Brad, the spanking-movie star

Brad Maguire was to become the star of spanking movies; but first he had to go over his boss’s knee.

It started the day I first met Billy at the burger bar. I had a part time job there: mostly I worked Saturdays because I was still in my final year at school.

Billy was the new duty manager. He was much older than the rest of us. We were mostly kids still at school or at college, earning spare cash.

The burger bar was always busy on Saturdays, packed with shoppers and families having ‘special time’ together. That suited me, because otherwise the job could be really boring.

I was working in the kitchen preparing the burgers and it was bedlam. Everyone was rushing around trying to serve the crowd of customers. I bent down to get a pan from the bottom shelf and as I was bending over I felt a dull thud on the seat of my trousers. Startled, I stood and turned round to see Billy standing behind me with a rolled up newspaper in his hand. He was grinning from ear to ear.

His bright blue eyes sparkled and he gave me ever such a slight wink. I smiled shyly back. But, the kitchen was busy, people were all around. We said nothing. We had our work to do.

And that was that. Nothing more happened.

Until the following Saturday when everything that could go wrong did go wrong. I stayed in bed too long (jerking-off again) so got to work twenty minutes late. That earned me a telling off from Billy. Then I couldn’t get the burger grill to work properly and that upset the customers and earned me another earful from the boss. The final straw came mid-afternoon when I sent a full tray of burger buns clattering to the floor. It wouldn’t have been such a problem, except this was in full view of the customers so we couldn’t just pick them up and use them anyway.

Billy was standing behind me as I stooped down to retrieve the buns.

“That’s it”, he said, “I’ll see you in my office at the end of the shift.” I rose and as I did so our eyes met. I knew what he meant and he knew that I knew. My heart beat faster and my face was bright red.

“Later,” he said.

At the end of the shift Billy called me into the office. It wasn’t very big, just enough space for a couple of filing cabinets, a desk and a couple of chairs.

“Stand there.” It was a command. He pointed to a spot in front of the desk and I obediently took up position.  Submissively, I bowed my head and stared at the threadbare carpet, my hands clasped tightly behind my back.

I don’t remember much of what he said. He listed of all my faults as if I had been a very naughty boy. Was today going to be my lucky day?

I had fantasied about getting spanked for just about the whole of my life. As a young boy when everyone was out of the house I would pile some cushions onto the seat of a dining room chair and bend over them like a naughty boy about to get his bottom smacked. I soon learned how to position mirrors in the right place to admire how I looked, my bottom high as if over dad’s knee.

Sometimes I would have my trousers around my knees and occasionally I’d be bare. My favourite position was stripped down to my tight white pants.

Often at night in bed I would make myself dream about school. Me or one of my classmates, one of the boys with pert bums, would be bent over a desk getting a dose of the slipper from a teacher. But now, aged eighteen, I had never been spanked in my life, but the fantasies were as real as ever, perhaps even more intense.

Sadly, I had no way of knowing how to turn these desires into reality. I was too naïve to realise that many people out there shared my interests and given the opportunity would gladly put me across their knee.

I had once dared to go to a dirty book store in London and bought some magazines with pictures of women spanking men. They weren’t quite my thing but there was one image in particular that did push my buttons. It was a stern looking boss type who had a young office boy across her knees. He was dressed in a white shirt and business trousers. She was raising a thick wooden paddle to crash it into his bum. He held his head low and his buttocks high ready for his punishment.

Many nights I soiled the sheets recalling the scene, but in my dreams the woman had transformed into a middle-aged man.

I loved that picture and dreamt of being that office boy. Where could I find a job like that?

Who would have thought it would be at a burger bar?

Finished with his lecture, Billy rose from his seat and made his way to the front of the desk. He picked up one of the chairs and placed it in the middle of the carpet and sat down. I knew what was going to happen next: I had visualised it often enough.

There was no more talk. Instead, Billy grabbed my arm and pulled me across his lap. Of course, I gave no resistance. I held my head low and my bum high for my spanking.

It was that simple. He raised his hand high and brought it hard down on the seat of my trousers. Again and again and again. With my trousers and pants on I hardly felt a thing. Probably, his hand was stinging much more than my bottom.

“Oh, this is no good. Stand up.” He helped me off his lap and unsteadily at first I stood up.

