The vicar and the gay boys

When the vicar spanked me on my bare bottom I don’t know who enjoyed it more, me or him.

My friend Lenny and I were in our early twenties and secretly used his churchyard for our couplings. I don’t know if we were in “love” or it was simply “lust”, but our relationship gave both of us great comfort in an otherwise unkind world.

The church was secluded behind locked gates at night and people from the town kept well away after dark. There was a well-believed story that the churchyard was haunted and that its statue of King some-one-or-other had been known to walk at night.

We thought we were safe, as we’d used the churchyard before without trouble. But, one day our luck ran out.

It was autumn and we climbed the fence at eight o’clock and ran through the shadows to a spot we by now considered our own. We didn’t waste time and were soon locked in each other’s arms and kissing passionately as a prelude to removing our clothes for love-making.

We had never been disturbed before and had become too complacent. That was our downfall. We never saw him until it was too late; he was upon us before we had a chance to run.

“What the …. Who are you? What are you doing?” It was a vicar scowling over us. He knew very well what we were doing, but, I suppose, he was genuinely at a loss for words.

I don’t have the words to describe the fear we felt. It happened such a long time ago. It was in the Dark Ages, when people like us were not called “homosexuals” or “gays”; we were “queers” and “perverts” and if our true nature was discovered we would lose our jobs, our families and our friends. We could even be sent to prison.

I suppose the vicar knew this and that’s why he took advantage.

He blocked our escape route, towering above the two of us standing at 6ft 2in and weighing nearly sixteen stone he was not someone to trifle with. He was big bear of a man, much older than us, with grey hair and a grey beard, but physically fit and imposing.

I had never seen the vicar in my life, but it was clear he knew Lenny. He called him words like “disgusting” “filthy”, “sordid”, “revolting” and “repulsive”, as if he had swallowed a thesaurus.

I knew that even if we did try to make a run for it there was no escape: the vicar would be able to track us down and bring the full force of the unjust law down on our trembling bodies.

He pulled both of us by our shirt collars and dragged us into his vicarage that was tucked away behind the church. I was startled; I had never realised he lived in the churchyard and could have discovered us on any one of the many times we had made love here.

His strength was so great I had no option but to submit to his will and scurry behind him.

He deposited us in a huge room that was a cross between a library, a study and a living room. Menacingly, he turned the key in the door, removed it and theatrically put it in his trouser pocket. He was telling us we were his prisoners.

“Stand there, both of you.” He pointed to a patterned rug in front of a large desk. He sat down behind it and I swear addressed us like we were naughty children. I didn’t realise it immediately, but that was precisely what he thought we were and he was going to treat us accordingly.

He thundered at us some more calling us “repellent”, “sickening”, “nauseating”, “horrendous” and “awful” and other words that he had forgotten earlier. In my state of terror, I didn’t see that this rage was faked. He was “putting on the style”, the way vicars do when they’re giving the brimstone and hellfire stuff on a Sunday. He didn’t really believe in any of it.

Then out of nowhere he told us, “What you need is a nice warm whipping.” And, it was clear from the self-righteous look on his face that this time he did mean it.

“You need to have the evil thrashed out of you,” he continued. Then he fumed some more. He must have been quite a literary gent because in the next few sentences he managed to get in “spank”, “whack”, “tan” and “slap”. If I hadn’t been so petrified of him and the situation I was in, I would have seen him to be the sanctimonious pervert that he really was.

Eventually, he regained a semblance of composure and pronounced the predictable: he was going to spank us. There was no negotiation, but it was immediately clear that if we took our punishment that would be the end of the matter; no police, no prison, no hurtful revelations to our employers, family and friends. The vicar’s power over us was total.

After all his fulminations I expected at the very least he intended to flog us until the skin peeled off our backs and was genuinely astonished when he picked up a bedroom slipper from near the fireplace and announced he was going to spank us with that.

So, it was almost with a sense of relief and joy that we went through our preparations to satisfy our jailer.

The vicar turned a large armless chair away from a dining table so it faced inwards to the room. He sat down, took some time to make himself comfortable, spread his huge legs wide, and pronounced, “Larry, take down your trousers and underpants and bend over my knee.”

Larry and I exchanged glances. We knew we were cornered and had no choice but to submit to this pervert. If we were obedient and allowed him his pleasure, we would be free to leave. If we did not, our lives would be totally ruined.

Faking nonchalance, Larry took off his pullover to gain access to the braces that were holding up his trousers, then released them over his shoulders. They did not fit well at the waist and of their own accord his trousers slipped over his hips down his thighs towards his knees. I could see the look in his eyes was meant to convey to the vicar Larry’s utter contempt for him.

