Previously in Mr Hennessey’s Boys
Mr Hennessey has a stable of young men who for a price are willing to offer their backsides to corporal punishment enthusiasts. Here, Ethan encounters a sweet gentleman
Mr Wilkins was probably the weirdest of my gentlemen, but also one of the nicest. He treated me like a son, almost literally.
I would visit him at his house, always at the same time: 3.45pm; just as the schools turned out. His thing was for me to come home from school and behave like his little boy. He liked me to dress in a scarlet school blazer and would have me dress in really short, short trousers.
Then I would have to play with my toys for a while and then he would find an excuse to pick up a slipper and spank me.
I have done a few “domestic” scenes for my gentlemen; but mostly they aren’t father-and-son stories. People seem to prefer to play as “uncle and nephew”. Strange that: I don’t know why, it might be having me play their “son” is a bit too close for comfort, especially if they have real-life sons of their own.
Mr Wilkins treated me like his son. I never asked him if he had any real sons, I thought that was too dangerous. But, he had lots of toys for me to play with, so where did they come from?
Usually, as soon as I got home from school I would get the toy box out and find something to play with, just like an ordinary boy might. One afternoon he fed me fish fingers and chips before play-time. That really freaked me out.
He made me a bit nervous another time I visited. I was crawling round on the floor playing with miniature “Matchbox” toy cars. He had quite a collection from about fifteen years ago, with some models of cars that you never see on the roads today. I was on the carpet, going VROOOM! VROOOM! pretending to rev up a car’s engine when Mr Wilkins got on the floor with me, took one of the cars, and whooshed it across the carpet.
“Come on let’s have a race.” He wanted to play together just like we were eight-year-olds. So, we did.
I didn’t want to think what the heck was going through his mind. Despite the number of hours we spent together me and Mr Wilkins never had much of a conversation, so I couldn’t tell if he was a bit simple.
We played like that for twenty minutes or so before he stopped suddenly, lifted his head theatrically, and said, “Oh, is that the telephone?”
It wasn’t of course. It was pretend. But it was a pretence that would bring us both back to the real purpose of my visit.
He left the room for about five minutes, before returning with a stern look on his face.
“Well, Peter,” he said. Who was Peter? That’s not my name, but he always called me Peter.
“Well Peter that was Mr Knight on the phone.”
I took my cue and gave him a suitably alarmed look.
“Do you know what he wanted?”
No, actually, but I was sure Mr Wilkins would soon get around to telling me.
I gave him my best abashed eight-year-old child’s look as if to say, “I’ve been a very naughty little boy” and let him get on with the story.
“You’ve been firing your catapult at his cat, again. What have I told you about that?”
So we went through the story. I was a bad boy who had been warned more than once about annoying the neighbours. What had I to say for myself? (Not much) And so on.
Mr Wilkins strung it out for quite some time. He always seemed to enjoy this part of the evening even more than what was to follow.
Eventually, he said, “Peter, go fetch my slipper.”
I picked up his bedroom slipper from next to the fireplace where it had been left to warm and handed it to him.
“You have been a very naughty boy, haven’t you, Peter?”
I agreed that I had.
“I am going to spank your bottom with my slipper, Peter.”
I tried to look suitably alarmed.
“Go and stand by the arm of the settee.”
I did as I was told, while he smacked the slipper into the palm of his hand.
“Peter, this is going to hurt me more than it does you.”
“Take down your shorts and bend over the arm of the settee.
They were down in a jiffy and I was in position.
Mr Wilkins came and moved my blazer away so that my white underpants were fully exposed.
Then, he spanked me. Six whacks with the slipper. I hardly felt a thing. I never did when Mr Wilkins did it.
He made me lay across the settee for about twenty seconds, before he said, “I’m sorry to have to do that Peter, but you are a very naughty boy. You can stand up now.”
My face was red (from being over the arm of the settee) but I knew if I inspected it later my bottom would be unblemished.
“Sorry,” I sniffed, although I was nowhere close to wanting to sob.
“Get dressed. It’s over now.”
And, it was. Mr Wilkins looked genuinely upset that he had been forced to spank me. He ruffled my hair a little and with a weak smile, said, “Go to your room now.”
I changed my clothes in the hallway and picked up the bag of Liquorice Allsorts he had left for me on the telephone stand. I didn’t need to check, I knew there would be five used bank notes hidden among the sweets.
I opened the front door and closed it gently behind me.
Yes, Mr Wilkins was very nice to me the few times I saw him. It was a pleasure to be his son Peter, if only for an hour at a time
Mr Hennessey’s Boys episode 4, Timothy’s story is here
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