takemypantsoff@hotmail.co.uk - I hope you like my story - love to hear from you

My mother phoned me the other day and yesterday the postman brought her letter containing the article she had clipped from the local newspaper. Mad Wild was dead.  The news saddened me, Michael Arthur Dawson (MAD) Wild had been a major influence in my early life, he had been the headmaster of the school I attended from the age of eleven until I left for university at eighteen.  The man had made a significant impression on me, in more ways than one, and the world would not be the same without him.

Can you imagine what his parents were thinking when they gave their infant son names which spelt the word mad ?  Not the kindest way to bring a newborn child into the world. But might you not think having been burdened with such initials the owner would avoid their use ?  Not our headmaster who always signed himself M A D Wild. The surname itself implying ferocity and an untamed countenance should have been enough but coupled with such unfortunate initials helped to make my headmaster a legend in his own time.  Some say he was related to Oscar Wild the playwright, something he neither confirmed n or denied and to this day it remains an enigma.  I find myself smiling at the use of that word - enigma - there was another area of Mad Wild's headmastership that remained for me enigmatic, almost until the time I was about to leave.  But more of that later.

If Mad Wild was indeed related to Oscar Wild he had inherited his sharp wit and ability to use words.  There were two words I will always associate him with, one is zero and the other tolerance.  Writing now in t he first decade of the twenty-first century zero tolerance is a cliché only too familiar but back in the late seventh decade of the twentieth century it was unique to Mad Wild. If you ask me he actually invented the expression and others simply stole it from him.  It's use in our school meant that nobody but nobody was allowed to misbehave in class without facing the terrifying prospect of being placed on Headmaster's Report. Of course there were those who foolishly dared to challenge this zero tolerance policy, perhaps they became inflicted with a kamikaze virus or they saw the award as a badge of honour and actually sought out the small postcard size death warrant known as the Headmaster's Report.

Everyone k new how the system worked, a least we thought we did.  A teacher placing a boy on Headmaster's Report simply had to fill in the fewest of details: name - teachers signature - date and time, time being of great importance.  The recipient had just two minutes, one hundred and twenty seconds, in which to report to the headmaster's office.  One hundred and twenty-one seconds or more and the punishment would be doubled.  No matter what he was doing Mad Wild would stop in order to deal with the unfortunate wretch, if he were out then the deputy would take over. It was then a case of three strokes of the cane after which Mad Wild would add his signature to the card and a second time be entered.  The boy had another two minutes, one hundred and twenty seconds, in which to return to his class and hand the card to the teacher who had originally issued it.  Take more than two minutes and it was back to Mad Wild for a second dose of the cane.

It was understood that Mad Wild never lectured a boy sent to him on Headmaster's report and never ever questioned the reason.  The was no discussion, no right of appeal just whack-whack-whack then back to class. No time allowed to go to the washroom and clear away any tear stains, no time to gingerly inspect one's behind.  The thinking was that by ensuring such a swift delivery of the punishment and return of the offended to his class every other boy in that class would be in awe and shock, so being reminded to be on his very, very best behavior.

I knew of boys who had been placed on headmaster's Report but did not personally know anyone who had received the little white card of death, none of my friends or classmates had suffered such a fate. Therefore, the finer details of what took place behind Mad Wild's closed office door remained in part a mystery.

The late Michael Arthur Dawson Wild ran a bloody good school and I have much to be grateful to him for.  Without question I benefited from the regime he headed, even if I say so myself the grades I achieved at GCE O Level were excellent.  In the sixth form I continued to do well.  Shortly after my eighteenth birthday I was accepted, subject to my A level grades, at The Royal Vetinary School just outside London.  Of course I had to work hard but the grades were just a formality so when I left school that summer I was going to train to become a vet. My parents who were ordinary working people were so proud of me.

There was just one thing about school that presented itself as a problem to me, everyone in the sixth form had to take General Studies as an additional A Level subject and this was a total waste of time that got in the way of more serious subjects.  Throughout t he lower sixth I tolerated it then in the January of the upper sixth two friends and I declared open revolt.  The teacher who had previously taken us for General Studies retired and was replaced by a spotty weed no more than five years older than we were.  He could not teach to save his life, had a squeaky voice and a personality like a leaf of limp lettuce.   We just started to boycott his lessons then one day he came to find us, not difficult as we weren't hiding just drinking coffee in the sixth form common room.

"Why aren't you in my lesson ?"  He squeaked.  "I am supposed to be teaching you !"

