Places that are unfamiliar to you often heighten an experience with the flavour of the 'exotic', and to a town boy like me a farm seemed a fascinatingly strange world to all my senses. Thus alert and adjusting to the sights, sounds, smells and other sensations of the animal world of agricultural, the addition of unusual behaviour amongst those you know, and unexpected behaviour from those you don't, makes a recipe whose taste is not quickly forgotten. And so it is that I can recount how I returned to corporal punishment fifteen years after I left school, and did so at the hands of those barely old enough to have left school themselves. I hope you can enjoy my memories of this May night, and if you do, or if you have stories of other young men acting as masters to older guys, then please email Simon (Yorkshireman) at mailto:firstname.lastname@example.org OR mailto:email@example.com
I had navigated on car rallies for Francis ('Fran' to his mates) several times before, and usually we met at the start of each event. However this particular Rally started in Exeter and it was agreed that I should travel to Fran's North Devon farm on the Saturday afternoon before this event.
Fran was no real physical beauty, being shorter than I, thicker set, and having slightly weather-beaten features. But he was also fitter than me, better kept, very masculine, and at 25years old some five years my junior. Of course I had considered whether I found him sexy or not, but I didn't spend too long on this because he had many girlfriends, and was a very active member of a thoroughly heterosexual farming community lifestyle. We got on well, but I never thought about having sex with him, and certainly did not expect him to want sex with me.
On the Saturday afternoon I drove into the depths of North Devon where Fran lived alone on his large farm, this being one of three owned by the family business in the area. Farms are odd places and I found myself both fascinated and uneasy about the sights, sounds and smells that I took in as we drunk tea and chatted in the farm kitchen. Fran had wanted me to come over and finish preparing the car, but I found the car ready to go because the service crew had been there all morning.
Once I had unpacked and settled, Fran said that he had to go and finish the milking, and I eagerly accompanied him into the strange new world of the milking parlour. The smell first greeted my senses; a strange cocktail of sweet odours from manure, cows breath, and warm milk. After the smell came ringing in the sound; the gentle mooing that even to my unfamiliar ears seemed to indicate contentment, plus the occasional tap of hoof on concrete floor, or metallic crash of banged metal, and then the whirring and sucking noises of all the milking apparatus. My eyes then had to comprehend the sights, and I found it all quite exotic and later realised that I was sensing it as erotic too. The sexual alertness became clear when in amongst the shadows and gloom of that busy parlour, between the bovine buttocks arranged in batteries, my eyes focussed on a stunning boy.
Fran introduced me to Tim and I think my tongue must have been hanging out because I found it very difficult to get out the simplest words: "Hi, I'm Simon". Here was Michaelangelo's "David" in the flesh, or rather in a dark blue boiler suit that needed a wash. But better than the statue, this 'David' was that delicious short-lived stage that a youth sometimes reaches when he has attained the physical size of a full man, but before the 'boy' has fully matured into that larger frame. Tim was like the newly opened flower bud whose petals are still soft with newness, firm against the breeze, and a little over-coloured in the hours before the spring sun bleaches them to match the proper colour of all the other blossoms on the tree.
Six foot two, firm, and slender, these facts stated his manhood, but his smooth hairless skin and gangliness of youth belied the adult status and suggested the innocence and vulnerability of a fourteen-year-old. Here was an eighteen-year-old whose sexiness needed no thought or analysis by me. As Tim stood there in that frame hugging boiler suit I found myself consciously admiring what flesh I could see on his exposed arms and gaping out of the unbuttoned opening of his boiler suit top. But I also fantasised about what lay beneath that blue denim and I speculated as to whether he wore pants underneath his overalls.
I tried to build a mental picture of Tim stripped, but without looking at the parts in question. As I struggled his green eyes engaged mine and they drilled deep into the part of me that shamelessly and for the first time ever was trying to shout "I want you badly". My conscious self was well practised at disguising such lustful desires, but even it struggled to keep this secret within me. My heart raced as I grappled with the first ever undeniable wish to have sex with another man, and lifting the weight of oppression from years of denial now made it hard to carry on the pretence of not being sexually interested. Before Tim turned away from me his face lit up, his eyes widened, his mouth stretched, and I felt sure a knowing smile filled that visage. Then when he began to walk away there seemed to be a lovely little twitch that alerted me to his wonderful bottom. Taken together these two gestures seemed to indicate that he had recorded my true feelings, even before I had registered them myself.
