Date: Sun, 14 Jan 2001 01:29:02 -0500
From: Danny Meyer <sittinhome@hotmail.com>
Subject: BOYZ BRUTAL TRAINING SCHOOL - Chapter 8

Archive;'Boyz Brutal Training School #08'{Danny Meyer}( MB, BB,
slow, bd, sm, cbt, tort, anal, inc, twink, ws )[]

_______________________________________

BOYZ BRUTAL TRAINING SCHOOL - Chapter 8
_______________________________________

by Danny Meyer

Copyright (C) January 14, 2001 by Danny Meyer

Send comments to Danny, at:
sittinhome@hotmail.com
_______________________________________________________________

WARNING:  This entire story is fantasy.  It is not a reflection
of life.  All readers are warned not to attempt to re-enact, or
recreate any of these actions or incidents, which are entirely
fictitious, and potentially dangerous.

This fantasy was written for gay men and women.  Some bisexual
men and women may also enjoy it, as well as some straight men
and women, who are curious.  If you like male to male sex, and
torture, read on.  This is a fictional story.  None of it ever
really happened.  None of these people are real people.  The
story is all about sex, and pain, with young adult men, and
younger men from age 13 to 22.

All of the action is teen-to-teen, or teen-to-man.
In other words, only gay stuff.  The cast is 100% male.

If you like, and you're allowed to read this, go for it.
If not, please select a different story, and have a good day.
No hatred or prejudice here.
_____________________________________________________

ALL NAMES USED IN THIS STORY ARE WHOLLY FICTITIOUS, AND BEAR
NO CONNECTION WITH, RESEMBLANCE, OR RELATION TO ANY REAL PERSON.
ANY SUCH SIMILARITY IS PURELY COINCIDENTAL, AND UNINTENTIONAL.
_____________________________________________________

***** CHAPTER 8 *****
___________________________

Gordon:   (NARRATOR) - Owner of the training school

John:     About to be hired to work at the school

Jason:    An 18 year-old student, facing punishment

Willis:   A master, for Jason

Steve:    (Stephen), a 15 year-old, current initiate

Brian:    Support boy, 14, for Steve, during the initiation

Kevin Kensington, Sr.:  A father

{ Kevin, Jr., 14:   {
{ Shawn, 13:        { Brothers; sons of Kevin Kensington, Sr.

Thomas:             A Master

Dr. Tormadillo      Chief physician
_____________________________________________________

AT THE END OF CHAPTER SEVEN...


Tears began to roll from his young, fear-filled eyes--tears from
the poor lad's overwhelming embarrassment, at not only being
naked, publicly, but naked with a full, throbbing hardon.  There
was no doubt that every one of Kevin's thoughts--indeed, his
entire central nervous system--was focused on his rigid,
thoughtless, aching penis, which betrayed him so cruelly.

I could feel the wetness in my jock.

        "See the effect that demon has on my Kevin, ...making his
cock all big like that," Kensington said, apparently to the air
itself.  Then, swiftly directing a cold stare at Shawn, he
shouted, "You'll pay for this with your hide, you little devil!"

Shawn's eyes widened in panic.
___________________________________________

Thank you, Martin, David, Richard, Jim, Nathan, and others who
wrote in.

Your email motivated me to write another
chapter, and here it is.
___________________________________________

(Chapter 8) - Shawn Kensington's Processing


I took the boys' father into the adjoining equipment room, and
told him that no matter what the offense, he must never say
anything that would amount to rejection of a son, as he was in
danger of doing with Shawn.  I told him that discipline has to be
reinforced with love, or it will have disastrous results.  I
failed to mention that it would be very tough love, but this was
unnecessary--the man's anger being as intense as it was.

Although I eagerly withheld that fact from the seething father--
who needed no encouragement to punish his younger son--I knew
also, that with the proper type of love, boys more easily accept
the more painful  punishments, although the love would do nothing
to diminish the intensity of the pain experienced by the poor
lads.

While we genuinely cared for the welfare of our boys, we did use
love as a means of intensifying their punishments, as well as
giving them some sense of security and sanity.  After all, most
of our boys were here at the school for a number of years.

I thought about what type of tool would be best for the
Kensington boys' father to use on Shawn.  The man was angry, so I
had to be careful I chose something less damaging, but
sufficiently pain-inducing to satisfy the man.  A whip was out of
the question--it would shred the boy.  A cane was equally
dangerous, and cutting, in the hands of an angry father, as its
cutting power was significant.  A paddle would be too mild, and
the man would probably pound the poor lad senseless before
producing enough satisfactory pain.  A strap would be too heavy
and punishing.  A birch seemed to be the best answer, although,
if the father were calm, my choice would have been the cane.  A
birch would slap nicely, though--stingingly, with less cutting.

I then explained to Mr. Kensington what a birching was, and how
to administer it.  A birching was one of the most painful and
effective of all whippings--although technically, I did not
consider a birch a whip.  It was also safer than a whip, in
inexperienced hands.

Soon, the father had a freshly tied bundle of new birch in his
hand--with its distinctive knotty ends that formed the thin,
punishing part of the branches--complete with carved, polished
handle, at the other end.

