BOOK. The Junior Salesman

used drawing cane hold (4)

The Junior Salesman and other workplace whackings

THE TWENTY-YEAR-old junior salesman slowly unclasped his belt and unbuttoned his trousers. He pushed them over his hips and let go. From there they slithered slowly down his legs.

A breeze from the nearby open window brushed against his naked legs as he awaited the next command.

Tyler looked over at his boss; in his hands was a wicked-looking school cane, around three feet in length and with a curved handle.  Mr. Davenport’s huge grin exposed his decaying teeth as he tapped a point
on the floor in front of him with the cane, “Please bend over and touch your toes.”

 The Junior Salesman and other workplace whackings is another collection of my stories published in book form. It runs for more than 19,000 words and has many illustrations. You should be able to read it on your lap top or e-book reader.

Click on the link below to download it free-of-charge.


Picture credit: Unknown

For more free-to-download books click here

Letter of Regret

z used otk pyjamas bed head bare domestic london

45 The Avenue



Dear Mr. Lesame,

I am writing to you to say sorry about breaking the window in your greenhouse with my cricket ball. I know you told us many times not to play cricket outside your house but we ignored you.

After you told my Dad he was very cross with me. He said I had disgraced the family. He said I was rude and arrogant and ill disciplined. He said I needed to be taken down a peg or two. He would give me the spanking of my life.

Dad believes that we must be accountable for our actions. He has taught me this all my life and I think he is right and I take responsibility for disobeying you and breaking your window. I am eighteen and I should act like an adult. If I cannot do this then Dad says I should be treated like a child.

That is what he did. I stood remorsefully in the sitting room while he lectured me some about my behaviour and then he sent me to my room and told me to get into my pyjamas. It wasn’t long before Dad came in. “Mitch, I’m sorry I have to do what I am about to do, but I’ve got to teach you never, ever to do anything like that again,” he said.

He had a hairbrush in his hand. The bristles are all worn down on it and it isn’t much good for brushing hair (Dad’s practically bald anyway), it is the wide, flat wooden type that is ideal for spanking.

He sat down on the edge of my bed. I knew what was coming and I started blubbing because I was really going to get it. My legs were shaking as he made me come to his side. I was horrified when he yanked my pj’s down so my bum was bare. They fell at my feet and then Dad ordered me to step out of them. Man was he mad. I knew I was going to get it hot.

He told me to bend over his knees. I am just the right height so that the palms of my hands rested in the carpet in the front and my toes just touched the ground at the back. My bare buttocks were arched over his lap. I felt his arm hold me firmly over his knee. Now, I was staring at the carpet (not an unfamiliar position) while my bum was in front of his face and my cock was rubbing against his thigh.

Dad was true to his word. He gave me a spanking like I never had before. Within seconds I was kicking and screaming. The hairbrush landed again and again on my red and now very sore bottom. Blisters started forming as he spanked me over and over. I yelped, I wailed, I yelled. Nothing was stopping him from giving me the whacking of my life.

Dad tanned my bare bottom so well that at the end all I could do was sink to my knees and grabbing my toasted bottom bawl my eyes out for a few moments. By the time Dad left me to nurse my battered bum, I felt about six years old. After Dad left the room I flopped face-down on my bed, trying to quiet my choking sobs. Tears flowed freely down my face as I tried to rub the soreness away from my scarlet bottom. I had spent the best part of ten minutes struggling across Dad’s knees, bottom bared as he very soundly and thoroughly spanked my eighteen-year-old bottom with his hairbrush.

Dad says he hopes I have learned my lesson and that you will approve of the punishment he has given me. But, he says if you don’t think I have been disciplined enough he will give you permission to take down my trousers and pants and haul me over your knee for a spanking on the bare bottom.

Yours Faithfully,

Michael Manning.

P.S. I’m horny as Hell, see you Thursday after school.


Picture credit: CP Services London

Other stories you might like

The padded armchair

Caught in their underpants

Housemate pays the rent


More stories from Charles Hamilton II are on the MMSA website


Charles Hamilton the Second


Book. The St Francis Independent Grammar School stories

st figs logo headmaster


In this free-of-charge book offering we revisit St Francis Independent Grammar School. St FIGS is a traditional school – traditional curriculum; traditional sports; traditional uniform and traditional discipline. We meet John Allison, eighteen years old and a new boy at school, as he discovers just what that means.

The thwack of the cane against stretched buttocks echoes through the passageways. No naughty sixth-former is spared a throbbing backside. As John himself will soon find out.