“Take down those trousers.” I wanted to comply with his command. I wanted to so much, but I hesitated. I could feel a bulge growing in the front of my pants and was too embarrassed to let Billy see.

“Doh!” Billy exhaled air and reached out for my trousers. I wasn’t wearing a belt and it took barely five seconds before he had them at my ankles. He must have seen my soldier standing erect but pretended not to.

In one swift movement I was back across his knees: bum high and head so low I was almost kissing the carpet. I had assumed a satisfactory position for my bottom to be spanked.

Billy moved the tail of my shirt clear of the target area and reached around me with his left arm and held me firmly around the waist.

This time, through my thin tight cotton underpants, I felt each and every slap as they heated up my bum. I was sweating profusely, and my breathing was heavy, fast, gasping. My face and neck were red and strained, as my first-ever spanking continued.

Billy of course was an expert spanker. His hand danced and popped, bounced and bit, stinging all over my buttocks, upper thighs, and sensitive sit spots.

Spank! Spank! Spank! On and on it went. The slaps were hard, steady, and fast paced. I lay there submissively. The pain wasn’t bad. It was simply warm and vigorous as my buttocks raised and quivered under the rain of blows.

As the spanking continued, I realized with shock that I was fully erect.

I didn’t know it but Billy was as red faced and sweaty as me. He must have felt my boner digging into his legs, and maybe that’s why suddenly he stopped spanking.

I lay across his lap gasping, my bottom glowing pleasantly. Yes, it was sore, but it was good sore, if you know what I mean.

Billy released his grip from my waist and ordered me to rise. Once on my feet I turned my back on my punisher and quickly pulled up my trousers hoping he wouldn’t see the tent in my pants.

“That’s it,” Billy said.

That’s it, I thought. No, it couldn’t be “it.” I wanted more: harder; on the bare; with a belt; a hairbrush; a cane.

My look must have betrayed my thoughts.

“Until the next time. . .”

But, there was no “next time.” Not at the burger bar anyway.

Billy and I became friends. He lived in what the local council called a “hard-to-let” property. That meant no one in their right mind wanted to live there. But, it suited Billy. It was on the top floor of a thirty-storey tower block. He had hardly any neighbours and those he had were not the kind of people who would be interested in what he got up to. And, as I say, that suited Billy just fine.

I left school that June and passed my A-levels and had a place at university lined up for the autumn. Billy said I could work full-time at the burger bar if I wanted to so I could make some cash for my time at university.

I knew money would be tight. I had a government grant, but my parents were expected to make a financial contribution to my upkeep, but I knew in reality they wouldn’t be able to afford it, so I would be on my own.

That summer I discovered there were other ways to make good money than working at the burger bar.

Billy introduced me to a whole new world I never knew existed. I don’t think we called it a “scene” in those days, but I did join a group of like-minded individuals who were engaged in CP and were only too happy to introduce me to their lifestyle.

One night he invited me to his home. Because I knew he lived in a very rough part of town I wasn’t too keen at first, and very nearly turned him down. I am so glad I didn’t.

He showed me a video film and it changed my life. Literally.

The film was a revelation: I’d never known such things existed. There was this ‘schoolboy’ called Richard (or was it Richards? I’m not sure), dressed in grey short trousers and a grey jumper. He was in his headmaster’s study; caught smoking (again). The two actors were marvellous, they really looked their parts. The young man playing the boy must have been shorter than average, or the headmaster taller than most (or maybe both of these things together) because Richard really looked pint-sized against the headmaster.

It seemed entirely realistic to me: in my town there was a really pretentious grammar school called St Francis where they forced the boys to wear grey flannel short trousers until they were about fifteen. Many of the grammar school kids you saw on the streets around town in their short trousers and fancy blazers were bigger than the lad in the film. I could easily imagine that I was watching one of the fourth-form boys at St Francis on the screen.

There wasn’t much of a plot in the film, there didn’t need to be, this was a real action CP flick.

The camerawork and editing were very professional. First we had a close-up of Richard, anxious about what was going to happen, then the headmaster looking stern. Close-up of a rack of curved handled canes. The headmaster selects one, then the anxious schoolboy again close-up. And so on. We saw what happened next from any number of angles: long shot, medium shot, close-up.

Richard is ordered to approach the back of the armchair. He takes down his short trousers, letting them rest at his shoes. Then he takes down his white Y-front pants to his thighs and on the instruction “Bend over that chair” he stretches over and reaches for the far side of the seat cushion. The headmaster pushes his jumper further up his back.