Whilst Tim attached the milking apparatus to the last few cows, Fran called me over to help him evacuate the other cows from the parlour. Some of the cows seemed a little stupid so he urged them on with a long length of rubber tube that was probably hydraulic hose. He whacked the cows across the buttocks and they responded immediately and I marvelled at this effect. I found myself fascinated. "Doesn't that hurt?" I heard a voice asking and suddenly realised that it was spoken from my mouth. "Why don't you try it out?" Fran said. In response I made towards him as though to take the hose off him so that I could whack one of the cows. "No, no, no" Fran said, "If you want to know, you'll have to FEEL what it's like." "Oh, I couldn't do that" I replied "You'd probably enjoy whacking me" "Yes I would, but you'd probably enjoy it too, you pervert."
Suddenly the emotions burst within me like lemonade bubbling out of the top of a bottle when it its opened just after being thoroughly shaken. My senses were working overtime to deal with the strangeness of this place; my dormant sexuality had been awoken rudely from its long sleep; my interest in corporal punishment was released from its years of suppression. All these things caused arousal and I recognised the chance to have an interesting experience. My steps towards receiving that hurtful hose were therefore only slightly hesitant and I stepped forward, bent over, and managed to drop my trousers and prepare to be whacked. Fran did not pause and landed a couple of good cracks onto my underpants before a bellowing cow distracted him and he went away. Tim came over at that moment, and as that very same smile reclaimed his cute face, he remarked "very nice" and then pulled my trousers up and patted me on the bum to send me on my way.
After a few minutes Fran and Tim had got all the cows sorted out and they returned to the parlour chatting and joking about my whacking. To save face I remarked "Didn't hurt a bit, only let you do it to keep you happy." Almost together they said "If you really want to make us happy, let us do it properly" "That's fine by me" I said bravely "how about later this evening." They laughed loudly as they responded "Okay, we'll sit on it till then, but you sure as hell won't sit on it afterwards."
The Rally car had to be taken to Exeter for pre-event scrutineering and registration, and we were to meet the service crew there at five o'clock along with the other rally car in our team. As we drove down the lanes from North Devon on the May afternoon it was obvious that there were a couple of problems with the car. Our Twin Cam Escort had an engine misfire, a graunchy third gear, and flickering electrics. Fran's face looked serious and I sensed annoyance in him by the overly aggressive manner in which he drove; gone was the compassion and tenderness that he usually employed even when on the limit.
Fran relaxed a little when on arrival he immediately found our service crew, and was able to set them to work on the repairs. Our misfire was quickly cured by change of plugs and adjustments to timing and carbs. The gearbox was more of a worry and the crew soon had the car on ramps for investigation. Their efforts were cut short as our scheduled scrutineering time arrived. We soon found that the electrical problem had not been solved and our car failed scrutineering on its headlamps. We could cure that, but more worrying was the scutineer's report that our wheels and tyres were illegal under the regulations, and we would need to replace tyres, or wheels, or both, or widen the arches. There was time to put right these faults and resubmit, and hopefully time after that to sort out the gearbox, but it was going to be a long night. After some discussion our service crew assured us that they could sort it all out and they encouraged us to return to the farm using one of their own cars.
We arrived back at the farm in the warm evening sunshine at about eight o'clock. On the way Fran talked about a number of things but somehow got around to talking about how his father had beaten him with a leather strap. Although he was now 25years old, it was only a couple of years since the last time he bent his loins to take leather. He admitted that the belting his father gave him was strangely enjoyable particularly just before and also afterwards, though it always hurt like hell at the time. The last few beltings had actually been at his own wish though he had allowed his father to believe that these were necessary punishments. However, that was all over now and he thought that it was time he used the belt on other people instead; he meant by this that he would belt his own children when old enough, but something else he said suggested that he might have belted Tim.
As we approached the farm Fran was annoyed to find a couple of loose cows close to the farm house and some more heading towards it. A couple of gates had been left open and he blamed Tim for being careless. He strode into the milking parlour already bellowing at Tim before he'd even caught sight of him. Tim was busy hosing down the last of the slurry when we burst in and startled him. "I'll dock your bloody money, you useless lanky wanker" Fran exploded. With more despair evident than remorse, Tim retorted: "But it's Saturday night and I'm going out with the boys from Barnstaple" Fran countered: "Don't care if it's bloody Christmas, your bum chums will find you ten pound short this week." "For God's sake Fran, you've already docked me twenty quid for that window which I didn't break. And you've asked me to stay with that new calf tonight and I won't get overtime for it."