"That's a laugh,"  I scoffed in reply, "you couldn't teach an incontinent dog with diarrhea how to shit !"

My two friends started to laugh and I was pleased with the skillful wit I had managed to display.

"More like he doesn't have the ability to teach a whore how to drop her draws,"  Michael added.

Good, but not as clever as that I had said.  The teacher, you know I can not remember his name, went white.

"I'll tell you something mate,"  Carl added, "if only you had a dick you could become a wanker instead of trying to waste our time. Now go away and let us drink our coffee in peace."

That was too much for him, he turned on his heels and left.  We fell about ourselves laughing as we visualised him running down the corridor crying like a first former who had just pissed his pants. But it wasn't long before he returned, he was still white but now this was a white of anger and also white were the three small pieces of card he handed to us.  One for Michael, one for Carl and one for myself. Shit !  He had placed us on Headmaster's Report. This time that wet drip of an apology for a teacher left even more quickly than he had before.  Our three jaws dropped in astonishment at what had just taken place.

"Tear them up and chuck 'em in the bin,"  Carl suggested.

"I don't think we should do that,"  I counseled.

"What ever t he clock is running,"  Michael looked at his watch.

He was right, we had best make our way to Mad Wild's office

"He won't cane us, not three members of the upper sixth"

I was not sure.  "Perhaps we should go and apologise,"  I suggested.

"Apologise ?  To that wanker ?  No way !"

We made our way to Mad Wild's room with less than twenty seconds to spare. Each one of us was nervous but surely Wild would not cane three members of the upper sixth.

Michael Arthur Dawson Wild looked at the three white cards we handed to him.  He made no comment and showed no emotion, that was a bad sign.  We needed him to say something so we could try to explain and avoid the statutory consequences of being placed on Headmaster's Report.

"Sir,"  I began.  

Wild held up his hand to silence me.  He was actually going to cane us !  He was going to go through the system, our age and seniority in the school were of no consequence.

Not  a word was spoken as Mad Wild went to a large upright cupboard in the corner of the room, opened the door and took out a long thin rattan punishment cane. My heart sank and my stomach knotted.  The three of us looked at one another, silent glances saying so much.  We waited for Wild to speak but the silence continued.

It was Carl who broke the silence saying, "I'll go first."

Wild nodded approval and pointed to a leather chair.  Carl stepped towards it and moved to bend forwards ready to take his punishment.  His progress was halted by Wild and the first words he had spoken since we entered his office.  Six words he said, that was all.  Six terrible words whose meaning could not be considered in any way ambiguous and whose appalling consequences meant a fearful increase in the level of punishment we each were to receive.

"Take your trousers and underpants off !"

Carl halted, his body froze as the words filled his mind.  Wild was waiting, cane in his hand.  My eyes were fixed on him, the knot in my stomach strangled tighter and my heart was beating so fast I wonder it did not burst.  This was terrible, absolutely terrible.

It would have taken no more than a few short seconds, although it appeared to me an age, before Carl realising he could do nothing but comply with the order unfastened his trousers and let them fall to the floor.  The tail of his white shirt fell down to cover his underpants but as he moved his hands to slide them into the elastic waist the shirt lifted to reveal a pair of green checked briefs.  I was taking in every detail of what was happening and decided there and then that I would be the next in line to receive punishment.  It was terrible having to watch Carl be caned as I waited for my turn to come, I could not possibly stand while the same thing happened to Michael.  I spared no thought for my friend who would have to do just that, all I wanted was for my own personal ordeal to be over.

Carl was in position resting his hands on the leather seat of the chair.  Wild lifted his shirt, folding it back and revealing two waiting arse cheeks.  I had time to study their contour and observe how Carl's balls were hanging down between them. Were the vision placed in a different scenario I would probably have stopped to consider how fine Carl looked but these obvious thoughts did not form in my mind.

Wild poked Carl's left buttock three times with the tip of the cane then positioned it squarely across both cheeks as he prepared to take aim.

"Three,"  Wild said. "Ready ?"

"Yes Sir."

The cane lifted up high into the air, I followed its arc first away from my friend the rapidly down as the terrible swishing sound turned into a loud crack of rattan on naked flesh.  That crack echoed about the room and had not died away before the swishing began again. The second crack brought a gasp from my friend indicating just how much pain was surging through his body.  God this was surreal.  What kind of agony was Carl experiencing ?  Crack !  Number three and for Carl at least it was over. Now it was my turn.

