The following story is fiction; just a fantasy about a man who wished he hadn't grownup. It contains scenes of both male and female domination, spanking, shaving and humiliation, and gay and teen sex. If such subjects are offensive, uninteresting or if you are a minor (i.e., child) please stop reading now.
This work is copyright by the author and commercial use is prohibited without permission. Personal/private copies are permitted only if complete including the copyright notice.
The author would appreciate your comments -- pro and con, including constructive criticism, and suggestions.
TGIF! Most definitely TGIF! It was a hot Friday evening ending an even hotter week. I manage a warehouse where most of the workers are twenty-something hunks who just wear cutoffs and work boots in this weather. The owner allows this because he gets more work out of them this way. And I encourage it because I love savoring those rippling muscles under glistening sweaty skin straining against heavy loads.
Friday is payday and I always get an extra non-taxable bonus: each of these hunks must come to my office. One by one each man stands by my desk, while deviously slowly I get his pay envelope out of my desk drawer savoring the beautiful close up view of his basket. Several of them are truly magnificent. Then in order to sign the pay book he must bend over just as if he is deferentially bowing to me. Finally, I get to scrutinize his firm muscular buns tightly covered by worn faded blue denim as he leaves. Friday afternoon from 2 to 4 is indubitably the best time of the week. It is even more fun than bossing them around the rest of the week, making them work very hard because while sitting behind my desk I can let my own manrod expand to its heart's content. In some of my dreams they become my willing sex slaves but, alas, in reality, I know that would never ever happen. Other times they appear as pirates (or bandits) and kidnap me to be impressed as their cabin boy, more accurately their sex slave/toy. Oh, one can dream.
As usual, later that Friday evening I'm in my local bar on my favorite stool hoping that this week Mr. Right will show up. I'm wearing a loose shirt and well worn jeans as my older body can't compete with those young hunks on their terms. My mind is still happily full of the hunks from pay time. Then the Vision, in a well packed T-shirt and leather jeans, appears next to me and starts up a conversation. He is a cocky (pun intended!) young stud who clearly knows what he wants. Happily I realize that this night it is I when causally, and shamelessly, he puts his hand on my crotch forcefully crushing my hard cock to my thigh. "Forgot your undies tonight, boy?" he asks sarcastically with a smirk. I nod while trying to suppress any indication of pain and he continues with: "Haven't you been told that good boys always wear them? Could it be that you are a naughty boy?" After a pregnant pause, "Cat got your tongue, boy?" he asked.
"Er, um, no." I finally stammered.
"No, what, boy?" he snapped back still maintaining his iron grip on my cock and thigh.
"No, Sir." I answered softly.
"Boy, you need training; lots of training. You act like you dropped out of school before you even learnt your manners. I have just the place for you and lessons will start as soon as we get there. Come, boy, NOW!" I was mesmerized and docilely let him propel me with his hand on the back of my neck all the way from the bar to his car. It wasn't until he pulled my seat belt extra tight that I realized why he was so emotionally overwhelming to me. My mind suddenly flashed back to when I was thirteen and spending the first of three summers on my uncle's farm where my older, bigger, stronger, sexy and aggressively dominant Cousin Tim took complete charge of me. He was my mentor and idol and I his willing adoring slave in all ways. The Vision now driving me to his den was exactly like my cousin was back then. I had fallen under his spell the same way and now I realized that I was just as helpless to resist him as I was in resisting Tim, particularly being securely strapped down in his car. I looked at him again and now imagined the pirate captain of my dreams.
"Open the glove compartment, boy." he suddenly commanded. Inside was a propeller beanie. "Put it on, boy."
"Aye, aye, Captain." I said accidentally, still in my fantasy rather than the 'Mr. Gort' he had told me to use. He let it pass and after glancing at me commented that I looked like a 'real cute boy'.