I tried to say: "Give him a break." But somehow it came out as: "Give him a belt." Corporal punishment it seems was on my mind. "Oh no, not that again" Tim said, and turning to me he added: "just because you like it doesn't mean that I do." Hastily I tried to correct my mistake and to get back onside with Tim: "I didn't mean 'belt' I meant 'break': give you a BREAK" "I rather like the word 'belt'" said Fran, and then asked Tim: "Do you want to save some money?" Tim replied, just a little too keenly I thought: "Here we go again, a bash or some cash."
With a few gestures from Fran I suddenly found myself having to prepare the lad for a beating, and prised his boiler suit off his shoulders and pushed it down to his ankles. "You'll pay for this" said Tim as he stood there pale and naked, his bottom only just covered by a minute pair of pale yellow briefs whose colour almost matched his creamy smooth flesh. Tim bent forward and reached down to grab his own ankles, and as he did so Fran grabbed at his waistband for the belt. "Damn, I don't have a belt on these trousers. Fetch me the rubber hose" Fran was plainly cross and I strode across the floor to retrieve this hose. "I meant Tim to fetch it" he insisted, but Tim was plainly unable to move and I was almost there by the time he said this.
As that rubber tore into those tiny trunks I stood spellbound watching the twitching of that yellow cotton as it tried to avoid that tubing. I also watched the quivering of those young buttocks, so different to the cows' bums that I had earlier seen take a bashing with that same pipe. Part of me wanted those trunks off so that I could see the beauty of that pale posterior in all its glory and also satisfy my curiosity as to whether it was turning pink. But the rest of me wanted to give him as much protection as possible and I was ready to defend his right to wear pants against the punishment. I switched my gaze to his face and saw that he grimaced as each THWACK struck home, but that in between he appeared to relax so much that his face almost smiled. His face fascinated me and I found myself wanting to change places with him so that I would know what it felt like.
After ten strokes Fran stopped. "Do I get the window money back as well?" Tim remarked scornfully. "Oh you're bloody hopeless. I'm wasting my time trying to thrash you. Just make sure that you are back by midnight." A huge smile once more beamed across that boyish face as he let go his ankles and whilst still bent over started to undo his bootlaces. I rushed over to him and supported him whilst he took one boot off and then the other. He tried to kick off his boiler suit but it was stuck so I bent down to ease it over his ankles. As I did so my eyes were on a level with his trunks and though I tried not to look I was aware that these were filled with an erection. I wanted to release that prisoner and he knew it. "Go ahead" he said, but it was only on the third time of saying it that I fought back the resistance within me and let the desire win. Instantly his young cock shot towards my face and I backed away being both unfamiliar with such an object and also fearing that it might poke me in the eye.
Tim laughed and holding onto me he slid everything off leaving just his neck chain on. "I can't get this off" he said and indicated that I should help. I stood behind him and went to undo the fastening around his neck. In doing this I felt heat radiating from his body and beauty emanating everywhere from that superb nude rear. But Tim had moved the chain fastening around to his front, so he turned to face me and I found my eyes filled with the most perfect form of young male that I was ever likely to see. As I tried to concentrate on Tim's necklace his proud cock stood in my way, literally. Tim pushed me away laughing as he did so and told me to grab the water hose that he had been using earlier. "Cool me off, Sir" Tim said and as I sprayed the cold water all over his nude adolescence, I realised that he had been playing with me all the time. Both Fran and I were held in the palm of his hand, and I found myself loving it almost as much as he did.
The cold water did little to cool this character, and with another huge grin aimed at me and those green lasers locked right into my soul he continued his conquest of me. He grabbed part of the hosepipe and pulled it around so that it unbalanced me and I half stumbled. With that he regained the hosepipe and playfully dowsed my trousers. "Oh dear, you'd better dry yourself" said Tim as he let go the hosepipe and came across to help me off with my trousers. Tim was as good at getting my trousers off as he had earlier been at getting them back on. I was spellbound and unable to resist when I found my jumper and my shirt being released and finally let my pants go too.
As I bent forward to undo my shoes and let everything go he shouted "Hold it there." I didn't wonder why he said this, I just knew that a length of hydraulic hose was heading towards my rump intent on reddening it. I was not disappointed when it did hit, though I was certainly alarmed, afraid, and quite shocked that someone so cute could also be so harsh. THWACK after THWACK thundered into me, but as I became accustomed to what was happening, I too found myself 'enjoying' this in the same way that Tim had. I allowed myself arousal in the interval between each stroke, and I took pleasure at being chosen by someone so wonderful, flattered to be the victim of one so young, and grateful to be able to unsuppress fantasies that had been locked away for half my life. I was still spellbound when after about eight THWACKS he stopped and recognised in me the same appreciation that he had earlier given to Fran.