I glanced at Michael and mentally told him that I would go next.  Carl stood up and by instinct placed his hands on his buttocks in an attempt to sooth the pain.  In so doing he obscured my view, I was curious to see just how red the cane lines were on his behind.  My body was poised to step forward and take his place but I wanted quick sight of my friend's wounded and naked backside before taking my own punishment.  Strange but within all that was happening my curiosity was aroused.

"Next,"  Wild said slowly and firmly but quietly.

Carl covered his naked behind but not before I had seen the results of his caning and I stepped to take his place in front of the chair. I could smell the leather, I can still smell the leather now as I am writing all these years later. It does not take much activation of my memory to also remember the excruciating pain I was about to receive.  My hands were shaking as I fumbled to release my trousers. As they fell to the floor my heart pounded even faster.  If there was such a thing as a god i prayed for two things:  that it would all be over quickly and that the pain would not be more than I could bear.  Behind me I sensed Mad Wild waiting and I sensed my two friends watching, Carl now filled with pain but relieved it was over, Michael filled with fear.   Gritting my teeth I pushed down my pants and moved into position.

I am just a little shy and felt embarrassed at bearing my naked arse to my two friends.  But if it meant I could be spared the caning I would have more than willingly bared it to the whole school.  I took a deep breath and willed the next few moments to be over. My wishes did not come true, it took hours and the pain was a thousand times greater than I had dared to anticipate. Strange though it may now sound as I write down my story and you perhaps read it, there was or at least there is now a different element.  From a retrospective viewpoint there was contained within my suffering that which I can best describe as erotic, dare I even hint at pleasure ?  But to continue.........

I could sense a cool breeze of air crossing my naked backside.  My eyes were closed, had they been open all I would have been able to see would have been the leather seat of the chair yet in the darkness I could see everything taking place behind me.  It was as if I were detached from myself and hovering outside my body.  I saw Carl, his eyes fixed on my naked behind and waiting to see happen to me what had so recently just happened to him.  I saw Michael mesmerised in fear as the second of is friends prepared to receive the result of a Headmaster's Report. And I saw Mad Wild as he fixed his eyes on my behind measuring the place where he would land the cane.  Yes, I knew exactly everything that was taking place.

My mind began to wander across the various aspects of the scene then jerked back to reality as the swishing sound of the cane penetrated my dream. I heard the crack but felt nothing of the impact, at least not for a brief time.  Perhaps this wasn't going to be so bad after all. But then the pain tore into me, it was as if someone had laid a red hot line of fire across my buttocks.  I made to cry out but checked myself.

I was instantly at the centre of that pain, everything else in my world was gone and so I heard only the final part of the last moment of the terrible swish before a second agony, one even greater than the first, imprinted itself on my arse cheeks. Christ how that hurt.  I remember thinking how the wind is measured on the Beaufort scale and the power of earthquakes on the Richter Scale.  What system of measurement is used to record the strength of a caning on one's bare arse ?  The Wild Scale ? What ever it is that caning was going way off the scale. 

The sound again, the terrible whoosh as air was forced out of the path of the descending rattan cane.  This time the sound lasted longer, much longer than before and I wondered how long it would be before the end came. When it did end I swear I felt the pain ahead of the crack as he cane met my bottom for the final time. Although I was able to keep silent inside me I was screaming.  Fucking hell that caning hurt more than anything i ad before experienced or conceived of in my most feared nightmare but now it was over.  Thank god for that.

I remained bent over the leather chair gasping in a few deep breaths of air as I prepared myself to stand upright again then cover my wounded arse with my underpants and trousers. As I did this the strangest sensation crept over me, my knotted stomach released then tightened in a single grip of anticipation. What was this all about ? My heart was still beating rapidly but the thump was no longer in fear but of something new, exciting and erotic. Between my legs I was aware of a heaviness in my balls and a gradual stiffening of my cock.  What the fuck was happening ? The sensation was detracting from the throbbing in my backside, god I was developing a stiffy !  Quickly I pulled up my pants and then my trousers in a frantic effort to cover up all that was happening.  Nobody noticed, I am sure of that.

Returning to my place with Carl and Michael I smiled at each of my two friends. Although I was not wishing the pain upon him I knew I was now going to enjoy watching Michael receive his three strokes. 

"Next," Mad Wild was indicating it was now time for Michael to bare his arse and receive his punishment.

