogs. I caught Georgie'e eye and nodded at him, to remind him. Off came the bathrobes and down beside their cots they knelt, small bottoms sticking out through the thin material as they folded their hands and said their prayers, first the "Our Father," then their own personal requests, pleas, or whatever. Then-into bed and lights out and NO TALKING. "Good-night, boys." "Good-night, sir!" I disappeared into my sanctum sanctorum to await the culprit. I still didn't know what I was going to do with the boy, and now I had very little time to think. I would just have to play it by ear. His knock came. "Come in," I called. "You wanted to see me, sit?" asked Georgie, using the time-worn cliche of the schoolboy about to be punished. He was looking especially cute, and his face was flushed a deep pink. He approached, fiddling with the belt of his white terrycloth bathrobe which was drawn very tight around him, giving him a wasp-waisted took. He stood there sheepishly, his long lashes lowered. He even sniffled a bit. If it was an act, it was a good one: the contrite schoolboy, begging to be let off with many a Please-sir-I-won't-do-it-again. I won't repeat the whole conversation. I grilled him; he admitted having the pea-shooter in church, but he denied shooting it. I paced back and forth, before him and behind him, like a prosecutor in court, while he stood in one spot, his head lowered. "You know how Father Sayers feels about misbehavior in church," I said. "Yes, sir." Very small and meek. "Do you see any good reason why I should not report you to him?" "No, sir. Only, I..." "Only you what? Speak up, boy." I had fallen into my stereotyped role also. "Well, sir, I was thinking, sir, that maybe you could sort of do me a favor this time and not tell Father Sayers, sir." "And why, pray tell, should I do you this favor? Do you fear the cane that much? You've never had the cane, have you?" "No, sir." "No, you're too clever to get caught. I see no good reason why you should be let off in this instance, however. It seems to me that a good dose of the cane is just what's indicated." "It's not just the cane, sir. I wouldn't mind the cane so much. But you see, sir, it all goes on my report. It goes home, and my father..." And here the boy began to blubber. Whether the tears were genuine or self-induced I didn't know. It didn't matter, for suddenly I felt sorry for the boy. No longer was he the tricky, sly, too-pretty little boy. Now he was just an eleven-year-old kid scared to death of what his father would do to him. I wondered what his father would do to him. Standing there watching the boy shake with sobs, I realized he was playing into my hands perfectly. I could now let him off the hook-on my terms. "You realize, of course, that I cannot let this matter go unpunished." "Yes, sir." "And that if you are not punished by Father Sayers, you will have to be punished by me." "Yes, sir." "You know the school rules, I presume. Only minor offenses are dealt with by the dormitory masters. Major ones are reported to the Headmaster." "Yes, sir, but-" "But on the other hand, I have no desire to see you get into trouble at home over something you did at school. So, under the circumstances"-and here his visage brightened-"I will handle the punishment myself." "Oh, thank you sir! I-" "However! Let me wam you, that I, too, consider having a pea-shooter in church a very serious offense, and that I mean to punish you in such a way that you may be sorry you did not settle for Father Sayers' cane." "Sir?" "You see Candy, I intend to give you a good... oldfashioned... spanking." I paused to let my words register. "Yes, sir." "I mean an old-fashioned spanking, the real thing. Do you get my meaning?" "Yes, sir, I think so, sir." "You'd better be sure. You still have time to change your mind." By now I was hoping desperately that he wouldn't, for I rather fancied the idea of spanking his pretty behind. I was almost within my rights, too, for dorm masters were permitted to paddle, using a regulation instrument like a narrow ping-pong paddle, administering not more than six swats through pants or pajamas, but not on the bared buttocks. Father Sayers reserved that special delight for himself. Not that I was really jealous. I'm rarely sadistic. But some boys seem to cry out for spanking-and Candy was one. Besides, if I could not deflower that precious bottom with my prick, I could at least rape it with my bare hands. "I don't have in mind a paddling, you understand," I continued, to clarify my intentions. "I have in mind a real spanking, carried out in the traditional manner, with all the proper... ah... preparations, and so forth. Am I making myself clear?" "Yes, sir, you are." "And you are willing to undergo this at my... ah... hands?" "Yes, sir, I am." "Very well, then, Candy. Now, as to time and place. Since this punishment will be somewhat extra-curricular, you might say, I would rather not carry it out after lights, as I would under ordinary circumstances. Furthermore, I must warn you that if this special concession I am making to you is bandied out among your friends you might very well find yourself up-ended over Father Sayers' sofa after all. Is that clear?" "Yes, sir." "Very well. Now, on this Friday, as you know, the school is going to the State Fair. They won't be back until ten or eleven. I shall arrange for you to be detained here as punishment for an undisclosed offense. That will give us plenty of time, and plenty of privacy, in which to carry out your real punishment. Is that agreed?" "Yes, sir. And, thank you, sir." "Very well. Until next Friday, then, we shall say no more about the matter. Good-night." I escorted the boy out and closed the door behind him. Ile thought of spanking Georgie's pretty behind kept me in a state of constant titillation all week, so much so that I