I finished removing my clothes and stood nude on the same spot where Tim had stood, whilst he sprayed the cold water all over me. Like him I found myself oblivious to the coldness and unable to cool my manhood. As Tim came over to me with a small towel the spell was still working and my mind raced and quickly decided that submission would be granted if called for. I stooped forward a little as he dried my next and my shoulders whilst standing behind me. Then his arms dropped and his hands grabbed my pectorals whilst his manhood collided with my buttocks and then poked between them. "Oh please" voices within me cried out to be heard, but the words that came out of my mouth said "Oh no" as another voice, Fran's, shouted out "What are you doing?" Fran had returned from rounding up the stray cows.
Instantly arousal was wiped out as embarrassment closed the curtain on everything. I redressed almost automatically whilst my mind worked on ways to please both Tim and Fran, but without displeasing either. Tim did a little more washing of slurry before he too dressed and left the farm for his night out. As Fran and I walk back to the farmhouse the inner self glowed from the events that had happened or nearly happened, but the visible and conscious self grappled with embarrassment caused by being caught by Fran.
The evening was spent quietly watching TV, Fran was subdued and anxious. The only surprising thing was that he took a bath and undressed in the lounge in front of me, and returned to dry himself afterwards. Mostly I tried not to look at him, because I expected him not to want me to look, but I was both curious to see and also wondering why he was being so free in front of me. He took a T-shirt and a pair of shorts that had been drying over a chair and put these on as though ready for bed. Fran became more tense as he tried to contact the service crew and received no answer. I was surprised that he should also talk about the times his father had belted him, and he seemed to relax a little after this. I promised to let him belt me if I made mistakes tomorrow, and I did this in part because it seemed to please him, but also because part of me actually wanted him to do it.
Midnight approached and I could calm him no more. A thick silence reigned where no words could stand against the sovereignty of the gloom, despair and annoyance. But this heavy atmosphere was suddenly blown asunder by the ringing of the telephone bell which also repeated with clanging in the yard. The news was bad and the service crew had failed to get the car through scrutineering. They had hoped to borrow legal wheels and tyres at least to qualify the car, but were unable to do so in the time. In any case the gearbox fault had proved more serious and there would be no rally tomorrow.
Fran swore and paced up and down the room striking at things with his hand. "Lousy mechanics, stupid bloody rule-makers" or heavy comments of similar meaning erupted from Fran. I said that I was sorry that this had happened. "Oh it's not your fault--" he said before I interrupted him. "Bloody glad it isn't, otherwise you'd be giving me that belt right now." Fran then responded "I've got a good mind to use it on you anyway." Fran said before adding "except you'd probably enjoy it." I knew that this was just talk, but my sexual emotions were still high and I was fascinated by the prospect of getting his belt, so I replied that I might enjoy a beating but that he seemed pretty mad right now.
He pulled on an old pair of jeans that had been lying over a chair, and fastened the heavy leather belt of these before grabbing his keys and telling me to come over to the cow shed. Fran wanted to check on the new calves and also to see that Tim had come back as promised, but he also wanted some fresh air in that warm May night. The calves were fine, and Tim was found sleeping face down and naked on blankets over straw bales not far from the calves. "Damn" Fran shouted, "can't give that pretty little ass a taste of leather. You'll have to do instead". I knew that Fran's words were still not actually about giving me the belt for real, but I also sensed that he did want to belt me and at the same time I wanted him to do so. So I responded: "Fine, anything to keep you happy." "I'm not joking" Fran said in order to test my resolve, and then finished: "I'm bloody mad and I'm going to hurt you." I had to keep up the momentum here so I responded: "I'm not joking either, I know you're mad, but I don't see why you should make Tim suffer."
Fran replied; "Right you've asked for it, bend over". I had Fran almost where I wanted him and decided to go in for the kill: "If we're going to do this, then we're going to do it properly" In a nervous act of put on bravery I stripped completely and walked across to an empty calf stall. There I bent myself over and grabbed the bottom rail just the way that Fran had described his father's method. Fran remembered and eagerly came over and parted my cheeks and spread my legs. Then licked his finger and painted an 'X' on each buttock in the manner of his father. Fran reached to his waist and this time found the wide leather belt that he had earlier wanted, he undid this and folded it into two. Fran walked back a few paces then ran towards me brandishing that black belt in the same way that his father had done, and stopping just behind me he flicked that belt across my pink buttocks W-H-A-A-A-P-P.
