The two boys had been coming to my house for some weeks to work in the garden and do odd jobs before I noticed money had been stolen.
Jake and Matthew are students at Brocklehurst University. They’re on some “civics” scheme. The kids get extra credit for doing work in the community. I was dubious at first when the university contacted me. It is true that I am old, but I am not infirm. I am not as sprightly as I once was, but I can look after myself, although I confess the garden is a bit much for me.
The young girl lecturer in charge of the project was very nice; she reminded me of my daughter at that age, so I signed up.
Jake and Matthew were assigned to me. They have to work in pairs; it’s something to do with “safety” or “security”. although I can’t for the life of me see what threat I could be to them. They are two fit young lads. Now, it turns out I needed protection from them.
They worked very well when they first arrived and they had the garden looking tidy in no time. I think it was on their third visit that they told me they were a “couple”. That’s right; a boy dating another boy. They didn’t seem the least embarrassed to tell me. It just slipped out when they were drinking tea with me and telling me about their weekend.
They’re both twenty years old. When I was their age it was illegal. People were put in prison for it. Now look at it; they can get married now. Hasn’t the world changed. I don’t begrudge them it. Why should I care.
I don’t think knowing they were gay changed my opinion of them. The seemed decent enough lads to me, but I did start to notice that Jake was a little bit, how can I say this? A bit “girly”. That’s probably not the right word, but with a “couple” isn’t one of them the man and the other the woman? I might have asked them about it, but not now. I have other things I need to talk to them about.
They came to the house a lot. After they finished the garden, I set them on clearing out the garage. I haven’t had a car since before my wife died. I just use it for storing junk and the like. I was sitting reading the Daily Mail one morning when the boys came in from the garage.
“What’s this Mr. Shearer?” Jake asked and he showed me something he held in his hand. I think I must have blushed bright red, because he flashed me one of his crooked smiles and his open face beamed.
“Surely, you know what it is?” I thought he was just teasing me.
“It’s a taws.”
“What’s it for?”
I blushed some more. Was this what young people called, “a wind up?”
I replied, “In the old days, it was used for spanking naughty boys.”
Old days! Was it really so long ago? Corporal punishment has been banned in schools for decades and was now illegal in the home, but back in the day misbehaviour would get you a caning at school. Lots of fathers punished their sons with slippers, belts and what-not. In my house, it was a fourteen-inch-long leather strap, cut into two tails at one end.
Jake caressed the strap in his hand almost lovingly. It was light-brown in colour and very worn. It had been in my family for generations, I believe my great-grandfather was the first to use it. It had probably laid untouched in a cardboard box alongside other memorabilia in the garage for decades.
Jake seemed satisfied with my explanation and the subject was not mentioned again.
I first noticed money was missing about three weeks ago, I was sure that a five pound note had been taken from my wallet. I leave it in the pocket of my jacket, hanging in the hallway so the boys could have taken it at any time. I let the matter rest, because I wasn’t absolutely certain that I hadn’t spent it myself, but I hardly leave the house so I don’t get through much cash.
I counted what was left in my wallet and the next week ten pounds was missing. There could be no doubt. I am not a poor man and the money meant nothing to me. Had the boys asked me to pay them for their work I would gladly have done so. I don’t believe in forcing the young to work for nothing; university “civics” courses, or no. I was disappointed and perhaps a little angry. I had trusted them. Goddam it, I liked them and this was how they treated me.
I wasn’t sure how to tackle it. I supposed I should have reported them to the university and let them deal with it. It was theft after all. And, they had stolen from somebody they were helping on the civics scheme. They would probably get expelled and end up with a criminal record. It did seem a very harsh punishment for a relatively small crime.
But, I wasn’t about to let the matter drop. On their next scheduled visit, Matthew came alone. He told me Jake had the flu and was ill in bed. The lad’s a terrible liar, I think Jake was probably nursing a hangover, or whatever you call it when you’re coming down from drugs.
I confronted Matthew about the missing money. He was ashen-faced, and it wasn’t through guilt. He insisted he knew nothing about it and I believed him. I don’t think he could tell a lie to save his life.
Three days later, I received a phone call. Could the boys come over to see me? I am always at home, so it was no inconvenience. They had hardly set foot in the lounge before Matthew put his hand in his pocket and withdrew fifteen pounds. “I took it out of my savings account. I’m very sorry,” he said.
But, he had nothing to reproach himself about. Unbeknown to Matthew, his boyfriend had stolen the money. There were more apologies, but mostly from Matthew; Jake was rather silent. I questioned Jake about his motives. He had taken the money because he wanted it. Pure and simple. Like all people his age, he expected something for nothing. What he couldn’t earn, he simply took.
Now it was all in the open, I had a problem. If I informed the university, Jake would get a criminal record and “sent down” from university. I didn’t want that to happen. The stupid boy deserved a second chance. I had devised a plan of action, but it was unorthodox. In fact, it was downright strange. It would not be acceptable in 2017.
Nonetheless, I pressed on. I told Jake of his bleak future. Then, I said, “You have returned the money. I think you deserve a thorough hiding with that leather taws. Then, I don’t want to see you ever again.” My face flushed and my breathing was heavy. I was extremely worked up about this.