had grave difficulty in concentrating on my work. In class a boy would ask a question and I would have to ask him to repeat it, for my mind would be out the window, speculating on whether to have Georgie wear bathrobe and pajamas for the spanking, or his school clothes. Or what about gym shorts? Whenever I saw Georgie's bottom, either clothedperhaps as he bent over to tie a shoelace-or naked-in the showers-I licked my lips in eager anticipation of laying onto that soft flesh until it turned first a lovely pink, then a blushing crimson. The week passed slowly, but finally Friday rolled around, and after the last afternoon class the boys were herded into a bus-all except Georgie, that is-and amid much frivolity, set out for the State Fair. Most of the masters went too, so Georgie and I were almost the only ones left at school. I told Georgie that he could do what he liked during the remainder of the day, for I did not intend to punish him until just before bedtime. I liked the idea of his having to think about it all afternoon. Time passed very slowly. Suppertime came at last. Sandwich makings were spread out on one of the tables, and Georgie sat by himself at one table, Father Sayers, Mrs. Fox and myself at another. Conversation was strained, especially as Mrs. Fox couldn't hear anything that was said. "And what offense," asked Father Sayers in his ponderous tones, "did that boy commit that caused him to be deprived of this most felicitious of autumn outings, the State Fair?" Father Sayers spoke as if the boy were as deaf as Mrs. Fox, but of course he could hear every word perfectly. "He has been obstreperous in the dorm," I answered. "He what?" asked old Mrs. Fox. "OBSTREPEROUS!" I shouted. "DORM!" "That's nice," said Mrs. Fox, smiling. Father Sayers unburdened himself of a few pearls of wisdom concerning the training of the young, and I noticed Georgie squirming as he nibbled away at his sandwich. Supper, such as it was, finally came to an end and, having uttered the Thankseivine, Father Sayers rose, permitting us to follow suit. "Report to me at eight-thirty," I said to Georgle on the way out. He nodded. I didn't indicate to him whether he was to change for bed first, not having decided whether I preferred him in his pajamas and terrycloth bathrobe or in his school shorts. I decided to let fate decide for me. Promptly at eight-thirty there came a knock at my door, and Georgie entered, still wearing his school clothes. He looked slightly flushed, I thought. I stood up quickly, noting my own nervousness. "I am glad to see you are prompt," I said, locking my door just in case. But who would come? Father Sayers never ventured into the dorms, and Mrs. Fox wouldn't have been able to hear anything if she had. Lemon Joe Cardwell was out in his remodeled toolshed, probably talking to his dog. There was no one else around. Everyone was at the Fair. "I don't think a long lecture is in order," I said. "I think you know what you've done wrong, and are willing to pay the price for it. Am I right?" "Yes, sir," the boy said prettily. "Very well, then. Remove your jacket and come over here." And I sat down on the couch. The boy took off his jacket and draped it over a chair. Then he approached me awkwardly, not knowing how near I wanted him to come. I reached out and taking hold of his leather belt, drew him between my legs. "As I told you before, this is to be a proper spanking, with the necessary preparations. Do you understand what I meant by that?" "I think so, sir." "Well, then." I wasn't going to help him by telling him what to do next. I just stared at his belt. Finally his fingers went to the belt and he said "Sir, do you want me to... do this now?" "Of course. That is, unless you want me to. I told you this was to be a real spanking, didn't I?" "Yes, sir." "And that does not mean a spanking through trousers, however thin they may be. So let's get them down." "Yes, sir." Fumbling, the boy undid his belt and began undoing his pants. Soon they slid down his legs and landed in a crumpled heap around his ankles. "You may put your shorts on that chair also," I said. The boy stepped out of them, picked them up bashfully, and placed them on the chair next to his jacket. Then he came back to me. "Raise your shirt," I said. As he did I noticed something poking out in front. "Turn around," I said. I gazed for a second or two at the boy's round bottom showing pinkly through the thin white underpants. Then I put my fingers under the elastic and slowly began drawing them down over his hips, revealing bit by bit the beautiful bare buttocks of the boy I was about to spank. "Now you may assume the time-honored position," I said, "across my lap." As he turned around I saw his face was red with embarrassment. I drew him between my legs again and clasped him around the waist. "But first, a final word. Now when I spank you"-and here I let my fingers splay out over his soft round bottom"I want you to think about why I am doing it, and then maybe next time you will think twice about bringing a pea-shooter into church." "Yes, sir." His eyes were lowered, and his buttocks muscles were alternately contracting and relaxing. My fingers continued to stray over their silky skin. "And now," I said, "It's time to get over my lap. Do you remember how? I imagine it has been a long time since you were spanked, hmm?" "Yes, sir," said the uncomfortable boy as he rather awkwardly draped himself over my lap. As he did so, I caught sight of his little pricklet. It was stiff, the little devil! Well, I thought, he won't enjoy it so much in a minute! Then I reflected, as I pulled him down onto my lap, that little boys often get erections when they are undressed or made to undress in front of others. It was not necessarily a sign of conscious sexuality. I crossed my knees and positioned his hips so