We get all sorts of close-ups of face, cane, bare bum, cane, headmaster. The “money shot” as they call it is when we get the close-up of the cane swishing into and biting Richard’s bare bum. He grimaces, shudders a little, and we see a red mark slowly appear across the centre of his buttocks. This is for real.

Richard gets twelve of the best and by the end his bum is criss-crossed with red stripes and (in close-up again) we see tears streaming down his face. The film is a masterpiece.

I was amazed and tremendously excited. I wanted to know everything about it. I asked Billy if what I had seen was as real as it seemed. He flashed a smile. Yes and no, he said. What he meant was that the cane marks were real enough, but the director of the movie had some ‘tricks’ using camera angles, so not all the cuts were as severe as the ones we saw in close-up.  But, no makeup was used, so what you saw really happened.

Did it hurt? Of course, but just like in reality, a boy could get used to the sting of the cane, however hard it was laid on. He told me of some of the boys who when they first started with the studio couldn’t even take two strokes of the cane. Now, they were veterans, and could take dozens of whacks at a session.

He showed another two films and both were just as great as the first. One involved a ‘naughty nephew’ who had his pyjama trousers forcibly taken down by ‘uncle’ before going over the knee for a severe bare-bottomed hand spanking. The other took place at an office where the junior sales team had failed to reach their monthly target again and were given the choice between dismissal and a thorough caning. You know which they chose.

…

I was a horny eighteen-year-old boy with a wicked fetish for spanking. I thought about it every moment of my day, awake or asleep. Whenever I walked down the street I’d ogle the bottoms of the boys and fantasise about how they would look across my knee or over the back of a chair. It wouldn’t matter if they were wearing long trousers, shorts, jeans, Bermuda’s, swimming trunks: you name it I jerked off about it every time I could, day or night.

That’s when I wasn’t masturbating while dreaming about being taken across a man’s knee for a spanking or ordered over the headmaster’s desk for six-of-the-best.

This was frustrating. I couldn’t go on like this. I knew Billy was a spanker and I thought that if I told him of my fantasies, he might give me another good seeing to. It wasn’t too difficult to confide in him, but his solution to my situation astounded me.

“Go to see the people at Swish! and be paid for getting your arse spanked.” Swish! Productions was the name of the company that made the videos I had seen at Billy’s home. And, would you believe it, Billy knew the producer.

Although I desperately wanted to meet other people who were into spanking, I was dubious about Billy’s suggestion. Although I loved the videos Billy had shown me and had wanked off by replaying them in my head many times since, I thought the people who made them were probably a bit sleazy. The boys who offered up their bare arses for the camera were probably on drugs or something. I couldn’t conceive that they could be normal (well, relatively normal) like me.

“Come on,” Billy said, when I told him of my concerns, “I’ll take you down there and you can meet them.”

So, with a little apprehension, I visited Swish! Productions. The first revelation was that they were a proper studio, with cameras, sound equipment, editing desks and so on. I didn’t know much about film making, but even I could see this was a professional outfit.

I met Alan, who with his partner Bob, owned the company. I recognised both of them immediately because they had starred in the video I had seen. Alan played the headmaster and the company boss and Bob had been the uncle who spanked the boy in the pyjamas.

They were also the technical wizards who directed and edited the films.

They were making videos that day so there were a few of the boys around. They seemed ordinary enough to me when Alan and Bob let me meet them. I didn’t realise it at the time but the two men had taken a shine to me and had recognised me as a potential actor in their movies.

I met four of the boys, who were aged from eighteen to twenty-one, I recognised two of them because they had played the office juniors in the movie and one, Trevor, had also been the boy caned on his bare bum by the headmaster.

It turned out that three of them knew each other from school. Ricky had been the first to discover Swish! and had done a couple of films. He wasn’t into spanking as a fetish, but the money was great, and he was more than prepared to do some more. So when Bob asked if he knew anyone who might also be interested in joining the band, he had no hesitation in roping in Trevor and Simon.

I immediately liked all four of the boys and I was impressed that they showed no shame about appearing in spanking vids. It was all in a day’s work for them.

Later, when Alan asked if I wanted to make some movies with Swish! I nearly bit his hand off in my eagerness to say Yes!

