Jake stared at the message on the screen of his iPhone. Finn was late but on his way. Jake hated sitting in The Three Fishers on his own. The pub was heaving. It was a bit of a sleaze ball. They had begun drinking there when they were sixteen; they weren’t particular about who they served. A group of old queens at the bar scanned the room searching for fresh meat. Jake felt their stares burning his flesh.
He concentrated on his phone, swiping through the sports news. He didn’t hear the man at first. “Sorry,” he shouted leaning forward to hear what he was saying.
“I said, do you like being spanked?”
Jake frowned, had he heard the old man correctly?
The man edged closer and put his mouth close to Jake’s ear. “Would you let me spank you? Are you in to being spanked?”
Jake’s mouth opened and closed. He had heard all right that time. What sort of question was that? Who was this man? He didn’t seem drunk. High. Crazy.
“I have a house. Lots of toys,” the man smiled.
Jake took a long draw on his drink. Playing for time. Just a little frightened. Bodies pushed past his table. He looked across to the door. Should he leave? Where was Finn?
“I can spank you. Do you like to be spanked?” the man asked again as if it was the most natural question to ask a guy in the pub. (“Do you want a peanut?”)
Jake took another gulp of beer. Dutch courage. “Wor … wor ..” he began, trying to find the right word. How to say “fuck off” without making a scene? He looked the man in the face. It was a bright, open face. Not at all sinister. The guy was no threat. Jake laughed. “Jesus. Does anybody ever say ‘yes’?”
The man’s smile was genuine. “You’d be surprised. But, not for you then?”
Jake shook his head, “No thanks.”
“Oh well, enjoy your evening. But if you ever change your mind …. ” The man disappeared into the crowd.
Five minutes later Finn put two pints on the table in front of his pal. He took a long draught, downing half of the glass.
“You’ll never guess what’s just happened to me?” Jake said and when Finn ignored him, he told the story anyway.
“I guy came up to me and asked if he could take me home and spank me. Incredible!”
Finn took another gulp. Shrugged his shoulders. “About fifty, greasy hair, going a bit bald, bit of a Welsh accent?”
“You know him?”
“Name’s Paddy Price. Least that’s what he calls himself.”
“How do you know him?”
Finn smirked, “How’d ya think?”
It took a moment for the penny to drop. “You’ve been with him?”
Finn snorted, drank some more. “He has a big place on The Avenue. Must be loaded.”
Jake stared at his friend. The room seemed to be spinning. What was happening here? “What he paid you?”
Finn’s nostrils flared, “Fuck off, what do you take me for a rent boy?”
Jake recoiled, Finn was genuinely angry. “No, but,” he paused, uncertain whether he should say this. “But isn’t it gay?”
Finn frowned, Jake could be a right dickhead sometimes. “No.” He nodded at the iphone on the table. “Go online, everybody’s into it.”
Finn was right. Later in bed Jake surfed the net. They were all at it. Guys on girls. Girls on guys. Girls on girls. Guys on guys. An entire industry of adult spanking. In one video there was a guy looked a bit like Finn. He wasn’t, of course, but he was the same height, same basic shape; not fat, but cuddly.
He was supposed to be a junior schoolboy, short trousers, knee socks. The lot. He had been found smoking a cigarette. Then he had to take down his shorts and underpants and bend over the knee of another lad who was the head boy to get a spanking on the bare bottom.
In another one the same Finn-a-like (still a schoolboy in short trousers) is caught smoking. In these videos smoking is the biggest sin a schoolboy can commit. Its shorts and trousers down again. This time he’s over the back of an armchair for a dose of a whippy rattan school cane from the headmaster.
Jake slept so fitfully the duvet was soiled. He dreamt he was back at school and Finn was head boy and Jake was that boy getting his bare arse slapped.
Nearly two weeks later Jake walked purposively through the suburban streets. The Avenue was longer than he had anticipated, if he wasn’t careful he would be late for his appointment. Paddy Price had ben most helpful when after three tries Jake had at last tracked him down at the Three Fishers. Of course, they could meet, let us make an appointment. Is an evening good for you? It was as if they were arranging to meet for tea.
At last Jake found the house. It was a modern structure hidden behind a high wall and electronic gate. Away from prying eyes. He touched the intercom button and a cheerful voice greeted him With a whir the gate moved sideways and Jake squeezed through. Paddy Price was waiting at the door, a bright welcoming smile split his face.
They chatted amiably. Did he find the house all right? All the while Jake’s heart pounded. He had been waiting for this hour. Once Finn had introduced him to the joys of spanking videos Jake could not get enough. He sweated waiting for his chance. Oh to go across the back of a chair, or over the knee for an arse-whopping. His temples ached already at the prospect.