that his protruberant little behind was sticking straight up at me, the cheeks involuntarily parted to reveal his little rosebud. I couldn't help admiring the sight for a few seconds. Round and soft, the twin globes were encased in the most delicious, pink, soft skin imaginable. I fingered them lightly, enjoying the boy's humiliation at having such intimate parts of his body bared and subjected to digital scrutiny. "One final word," I said. "This is definitely not going to hurt me more than it does you." "No, sir," came the muffled response from the sofa cushion. I began to spank-not hard at first, just little spanks. His flesh bounced under my hands. Each spank made him move just a bit on my lap, and by now I had a roaring hard-on. I spanked on, and soon the lovely little mounds began to get slightly pink. The flesh began to feel warmer. I stepped up both the tempo and the intensity, and the boy began to squirm. With my left hand I grasped him firmly around the waist, my fingers digging into the bare flesh of his stomach. Thus I held him tight, but left his buttocks and legs free to squirm and writhe, the sight of which delighted me. I spanked first one check, then the other, trying not to let one redden faster than the other, treating them fairly, as it were, and spanking the sides, too, so they would not be too pale in contrast to the tops. But this was hard to do, and so I concentrated on giving the tops an even coat of redness. Never had I enjoyed spanking a boy so much! Never had I gotten so aroused, either. The harder I spanked, the more the boy squirmed around, and the hotter I got. I paused for a second. "Georgie," I said, "I hope you are thinking about what I told you. Are you?" "Yes, sir," came a shaky reply. "And I hope you're not regretting your decision. For your spanking is not over yet. Not by a long shot." During this intermission I let my hand rest on his hot behind. "Your bottom is already good and red," I continued, "but we have not yet reached the point at which one can say, 'this boy has had a full and complete spanking.' That will come later, when your bottom is a good deal redder and a good deal hotter than it is now. You will also be squirming a good deal more violently, and perhaps uttering cries of some sort. Now, shall we continue?" Again a muffled response. At this point I decided to shift his position on my lap. My legs were tired, so I uncrossed them, and placed him on my left knee with his legs hanging down between mine. Then I resumed spanking the boy. His bottom being at a slightly different angle, my hand fell on slightly different areas, namely between his thighs and on the lower position of his cheeks. I spanked slowly now, but with force, and the boy was now moaning and whimpering with each blow. With each spank his body flinched in pain, and each time this happened my prick was pressed against his thigh. You can imagine the effect on me. Each squirm was telegraphed right to my groin, increasing my pleasure. Each whimper or groan was music to my ears. Then a mysterious change came over me. I passed the point of mere titillation and entered a plane of existence where nothing on earth mattered except my pleasure. I had passed the point of no return, and didn't care what the consequences were. I just wanted my pleasure to continue to intensify. With each slap on his tender buttocks my juice rose higher, and I knew that I could have achieved man's ultimate delight in two or three more spanks if I had wanted to. But, having crossed the river and burned the bridge behind me, I was in no hurry, so I merely spanked slower, and with less force. Even so, his bottom was by now so hot that the slightest pat must have felt like fire to the boy. When I just drew my hand over the tender hot flesh of his lovely 6ehi'nd the sensation was probably like that of being rubbed with sandpaper, for it caused him to squirm and moan. And when I spanked, he could not hold back a gasp or a cry or a whimper. My throbbing member was pressed in hard against his bare thigh, And all I had to do was continue running my hands over his bottom to reach nirvana. But, try as I might to prolong the pleasure and postpone the supreme moment, I could not do so for long; the effect of the nude boy rolling around on my cock was too much, and when I felt the first great surge from within me I began spanking and caressing his reddened bottom fast and furiously, so that my waves of pleasure would, I hoped, be masked by his own squirming and writhing. When at last my orgasm subsided, I did a curious thing. I bent over and planted two big kisses on his lovely hot behind, one on each cheek. Whatever possessed me to do that I'll never know, but it brought me back to reality at once. I was in something of a predicament. Did the boy realize what had happened? Was the wet seed seeping right now through my pants onto his bare leg? How could I get him off my lap without him seeing the stains? On the other hand, I couldn't keep him there on my lap until they had dried. "You may get up now, Georgic, and put your clothes back on," I said in what I hoped was a firm, schoolmasterly voice. Still whimpering, the boy got up and went over to the chair where his pants were. As he bent over to pull them on I got one nice quick glimpse of paradise. While he was putting on his pants I was pretending to adjust the curtains, so my back was to him. Then I pushed him ahead of me out of the door into the dormitory. "Georgie," I said, turning him around and cupping his chin so that he would have to look up at me, "that was a real spanking I gave you, and you took it well. I hope you will remember it next time you think of fooling around in church." "Yes, sir, Mr. Murchison," said the boy, with just a trace of insolence. "I'll remember it for a long time!" Perhaps that was just the trouble.