Michael was an athletic youth, a keen sportsman and member of several school teams.  He was very good looking and I found myself then wishing the order were for him to strip one hundred percent bollock naked and not to simply bare his arse. My eyes were fascinated as he undid his trousers then, unlike Carl and I who ad simply let them drop then pulled down our underpants Michael held his trousers by the waist and gripping his underwear simultaneously pulled everything down in one go.  he did not wait for Wild to lift his shirt but hoisted i up his back before bending over the green leather chair.

My cock was now stiff and pressing its warm haft against my lower abdomen.  The sight of Michael's bare arse and my bursting erection helped to dull the pain from my own backside. No, it wasn't quite like that.   The three lines of pain stretching over my arse cheeks were now enhancing the erotic experience of seeing Michael's naked arse there before me. What an arse it was: beautiful, fantastic, tight and muscular.  I was willing Wild to start the punishment, I wanted to see that arse receive its strokes of the cane just as Carl and I had.

In the same way as he had earlier with Carl and I, Wild rested the cane on my friend's buttocks in preparation for where he would set down its stinging fire.  My own eyes were riveted on it, totally fixed. Michael instinctively pinched his buttocks together forming dimples in the sides of his hips.  Come along Wild get on with it, I want to see him be caned !

I did not let my eyes follow the cane as it lifted up but instead kept them squarely focused on my friend's arse. My ears listened intensively for the swishing sound.  Come along Wild hurry up. I did not have to wait for too long before the cane sped down flashing through the air and cracking on Michael's poor waiting arse. The sound was simultaneous with the visual impact and  I noticed how the cane pressed down into the flesh forming a small thin valley across the two buttocks and lifted muscled flesh into rises on either side. Wild left the cane there in position momentarily before raising it in preparation for a second stroke. I could see a distinctively different tone of flesh marking the impact. Wonderful.  My cock leaked a tiny drop of precum and twitched inside my underpants.

The attention I was giving to my friend's arse did not lessen, it was still number one in my mind and I just about had my cock under control. Michael continued to pinch his are cheeks together, muscles tight and not at all relaxed by that first stroke. Again the swishing of the cane through the air, my eyes sought out where it would land and pondered how accurate our Headmaster was with his aim. He was very accurate, landing the cane no more than a quarter of an inch below the place where number one had impacted.  Lift it up, I said silently to myself, I want to see what kind of a mark it has made.

Magnificent ! A second welt perfectly parallel to the first. What that how it was with the pattern on my own arse ?  I guessed it probably was but the stinging pain was an all over sensation and not divided neatly into three.  When I got home I would examine my arse in a mirror.  Perhaps the three of us could compare notes. Perhaps the three of us could examine one another. That would be good !

My cock twitched another drop of precum.

Swish, that penultimate sound indicating this particular session of the Headmaster's report was drawing to a close.  If only there were more of us waiting to receive their three strokes of the cane.  If only there were more naked arses I could observe.

Crack !  That was it.  the three of us had received our punishment.  Michael covered his are as quickly as he had uncovered it and my cock began to settle into a more normal state.

Wild returned the cane to its resting place in the cupboard then turned his attention to the three white pieces of card on his desk.  he signed each one and entered a time before handing them back to us.  the race was now on for we three to return to class within the prescribed two minutes.  I thought of delaying and forcing a return to Mad Wild's office for a second three strokes but i could not be so cruel to my friends no matter how much I desired to see their naked arses receive an additional spanking and of course such action would involve a further caning for myself.  As such thoughts turned in my brain I reprimanded myself for their folly and put further stroked of the cane out of my mind.

The concentration now for us all was to return to the General studies class well within the allowed two minutes, it was certain our teacher would have no hesitation in returning us to Mad Wild were we too late for his liking.  we did exchange a few words, no a lot of words, during our dash along the corridor but it was not a reasoned discussion just a spontaneous outburst of anger directed towards our general Studies teacher combined with a series of observations on the pain across our respective backsides.  Nobody had any bad feelings to express towards Mr Michael Arthur Dawson Wild, the respect in which we all held him had not changed.

Back in the classroom an atmosphere of stunned silence hung in the air, everyone was bursting to fire questions at us but nobody dare say anything.  The teacher, I do wish I could remember his name, had told the other members of the class that he had placed three members of the upper sixth on Headmaster's Report.  What kind of result he expected can only be guessed at but the reality was it made him the most hated person in the school. The hate began there in that genera Studies class then spread like a cancer firstly through the rest of the sixth form, down into the fifth form, the fourth form and ultimately to the smallest boy in the first year.  Carl, Michael and I became heroes. I can not speak for the teaching staff but from the odd word spoken to us or rumors of overheard conversation between teachers I believe our general studies teacher lost any credibility he may have had among his colleagues.