The handle was especially designed for a birch bundle--it had a
large, hollow cylinder at one end, to accept the cut ends of the
tied bundle of birch branches, then it tapered to a size
appropriate for holding in the hand--all carved from a single
piece of premium mahogany.  The tied, cut ends of the birch were
gripped tightly in the cylindrical portion with an adjustable
metal grasping ring.

Kevin Kensington Sr. grinned as he took a few practice swings at
nothing in particular, and noticed the harsh whipping sound the
birch made, as the branches flew through the air.

        "Leave the birch here, we'll come back for it later," I
said.  "It's best if your sons don't see it until the last
possible moment."

I said this, knowing that the sight of the birch would be a
distraction, to the two brothers, and take the focus away,
somewhat, from the humiliation of the undressing and questioning
of Shawn.

        "How severely should I do it sir?"  The father asked.

        "However you wish to do it," I replied.

        "Very well then.  No mercy for the little pervert," the
father intoned, coldly.

The anger in the man's voice, and his well-muscled arms gave me a
shudder, and I was almost beginning to feel sorry for Shawn.

I had been thinking about this situation of one son versus the
other, ever since the father had implied that Shawn had forced
Kevin into sexual activity.  In my mind, that was impossible.
The two brothers had to be in it, together.

Over the years, my general experience with boys had taught me
that about 50% of brothers engage in sex at one time or other,
and about a third of those are sexually active with each other
for an extended period of time.  The actions of Shawn and Kevin,
at age 13 and 14--with their hormones out of control--could
hardly be considered incest, from my point of view, although
there have been cases where brothers remain lovers of some kind,
well into adulthood.

I had seen a few cases where one brother force sex upon the
other, but it has always been the older boy taking advantage of
the younger one.  I had to go with my gut feeling that this was
not the case, and the two boys had simply become sexual with each
other.  At any rate, brothers were, customarily, a great deal of
fun to train and watch, and pit against each other.

Also, Kevin did not strike me as the dominant type.  In any case,
it would be outrageous to punish only the younger boy, for acts
in which Kevin was equally participating.

It was hard for me to swallow the father's claim that he believed
Shawn was the total instigator.  My sense of incredulity and
injustice, as well as my desire to have two boys punished, rather
than one, prompted me to pause, and question Mr. Kensington.

"Mr. Kensington, before we go back to your sons, I must say, is
it possible that you may not have the full picture of what has
occurred, between Kevin and Shawn?"

        "I know there's more to it, Mr. Wells.  I don't want to
go into that.  And whatever you discover on your own, keep to
yourself.  I don't want to know the details."

        "Then, sir, you must punish Kevin as well," I said,
hoping the father's words meant that he realized that the two
boys were equally sexually involved, and just couldn't face the
facts, nor did he seem to want to hurt the older boy, Kevin, whom
the man obviously prized.  "It just wouldn't be--"

        "Look," the senior Kensington cut me off, somewhat
distressed, "I'll leave Kevin to you.  I have other reasons for
punishing the little one.  Now, let's get on with it, Mr. Wells."

My having voiced the truth of the situation, somewhat, I was
relieved, and had to accept the fact that the father could not
face punishing Kevin, himself.   Nevertheless this would be a
one-sided affair until I could get rid of the man and deal with
the boys, myself.

I could not help wondering why the father held Kevin in such high
esteem, while almost loathing the younger, Shawn.  I could
understand the father deferring to one son, more than another,
but what had Shawn done, I asked myself, to invoke such wrath on
the part of his father?

        "In any case, Mr. Kensington, we must complete the
disrobing of the boys, before continuing.  As we discussed, I
will have Kevin undress Shawn--unless you've changed your mind
about our plan for undressing him."

        "That will do," the man said, roughly--obviously
uncomfortable.  "It should have been Shawn that you embarrassed,"
Kensington added, as if uttering it to himself, more than to me.

It was true that Shawn, the younger boy, had been spared
embarrassment at the beginning of this process, but Shawn would
soon be shamed well enough, in his undressing--and later, as the
receptor of the vigorous hiding from the dreaded birch.

We exited the equipment room, and headed toward the two boys in
the punishment area.

I took a moment to explain a few things to John, including the
fact that the punishment area had a privacy curtain that could be
pulled around it, but that there was obviously no need for it
now.

Kevin still appeared to be quite fearful.  He was charming with
his rose-colored boyish blush.  His penis had finally softened--
to the boy's great relief, I was certain.  But, of course, it was
Shawn who was to be the object of my attention, now.

I wanted an excuse to have more contact with Shawn, before
proceeding, and decided to put the boy's shirt back on him.  This
would allow me to have some much-desired skin contact with this
little beauty, and a chance to intimidate him with my practiced
stares--as well as prolong Shawn's disrobing process.

Everyone, including the brotherly pair, was totally baffled as I
slid the shirt over Shawn's perfect, 13 year-old form, and
buttoned it patiently.  The little lad cooperated beautifully,
moving his arms, gracefully into position, as required.  No one
said a word, but John looked as if he were quite full of
questions.

I stepped back to admire Shawn, who actually looked very
appealing with his shirt on.  It was time to begin in earnest.