That’s how “Brad Maguire” was born. If you’ve seen any spanking movies from that time, you’ll know me. I’m the one in the scarlet blazer. That school blazer became my trade mark in the movies I did for Swish! It was just an accident really, but it caught on with the fans.

I had only recently left school myself when I did my first vids for Swish! They did a lot of school stories and had a huge wardrobe of black blazers, short and long trousers, shirts, socks and so on. But for some reason, they also had this one scarlet blazer. No one quite remembered where it came from, but the gossip was that it used to belong to a boyfriend of one of the film crew and it got left behind after a break-up.

I don’t know and I’m really not bothered (and I don’t suppose you are either). But it turned out that it fitted me rather we’ll. Actually, it was a little on the large side, but as every mum tells their disbelieving children, school blazers are meant to be like that so you can grow into them.

Someone at the studio thought it might make a change to have one of their boys turn out in something other than black and since no other ‘schoolboys’ were going to be in the picture with me, it seemed a perfect time to get the scarlet blazer out of mothballs, so to speak.

The first scene only lasted a couple of minutes. It was me and the schoolmaster. I’m in the scarlet blazer, short trousers, long socks, white shirt and school cap.

The schoolmaster is in traditional academic gown and a mortar board cap. We are in what appears to be a classroom. The director has us on a tight shot, so the viewer can’t see there is only one school desk in the corner of a large, mostly empty space. Empty that is, except for two cameras, a sound boom, a lot of wires and stuff and two other people.

I have not done my homework, again.

“Bend over that desk Maguire,” the schoolmaster points with his cane.

“I’m sorry sir; I’ll bring it tomorrow, sir.”

“Bend over that desk.”

“It’s not my fault sir.”

It goes on like that for a while with me trying to argue my way out of the caning. Looking back, this back-chat may have been part of the attraction and why viewers warmed to me. In other vids there’s not much dialogue and where there is, it is very stilted or forced.

Part of the reason for this is the lads who play the scenes aren’t very good performers. In films like this we get called ‘models’ rather than ‘actors’ and that’s fair enough. We don’t have to do much other than keep still while someone smacks our bums or whacks a cane into us.

But in this movie, I could show some ‘personality.’ So, we argued back and forth and then we got to the action.

I bend over the sloping school desk as instructed. I’m just the right size to go over comfortably, like a hairgrip that’s been pulled open. My arms stretch over the front of the desk and I grasp hold of its legs, my stomach rests on the wooden top and my legs are straight at the back at a forty-five degree angle.

My job is to stay where I am and let the cameras do the rest. It’s not complicated: we get an establishing shot with me over the desk and the schoolmaster standing close by flexing his cane.

Then the camera moves behind the schoolmaster, so we can see the scene from his POV (point of view). That’s followed by a close-up of my bum.

Cut to cane swishing through the air and contacting with the seat of my short trousers.

And, it was pretty much like that for the six strokes I received. A second camera was pointed at my face. This is the tricky shot. Most models in these films are old hands and a caning isn’t going to have much effect on them. It’s the same in real life. Any boy who has been naughty often enough (or has pretended to be) gets used to the cane and doesn’t show much emotion and can take six-of-the-best with no problem.

It depends what the viewer wants. If they want ‘realism’, the punished boy isn’t going to make much of a fuss. He’ll just take it. But, if you want ‘reaction’ then it has to be faked (or ‘acted’ as the luvvies might have it). Since we are models and not actors these reaction scenes tend to get hammed up a lot. If you’ve seen enough spanking videos, you’ll know what I mean.

But, I was still new to this and as each stroke was delivered I felt it. The first cut took me by surprise; it was so unexpectedly painful it showed on my face. The rest were equally as sharp and my reactions were very true.

The audiences loved this. What they saw was a brat, who had not done his homework and deserved to be punished, arguing the matter with his schoolmaster before going over the desk for the six strokes he so richly deserved: and feeling each and every one of them.

So a star was born and I never looked back. All right I know this sounds a bit big headed, but I did have quite a fan following and vids with me in them still sell better than most of the others. Don’t ask me why. Obviously, some of the viewers have taken a bit of a shine to me. But ‘hot’ is in the eye of the beholder and what one guy thinks is sexy, can be decidedly ‘cold’ to the man in the next seat.

