Peeping Tom

used plimsoll holding (1)

Tom Devenish could not believe his luck. He was coming back from the football pitch where he had completed thirty laps on his own. He did it every day to keep his fitness levels high. He was on the fringes of securing a place in the school football team. He lived for his football. He didn’t know what he would do without it.

The skies were darkening; it would rain soon, probably. Ahead he saw a light. It was coming from the girls’ changing room. Somebody had left the window open. Just a little. Even from a distance he could hear the sound of excited chatter. Excited girls’ chatter.

Tom looked from left to right. Behind him. Ahead of him. The coast was clear. Nobody was about. He would risk it. Absurdly, he tip-toed to the window, in case his normal footfalls could be heard and would attract attention. He pinned his back against the changing room wall and then carefully craned his neck. The gap between window and ledge was tiny; but it was enough.

Oh joy! The school’s netball team had just finished practice. There must have been twenty lower-sixth form girls inside. In various stages of undress. Some in pants and bras; some just in pants and oh glory some completely nude. As naked as the day they were born. Tom saw it all.

Tom was eighteen, but still a virgin. Girls, or at least the girls he could summon up the nerve to talk to, didn’t give it up easily. Tom thought himself plain looking. No girls would fancy him, he thought. His only experience of sex came from the pornographic magazines the boys at school passed around. Tom would wank himself dry when it was his turn to borrow them.

He had never seen a real-life girl naked before. His heart pounded and his cock stood rigid like a tent pole pressing against his tight white cotton football shorts. He ached so much. Instinctively, he slipped his hand inside his shorts and stroked his member. Slowly, up the shaft from the ball sack to the tip which was already starting to glisten.

“What the hell are you doing Devenish?” It was Mr Carter, the PE master.

Tom whipped his hand from under his shorts. He blushed bright red.

“What are you doing boy!” Mr Carter shouted this time. The distinct bulge in the front of the boy’s shorts answered his question.

“You dirty little …” Mr Carter stopped himself in time from uttering a rude word. At that moment the window was opened from inside. Miss Randle, the girls’ netball coach, had heard the commotion and wanted to investigate.

Tom turned his back to the window. His member still throbbed madly.

“I caught this boy spying on your girls Miss Randle.” Tom could not see the huge grin on Mr Carter’s face. The netball coach smiled back.

“Really Mr Carter. What a very naughty boy he is,” Miss Randle’s eyes sparkled. She and Mr Carter were well acquainted. After school hours Mr Carter enjoyed very much being a “naughty boy” with the games mistress.

“Do you think he should be punished, Miss Randle?” Mr Carter remembered how much he enjoyed dreaming about being taken across Miss Randle’s knee. Whenever he saw the young temptress, he thought of being spanked.

“Yes, Mr Carter. Bring him inside.”

“Wor…?” Tom had been concentrating on his cock, thinking of boring things, trying to get it to soften. Suddenly, he realised what the two schoolteachers were talking about.

“Come with me, Devenish.”

“No way.” The teenager stood his ground.

“Have it your own way,” Mr Carter responded by gripping Tom by his left ear and dragging him towards the entrance of the changing room. He knocked politely on the door. Miss Randle opened it.

“I have explained to my girls what this dirty boy has done. He embarrassed them, I think he should suffer too,” she said.

Mr Carter’s face betrayed his puzzlement.

“Let him be spanked in front of them. Like the naughty boy that he is.”

Mr Carter nodded. Corporal punishment was widely used in the school. He put his old white size ten plimsoll across the backsides of boys regularly. Usually he made them bend over and touch their toes or put themselves across the centre of a vaulting horse.

“Yes, Miss Randle let’s do that,” he said. Turning to Tom, he said, “Bend over boy, touch your toes.”

“Wor…?” Tom had not yet recovered the power of speech.

“No Mr Carter,” Miss Randle smiled maliciously, “Not touching toes. He should go over your knee. Like a real naughty boy.”

A wave of giggles came from the netball girls. They had been absorbed by every word. What fun this would be.

Miss Randle placed a metal chair in the middle of the changing room. Mr Carter sat down, undid the laces of a plimsoll and took it off. He scrunched it in his right hand.

“Come here Devenish, bend over my knee.”

Tom’s protest, “No way!” was drowned by shrieks of laughter from twenty senior schoolgirls.

“B… b… Sir,” Tom groaned, “You can’t.” His face flushed and his eyes pleaded for mercy.

Mr Carter was not about to back down. The boy needed to be punished. The girls’ dignity must be protected. And, he would not be shown up in front of Miss Randle.

“You will do as you are told or I shall ensure that you never again play football at this school.” Mr Carter knew the eighteen-year-old’s weak spot.

“B…” Tom was wretched. Yes, he deserved to be punished, he accepted that. To be beaten even; it was that kind of school. But spanked across the gym master’s knee in front of twenty schoolgirls. That was too much.

“Bend over boy. Let’s get this over with.”

Mr Carter spread his legs to create a platform for Tom’s body. Mr Carter was more than six feet tall. As befitting a PE master, he was lean and fit. His biceps bulged. He had the strength to inflict severe pain on Tom.