        "Shawn!!" my voice exploded, "I understand you've been a
bad boy."

I intoned this ominously, in spit of the fact that it was
somewhat a lie--in the sense that both boys had been, most
likely, equally enthusiastic about the activity that had
precipitated this state of affairs and that singling out this
young beauty--as the sole instigator--was unjust.

I took comfort in the fact that, after the senior Kensington
departed, it would be Kevin's turn to be punished.

Like his brother, Shawn nearly jumped out of his skin, at my
sudden, forceful greeting, causing me several pleasant bodily
sensations, as I watched the boy go slowly, torturously, to the
raw edges of nervous tension and trepidation.

The poor lad could not have looked cuter, as he began to blush,
involuntarily--reacting to my booming vocalization of his name,
and the implied accusation against him.

Shawn's blush was a combination of the attention suddenly focused
on him, his acute awareness that he was not alone in his sexual
ardor, and a realization that he was about to undergo unjust and
painful punishment, at the hands of his angry father--an
experience that would be totally new to the frightened boy.

Shawn's subtle, angry glances at Kevin, told me that he knew how
unfair this was, to be singled out, in this manner.

        "Yes sir."

        "You admit to being bad, then?"

The boy paused.  He knew he had to keep up the lie, to avoid
further angering his father.  Except for the toughest of
ruffians, most boys became quite uncomfortable when lying,
especially under these circumstances.  Shawn's color deepened,
and he gritted his teeth.

        "Yes sir."

His entire response, and the look of his body posture, was one of
understated, suppressed anger--moderated significantly by his
self-conscious uneasiness.

Shawn's voice had an enrapturing meek quality, similar to that of
his brother Kevin, but his response lacked the hesitation of his
older brother.  There was fear enough, however--in his thin,
boyish tone--to bring a certain satisfaction, for my efforts at
startling him.

Not wanting to start a family commotion, or cause the lad to
elaborate upon the lie, and knowing there would be time for
confessions, later, I aborted my plan to ask Shawn just what it
was that he had done, to cause him to proclaim himself a bad boy.

        "It's time to get you undressed, boy."

        "Yes sir," Shawn uttered, more meekly than before.  I was
surprised to see the boys trembling hand move upward to his shirt
button.

        "I did not say you should start to undress, Shawn!"

Another blush rose and colored the lad's face, as Shawn realized
that antagonizing anyone, at this point, could intensify his
punishment.  Nevertheless, his speech became careless.

        "I didn't know, sir," the boy blurted out, defiantly.

        "Is that all you have to say for yourself, having done
something you were not asked to do?"

There came a mammoth pause.  Shawn knew he was in a bad way, now.
The poor little lad blushed more profusely.  His eyes pleaded,
and darted, tensely, from person to person--like a child in a
school play, waiting for the prompter to whisper his forgotten
line.  Fear set in, as his eyes widened, but finally the penny
dropped.

        "Oh... uhmm ... sorry, sir," the boy muttered,
carelessly.

        "LOUDER, boy!  And stand up straight."

Now it was time for action, and I gripped my small paddle--which
perpetually hung from my belt--and looked over at the father, who
nodded, perceptibly.  I was very good at attacking a boy's
buttocks so quickly, that he wouldn't see it coming.

        "WHACK!!!"

        "Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!"

Shawn's little-boy voice--loudly proclaiming his pain and
surprise, so appropriately--vibrated, erotically through my
aroused body structures.  The single stroke of the paddle
produced an immediate red rectangle across the white buttocks and
a sharp look of pained surprise on the boy's little face.

Shawn got the message.

        "I'm very sorry sir!" the lad said, looking and sounding
only slightly sorry, but very military--controlled, somehow.  His
eyes were on the verge of glaring, angrily at me, but he held
back, I could tell.  I was thinking to myself, 'This kid has
balls.'

Shawn would obviously be more fun to train than his meeker, older
brother--although we had ways of emboldening a boy, such as
Kevin, at the start of training, only to knock that out of him,
later.

Boldness was something a boy should display only when commanded
to do so, which was a fun, little game, in itself.  But training
wasn't as effective, or as much fun, if a boy had no 'rebel' in
him, to begin with.  I whispered to John, later, "That's how we
teach them character and self-control."

        "Whatever you say, Gordon," was John's mirthful response.

The senior Kensington's face had slowly reddened with anger, at
his younger son's insolent behavior, and he spoke out.

        "You just added to your punishment boy," the father
shouted.  "Pay attention and show some respect, or you'll have no
hide left, by the time I'm done with you."

Shawn shook, in fear.  I had a feeling Shawn wouldn't have much
hide left, regardless of what happened now.

As much as I disliked the man's disapproval of his younger son,
he couldn't have said this at a better time.  It was the perfect
thing to hasten the breakdown of Shawn's resistance.  A tear
formed in one of the boy's eyes.  It was the precise moment for
me to continue, and I turned my attention, momentarily, to
Shawn's brother.

        "Kevin, undress your brother--shirt first," I said,
nearly shouting at the older brother, who was by no means at
ease, himself.  The bigger lad jumped, and his face curled in
horror.