The vicar didn’t care. He was enjoying this too much. He screwed the bedroom slipper in his fist as he scrutinised my friend, “Underwear down. Now!”

With distain Larry undid his woollen drawers revealing his uncut penis to the vicar, who studied it closely. He couldn’t help himself; he had never seen anything like it before. He was sweating a little when he instructed Larry, “Come bend across my knee.” He patted his thigh to encourage my friend, whose contempt for the vicar couldn’t have been greater.

Larry moved forward, put his hands on the vicar’s knees and slowly lowered himself down. He was a small boy, we all were in those days; it was poor diet mostly. The tininess of Larry’s body contrasted with the ample frame of the vicar. Larry was so small neither his hands nor his feet reached the ground; his pert bottom rested over the thick knees of his punisher.

The vicar wrapped his arm around Larry’s middle and lifted him up, moving him further forward so that his bottom was positioned even higher to receive the attention of his slipper. He pinned Larry’s feet down with his own right leg and restrained his back with his left arm. The boy could not move and was entirely at the mercy of the vicar.

He might have been twenty-one or twenty-two at the time, I can’t remember exactly, but in this situation, Larry looked just like a small boy about to be punished by an adult. He could have been eight years old.

Content that his victim could not escape; the vicar lifted the slipper towards the ceiling and brought it crashing down across the centre of Larry’s buttocks with such force a bright red mark immediately appeared and the young man gasped in shock.

Several more blows rained down in rapid succession, echoing around the room like the rattle of machine gun fire. Larry tried to wriggle free, but the vicar seemed to be an expert spanker; he was in absolute control of the situation. He was going to spank Larry as hard and for as long as he wished and there was nothing the boy could do about it.

The slipper spanked into Larry’s buttocks, covering every part of his tight flesh, from the base of the spine through the fleshiest part of the globes to the sit-spot where the bum and the thighs meet. Sadistically, the vicar also smacked down his slipper onto the thighs themselves, causing, if Larry’s reaction was anything to go by, intense pain.

I watched from a distance unable to help my friend, conscious of the agony he was suffering, but also aware of the strange feelings in my loins. I was sure I wasn’t turned on by the pain he was suffering, but there was something about his submissiveness that made my pulse race.

I knew that Larry would not want to give his tormentor the satisfaction of knowing he was hurting him, but after what must have been one hundred or more spanks, his resolve was broken. His cries were hardly audible at first, but they became louder as the whacking intensified, until he was openly weeping as each successive slap of the slipper fell on his raw bottom, opening up new waves of pain.

Eventually, after who knows how much time, even this heartless vicar had satisfied himself. He stopped spanking, but held Larry trapped across his knees, while with the palm of his hand he gently patted the scorching buttocks.

“My, look how pink your bottom is,” and rubbing gently some more, “And how hot it is.”

Larry’s humiliation now total, the vicar released his grip and my friend jumped up, hopping from one foot to the other, rubbing at his scorched flesh while performing a kind of dance.

It was soon to be my turn to go over the vicar’s knees. My heart beat quickened with excitement and my mouth was drying up. I took deep breaths to calm my nerves. I knew this was going to be extremely painful and humiliating, but I wanted it to happen so much.

The vicar beckoned me across his knees and meekly I offered him my bared bottom. If I could have done so, I would have happily stripped myself totally naked: no better; I would have allowed the vicar to do it for me, before throwing myself across his legs in complete submission to his slipper.

The vicar pinned me down in exactly the same way he had Larry. Somehow, my realisation that this strong older man was mastering me made me feel secure. I can’t explain it. I knew by now that he was exploiting me to satisfy his own desires, but I didn’t care. I needed someone like the vicar to control me; to bring out that side of my nature that craved to be dominated.

He slippered me for as long and as hard as he had Larry, leaving my backside blistered. It would throb for hours after the spanking had finished. But, I still needed more.

I never met the vicar again. Larry and I steered clear of the churchyard and a few months later, he joined the army and I never saw him again. But, I still think about that night a lot. How it ignited appetites in me that I never knew existed. But, those passions could never be gratified; how could they, we lived our entire lives in the darkness.

 

Other clergyman stories you might like.

  A preacher teaches humility

The vicar delivers

The Spanking Vicar, 1. The new tenant

 

More stories from Charles Hamilton II are on the MMSA website

Charles Hamilton the Second

charleshamiltonthesecond@gmail.com