The book runs for more than 23,000 words and can be downloaded by clicking the link below. The PDF file can be read on computers, laptops and a variety of e-book readers.


Tales from the study 1. St Francis Grammar School by Charles Hamilton II

For more free-to-download books click here

Fake News #4

z used restrained horse (1)

Court Sentences Rude Son to Caning

EXCLUSIVE Brocklehurst Bugle

A disrespectful young man was given a painful reminder to mind his manners when talking to his mother when Brocklehurst Magistrates’ sentenced him to six strokes of the cane on the bare buttocks.

The court heard how rude 24-year-old Lawrence Jarosy, visited his mother’s house in Widdicombe Woods Road, on 29 September. He was in search of something to eat. When he was told there was no food for him, he “went berserk”.

Mr. Arbuthnot Featherington, prosecuting, said Jarosy was rarely at home. “He treated the home like a hotel and his mother like a skivvy. He was constantly disrespectful to his mother.”

Featherington added, “When he was told there was no food prepared for him, he went into the kitchen smashing open cupboards. Eventually, he found a tin of baked beans, but when he was unable to find a tin opener, he threw it at the wall, all the time cursing at his mother.

“Eventually, he rushed from the house and was not seen again until the following day.”

Jarosy told the court he had been drinking most of the day and did not remember much about the incident.

Senior Magistrate Col. A. R. P. Braithwaite told Jarosy, “Your behaviour was beneath contempt. A man of your age should know better. We should all respect our mothers at all times. It is to the great detriment of the nation that the youth of today no longer do this.

Much to the shock of the small crowd of neighbours who attended the trial, Col. Braithwaite said “I am very pleased to say that recently enacted legislation allows me to sentence you to be taken from the court into the punishment cell next door where you will receive six lashes of the cane on the bare buttocks. Take him down.”

Jarosy is one of the first to be sentenced to lashes in Brocklehurst. After sentence he was immediately escorted to the punishment cell which is a room of about three metres by three. It is empty except for a specially-built heavy wooden horse. Jarosy was forced to remove his trousers and underpants before laying across the horse. His ankles, thighs and wrists were then restrained with leather straps.

The cane is about 120 cm long and made of heavy Malacca. It has about five notches across its length and despite its denseness it is extremely whippy.

A police spokesperson said, “When sentencing is to be carried out, a doctor first examines the prisoner to ensure he is fit to withstand the lashing. Then, he is asked to strip from the waist. Wherever possible we like the prisoner to prepare himself. That includes submitting himself across the horse so he can be strapped down.

If he does not do this there can be an unseemly struggle and prison officers will force his trousers and pants off and then tie him down.

The spokesperson said Jarosy seemed dazed when he entered the punishment cell. He passed the medical and presented himself for his lashing “in exemplary style”.

He added that six heavy lashes were laid on with intervals of ten seconds between each. The buttocks were scarred and there was some bleeding.”

Mrs. Harriot Fitzgibbon, who works in a greengrocer across the street from the punishment cell, said, “We heard this eerie screaming, it was like a banshee. All the customers stopped to listen. It was really quite exciting.”


Picture credit: Unknown

More Fake News stories here


Other stories you might like

The Gaffer of the Academy: 1. Beginnings

The paying guest

The student’s big fat fail


More stories from Charles Hamilton II are on the MMSA website


Charles Hamilton the Second

Book. Paul and his Landlord

used drawing cane hold (27)

Paul and His Landlord – and other troublesome tenants

Young men who are away from the parental home, often for the first time, are apt to stray from the straight and narrow. How lucky that responsible adults in the shape of landlords are on hand to show them the error of their ways, even if it means delivering sound spankings and other corporal punishment.

It might even be a life-changing experience for them – it certainly was for Paul.

Paul and his landlord and other troublesome tenants is another in a series of collections of my stories being published in book form. It runs for more than 21,000 words and has many illustrations. You should be able to read it on your lap top or e-book reader.

Click on the link below to download it free-of-charge.



Picture credit: Unknown


For more free-to-download books click here

Book. The Swish of the Rattan

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The swish of the rattan


I see from the statistics that WordPress churn out all the time that the most popular search term from visitors to this site is “Cane”. The second is “Bare” (you naughty boys!).

So, I thought as a special treat for lovers of the swish of the whippy rattan rod I would put together fifteen of my favourite caning stories into a free-to-download book. Backsides are blistered in the home, the office and at university. Dads, uncles, professors, housemates, bosses all show their prowess with the cane.