        "Oh God..." Kevin gasped, involuntarily, his penis
swinging, enticingly, from the slight heave of his chest.

Now, there were two boyish, blushing faces to admire, as well as
their naked bodies.  The brothers looked at each other with
discouraged glances that told me they seemed to feel they had
been found out, somehow--although they truly had no way of
knowing this.

        "Speak up, Kevin," I bellowed.

        "Yes SIR!"

As Kevin reached for his brother's shirt button, he blocked our
view, completely.  I repositioned the mortified lads so we could
have a clear, frontal view of them.  'The embarrassment has
barely begun,' I thought to myself.

The older lad's trembling hands had a terrible time manipulating
his brother's shirt buttons, but we all watched, as Kevin went
about the task.

        "Keep facing FRONT, boys!" I said, as menacingly as
possible, having found it difficult to maintain my typical
sternness--enchanted as I was by the good-looking, brotherly duo.
New boys usually had this effect on me, but I soon overcame it.

The brothers faced front again, as instructed, and Kevin
dutifully removed Shawn's shirt.  Then, Kevin seemed to be frozen
in a stupor--completely motionless.  Shawn's appetizing chest was
now bare, and the next step in undressing the boy seemed obvious
enough.

Instead of criticizing Kevin, I decided to take a different
approach.

Shawn's hour had come, and he was obviously upset, but looked
quite adorable in what I could only describe as 'little-boy
shorts.'  An unduly prominent, tell-tale bulge gave me some
additional inspiration.

        "Shawn, do you have underwear on, under your shorts?" I
queried, loudly, to make the question as disconcerting as
possible.

The lad blushed, charmingly enough, and I could see we had worn
down some of his resistance.  Shawn looked more terrified, more
hesitant.

        "Umm, well... not really, sir," Shawn said.  I could see
a slight tremble in his lips, as he answered me.

        "I suppose we'll get to see for ourselves, now won't we,
boy?"

"Oh... uhhh... yes sir," the lad replied stammeringly, with his
blush ever increasing now.  It was exciting to realize that only
one garment remained to be taken off little Shawn--a fact that,
no doubt, did not escape the boy's own notice.

        "Kevin, stand next to your brother and unbutton his
shorts.  Unzip them, but hold on to them so they don't slide
down," I said.

The cute 14 year-old gulped, blushed, and began to pant so
sensually.  I felt a new stream of precum in my jock.

        "Yes, sir."

Kevin's shaking hands reached out to his brother's fly, and he
clumsily unbuttoned it.  Finding the tab of the zipper proved to
be more difficult, as it was apparently wedged in place, but
Kevin finally gripped it, and began to slide it down.

Almost predictably, as Kevin worked at this last set of tasks
that would ultimately reveal his brother's nakedness, the older
boy's penis began to become erect.

This time, the father merely blushed, at the sight of Kevin's
arousal, rather than pummeling Shawn with more defamatory
character assaults.  Since the man was apparently refraining from
blasting Shawn with further dishonor, I presumed that my little
talk had had some effect on the brute, but wondered how the man
had managed to refrain from striking out at his sons, all these
years--angry and ready to strike out as he seemed to be, now.

Kevin was mortified that his adolescent prick had a mind of its
own--cruelly revealing his sexual feelings, again--and was beside
himself trying to hide his ample organ from his father's view,
and obviously trying to figure out how to prevent it from growing
any further.

Kensington senior seemed not to react, further, to Kevin's sexual
arousal.

        "Go ahead, Kevin, pull his shorts down, now--slowly."

I thought, the slower the better--the more time for Kevin's
erection--and Shawn's embarrassment, to develop.

Shawn, now shaking with fear, was stripped naked.  His penis fell
into view, and it matched his older brother's, in size,
surprisingly, but it was well ahead of the older boy's in the
state of its erection.  It was a glorious, thumping, thick penis-
-not quite adult-sized, but quite large, for a 13 year-old.

Shawn's cock stood up proudly, completely hard.  He too, blushed,
under his father's gaze, but did not try to cover himself with
his hands, as his older brother had done.  Instead, he glared at
the man.

        "Shameless!" yelled the father.

I gazed intently at Shawn's enticing erection.  Staring me in the
face was the biggest difference between the two brothers.  Shawn
was uncircumcised.

I was very surprised, at this mismatch, between the two boys.
Normally brothers were treated the same as far as circumcision
goes--either both were cut, or both uncut.  Now, I mentally
listed the differences between the two boys.  Kevin was dressed
better than Shawn, has shoes, whereas his little brother did not,
and Kevin carried his fathers full name.  This mismatch in the
application of circumcision to one boy and not the other had to
be, not a cause, but another clue to the father's vastly
different treatment of his two sons.  There was no time to pursue
that thought, now.

Shawn's foreskin looked charming--performing its protective role-
-partially covering a good portion of the curvaceous tip of the
alluring organ.

All eyes were on Shawn, and various parts of him.

At first, I thought the boy had no pubic hair at all.  Then, I
saw a small, thin, maddeningly sensual patch of peach fuzz just
above Shawn's penis.  Still, at a distance, he appeared to be
completely hairless.  His blush deepened now--as it began to sink
in to the uneasy lad, that all of us were watching his erect,
pubescent dick waving about, as he shifted his weight, nervously,
from foot to foot.  It was incredibly arousing.