Jake’s effeminate face blanched. I don’t think he had expected this turn of events. He turned to Matthew and they exchanged glances. Some kind of “non-verbal communication” took place. I couldn’t tell what they were saying, but they understood each other perfectly.
“No, Mr. Shearer.” It was Matthew, not Jake who spoke. My face must have betrayed my thoughts. I didn’t want so much trouble for Jake. In times gone by a sound thrashing on his bare backside would have put an end to the problem. He would have paid his price and everybody could move on with their lives.
I had misunderstood Matthew. “No, Mr. Shearer, you can’t do it. No offence, but you haven’t got the strength.” He flashed me a wan smile. “Let me do it. I can tan his arse good and proper.” Then, he added mysteriously, “But, you can come and watch.”
My eyes widened, but before I could respond, Matthew had left the room to go to the garage. He knew precisely where to find the taws and returned within seconds. Jake sat and stared at his expensive boots. No wonder he felt the need to steal money from me. Matthew held the strap in his right hand and let it dangle against his leg. He spoke quietly and Jake obeyed without question.
Jake removed his denim jacket and put it on the dining room table. He wore a tan roll-neck jumper underneath. It seemed to me that he expected the next order and had already decided to do as instructed without fuss. He unbuckled his belt and worked at the fastener and zipper of his designer jeans. They were tight against his leg and he had to roll them down his thighs to his knees. He was calm while he did this, as if this was an everyday occurrence for him.
He shuffled penguin-like over to the couch and on further instruction he hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his underwear and with a sharp flick of the wrists, he sent them south to meet his jeans. I had a terrific view of his privates. He was uncut and his member was long and thin. What I noticed most was he was totally hairless.
He paused for a second before leaning forward over the back of the couch. He was a tallish boy and the couch was rather low so his body cleared its back by some distance. His thin, flat bottom was hairless too; even the inside of the crack. He wriggled a little as if to make himself comfortable. He gripped the front of the couch’s cushion at the front and parted his legs a little. His crack opened and his ball sack dangled between his legs. I did fear if he moved about a bit during the thrashing, Matthew might miss his aim and strike his boyfriend on the balls.
It felt unreal. I was standing in the middle of my own front room watching a twenty-year-old university student meekly offer up his naked buttocks to his boyfriend so he could thrash him severely with a heavy leather two-tailed taws.
Matthew gave me a weak smile, as if he were having much the same thoughts as me. Then, he moved closer to his pal, laid the leather across the very centre of his naked haunches, pulled it back to some height and sent it whipping into the flesh. A broad scarlet stripe about two inches wide scorched into the creamy-white flesh. Jake’s mouth opened and closed. He screwed his eyes tight, but otherwise made no outward sign that his arse felt like it was on fire.
Matthew stepped forward and with the tips of the fingers of his left hand he traced the outline of the stripe, as if he couldn’t quite believe he had just created it. Satisfied with his handiwork, he retook his position and smacked a second stinger a little lower than the first. From where I stood it looked like the whole of Jake’s bottom was now blazing crimson. It had been some decades since I had myself been spanked, had my own beatings been so severe? I rather think not.
Jake repeated the mouth and the eyes things, but once again remained still. He breathed deeply in and out and waited for lash number three. It was not slow in coming. It landed on top of a previous hit. That got Jake’s feet stomping up and down. His boots lost their grip on the deep-pile carpet and his feet slithered behind him, his knees buckling as they went. He wriggled his buttocks from left to right and then up and down before he gripped the seat cushion tightly.
Sweat soaked Matthew’s tee-shirt; his breathing was uneasy. His exertions were taking their toll. Apart from the obvious raw backside, his boyfriend was calmer. He waited, teeth firmly clenched, eyes tightly shut, for Matthew to continue his punishment.
Matthew’s eyes saucered. He whipped down three savage blows at speed. Bang-bang-bang. Jake’s bum was blistered. Welts rose across the lower half of his cheeks and blood oozed. Another three fell at speed. Now, Jake’s buttocks resembled hamburger meat.
“That’s enough!” I called and rose to my feet ready to pull Matthew away. It wasn’t necessary. He stared at me through glazed eyes as if seeing me for the first time. Jake took his chance and hauled himself to his feet. His cock and balls bounced as he hopped from foot to foot and lent forward and back in a futile attempt to ease the pain.
I looked toward the door and he took that as a cue to depart. He gripped the waist of his underwear and jeans but his backside was too roasted for him to pull them up over his buttocks. Instead, with them still in his hands, he half ran, half waddled, up the stairs. I heard a door upstairs open and close.
Matthew sat winded in a small armchair, his body bent double. Five minutes passed and then ten. Matthew’s condition had not improved and Jake had not returned.
“I’d better see how he’s doing?” Matthew jumped from his seat and took the stairs two at a time. I heard the same door open and close once more.
After thirty minutes, they had still not come downstairs but I thought it prudent not to go see what they were doing.
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More stories from Charles Hamilton II are on the MMSA website
Charles Hamilton the Second