The pirate ship he took us to was an old large house in an sparely populated area and we entered through a side door. I was astounded. It was setup like an old one room school house from a western movie or even, perhaps, a Dickens' novel. As I was looking around, noting all the old stuff there from the 1890 calendar and the dunce cap to the paddles, straps and canes hanging neatly but menacingly on one wall, the clock struck and three guys, identically dressed as school boys, came into the classroom. Two of them handed Mr. Gort some papers and they all sat down. "Good day class." he said.
They responded in unison with "Good day Mr. Gort."
"Class, Simon is joining us today. "Sit down there, boy." he ordered pointing to the empty first row desk as he sat down in the teacher's chair.
"Simon, take your hat off in class, boy." Blushing, I stashed my Beanie into my desk, while Mr. Gort consulted a grade book and continued with: "Robert, this is the fifth time you haven't had your homework. Bring me the strap, boy, and assume the position for ten." Silently and slowly Robert walked to that wall, got the strap, handled it to Mr. Gort and bent over the desk showing us how spectacularly his cute boy butt filled his tight school boy short shorts. "No, boy, this is the fifth time; drop them." with less reluctance than show (as evidenced by his smirk), slowly Robert straightened up, lowered his shorts and briefs and then resumed the now even more exposed vulnerable position over the desk. The class giggled and Robert blushed at both ends as Mr. Gort prepared to administer the prescribed punishment publicly. WHACK! went the strap and the first red stripe appeared across Robert's bottom. Nine times over, this was repeated until the promised ten strokes were applied and Robert's bottom was uniformly red hot. I cringed at each stroke as if it was my own little behind getting beaten. "Take your seat, boy." ordered Mr. Gort. Robert started to pull up his pants but Mr. Gort ordered him to leave them down because "You will remember better this way." As Robert hobbled back to his hardwood seat and sat down, very gingerly, next to me, I was surprised to see that his crotch was smooth and hairless like that of a little boy although I also saw that he sported a luxurious oozing semi-hard mantool.
School lasted for a couple of hours using archaic school books and was, somehow, exciting. Not only that but I felt like I belonged here. Aaron, one of the other boys, and I each got our hands rapped with a ruler [ouch!] for some infraction or other and I was ignominiously perched on the dunces' stool wearing the tall conical hat for a long time. It was so large that it rested on my nose and ears. I also received a 'detention' for inattention (having been so fascinated by Robert's bare pubes et al.) so that when class was over I was required to remain behind. Robert seemed relieved that he could finally pull up his shorts when he left. After I had carefully and neatly (the messy ones did not count!) written out <I must always pay attention and not talk in class> a hundred times Mr. Gort took me to his study on the main floor.
Mr. Gort explained that he runs a school for adult boys who in one way or another had not fully grownup and still need help, guidance and discipline from mature men as fathers and teachers. A while back an alumni/friend had suggested that I would be a good nominee for the student opening now available. He had me checked out and agreed. He further explained that I should take my time and learn more about the school but for now there was that little matter of the missing briefs.
Until this point we were sitting next to each other on the couch. A few seconds later he was still sitting but, suddenly, I was lying across his lap as befits a naughty boy about to receive a well deserved spanking from a loving father or strict housemaster. Although I hadn't been in this position in many years and I sensed what was about to happen I couldn't move. It was one of my dad's strictest rules: don't resist or try to thwart a spanking in any way. "You know why you're going to be spanked, boy?" he interrogated (just like my dad had many years ago) before he started.
As I responded "Yes, dad; er Mr. Gort." his hand crashed landed on my butt. Hard. Very hard. After a few smacks he stopped and I sighed with relief. That, however, was very premature for he was just pausing so that he could pull down my jeans and continue more effectively directly on my bare ass. And continue he did; long and painfully hard. I even cried a little as a repentant little boy does (and should). I felt like I was a child again -- just a little boy of eleven years.
Then when he stood me up, I again behaved just like dad had required me. With head bowed in deference and respect I said in a little boy voice: "Thank you, Sir; I promise to be a good boy and always wear my underwear as I should."