By this time, Kevin also had a complete erection, and a constant
blush.  Both boys displayed a drop of precum, at the tip of their
stunning, hard penises.  I glanced over at John, and needless to
say, we were both pleased at the present turn of events.

        "I see you've started to get some hair there, Shawn,
don't you?" I asked, realizing that with the obvious attention
bestowed on the boy's penis, there was no need to explain where
"there" actually was.  Of course, the translucent patch of new
growth--incredibly short, thin, sparse, and pale--could hardly be
called, "hair."

Young boys are always so proud of their pubic hair, regardless of
how little they have, so it was not entirely surprising that,
despite the poor lad's shame and discomfort, a small smile of
pride washed over Shawn's face, momentarily.  Nevertheless, he
began to fidget, self-consciously, and--in defiance of his
discomfiture at the attention his penis was receiving--more than
once, his hand traveled to his beckoning and very excited cock--
probably unconsciously wanting to give it a few solid, satisfying
strokes--but stopping just in time, as he realized the self-
implicating and humiliating results of such a move.

Still, it was enchanting to see the boy's trembling hand reach
for his penis and retract, quickly--his hand quaking more
markedly for the experience and frustration, which was quite
apparent on Shawn's cherubic face.  Each time the boy's hand made
its aborted journey to his erection, the poor lad's face deepened
in color, and Shawn stood--half ashamed, half defeated--and
looked at us fearfully, expecting the worst, and probably wishing
he could be anywhere but here--standing naked with his penis hard
as it could be--with four adults and his brother watching his
proud organ and his extreme distress.

Nevertheless, it was charmingly amusing to see Shawn's eyes dart
down, quickly, to steal a proud glance at his nicely sized penis.
Most boys had a sense of pride and fascination with their sex
organs, and such pride tended to overrule various inhibitions, at
this young age, even if it added to their embarrassment.

        "Yes sir," Shawn said, with a touch of enhanced self-
esteem.

I had almost forgotten my question, having been so busy taking in
the arousing sights before me.  'Oh yes, that proud look--his
pubic fuzz,' I reminded myself.  I knew my next question,
instinctively.

        "You must jack off a lot, Shawn, to have hair there
already--or do you just do it once or twice a day?"

Of course, the frequency of masturbation had nothing to do with
the hormones that produced pubic hair--in fact it was the other
way around--but to a relatively innocent 13 year-old, this
statement, aimed at humiliating a boy, usually made sense to him.

The boy's knees began to weaken, at my overly intimate query, and
they bent, slightly, as the boy turned one of the darkest shades
of red I have even seen on a young lad.  Tears began to stream,
silently down Shawn's childlike face.

        "Uhhhhh ihhhh .... sir I ..... oh God.... just once or
twice, sir."

        "Well, we will see about that, boy!" I said,
threateningly.

The poor boy gulped, in pathetic fear at the mere thought of
someone preventing him from experiencing his consummate bodily
pleasure.

        "Uhh!  Y-y-yes sir."

The father's smile told me he interpreted this as my intention to
prohibit all of Shawn's attempted sexual activity in the future--
a misunderstanding I was more than happy to ignore.

The poor lad had nothing to fear, in that department.  Not only
would Shawn be given many opportunities to ejaculate his seed for
us, but I relished the thought his wanting me help him do so--of
privately and personally stroking this little stud's cock, with
his naked body seated on mine, bringing him repeatedly to the
edge of climax, but cutting off the stimulation in a timely
manner, preventing him from spilling his anxious, young seed--a
thought that would be common to the minds of many masters, once
they got a look at this boy.  I wondered how long it would take,
in that process, before the lad would either lose control and
shoot his bodily fluid all over himself, or scream for release.

Shawn seemed to be toughening, somewhat, to the fact that his
dick was sticking out, for all to see.  I had to do something
about that.  I decided to have a little more fun with him, before
witnessing the inevitable thrashing of the boy's flawless flesh.
Being uncut, Shawn provided just the element I needed.

        "I can't see your dick very well, boy.  Do something
about it!"

        "W-what sir?" Shawn uttered, as his sudden stutter and
ever-darkening complexion betrayed the fact that he had
understood.

        "Don't ever say, "What," boy--but never mind, for now.
Look straight down boy.  What do you see?"

The trembling lad reluctantly pivoted his head downward, and
painfully lowered his eyes, to gaze directly upon his erection.

        "I see... I see... my um... sex thing, sir"

        "You mean your PENIS, Shawn?" I said, overemphasizing the
word, to the boy's utter dismay and discomfort.

If Shawn was embarrassed before, he was totally mortified by
this.  You could see his little chest give a big heave, as he
suppressed a sob.

        "Yes sir."

        "Say it, Shawn!"

        "I see my... p-penis, sir."

        "Good boy.  You see Shawn, I think it's a nice penis, but
I can't see it all, boy!  Don't you think you have a nice penis,
Shawn?"