I hope you enjoy the tales which run to about 35,000 words, but please know there are no traditional school stories in this collection.

Lovers of those can find two other collections of stories. Click on the titles below for more details. All characters are aged eighteen or over.

Tales from the study 1: St. Francis Independent Grammar School

Tales from the study 2: Six of the best school stories


ALEXANDER ALDRIDGE WAS dumbfounded. His mouth literally gaped open. Before him stood a figure menacingly flexing a school cane between his huge hairy hands.

“Y… you want to cane me?” It was question as much as a statement.

The sun was quickly setting and the drawing room was gloomy. Soon they would need to turn on the electric light.

“Yes. And I hope it will bring you to your senses.”

William Beaver swished the cane through the air with some force. Alexander blanched. His housemate seemed to be entirely serious.

William gently tapped the cane against his right leg. “You must pay the rent. You cannot expect to get away with it.”

At that moment, their other housemate George Templeton entered the room. “Don’t start without me,” he chortled.

Extract from Housemate pays the rent

Download The Swish of the Rattan below

The swish of the rattan by Charles Hamilton II

Picture credit: Keith and Bratski

For more free-to-download books click here


My house. My rules

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Marcus lays flat on his back on his lumpy single mattress admiring his refection in the full-length mirror in the corner of the room. The air is cool, but it is not cold. He pulls the bottom of his white t-shirt up to his chest so he can fondle his flat, hairless stomach. He slips his left hand inside the waistband of his tight mini-shorts and clasps his dick. He is not yet hard but knows he soon will be. He screws his eyes tightly shut.

The door opens quietly. Mr. Shults his landlord stands by the bed, towering over him. He never knocks. It is his house, he can go where he wants, when he wants; that is understood. He is calm, he always is. To Marcus he seems incapable of ever showing anger. In a measured tone he says, “You know the rules of my house, I made them clear when you first moved in.”

He tells the truth. So many rules, but Marcus can remember Mr. Shults’s speech word for word.

“While you are a lodger in my home you will obey my rules. You will always be punctual to breakfast. You will obey your curfew. That means 10.30 p.m. No later.

“You will not bring friends back and you will not play loud music in your room. The front room is entirely out of bounds to you. You are permitted to use the back room, but you must never take food or drink in there.

“You will address me as ‘Mr. Shults’ and you will address my wife as ‘Mrs. Shults.’ You will be polite at all times and obey without question any instructions that either of us might give you.

“These are the rules of the house. It is my house and I make the rules. If you choose to brake one of my rules, you will be spanked. With your trousers down. I shall spank you on your underpants and if you dare to repeat your rule-breaking you will be spanked on your bared bottom.

“If you still have not come to your senses I have an exceedingly whippy rattan school cane that I keep in the cupboard under the stairs and I am not afraid to use it.

“Do I make myself entirely clear?”

Marcus removes his hand from inside his shorts and looks across at his landlord. He is not a very imposing figure. Marcus thinks he must be in his fifties, he has a balding dome with tufts of light grey hair wildly sticking up at the sides. Two beady bright blue eyes stare out of his fleshy face. He is probably no more than five-feet-ten-inches tall and he has more than a “spare tyre” around his belly. No one seeing him in the street would give a second glace.

Despite this Mr. Shults has an aura. He is a man of decision and when he says something will happen, it does so. Marcus knows he is some big boss at Altringham’s one of Brocklehurst’s biggest employers. He is used to giving orders, he expects them to be obeyed.

Marcus pulls himself off his back and sits propped against one pillow. He knows down to the very last detail what will play out next. He must wait for events to take their course.

So many rules, it is impossible not to have broken at least one of them.

Marcus watches as Mr. Shults balances on one leg and reaches to his foot to tug off a bedroom sipper. A little unsteady on his feet now, he turns and picks up a chair that stands against the wall. It is old, straight-backed and at one time it graced the kitchen. Mr. Shults puts it down in a space between the bed and a cupboard. Gripping the rubber-soled slipper in one hand he uses the other to take hold of Marcus by the wrist. The nineteen-year-old does not resist. He allows himself to be pulled to his feet. He shifts from one foot to the other watching as Mr. Shults sits himself down on the chair. Marcus notices (not for the first time) how well padded are Mr. Shults’s legs. His landlord spreads his feet a little and in so doing creates a platform with his knees and his lap.