He pulled me to himself and hugged me long and hard saying: "I hope so, son. I really hope so. But, lad, now strip completely." Of course, I obeyed and he then lead me to the shower room. In less than five minutes with his terribly efficient hair clippers he had removed all my of sparse chest, axillary and pubic hair. Each and every single strand he meticulously mowed down at its base leaving me a completely hairless boy, like Robert was in class. It was strange but also like those summers on the farm when hirsute Tim always taunted me for being a hairless boy while he thrust his hard mancock into me at one end or other. After I showered he took me to bed.
It was wonderful. I was like putty in his hands and I loved every second with him. I hadn't felt so wanted in many years. We cuddled some and he fucked me (with a condom, of course) at both ends just like my cousin Tim had. Finally, for a special treat, he took my hairless little pee-pee in his mouth for the best blow job I ever had.
He explained that it was time to go upstairs with the other boys to my own bunk. I was to share a room (but not a bed) with Robert, now the junior head boy, who would explain what to do in the morning concluding with the warning that failure to obey all of Robert's instructions would result in a paddling. When he tucked naked me into bed I asked about pj's. "Ah", he laughed, "We don't use anything like that here; except, of course, for diapers. Are you a little baby that needs a diaper?" He didn't even wait for an answer before leaving. This happy boy, caressing his once again smooth pubes, was soon fast asleep in a bunk bed and dreaming little boy dreams.
The sun was up when I was awakened by Robert sitting astride me, pining my arms to my sides and with his hairless crotch in my face. "Still like what you see, Simon? You couldn't take your eyes off it in class." I could feel my eyes grow even as I nodded my agreement and licked my lips while his hard cock seemed to grow bigger and harder. I tried to raise my head to reach his great wand, seemingly floating in space before my eyes, but he pushed me back down saying: "Not just yet, kid."
"Please, please." I hungrily entreated. When he leaned back the changed angle made it appeared to grow even larger as he reached for the condom he had prepared. I watched anxiously as he rolled it on and then leaned forward to shove his hard tool deep into my anxiously waiting open mouth. Horny, he all too quickly came.
Just then a bell clanged loudly. He jumped off and said: "We must hurry and prepare for breakfast." The bathroom had twin sinks so we washed, combed, brushed and even crossed our yellow swords together. Robert's locker had his T-shirt, briefs, short shorts, socks and sneakers from the last evening but mine was bare. The bell, compellingly, rang again. "We must go for breakfast immediately; lateness is NOT tolerated and is severely punished. Matron will surely get you a uniform afterwards." Robert said authoritatively and literally dragged me into the hall where we met our classmates from yesterday. They both slapped my bare butt and helped Robert drag naked me to the dining room. I didn't even get a chance to grab a towel to wrap about me.
Mr. Gort was sitting at the head of the table. "Good morning boys" he said and we replied as we sat down. As you can imagine, I was very embarrassed being naked, particularly being the only naked one, but nobody else seemed to care. A large woman in a neat, sharp, white uniform began to serve breakfast. "Please get Simon, our new boy, a uniform after breakfast Mrs. Swenson." said Mr. Gort.
She replied: "Of course, Mr. Gort. I would have yesterday but I didn't know the lad's size." The other boys giggled at this. I guess it had happened before.
During breakfast my attention was captured by the two meter high picture on the wall. It was really interesting and certainly all present could surely identify with it. This Madonna and Child* is quite unique for Jesus' halo has fallen to the floor and now his butt, just like that of any naughty boy over his mother's knee, is turning red as she spanks him. Gosh, if that kid can get spanked!