I do wish I could remember that wimp's name, he left six weeks later - it was said he had changed career to work as an income tax inspector or some other vermin-like profession. Mad Wild himself took over our General Studies and suddenly the subject became interesting, I am pleased to say I gained an "A" grade in the examination.  Yes, I did go off to vetinary school and now I have my own small animal practice in leafy Surrey just outside London where I can chare what ever I like to the wealthy pet-loving residents.  I am still, after all these years, in contact with both Michael and Carl.  Carl entered the diplomatic service and is an official at Her Britannic Majesty's embassy in Moscow. Michael became a stoke broker and is wealthy beyond the dreams of Avarice. (You should see the car he drives !) He and I are still very close friends as well as being business partners in a small venture we run outside our day-to-day careers. We never did inspect one another's backsides, at least not after the Headmaster's report caning but that's another story.

Michael Arthur Dawson wild has to be one of the very best headmasters the British school system has ever known, we need an army of his like in the sad schools our government attempts to take pride in today. We need to bring back discipline and to have Wild's system of Headmaster's Report in every school.  If I had to go to school today I doubt I would gain the barest of qualifications and could say the same for everyone in that school Wild ran.  As the ears have gone by I have come to realise just how much I owe to him and now the great man is dead ! 

When I left school Wild added me to his list of those he sent a special newsletter t o each summer. Every member of the sixth form every years was added to this ever growing correspondence list, and the envelope was always addressed in his own hand. Can you imagine any headmaster in the apologies for schools today doing such a thing ?  When I graduated as a vetinary surgeon Wild wrote me a wonderful letter of congratulation and then when he retired he moved all of us who were on his newsletter mailing list to his christmas card list, god there must have been hundreds- thousands of us. What a man !  No mention was ever made of the day when Carl, Michael and I were placed on Headmaster's report, if you ask me he had forgotten all about it before the post caning two minutes were up.  I, however, never forgot the day I was placed on Headmaster's Report and have never forgiven that idiot general studies teacher, I do wish I could remember his name.

Michael, Carl and I never did get to examine one another's backsides although I twisted and turned in front of a mirror that evening to see the damage I had suffered.  Other friends in the sixth form diplomatically set aside the events and said no more.  So that was that, at least it was for a few years.

I had recently graduated and had been let loose on an unsuspecting animal population when Michael and I met up for a drink.  One drink turned into two and two in to several.  We were having a great night together.  It was Michael who brought the subject up as we laughed over the reminiscence of being on Headmaster's Report.  Alcohol has clouded my memory so I can not tell you if it was Michael or myself who first confessed to the erotic feelings experienced during the caning, the important thing is we both had felt the same.

"What a shame there is no longer any prospect of having one's arse smacked,"  Michael sighed.

So we had both found an additional enjoyment in the session.

"Oh to be eighteen again."

"I'm quite happy being twenty-six,"  I smiled.

"But you can't get your bum smacked when you are twenty-six like you could when you are eighteen," Michael observed. "I'd love to have my bum smacked again although perhaps not quite so hard.  Say like you got when you were in the more junior forms of the school, the slipper perhaps."

Shit, if my friend wanted his arse smacking then I wanted to watch !  Through the alcohol induced world a thought appeared in my mind like a specter looking out of the mist.

"I'll do it for you."

"What ?"

"I'll punish you if you like, I'll slipper you. Did you ever get slippered at school ?"

"A couple of time in games."  I think my friend was astonished by my offer but quickly responded.  "I'd quite like that, no time like the present I've got a pair of tennis shoes at home, use one of them."

Yes, I did slipper my friend that night and yes in return he slippered me.  That was the first of many fun spanking sessions we have enjoyed, so many indeed that I can not remember them all.  Then came along the Internet.

The Internet has brought society many tings among which is a new wave of sexual liberation and the ability o find others of like mind with whom to share one's harmless adult fantasies and fetishes.  It was Michael who realised the potential within it and saw a way for us both to make some money. (Not that he needed any more money.)  That was the start of the Swish crack Club.

When I started to write down my story and tell of the Headmaster's Report I had intended to conclude the account at te point where the three of us returned to the General Studies class, I did not expect to be here continuing to explain about Michael, myself and the Swish Crack Club. Do you believe in coincidence ? For it is a coincidence that has required the addition of this final chapter.