This was real, and all the fantasies and daft notions about being beaten were suddenly crushed beneath that burning buttock brander. My senses did not know whether to take in the loud crack of the sound as it ricocheted around the cowshed, or deal with the seared flesh that came with it. Whilst I tried to decide I was vaguely aware of more running steps, a pause, and then W-H-A-A-A-P-P again. My brain froze in trying to process the first strike and then began again with the second, but before it had done so a third and then a fourth W-H-A-A-A-P-P overloaded it's attempts to process. I gradually became aware that I was not hearing the first few steps that launched each stroke, only the last step before the pause that preceded each pain. The fifth stroke did not seem to come so quickly and the sixth took even longer still, and both these seemed a little more tentative. I found myself less shocked and my system was racing to accommodate the reality of what was happening whilst fitting it to the imagined experience that had been locked up all these years.
In this mental melee I became aware of a voice beside me: "Okay?" Tim was stood beside me nude, woken by the ricocheting sound and by the calves who had been disturbed by it. I stood up a little and smiled because I was pleased to have him there. Quickly I resumed my position, now eager to continue with that belt, my mind had now bridged the gap between physical beating and psychological, and merged fact and fantasy together. Fran was having a breather and took the opportunity to pull off his T-shirt. His jeans were also sagging without the absent belt so he dropped them and pulled them off. Now I saw my farmer naked and this time I looked properly and realised that he was quite sexy after all. However, as I glanced towards the nude Tim, the hairy be-shorted farmer was no competition. Both these lads sported erections and so I made no attempt to conceal mine.
The belting continued but was different now because I wanted it to continue powered by a strange new confidence and a commitment to see it through to the end. W-H-A-A-A-P-P went the belt again and though it hurt as much as before, it didn't seem to be so violent. Fran was also now confident, celebrating his transition from hunted to hunter and really enjoying the tradition of his father's belt. As the next W-H-A-A-A-P-P cracked into the corners of that cow shed we both benefited from the presence of Tim united into some kind of a pact or common task. This session gave me about eight strokes before I find myself about to be replaced. Fran wanted me to bend Tim over and hold him in position, and I did this without hesitation knowing that we all three wanted this to happen.
W-H-A-A-A-P-P went that belt over that naked bottom of my boy Tim, though it didn't seem to be too hard. About three more strokes bit into those bonny buttocks before Fran buckled under the effort of it all, the disappointments of the day, and the nervous energy of the last few hours.
Fran stood there drained but also visibly hard and Tim went over and helped him off with the rest of his clothes. Suddenly I saw Tim lunge towards Fran's hard cock and he sucked it right into his mouth. Fran told me to beat Tim and I striped his bottom with that hydraulic hose until I realised that Fran was coming strong and hard. I wanted to taste the juices of Tim who was even harder than Fran, but I was unsure of how to do this and couldn't seem to get a position to do it. We broke up and walked naked into the farmyard trampling through mud and slurry and larking about until we were each very mucky. Fran dragged out the water hose and we sprayed each other clean in the darkness of that warm night. Fran started caressing me and I felt his hard cock pressing into me, but my obsession with Tim's hard cock found me unable to take Fran's.
Suddenly a buzzer sounded across the yard as an automatic alarm warned of a machine that needed resetting. Fran went across the yard to silence it. Tim saw my reaction and led me back to the calf stalls and to the bales where he had been sleeping. Without instruction or need to talk I found myself positioned on the bales ready to receive some more hose. This time, however, the hose was much shorter and was inserted into rather than bashing the outside of my buttocks. I gasped and cried out with the pain of the long hard pipe as it bored its way right into me. But the main cry came from deep within me as I let go of years of repression, and found skewered fantastic tales that had kept me going for years. As I let that first pain go I found a warm joy spreading all over, and this was the realisation that I had been truly conquered by this perfect youth, and tremors of ecstasy coursed through every part of me.
I had regarded Tim as a vision of innocence, purity and softness, but the falseness of that vision became clear as he pumped into me with power, with passion, and with no patience. Oh I'm not complaining in the least, and the harder he went the more I felt privileged to be his chosen one and the more I enjoyed it. I was reassured when I spotted packets of condoms close by, and resolved to take everything Tim wanted to give me. Only being caught by Fran could spoil this moment, but even those worries were wiped out when I realised that Fran had returned and was pulling my penis. I gave in totally.
Our naked bodies became glossy with the varnish of all our exertions and we lay together on Tim's blankets across the straw bales whilst we gathered our strength for the next step.