Mr. Gort and the dressed boys went to play outside while I had to wait for Mrs. Swenson to get me clothes. I had expected and hoped that she would bring them and leave but this was not the case. "I've seen lots of hairless naked boys before and you're just the same." she declared when I showed myself to be to shy to go with her by trying to hide myself first behind the tablecloth and then even a napkin. After she threatened "to lead the baby by its little wee-wee and put him in a diaper", I was so intimidated that I followed her compliantly and quietly. Exposed, I was lead to the wardrobe room where she proceeded to measure each and every part of me. "Just for future reference, lad" she said writing each statistic down on a chart. But I did not like how she bumped my balls to measure my inseam. Nor how she handled my shorn (and now very public) privates measuring them in every way almost like I was an old table at a garage sale and with less interest. At long last she opened the storage closet and took out a uniform for me and my own sneakers. Matron then literally dressed me in it, explaining that she wanted to be sure that it fit just right as she gratuitously cupped both my crotch and buttocks. Even in its tightness it was a great improvement. With a pat on my ass, she sent me to join the others at play.
We played ball for awhile and were joined by four other boys, two of whom were brought by their dads. It was easy to distinguish the boys as they were in uniform from the dads who weren't. When it got too hot, Mr. Gort took us to the pool for a swim. We boys went BA as we did not have (or need) swim suits; the grownups, of course, wore trunks. It seemed like high school being naked with a pack of other boys, all with their hairless pee-pees dangling in the breeze, and the coaches in shorts.
While we were swimming, a woman came with her boy who was in the school uniform. He was instructed to join us in the pool and he enthusiastically stripped. Because I thought that he was so cute, I was watching him closely. Then I was startled! He was NOT a boy but a tomboy -- a girl! who barely looked twenty. Since she was so flat chested it was her hairless pussy, instead of a pee-pee, that made her look different. But she was tough, very tough, muscular and in our roughhousing games in the pool managed to dunk every one of us. Robert warned me about treating Terry as girl: "He's one great wrestler and he'll get your balls in grip that you will never ever, ever forget, Simon."
Lunch we had on the back lawn. Since it was so hot, we boys were kept au naturel as little kids often are. Naked kids and dressed adults (of both sexes) seemed to be the norm here. Like much here, it was strange to me but, of course, as just a boy my opinion was never requested.
Rambunctiously running about, Terry bumped into one of the dads and knocked a coffee cup out of his hand. When he barked: "STOP, Terry." all became quite quiet -- instantly. Without even an additional word he seized Terry by her arm, walked over to a bench, sat down, put her over his knee and spanked her bare butt very hard. One could see the red hand prints on her ass checks quickly spread into a solid field of crimson red and then a darker red. The color flowed just like the black plague's propagation across Europe is shown in history film animations. Terry's face showed that it really hurt, but he bit his lip to keep from crying out. When the dad stopped and let him up, Terry apologized and replaced his cup. He was much subdued from then on. This was an additional demonstration that discipline was both strict and swift at this school.
At 1500 Matron appeared and declared that it was Rest Period. We boys were taken to a shady area where Matron announced: "Particularly for the new boy's benefit I will remind you: Rest Period is exactly that! No talking! No moving! Period! Now lie down and rest one hour, boys." We had barely taken our places when Aaron said: "I really have to pee real bad, Matron." Matron, put down her knitting, got up, walked over to him and said in an exasperated tone: "Aaron, surly you know the rules by now, boy." Then using the roll of athletic tape she took from her pocket, Matron sealed his month, taped his wrists together behind his back and his ankles together, finally, leaving him lying on his back on the grass. After I saw this happen I did not even dare to blink! From where I was lying, I was able to see Aaron and he was having a hard time; apparently he really had to pee and he was not comfortable. Eventually, however, he lost control and leaked (both metaphorically and literally) over himself and the grass. Matron ridiculed him by sneeringly calling him "Pants Wetter" and telling the rest of us: "I'll have to put a rubber sheet on the baby's bed." (I heard later that she also put him in a diaper that night.)
After the rest period, we had another swim, showers and got dressed. Mr. Gort then took me away from the others. He asked me if I had had a good time. "Yes, Sir, very good." I earnestly replied.
"That's good, boy," he said "but I have to take you home now and pickup another candidate. Unfortunately we don't have enough room for you tonight. Come lad." By this time we were in front of the house and he said: "Get the bag with your clothes from the porch, boy." then we continued to his car.