So I guess I had best tell you something about the Swish crack Club.  Michael and I started this as an on-line forum for guys to share their school memories of corporal punishment. We set it up as a subscription site and were inundated with hundreds of applications to join. As well as those who had experienced corporal punishment first hand there were those of a younger age and who had been at school after the cane was phased out of education who were curious to know what it was like. neither of us ever sat down to record our personal memories of the day we were placed on Headmaster's report, that is until now. The site quickly expanded to include members fantasy writing and then a service offering the chance to set up personal profiles. This lead to guys meeting up to spank one another's arses, the advent of the digital camera and camorder allowed the site to publish pictures and video footage of their efforts. We were flooded with material from al over the world and the income from the site gave a nice little side earning although the salary Michael was earning must have made it to him like small pocket change.  Then we started the club nights.

Four spanking parties a year are held in London, Manchester, New York, San Francisco and Berlin. Michael has plans to soon open in Sydney, Australia.  We hire a gay bar for the parties and charge £50 a ticket, restricting admission to one hundred guys per event.  Do the Maths and you calculate how two thousand tickets are sold each year and at £50 a time that's one hundred grand of which the majority is profit !  Neither of us will ever give up the day jobs but Club Swish crack now takes up a lot of our spare time.  We still spank each other on a regular basis, usually with the slipper, both at club meetings and in private sessions.

The sad death of Mad Wild prompted me to record for posterity his system of Headmaster's Report.  I had thought to add it to the Club Swish crack website but hen came the coincidence. I failed to mention in my list of club activities that Michael and I offer personal and private spanking sessions for club members.  Michael; has a playroom in his home set up with some totally amazing equipment which we both use on willing spankees. Usually the uptake is from those who are curious, new to the sport or perhaps too shy to come to a full club meting. Following my mother's telephone call and her letter with the press cutting I wrote the first part of this autobiography, it was the e-mail that demanded I continue to record these later events.

It was early Sunday morning, I was awake but still in bed when Michael called me. He was bursting with excitement.  "Go to your PC," he demanded, "log into the site and look up the profile of Richard Minton.  When you've done that call me back."

Richard Minton ?  Why was that name familiar ?  We have twelve thousand profile members currently on Club Swish Crack, perhaps I had come across this particular profile before.  Most members invent a nick name like Spankmyarse or Ben Meover, only a tiny percentage are either bold enough or stupid enough to use their real name.  Richard Minton sounded like one of them.  Richard Minton ?  Of course !  Could it be ?  My blood an cold. Ice cold.

In an instant I was out of bed and at my PC. Moments later I had the site up and typed the name Richard Minton into a profile search.  He had a face pic on the profile. Was it him ?  It was !  There he was, older now but no doubt about it and then I remembered the name. Richard Minton the bastard who had placed my friends and I on Headmaster's Report.  Richard Minton, yes of course that was his name ! And god the profile had him listed as living in South London.  I shivered as if someone had just walked over my grave. Richard Minton, Mr Minton our General Studies teacher.

The hone rang, it was Michael.  "Do you reconise him ?"


"What do you think ?"

"What do I think ? I think it is an amazing coincidence that he should turn up on our website.  Delete it, we don't want him as a member of Club swish Crack."

"Believe me we do," Michael contradicted. "We most certainly do. What are you doing this afternoon ?  You've not heard the best bit yet."

"Is there a best bit."

"Absolutely ! Abso-fucking-lutely ! our former General Studies teacher, if my memory serves me right a teacher who you claimed could not teach an incontinent dog with dihorea how to shit, has requested a personal, private spanking session !"

"No way !"  I was astonished.  "You sure ?"

"Of course I am sure,"  Michael giggled trying hard to contain himself.  "I've spoken to him on the telephone, the idiot is well up for it and I have promised him the thrashing of his life. The twat was really excited about it."

I was slightly lost for words, at least for a second or two

"You still there ?"


"I've placed him on Headmaster's Report, told him that as he had been such a bad boy there would be two of us to cane him."

"What did he say to that ?"

"He was excited, the fool !  he said he had seen our pictures on the website ad would look forward to meeting us.  He did not recgnise us ! Can you believe that ?"


"So are you up for caning him ?"

"Absolutely ! When ?"

"I've booked him into the playroom for this afternoon, three o'clock. You are free aren't you ?"

"Definitely.  I've just got this story I have been writing for the website to finish, let me type it up and I'll be straight over."

takemypantsoff@hotmail.co.uk - I hope you like my story - love to hear from you