The posh upscale scarlet blazer may have something to do with it. And, the upper-class English accent I used. So many spanking vids feature boys from posh boarding schools, why is that? In real life I’m not posh or upper-class. Quite the opposite actually, I’m from a poor, working-class inner city and was brought up in a council flat. True, I went on to university, but it wasn’t one of the classy ones. It was what some people call “bog standard.”

Anyhow, we did four scenes on that first day, all with me in the scarlet blazer. I can vividly remember that day, not because of the blazer but the excitement I felt, getting my backside whipped. Just about all of the boys who appear in the vids do it for the money. I do too, but I also loved getting spanked by older men. Growing up it was just a fantasy, but after I met Billy at the burger bar, I had the time of my life: getting paid to be spanked; surely, the perfect job.

 

…

Being turned on by being spanked has its drawbacks, especially in the movies. Swish! made fetish films, not pornography as such. So, the producers did not want to see me with a boner. We’ll, not in the movie, at least.

It was an embarrassment at first and my soldier would stand guard the moment I pulled on my short trousers and knee socks. What is it about short trousers and arousal? I never got hard when every day I put on my real school uniform (black blazer, long grey trousers).

Some bright spark suggested I should pay a visit to the lavatory just before I was ready to go on set. If I polished one off, my todger would behave itself long enough for us to shoot the scene.

It didn’t always work. I still colour up with embarrassment when I remember the time I was playing a boy with the poor school report, Bob who was playing ‘dad’ had sat himself in the straight-backed kitchen chair and instructed me to hang up my scarlet blazer and stand beside him. Then he gave the order to drop my short trousers and Y-fronts. All was going we’ll until ‘dad’ said those timeless words, “Bend over my knee.”

I took one look at dad’s strong thighs and my member throbbed, ready to burst. Clearly, it wanted to shoot off like an exocet missile. Dad gripped hold of it and used it to tug me across his lap into the spanking position. And, I shot a load all over his trousers. The film crew were in stiches, and to be fair, so was dad. Me? I was mortified.

The video was never sold, of course, that’s not what Swish! is about. The viewer has to provide his own orgasm. But, the video, along with other ‘out takes,’ is brought out at party time and everyone enjoys themselves enormously.

I did quite a few videos after that and met a lot of other models after Swish! started using a legit agency to supply the boys. Some of the lads I met did mainstream work, such as advertising (one went on to be a famous face in a clothing catalogue), or nude pictures or more hardcore pornographic work. Many of them did just one spanking movie, but others became regulars: nobody was forced to do anything they didn’t want to.

I loved doing the vids. One of the most popular scenes was also one of the simplest and it got filmed many times. It is the end of the school term and I arrive home (dressed in scarlet blazer and long or short trousers, according to preference) with my end-of-term report. It is not good. In the video there is a minimal amount of scolding from ‘dad’ played by Bob, who sends me to my bedroom to change into my pyjamas. Once I have done this strip-tease, I return to the living room, “I told you if your school report was bad I’d give you a spanking,” says dad, and we are off.

Cut to me looking sorry for myself.

“Take down your pyjamas.”

 

Cut to me undoing the drawstring at the waist and the PJ bottoms falling to my feet. I step out of them.

Dad sits on the couch and I lay flat across his knees. Then the way Swish! does, you see my pert bum, dad’s hand rises, dad’s hand falls and SPLATS! on to one bare cheek, then the other. The viewer gets to see my bum, dad’s hand, my face grimacing, my bum again, dad’s hand again from about four different angles, until my globes are glowing red.

When the spanking is over there’s the close-up of me rubbing my sore bum. At this point the viewer should be reaching for the tissues.

…

Sometimes at Swish! I played the school prefect, and in these movie fantasies the prefects caned or spanked the younger pupils.

Bruce was my ‘fag’ and in England that doesn’t mean what you think it does. A ‘fag’ is the youngster who is a servant for an older boy. So, Bruce hadn’t cleaned my shoes properly, or had burnt the toast (the plotlines weren’t that important) and was to go over my knee for a bare-bottomed hand spanking.

This was Bruce’s first video and he was a bit apprehensive about just how hard I’d smack his rear-end. The director had assured him that you can’t do much damage with the palm of the hand on a fleshy arse, so he shouldn’t worry. Anyhow, the rule always was if the boy who is being beaten wanted it to stop, he just had to holler.

I was apprehensive too, but not for the same reason. I had never spanked anyone before, either in the movies or in real life and I wasn’t sure how to do it. That might sound daft; surely you just smack your hand into the boy’s bum; what more could there be to it?