On the way home I'm proud to say that I did remember my manners and thanked him for the extraordinarily good time I had and told him that I hoped to be enrolled as a regular student. "Simon, we want you to think about our Boys' School very carefully. In the bag are instructions which you are to follow precisely. It is sort of a home study course to guide you to decide your future."
As soon as I got inside my apartment I looked inside the bag for the instructions. I found a computer diskette and directions to load it. When I got it loaded, it announced itself as:
*** BOYS' SCHOOL ***
*** ADMISSION PREVIEW ***
and displayed a 'start' button which I clicked on instantly. I am Mentor. Answer all questions as honestly as you can at all times was the response and I proceeded to take the first quiz which asked lots of questions about me and the day at the school. The questions covered both experiences and feelings. Then after checking that I was still in the school's outfit, it directed me to stand in front of my full length mirror for half an hour, until the bell rang. Do you like looking like a boy? was the question on the screen when I returned. My reply of 'very much' was followed by Glad hear that, boy. Go have dinner. and specified a coffee shop.
After a quick meal in the coffee shop (where I got some strange looks) I hurried back. Its first question was What did you wear for dinner, Simon? Obviously, I think that I passed the first test. After more questions, I was told: Simon: All instructions on this screen are to be obeyed as if you heard them directly from Mr. Gort. Understood, boy? When I had acknowledged, I was instructed to go to bed (with all the usual details that moms give their boys). Also, no TV or books so that I would think about being a boy at the school. For the second night in a row I had wonderful dreams about boyhood.
Each morning Mentor ordered me to get to work on time and return home with food for dinner. In the evening it became a tough dad who commanded me to do my household chores and led me through a calisthenics routine. By Wednesday my apartment was as neat and clean as it could be and Mentor ordered me to write about my life, particularly about sexual and boy feelings and experiences both past and present, both good and not so good.
I was surprised by how much I could write. As I examined my past in the specified terms, I recalled many things that I must have been repressing. Cousin Tim kept popping up. Even before the summers on the farm, at family gatherings in order not to be with the grownups, I would latch onto Tim like a bothersome puppy. Precocious Tim started teaching me to service him at an early age and I was his very willing acolyte for he was always very nice to me. Subsequently, for the first two summers on the farm, he made great use of me as a sextoy when ever he wished.
During the third summer on the farm, he did not like it when I tried to be more independent shortly after I had started to grow my own hair in the spring. It took only a few days of his scorning neglect for me to capitulate and to beg his forgiveness. As evidence of my surrender and total submission to him, he extracted a tribute of my still meager pubic hair every week. He methodically and gleefully collected it with an old and dull hair clipper, saved it in a tiny plastic bag and constantly taunted me with it.
He made sure that his buddies knew what he did by making me continue to go skinny-dipping with them. When they noticed my re-hairless state he explained (boasted) that he decided that I was such a sissy boy that I hadn't earned the right to man-fur. A couple of them wanted to 'breed the little heifer' but fortunately Tim vetoed that.
I think that the worst thing he did was at the request of his girl friend whom he wanted to impress. Her kid sister (three years younger than me), who was bored of examining her younger brothers, wanted to scrutinize a post pubescent male and he volunteered me as a specimen. It was awful beyond words. He made me strip naked and wait tied in a stall just as if I was a horse. He emphasized my lowly position by also tying hands my behind my back and putting a rope about my head like a bridle. The girls, in their FFA jackets, inspected me like I was chattel -- probing and scrutinizing me both inside and outside. Tim's girl friend then suggested to her kid sister that she should "milk the beast". She enthusiastically took up the task practically pulling my poor penis out by its roots and also crushing my balls in the process. After that I was forced to pee while they all watched and laughed. Tim had assured my complete obedience by threatening to give me a hot piss enema-fuck -- PUBLICLY -- for any resistance at all. Fortunately, I went home just a couple of days later before I could die of mortification.