Tom heard the girls’ gasp as he leaned forward, put his hand on Mr Carter’s left thigh and gently eased himself forward. The boy was easily seven or eight inches shorter than his master. He fitted snugly across the older man’s lap. He stretched his arms out in front of him and rested his palms on the cold tiled floor.

His legs stretched behind him and with his knees slightly bent his toes hovered an inch or so above the floor. In this position his cotton-covered bottom rested above Mr Carter’s thigh. It was in a terrific position to receive whacks from the teacher’s heavy slipper.

The girls gawped intently as Mr Carter took hold of the end of Tom’s white singlet and pushed it up the boy’s back, revealing an area of smooth hairless skin. Then he gripped the waistband of his shorts and tugged so that the cotton snuggled against his buttocks. The shorts were properly short and fell only an inch below Tom’s buttocks. Tightened this way, the lower part of each globe was clearly visible to the girls in the audience.

Mr Carter and Miss Randle exchanged glances. She was giving her consent. Her blessing that the spanking should commence. Mr Carter raised the slipper and brought it crashing down into the centre of Tom’s left buttock. He expelled air and his eyes closed on the impact.

The second whack fell on the left buttock. Tom puffed his cheeks and then made a perfect “O” shape with his lips. Both spanks had hurt.

Tom closed his eyes tight. To be spanked over the knee like a naughty boy was bad enough, but for it to happen in front of a crowd of girls should be a humiliation too far. But, Tom felt a strange sensation that went beyond the pain in his bum. He could not understand what it was.

Mr Carter hammered the slipper into Tom’s tight cotton shorts. The boy’s buttocks were burning. It was painful, but it was not agony. This was not the first time he had been on the receiving end of the school’s corporal punishment.

Suddenly, the pounding on his backside stopped. Tom pressed his hands against the floor and started to raise his body from Mr Carter’s lap.

“Not so fast, buster,” the PE master growled. “You’re not done yet.” He gripped the waist of Tom’s shorts and in one continuous move yanked them across the boy’s buttocks until they rested in a heap at his thighs.

“Nooooooooooo!!” Tom wailed.

Twenty girls sniggered and giggled.

“Look how red his bottom is.”

“What a lovely round bum.”

“Oh, I think he’s going to cry.”

The plimsoll descended with renewed vigour. Not one square inch of his bottom was left unattended. The slipper whacked the top of the cheeks, the curves of the globes and the underside where the bum meets the thighs. Then the enthusiastic spanker started on Tom’s thighs.

He wriggled and he writhed, but Mr Carter held Tom firmly, face down across his knees. The severity of the bare-bottom spanking twitched Tom’s loins. Soon, he was fully erect, pounding his cock into Mr Carter’s thigh as each slap connected with his hot, sweaty backside.

Suddenly, the schoolmaster realised he was in danger in receiving a full load of cum across his tracksuit trousers. And coming from an eighteen-year-old boy that would be some cargo.

Hurriedly, he stopped spanking and unceremoniously pushed the boy from his knees to the floor. The girls roared approval as the sight of Tom’s erect cock, pointing to the ceiling.

Deeply humiliated, the teenager fled from the room, not even waiting to properly pull up his shorts. The sound of ironic cheering from the girls rang in his ears.

He reached the safety of the boys’ changing room. His member still raged. He ripped down his shorts and admired his tool in the mirror. He spat into both of his hands and worked them up and down his shaft. He couldn’t catch his breath. The top of his cock twitched. Once. Twice. Then he shot a load all over the mirror.

Calm now, he poked his bum at the mirror and inspected the damage. The pain had gone, but his cheeks were still tender to touch. His flesh was deep pink all over, and there was the faintest hint of bruising. He decided to leave the cum to stain the mirror, took off his singlet and shorts and stepped into the shower.

Fifteen minutes later he left the changing room. Mary Taylor, one of the girls who had witnessed his humiliating spanking, was standing outside. She had been waiting for him. He admired her legs, displayed under her too-short regulation school skirt.

She spoke. “Walk me home Tom. My parents are at work. We can have the house to ourselves until six.”

Tom’s cock stirred once more.

Other stories you might like.

Pyjama bottoms down. Bend over

The padded armchair

The shoplifter


More stories from Charles Hamilton II are on the MMSA website


Charles Hamilton the Second

11 thoughts on “Peeping Tom

  1. Hello Charles: I very much enjoyed your story titled ” Peeping Tom”. The ending was unexpected but a not illogical ending. I read most all of your tales on your site, although I don’t necessarily comment on them. your efforts are appreciated & well related , although, either yourself or the copy editor should correct the spelling, grammatical & syntax errors in the text. I expect that only cranky old septuagenarians such as myself , notice or care. I always enjoy your exquisitely detailed descriptions of the application of the cane, & the end result to the bum cheeks. Only one who has experienced both receiving & giving a caning appreciates the finesse involved,to include the theatrics that enhance the anxiety of the “canee” & the erotic excitement of the caner.
    Thank you for a slightly different genre of tale Charles, & understand that you have my continuing appreciation of the entertainment & the wanking impetus your fiction provides.

    Cheers, your grateful reader,

    Brian Hind


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