Rev Crick has three young university students staying with him as paying guests. In part one his latest lodger nineteen-year-old Craig was caned for his idleness during the past year. In part two, he learnt that the vicar does more on a Sunday than preach sermons.
Now, Tommy, another lodger, discovers Rev Crick keeps a firm hold on his tenants’ moral behaviour …
Tommy was late for breakfast and he knew that very soon if he wasn’t careful he was going to be in a heck of a lot of trouble.
But, he couldn’t help it. It wasn’t his fault. It was the girl in the sweetshop: he couldn’t get her out of his mind: that hair flowing over her shoulders; the smile; the neck. Those breasts!
The twenty-year-old hawked a gob of saliva onto his palm and pushed his arm under the bedclothes.
Downstairs in the kitchen Reverend Crick was losing his patience. He had called Tommy five minutes ago and he still wasn’t at the breakfast table.
Tommy’s breathing was heavy, har, har, har as he worked away. Quickly, finish off before the reverend comes in. No, not quickly: slowly.
Ah, ah, ah. Tommy’s legs straightened as sensation pulsated through his body. Those breasts!
Rev Crick was angry now. He knew what that dirty little boy was up to.
Tommy was holding on, trying to make it last.
Crick turned the gas down low under the saucepan and left the kitchen.
Ah, ah, ah, the breathing quickened, any moment now.
Crick strode to the stairs and started to ascend.
Yes, yes, yes!! Tommy shot a load onto a strategically placed wad of toilet paper.
The bedroom door burst open to reveal Rev Crick’s face of thunder.
“What have you been doing?” It was an accusation, not a question.
Tommy peered from under the bedclothes, feigning sleep.
“Eh, what time is it?”
“Don’t give me that. You were not asleep.”
Tommy made exaggerated yawning noises, sat up in bed and stretched.
“What have you been up to?”
“Nothing,” it was an unconvincing lie from Tommy who had guilt written all over his face.
Rev Crick sniffed a faintly sweet aroma in the air. His eyes searched the room. Then he saw it: a fistful of soiled toilet paper.
“You filthy, disgusting, dirty little boy, what are you?”
Tommy blushed scarlet, but remained silent. There wasn’t much he could say.
“What did I tell you would happen if I caught you playing with yourself again?”
“Answer me boy, what did I say?”
The reverend’s demand was met by another indistinct response. The last time Crick caught Tommy playing with himself he had delivered a summary spanking on his bare bottom: very hard indeed. Obviously, it did not have the effect the reverend desired.
“Talk to me boy! What did I say?”
Tommy mumbled an inaudible answer.
“Speak up,” the reverend’s anger was boiling over.
“What about the cane?”
“You said I’d get the cane.”
“I said I’d cane your hands so hard you wouldn’t be able to touch anything for a week, let alone your pee-pee, you disgusting, dirty, boy.”
Crick’s anger was genuine. He was of the old church that had distinctly strong views about the body. He believed that masturbation was one of the worst sins a person could commit.
He leaned towards Tommy and ripped the clothes from the bed, throwing them on the floor.
Tommy, naked except for a pair of green briefs, cowered away in fear. He had seen Rev Crick in foul moods before, but he had never witnessed anything like this. His fear turned to terror when Crick grabbed him by the hair and hauled him out of bed.
Within seconds they were out the door and Crick was dragging Tommy to the stairs. They both almost tumbled down them as Crick in his rage pulled the boy by the hair along behind him. Alerted by the commotion, the other lads rushed from the dining room in time to see Rev Crick open his study door and push Tommy through.
Tommy stood shivering in his underpants: shaking mostly from terror, rather than the cold. He watched in dread as Crick fetched a thin whippy cane from his special cupboard.
“You disgusting, dirty little boy.” Crick could not stop himself calling Tommy all the filthy names under the sun.
He swished the cane through the air. “I am going to make sure you never touch yourself again.”
“Hold out your hand.”
Terrified, Tommy stood rooted to the spot.
“Hold out your hand!”
Still Tommy did not move.
“I will not tell you again. Hold out your hand or I’ll flog you to an inch of your life, dirty, disgusting boy.”
In sheer terror, Tommy lifted his left arm slightly.
“Up, more! Higher.”
Tommy was shaking so much with fear that he couldn’t make his arm move any further. The reverend grabbed his elbow and raised the hand himself. Then after taking a step back he brought the cane down with a vicious swipe.
Tommy moved his hand just in time and the cane whistled past and very nearly struck Crick a very painful blow, near his own private parts.
Crick was puce. As if possessed, he grabbed Tommy’s arm in a tight lock with his own left arm and held the boy’s hand out as straight as he could and then he swiped down six ferocious cuts into the boy’s right palm.
The howls of pain rang around the whole vicarage and could be heard as far away as the church itself.
Outside the study, Tommy and Craig wondered whether they should barge in and rescue Tommy. But, they were too late. Rev Crick released Tommy’s arm and grabbing the other, repeated the punishment on the boy’s left palm. Six stinging swipes!
Tommy sank to his knees, screaming with the pain, hugging himself with both hands under his armpits, tears pouring from his eyes.
The reverend stood over the boy menacingly brandishing the cane, ready to deliver more.
“Please God! No more, please God!” Tommy choked on his words. His throbbing hands had swollen to twice or three times their natural size. “No more, please!”
Suddenly, Rev Crick regained his composure. He looked at the boy on his knees before him and he observed that he was himself still holding the cane. For a few seconds he was unsure where he was. What had just happened? He couldn’t quite remember what he had done; it was as if he had been in a trance.
Tommy was still on his knees, hands under armpits, bent double, sobbing into the carpet.
Sheepishly, Crick replaced the cane in the cupboard and without a further word to Tommy, left the room, fumbling for his cigarette packet and brushing past an astonished Bob and Craig in the passageway on his way out.
From that day forward a dark mist engulfed the vicarage.
The next episode of The Spanking Vicar of Aston Budleigh is here
Some other stories from The Spanking Vicar
Charles Hamilton the Second