In my freshman year of high school (after the first summer on the farm) there was Peter. This upper classman led a band of bullies who picked on all the little kids including me. A couple of weeks into the term we encountered each out near the lake alone. His jeans were tented and I couldn't keep from staring. I was hungry for Tim's cock and Peter's looked interesting. He noticed and soon I was on my knees getting face fucked and then ass fucked. It didn't take Peter long before he had me happily servicing him several times a week on demand. He would even leave meet-me orders in my locker. As Peter used me more and more (always privately) his gang harassed me less and less. I never learnt what he told them but it certainly wasn't that I was a fag or cocksucker or I would have been doing them all and the rest of the school too.
My initially assigned dorm roommate in college turned out to be an older (28!) guy. He quickly took charge and my life became just classes, homework and being both boy-wife and maid to him. My Dad liked him and thus he got Dad's approval of his generous offer 'to keep on eye on me like an older brother'. He took a great interest in me (in his own special way) and believed that 'sparing the rod' would surely spoil me. This tragedy he did not want, so I was frequently over his knee with my pants down for special 'lessons' like he had done with his own kid brother for many years. He, having turning me into his pussy-boy, also kept me hairless. This was even more than Tim had done for by now I had grown some chest hair also. At first I didn't like this treatment, but I got much better grades than expected and it kept me out of other trouble. I guess that I must have grown to like it because I did it for four years even though he allowed me less freedom than a JHS kid would have.
Friday morning Mentor printed out a coded report and ordered me to fax it along with my 'life story' to the school by 1000. Later, at exactly 1600, I was to call Mr. Gort for further directions. After a short conversation, my part being entirely two monosyllabic-words sentences, Mr. Gort instructed me to give Mentor a code word. Mentor responded with further directions to be in front of my house at 1900 in my school outfit for pickup for a two-day excursion. Mentor also provided me with various details including a list, a very long list, of school rules and the consequences for disobedience.
Oblivious to looks of the neighbors, I was anxiously waiting at 1845 for the school bus pickup as directed in my tight school T-shirt and short shorts. Who would dare risk being late for the trip to Valhalla!
At long last the car I had been waiting for pulled up and the driver directed me into the back seat and tightly fastened a racing type restraint harness about me. It was setup to hold my upper arms to my body and thus restricted my movements far more than the usual seat belt. There I found that I was strapped in between Carl and Aaron. Carl (not in uniform now and with an ordinary seat belt) had also been in the class last weekend but had been quite quiet. He had been the only one who never got disciplined. The driver informed me that Carl was my special tutor for the weekend and that he had complete charge of me. Hearing this Carl gave an diabolical grin, grabbed my basket and whispered: "This should be a fun weekend, Simon; I asked especially for you, boy." Carl then tightened his grip like an eagle's claw about my boyhood for the ride to school. I recalled the passage from the school manual: Sometimes a boy is assigned to a tutor for special training. This is usually done with new, recalcitrant or intractable boys and the tutor is given great latitude in disciplinary matters. I was so apprehensive that I didn't dare even to try to move for the entire trip. Of course, it was also awfully thrilling.
As soon as we got to our room Carl announced: "Simon, we can do this the easy way or the hard way. The easy way you do exactly as I tell you the first time while the hard way you do exactly as I tell you but with a busted butt. The choice is yours, kid."
"I chose the easy way, Carl" I replied. Carl sighed and commanded me to strip.
Then he tied me down on my bunk supine and spread eagle. In just a few minutes he covered my stubbly crotch and pits with a rich thick hot lather. It was very sensuous and I kept trying to get a hardon. However, Carl would have none of it; every time I started to rise he would force me down -- painfully -- and snarl: "Bad boy!" After sometime he showed me his straight razor and started to shave me. Even though I was petrified with horror at what he could cut, I also felt that I was in the mist of some sort of ritual. The ugly stubble that had grown since last week was being scrapped away. I was undergoing a purifying metamorphosis. As Carl's razor did its job, he kept repeating: "We're going to keep you nice and clean, boy, just like a proper boy should be." Carl finished by wiping me dry and untying me.