        "I... I guess so," Shawn said, hesitantly--so acutely
embarrassed, now, was the trembling youth.  I knew the boy was
too terrified to figure out was I was getting at, so I had to
spell it out, for him.

        "You say you have a nice penis, Shawn.  Your foreskin is
covering part of it, boy.  Pull your foreskin back over the tip,
so we can it.  We want to see the tip of your penis.  That's very
important, especially when a penis is so hard, like yours is,
Shawn.  We want to see how nice your penis is--ALL of it!"

Clearly the boy was broken, now, as his pain-filled, clouded eyes
looked upward, sorrowfully, at us, and he sobbed, heavily, as his
unsteady hand grasped his erect organ, and pulled back the
fleshly, protective sheath, uncovering a perfectly exquisite
head--the powerful looking tip very red in color, now, from his
prolonged erection.  As the tight skin journeyed backward over
the crown of the corona, the boy's body seemed to pulse, and his
little legs gave a jolt.

Tears, from the defeated boy's intense crying, dripped down onto
Shawn's delicious erection, contributing a powerful sensuality to
what was probably the most erotic moment in my career.

        "Yes!  Very good boy.  Very good!  We can all see your
penis CLEARLY now--ALL of it.  You're right, Shawn, it is a nice
one.

        "Yuhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!"

The boy gave a gigantic cry of total misery, and sobbed
uncontrollably, at this final indignity and exposure.  His pride
had been thoroughly crushed.  His most private part--hungrily and
uncontrollably erect--had been the object of intense gazing, and
he had been seen publicly touching it.  I wondered if the
pleasure he must have felt, as the rich flesh of his foreskin
slipped back to uncover the slick glans, was sufficient to
ameliorate any of the boy's unsettling torment.

The father smiled, maliciously, but blushed and shifted uneasily-
-obviously uncomfortable with so much attention being paid to his
son's sex organ.  I felt this display of Kensington's
embarrassment was a bit of a victory on my part--getting the man
to have a more reasonable attitude, toward his younger boy.  I
knew that this was insufficient to assuage his virulent anger,
however.

        "Prepare for your punishment, boy--as best you can," I
said.

Nodding to the father, and turning toward the equipment room, I
began to head in that direction.  Kensington followed, instantly,
knowing it was time to retrieve the birch, and flog the poor boy.

        "Now I understand better, why you train them naked," the
father said excitedly--his gleeful smile telling me he approved,
wholeheartedly.  "You destroyed him, back there."

So much for the man's compassion, I thought.

I smiled, and nodded, in response to the father's vicarious sense
of victory.  I needed to have this over, and get the man out of
here.  He was cramping my style, so to speak.

In the relative privacy of the equipment, room, I again cautioned
the senior Kensington to avoid harsh disapproval of his younger
son, especially in light of the fact that, as soon as he left,
the boys would be without his presence, and would need a little
security.  I did not press for a response.  It's impossible to
train a boy, long term, without his having some sense of mental
balance.

The temptation to inquire about the man's motives for treating
Shawn so harshly was too much.

        "Mr. Kensington, I noticed that Shawn was not
circumcised, while Kevin is.  Normally there are no problems with
that, but I was wondering if Shawn--"

        "I don't care to discuss that, Mr. Wells.  Dammit!
Circumcise him if you want.  I'll sign the papers.  Hell, yes,
cut the little one--make the two of them match, maybe that will
get the little bastard to behave.  Make it hurt, while you're at
it.  That should teach him a lesson."

I did not reply.  I began to honestly feel that this man's sons
were truly better off at my school then at the hands of their
father.  It was surprising to recall that the man had never
spanked his sons, but it seemed likely that he would have started
to do so, soon, on his own.  Such out-of-control anger could end
up seriously injuring his sons.  I was happier than ever to have
his two striking boys at my school.

The man grabbed the birch, enthusiastically, and he took a few
more practice swings.

        "This will hurt--right, Mr. Wells?"

        "It will hurt him very badly, Mr. Kensington, I assure
you."

With that, the man smiled, but I saw through it, to the anger in
his face.

        "I can do it as hard as I want, then?"

I wanted to say, 'no,' for the sheer power of Kensington's anger,
and having seen parents, in the past, go too far with the first
beating of their son--but I had to maintain my professional
image, or lose credibility with this man.  Besides it was HIS
son.  Of course, I was the ultimate authority in this
establishment, and could call a halt at any time.

        "Yes," was all I managed to say, as I eyed the instrument
of pain that would soon be slapping, angrily his son's buttocks.
I was sure, now, that a birching was the right thing, because
while producing savage, stinging pain, a birch cut far less than
most other means of flogging a boy.

A birch is a beautiful branch, but, in the form of an instrument
of punishment--with its long strands and intimidating multiple
tips--it was a frightening and imposing sight.  The man held it
proudly, by its handle.  It would be an interesting hiding, to be
sure.

We walked quickly back to the punishment area, where the two
naked brothers were doing their best to stand at attention--
trying desperately to overcome their natural instinct to bend
forward, to hide their proud-looking erections from our view.