Bob had given me some instructions, using Phil, another of the Swish! lads, as his prop. There is an art to connecting the palm of the hand across the globes, making sure that you go all the way round the circuit, from the top of the buttock near the spine, to the crease where they meet the thighs. The other consideration was how hard and how fast to deliver the smacks.

In the film the boy would lay across my lap submissively, but in real life, the spanker might also have to contend with a boy fighting to be released from his punishment. That would mean you had to pin him down somehow.

No such problem with Swish! In this video Bruce would take it lying down: or, more accurately, face down.

I had one other concern: how would my trooper behave? I genuinely feared that I might have an accident when I took Bruce across my knee, so I made a pit stop at the bathroom just before going on set. There wasn’t enough toilet paper to clean up the mess properly and I went on smelling of cum.

The scene went well. First there were a few words between the prefect and the fag, establishing the scene. Close-up of Bruce looking apprehensive. Then, me putting a wooden chair in the centre of the room. Bruce unbuckling his belt, pulling down his short trousers and dropping his pants. He had to bend across my knee several times, so it could be captured by the camera from different angles.

Then, the spanking commenced. My hand, his bum, his face, his bum, my hand, my face, his bum, a long-shot of me seated upright in the chair with Bruce across my knee; his face in agony; me putting effort into a downward stroke; my hand connecting with his globes; his bum getting redder; my handprints on his bottom.

I spanked on and on until the director said “cut.” Then, we had Bruce getting off my lap, three times over. Then close-up of his sore bum; then bum shot of Bruce bending over to pull up his pants; pants snug against his buttocks; back over for the pulling up of the short trousers; tuck in shirt; followed by close-up of Bruce in tears.

 

Genuine tears. A star was born.

Bruce looked across at me and grinned. “Bloody Hell,” was all he said, as Bob and Alan came on set to congratulate him on completing his first Swish! video.

…

Spanking videos are not documentaries: Bob and Alan said this often when people pointed out their more unrealistic plotlines. After all, how many headmasters do you know who take their eighteen-year-old sixth-form students across their knee and spank them on their bare bottoms? If that happened at my school we would have ended up in the Sunday papers.

I starred in one of the more outlandish plots as a pizza delivery boy. A nearby take-away advertised that if its delivery took longer than thirty minutes you got the pizza free. In our version if the pizza was late the delivery boy got a spanking. And reader, I was that boy.

Filming was getting more sophisticated and for this one we went to Billy’s burger bar in the early hours of the morning, after it was closed, and filmed me and my boss packaging up the pizza. Then there were shots of me on my bike dressed in a uniform from the burger bar (the name was carefully disguised) and finally the real business was filmed at Bob’s flat. It felt like we were making a real movie.

I arrive late. I am sorry, there was a delay and it wasn’t my fault. Not good enough. Mr Ledger, the customer, will hear no excuses, he knows his consumer entitlements. He opens a drawer in the kitchen and takes out a heavy wooden spoon. I am soon facing down across the kitchen table and Mr Ledger is whacking away at me with delight. With my polyester trousers and underpants on, I hardly feel a thing.

So, down they come. First the trousers are lowered to my knees and I am pressed down once again over the table. Then, a few dozen smacks with the spoon later my pants follow for another fifty or so.

Surely, I have now fulfilled my obligation to the customer. Not yet. For no obvious reason that I can see, I am taken into the living room where, conveniently, there is a school-type cane. I am soon over the arm of a couch and Mr Ledger proceeds to give me a dozen on the trousers, a dozen on the pants, and, you’ve guessed it, a dozen on the bare.

I am crying buckets (anything Bruce can do, I can do better). Does Mr Ledger have a heart and let me return to the pizza parlour?

No, he does not. Now, I must take an over-the-knee, bare-bottom hand spanking. My rump is raw: no makeup. After three minutes of hand spanking, I am at last allowed to stand and leave the house.

The final shot is of me, gingerly mounting my bicycle and wincing as, unsteadily, I ride off.

No, spanking videos are not documentaries.

 

Other stories you might like

The padded armchair

Over the boss’s knee

Six of the best caning stories 2. Cutting college

 

More stories from Charles Hamilton II are on the MMSA website

 

Charles Hamilton the Second

charleshamiltonthesecond@gmail.com