I ran my fingers over my now smooth skin and it felt great. I jumped up and ran to the mirror where I saw how great it looked. "Thanks, Carl," I said, "it's wonderful."
"And who told you that you might get up, boy?" he suddenly asked, quietly but most exactingly.
"Er, er" I stammered, as he continued:
"Do you want your spanking here and now or later ... publicly from Mr. Gort?" My choice was obvious and he directed me to lie across his lap. From last week's pool games, I knew that he was strong but I was unprepared for the first blow. WHACK! He hit me very hard and I yelped. WHACK! again as he struck the other check. "Perfect! Beautiful!" he exclaimed "Would you like see my hand prints on your butt, Simon?"
"Thank you, but no, Sir." I replied and he enthusiastically resumed his task. I tried not to cry like a baby but, as usual, I couldn't help myself. When it was over, Carl directed me to wash and dress for dinner.
At dinner, before everyone, Mr. Gort asked Carl if I had behaved properly for my shaving and he replied: "Just fine, Sir; no problems; he seems to be a good and compliant boy, Sir."
Carl was the teacher for that evening's class. I felt that Carl was picking on me and that I couldn't do anything right. For starters, within the first minute I got strapped twice; first for not having my homework and second for stupidly saying "What homework?" After the third time, Carl told me to keep the strap at my desk as it would save time. He was, alas, right. By the end of the hour I had gotten strapped an additional four [ouch!] times and the whole class had seen my crimson red butt and freshly shaven pubes as I returned to my hard seat hobbled with my shorts and briefs about my ankles.
When he dismissed the class, Carl called me back and said: "Simon, you have set a new but most shameful record today. Such 'achievement' must not go unrewarded, boy. Bring me the cane and assume the position over the desk. And leave your pants down." I just stood there, like a dummy, apprehensive and afraid of the corrective implement that I had never known. "Move it, boy, NOW." he barked and I proceeded as if in a trance. When we were both in position he stated: "Boy, it is regrettable that you have brought this on yourself. I really hope that you will shape up or you won't be able to sit for a week." and then I heard the whoosh of the cane cutting through the air as it rapidly descended on its way to my bare and already tenderized buns. I yelled at the bite of the first cut. And the second. And also the third after which, mercifully, he stopped. As I continued sobbing, I felt him caressing my beaten butt and also rubbing something into my bunghole. Then, after he dropped his trousers, he mounted me and I could feel his hard man-cock slipping between my checks and start pressing into my boyhole. Just as I tried to relax, he rammed forward and thrust his tool deep into me as if he was driving a stake to mark a land claim. The pain of the canning and the pleasure of the fuck quickly merged and I got completely lost in the resultant bliss.
By the time I returned to the world, Carl was discarding the used condom and wiping himself dry. "Pickup your homework assignment from the rack and get to bed my boy. Pronto!" were his only words. Of course, I did as I was directed. Incidentally, when I located the pigeonhole with my name I found that it held a double measure as there was the homework assignment from the previous week also.
Prone. Naked and prone. Distressed, naked and prone on the bunk he found me later. He rubbed some cream into my very sore tushy. He then explained to me: "Simon, I hope that you have learnt your lesson this evening. Uncle Carl would much rather fuck than beat you but it is up to you, lad. Will you be a good and dutiful boy?"
"Yes, Uncle Carl, I promise." As I drifted off into dreamland, I realized how much I liked being a boy and being told what to do. And even being shaved and spanked. However, I did not dare think how my bottom would be if I had taken the 'hard' way.