It is not necessary to speak since Marcus knows from experience what he is expected to do now. Nonetheless, Mr. Shults says the time-honoured words that have put fear into many naughty boys down the ages. “Bend over my knee,” he says. And, to emphasise his intention, he once again grips Marcus by the wrist and this time he pulls him forward so that he flops across his knees and is left face-down staring at the beige rug that is now centimetres from his nose.

Mr. Shults places his left arm around Marcus’s midriff and presses down hard. This is to keep the teenager in place for the spanking that is about to be delivered. The effort this takes is not strictly necessary because Marcus is submissive. He has broken the rules; he knows this. The penalty for rule-breaking is a spanking. This fact he knows also. He likes to think of himself as an honourable young man. Let nature take its course.

The palms of Marcus’s hands dig into the shag pile of the rug. He spreads his fingers and feels many grit particles; the rug has not been cleaned for some considerable time. He feels the muscles stretch in his arms and his shoulders as he tries to hold his head high. He can see the reflection of himself and Mr. Shults in the mirror in the corner. He sees his round bottom encased in tight cotton and his hairless legs dangling in mid-air. His toes hover a few centimetres above the rug.

He sees Mr. Shults put the slipper down on Marcus’s bare back. He knows what will happen next. Mr. Shults is as good as his promise. Marcus is a repeat offender. Without ceremony, he grips the waistband of the teenager’s micro-shorts and with three heavy tugs he has them pulled over his buttocks and down the back of his thighs. Marcus’s eyes widen. He has a perfect view of his cheeks and crack in the mirror. He feels his landlord gently caress him. The palm of Mr. Shults’s hand pats and preens Marcus’s cheeks. It is as if he is trying to get the measure of the task ahead of him. How much flesh; how much muscle does the teenager have in his behind?.

A cliché-writer would say that Marcus has buns of steel. Perhaps a better description is that his cheeks are as hard as two rubber balls, the kind once known as “super balls” to generations of children. One small bounce could send them flying metres high.

Mr. Shults preens Marcus; the boy’s mounds are terrific, the skin on the back of his thighs unblemished. He moves his arm away from Marcus’s waist and now pins him at the shoulders. He picks up the slipper, squeezes it tightly, raises it to the height of his own shoulders and wallops it down at speed into the very centre of the nineteen-year-old’s left buttock. The delight Mr. Shults feels as the outline of the slipper’s sole appears in deep pink across the cheek does not register on his face.

Marcus takes a breath. That hurts, but it is not beyond his endurance. Another whack hits him on the right buttock and then again on the left. The pain is increasing now. Marcus feels his bottom warming up. He feels also Mr. Shults’s body move as he continues to swing the slipper across Marcus’s bum. The boy’s head swings from left to right, the pain now definitely registering. He’s head lowers closer to the rug and from this position he is able to see under the chair that Mr. Shults is sitting on and observe his own feet, still hovering above the floor. Mr. Shults is finding his rhythm. Marcus sees his feet waving about. This is not of his doing, the movements of his feet, his legs and his hips gyrate in protest at the hurt his body is enduring: it is a reflex action, Marcus has no control over his actions.

Mr. Shults is resolute in the task he has set himself: disciplining (no, punishing) his disobedient lodger. Having ensured that every square centimetre of the buttocks now glow red hot he turns his attention to the backs of Marcus’s thighs. As any young man who has suffered Marcus’s indignity knows, this is the cruellest action a spanker might take. The thighs are even more sensitive than the bottom. Marcus wriggles and squirms with renewed effort.

Marcus loses all sense of time. How long has he been draped over his landlord’s lap? How many times has that slipper connected with his bare flesh? He has no idea. His bum is sore and his body soaked in perspiration.

Suddenly, he is on his feet. Mr. Shults is leaving the room, still gripping his slipper. Marcus clutches both buttock cheeks with his hands. He rubs furiously. He hops from foot to foot performing the traditional spanking dance. He turns and pokes his naked bottom in the direction of the mirror. His admiration goes out to Mr. Shults, his punisher.

Marcus opens his eyes. His hand is down the front of his shorts and his dick is so rigid they cannot contain its girth. He wriggles the shorts over his hips and down his buttocks. He turns on his side and reaches into a drawer seeking the small bottle of purple gel he hides inside. He finds it, opens it and pours a generous blob into his palm.

As Marcus works away at his raging cock, his mother and father sit contentedly in the living room downstairs engrossed in EastEnders.


Picture credit: Akibu

Other stories you might like

The military kid

Secret in the loft

Not too old to be spanked by grandad


 More stories from Charles Hamilton II are on the MMSA website


Charles Hamilton the Second