The boys' eyes widened in pure terror, as they saw the hideous-
looking instrument of punishment in their father's hands.  Their
mouths dropped open, considerably, and they reached,
spontaneously for each other, as if trying to protect one another
with their half embraces.  The boys' faces paled to a ghostly
white.

I nodded to Thomas, who now prepared the naked younger boy, face
down, and Thomas bent him over a small, padded table, to which
Shawn's upper body was securely strapped.  His arms were
stretched forward, and chained in an outstretched position.  The
striking lad's beautiful butt, back, and legs were exposed for
all of us to see.  Even from the back, he was an impressive-
looking 13 year-old.

Thomas spread the boy's legs a satisfactory distance apart,
further exposing the vulnerable, smooth flesh, and placed the
restraint bar a foot or so above the boy's calves--allowing
considerable room for movement, but preventing his limbs from
folding back far enough to interfere with the punishment.  The
fearful quivering of Shawn's young body was positively
captivating.

Now came the part I liked best.  Thomas placed a thick, hard
pillow under the boy's abdomen, which not only raised Shawn's
buttocks higher--making them a more tempting, easy target, but
this raising up of the lad's hips more thoroughly exposed his
tight scrotum.  The boy's stiffened penis, however, was almost
completely hidden, as it pressed insistently against his abdomen.

It was obvious the boy was trembling from head to toe, but I
could also see that Shawn was trying to brace himself against
whatever was to come.  He clenched his fists and teeth, and
closed his eyes, tightly--much like Jason did, during his ordeal.
But, alas, the diminutive boy would be no match, for the
ferocious birch.

My erection ached at the sight of this innocent beauty--tensed
and helpless--his little heart beating almost audibly, his body
sweating and squirming in fear against his bonds, and his father
standing, menacingly, over the perfect flesh, with birch bundle
in hand.

I was hoping the man would speak a few words to the frightened
little lad first, but he swung the tormenting birch brutally, and
tore into the boy's unprotected, pure white buttocks.  The boy
grunted, tremulously, in his high pitched voice--as only pre-
adolescents can--and a crimson blush immediately filled his young
face, and began to spread, downward.

It only took a second blow to start the boy kicking his legs and
screaming, loudly, in pain.  Shawn emitted an anguished,
prolonged cry, followed by a pathetic plea.

        "Yeeahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!  Please!  NO!!  AHH!
Naaaaaaaaaaawwwwwwwwwwwwwww!!!"

As the awful, punishing power of the birch made itself known,
audibly and visibly, to the tender buttocks of the sumptuous,
blonde lad, his agonizing screams escalated.  Birches are very
loud when they strike, and the sound of, "Whip!  Splat!  Smack!"
was frighteningly painful to behold--particularly as Shawn's body
convulsed, wildly, with each stroke of the cruel weapon.

Shawn kicked his legs more profoundly, further indicating the
torture the cruel birch was impressing upon his young flesh--
unaccustomed as it was to even a mild spanking.

All control was lost--with Shawn now in excruciating pain--as his
father continued with powerfully-delivered, steady streams of
barbarous, gruesome blows to the poor boy.

With aching agony already flashing unbearably though his little
body, young Shawn was reduced to phenomenal shrieks of howling,
and flailing his limbs about, as a stream of tears ran down his
angelic face.

The father lowered his aim, now, and began to strike out at the
even more tender thighs and calves of the boy.

Impossibly, Shawn's kicks and pitiful screams of agony became
more profound, and more heart rending, as the awful birching
continued, and the father appeared to be attempting to embed the
birch into the tortured boy's thin, hairless, flapping legs.

The father took great care to ensure that Shawn's delicate inner
thighs also became well coated with ominous red welts, which
greatly intensified the boy's blood-curdling complaints.

Shawn's steady roar of youthful, energetic screams of pain burst
into powerful blasts of anguished shouts.  The strength of the
boy's vocalizations was such that I wondered if the windows, or
the plaster on the walls could withstand such a potent, sonic
blast, let alone the unfortunate lad's sensitive flesh.

        "Yaaaaaaaaaaaarrrrrrhhhhhhhhhh, PLEASE, NO, STOP--
AWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWwwwwwwwwwwwwww!!"

Scores of unforgiving, barbarian blows drove the boy to renewed
screaming, sobbing fits of amplified agony, and his pitiful cries
for mercy went unheeded by his cruel, paternal parent.

        "Whhhhaaaaaaaaaaaaaooooooooooooooooooooooooo!!!
Nahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!!"

I suppose it could have been mere chance, or bad aim on the part
of the father, but one of his powerful strokes landed directly
between the young lad's inner thighs, wrapped around and upward,
and sent the tips of the birch smashing, fiercely into the boy's
unprotected, vulnerable scrotum and penis, with a high pitched
whipping, slapping sound that could only be perceived as a
searing blast of incredible, stinging, smashing pain that coursed
through the poor lad's privates.  This was immediately followed
by a fantastic, surging, agonized wail of horror--a high pitched
eerie scream--as if it came from the depths of the bowels of
Shawn's helpless, throbbing body.

"YAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!

The pathetic lad cried, shriekingly, in excruciating anguish--his
little voice booming out in unspeakable pain, then trailing off,
in that tormented, strangled sound of overwhelming suffering and
helplessness.  Shawn's body throbbed, endlessly, and his legs
kicked about with incredible speed and urgency.