This Saturday was pretty much like the previous week's with the addition of wrestling and clothes since it was much cooler. Unfortunately, I found out first hand that Robert's warning was quite correct about Terry's wrestling skills when I got paired with him. At the initial face off, Terry confidently whispered to me: "It's going to be three in a row, Simon, and for the third fall I'm going to pants you!" and showed that she could by taking me down immediately. It was quite evident that I was out classed as Terry completely controlled both the match and me. No matter what I tried, she easily countered it and was constantly toying with me. When he tired of this torture and made the second fall, Terry grabbed my balls real hard and snickered: "I just wanted to see if you still had them as you wrestle just like a sissy girl!" I could still feel the aftermath of his rough grip as we faced off for the third time. Quickly and adroitly Terry flipped me over on to my back, raised up my legs and easily yanked my (elastic belted) shorts and briefs completely off. She waved them triumphantly in the air standing over me -- the vanquished foe. The other boys all thought that this was great fun so they cheered, laughed and tossed my shorts about while I was the only naked one.
They kept up their game of keep-away until Matron appeared and announced "Rest Period; now, boys." The guys threw my shorts and briefs separately into the bushes. Thus I was forced to stay humiliatingly half naked for the entire rest hour as I did not have the time to retrieve them without certainly incurring the predictably immediate terrible wrath of Matron for being late. I didn't escape completely however. Matron bound my hands behind my back for being out of uniform and to prevent unauthorized auto-play for why else would I have my shorts off.
After the rest period, I was fortunate enough to be able to find both my shorts and briefs before being called to dinner. I could imagine all sorts of unpleasant consequences of failure.
On Saturday evening there was a formal club meeting, as the school was officially a private club, followed by dinner. Carl graduated to an 'uncle' and I was inducted as a 'lower boy'. As part of the ceremony Carl held me with my pants down [yes, once again] and everyone gave my buns a welcoming slap.
Shortly after dinner we boys were sent to bed while the 'dads' and 'uncles' talked. As I was finishing in the bathroom I could hear Matron in the other boys' rooms checking up just like a fussy mother. When it was my turn she just barged in as if the door wasn't there. She asked all sorts of personal and intimate questions while I was hiding behind my towel, such as: "Have you brushed your teeth?" and "Have you moved your bowels?" When I said no, she said that Uncle Carl suspected that and to get on the bed and she be right back.
Just moments later she rolled in a hospital pole from which was dangling a HUGE BULGING RED ENEMA BAG. "Oh, no, please, I don't need an enema, Matron." I whined lying naked under the sheet.
"Don't be difficult, boy; your Uncle Carl ordered this clyster for you and he knows best." she said, taking the pillow from under my head and flipping the sheet back to expose my naked body once again. "Keep your knees up to your chin, boy." she ordered, while also lifting then up and slipping the pillow under my hips. After pushing my boy nuts aside and rubbing some lubricant on my upturned hole she then stuck the nozzle deep into me and opened the valve. While she held the hose in place the soapy water soon filled me to near busting, after which she removed the tube and let my legs down. Then she rubbed my distended tummy for several minutes before permitting me to go to the toilet. She was sitting on a my bed when I returned and ordered me to lie across her lap so that she could put some salve on the cane marks. She finished up with a couple of love pats and a "Good night, boy." and left putting out the light.
I was still awake when Uncle Carl returned, showered and got into bed. "Good night." I said.
"Come here, lad." he replied and I went to his bed for the night. It was so wonderful to be cuddled up like spoons all night after he had fucked me again. Like Peter Pan, I never, ever want to grow up!
© Copyright A.I.L., September 10, 1997
* Max Ernest: The Virgin spanking the Infant Jesus before three witness: A.B., P.E. and the artist, 1926.
There are several images of this picture available. I think the best is at: http://www.duke.edu/web/lit132/spanking.html There is an image and a discussion about it at http://www.westmont.edu/departments/english/docs/modernism/mcdermott/
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Check the authors' index for more of my stories here on in Nifty. Also, my web sites at: http://www.asstr.org/~YLeeCoyote/ and Goldilocks stories at: http://www.geocities.com/goldilocks1938/
Your comments are appreciated. YLeeCoyote@Lycosmail.com
Last updated: April 25, 2002