Quickly, the father moved his attention to the boy's exposed,
tender back, fiendishly propelling the tough whip-ends of the
wicked tendrils mercilessly into Shawn's ribs, and causing him to
issue forth a fresh lament of compounded, horrified screams and
shrieks, while his little legs whipped about with renewed
urgency.

It was as if Shawn's thrashing limbs were not only betraying the
overwhelming torture he was experiencing, but were pleading,
desperately, for the hideous punishment to cease.

But the hellish rhythm of, "Whip, whip, slap, smack" continued,
unabated.

Shawn was now a dismal sight--howling and wailing at an
unbearable volume, in heart-rending tones.  His welt-striped body
was squirming in agony, and his little chest heaving,
desperately, for air.  His thinly-muscled arms stretched their
chains, tightly.  Every muscle and tendon in his legs, arms and
neck was visibly protruding, and the ever-reddening, dark blush
in his neck and face told the story of his painful ordeal, as did
the gruesome striped flesh.  As the stinging slapping of the
birch continued to pound him, the unfortunate boy's face remained
contorted in the picture of excruciating pain.  His little body
twisted, grotesquely under the mammoth, biting blows of the
brutal birch.  The poor lad screamed, relentlessly, and his face
was drenched with his tears.  We all stood, in awe of the sight
and sounds of him, and particularly the great mass of redness
that had developed.

Finally, the man stopped--presumably because the screaming boy
had not a white spot left on him, it seemed.

At the master's bidding, the father had Kevin remove Shawn's
restraints, and help stand him up.  The younger brother was
unable to stand of his own power, and Kevin--tearful and
trembling, himself--held Shawn up, and turned him to face his
tormentors.  Shawn's shaken and beaten body was a pitiful and
erotic sight.

As Kevin turned him to face us, I could see that Shawn's erection
had partially survived the thrashing, and eventually the boy's
deep blush grew deeper, as all eyes gazed, once again, upon the
thirteen-year-old's penis--astounded that the young boy's dick
was still proudly pointing almost upward, with all six of its
pulsing, aroused inches--though having drooped somewhat under the
torture of the humiliating ordeal.

John and I had drifted slightly behind the others, and he
questioned me, quietly.

        "What the hell was in that candy those boys ate?"

        "In the candy?  Why, nothing, John.  Why do you ask?" I
said--attempting, unsuccessfully to control a smile in my facial
expression.

        "No kid could keep a hardon through all that beating.
Besides, you're a bad liar, Gordon."

Actually, I had thought myself a good liar, when the occasion
called for it, but I was hardly about to argue the point with
John.  At any rate, I found a sort of satisfaction that John's
question betrayed his interest in the youth's sexual anatomy.

All eyes were on the boy's swollen cock, now, and our stares
caused Shawn--now trembling more violently than ever, incredibly
weak, and trying to wipe his tear-drenched face--to look down and
inspect his almost forgotten, prized organ.  Shawn's face
confirmed his utter humiliation and fear at being exposed,
publicly, in a sexually excited state after such a beating, and
of the sudden realization that his father's anger might now be
compounded.

The boy's eyes widened with intensified horror, and
more blush began to cover Shawn's face and body, as the lad made
a terrifying discovery.  His eyes focused beyond the little group
formed by his father, brother, me, John, and Thomas.  Unbeknownst
to his sons, and previously approved by the father, the boys from
other families had been brought in and quietly assembled, to form
an additional audience, for the proceedings.  This was obviously
too much for the tortured little lad.

Shawn's boyish chest pounded, visibly, at this horrendous
discovery, and his heart went almost faint with the ultimate
embarrassment and shame--a natural reaction of the innocent boy
to the combination of his public erection, his father's gaze, and
the additional onlookers.

        "Please, NO!" the pathetic boy pleaded while still
staring, in disbelief, at his erection--as if to say his penis
did this by itself, and not of his own volition--and as if he
could speak to his dick, and get it to respond to his will.  My
own excited organ throbbed in the confines if its jock.

        "You've learned NOTHING," the father shouted at his
tortured, younger son.

Strange, I had thought Shawn had had his first lesson in erotic
torture--albeit an agonizingly painful one--but then, it was too
early to tell.

        "I believe we are done, gentlemen," I said.

In an act of finality to ensure closure, I pulled the curtain
around the boys, and gave them some privacy, knowing that our
video cameras would record everything they did, for John and me
to review later.  I had my suspicions as to what the two lads
might do.

        "It's just as well," the man declared.  "I'll be needing
to leave soon, for an appointment."


-- Danny Meyer, January 14, 2001   sittinhome@hotmail.com

END OF CHAPTER 8      (please read below)
-------------------------------------------------------------

If you want more, kindly write to me at the address, below.
It helps me to write a more interesting chapter if you also tell
me some of your preferences.

sittinhome@hotmail.com

If you want me to reply, mark your email, "Reply--yes,"
or some other, clear wording requesting a response.

So far, this is my only story.

Thanks.  --Danny Meyer

-----------------------------------------------------------------
end of file