Paddy Price led the way upstairs. “I have a special room,” he grinned opening a large wood-panelled door. “It’s sound-proofed,” he said enigmatically. It was a large room, dominated by a huge beaten-up wooden desk. Along one wall were glass-fronted bookshelves. A black leather Chesterfield couch rested against another. A wardrobe with double doors was along a third. Two padded leather armchairs made up the rest of the furniture. Paddy Price gestured to one of them, “Sit down, please.” He noticed Jake’s wide eyes drink in the contents of the room. “Sometimes I use it as a headmaster’s study,” he explained. “Some people like to do role-play, you known blazers, school caps, shirt trousers, the works.”
Jake nodded without enthusiasm. He had noticed in the videos how the “schoolboys” almost always wore short trousers. It did nothing for him personally. Paddy Price perched his ample buttocks on the edge of the desk. He smiled again. “Have you given any thought to tonight?” he asked. Jake gulped, he had thought of nothing else for days. It seemed for every waking moment (and some also while he was asleep).
Paddy Price pulled himself to his feet and ambled to the cupboard. He opened it with a flourish. Jake’s eyes popped. “Voila! My toys,” Paddy Price stepped to one side, giving his guest the full view. Dangling on hooks was an array of straps, paddles, canes and crops. “Something for everyone,” Paddy Price’s lips parted revealing yellowing teeth. “Oh and I have slippers and brushes too if you’d rather.”
The tip of Jake’s tongue poked out and he wetted his lips before clamping his top teeth over his bottom lip. He swallowed hard.
“Do you have a preference?” Paddy Price grinned, “Or would you prefer me to choose?” Jake sat and stared. Speechless. “Never mind,” Paddy Price resumed his spot on the desk, “We have plenty of time.”
They lapsed into amiable silence. Paddy Price was in no hurry. He adored breaking in “newbies”. H would go at Jake’s pace. “Of course,” he said mildly, “It is so much more fun if the discipline is a real punishment,” he noted Jake’s bafflement so continued, “Have you been naughty? Is there something you have done that is bad?” Paddy Price leaned forward hoping to entice his guest into confession.
Jake pondered. No, he thought, he hadn’t done anything that he could recall. Paddy Price flashed his smile once more, then laughed, “Oh, so we have a saint here, do we, ha, ha, ha.” Jake blushed but remained silent. “Have you taken any drugs? Smoked weed?” Paddy Price asked.
“Yes,” Jake replied unsteadily.
“Well, that’s bad. That’s against the law,” Paddy Price beamed. “You should be spanked for that.”
Jake blinked. Smoking weed, against the law? Of course, but he had honestly forgotten that. Everyone he knew smoked, all the time. The police never did anything about it.
“Right then lad,” Paddy Price’s smile had gone. He rose from the desk and paced across the room. “Stand up. Stand in front of my desk,” he barked as he sat himself down behind it. “Stand up straight. Stop slouching.”
Jake straightened his back and let his arms hang limply by his side.
“Look at me when I’m talking to you,” Paddy Price’s entire demeanour had changed. “I will not tolerate one of my boys using drugs. They are dangerous. They are against the law.” Jake nodded, uncertain how he should react. His heart was racing and he could feel blood rushing to his temples. Adrenalin was kicking in.
“What have you to say for yourself, boy?” Paddy Price had a script in his head. Jake mumbled, said nothing coherent, then clasping at straws he muttered, “Sorry,” and then after a moment’s further thought, he added the obligatory, “Sir.”
“Sorry!” Paddy Price’s voice rose an octave, “Sorry! You soon will be boy.” He rose from his chair and magisterially walked to the still-open cupboard. He paused, turned to Jake and barked, “Hang your jacket on the door.” He nodded to a hook. With damp palms, Jake slipped the jacket from his shoulders. He surprised himself at how much his hands shook.
He turned to face his master in tie to see Paddy Price pick out a cane from the cupboard and swish it through the air a couple of times. Then he held the two ends and flexed it gently testing it for whippiness. It curved easily. It was about a metre in length and as thick as a pencil. It looked just like the ones Jake had seen in the videos. It had notches along its length and the traditional curved handle. All saliva drained from Jake’s mouth.
“Boy when I cane I make sure it hurts. There is no point in giving you a beating if it doesn’t. I won’t lie to you, your backside will be on fire and you will be sore for a few days. The marks will last about two weeks but you will live. You will not return for another beating and will learn from this experience,” Paddy Price was enjoying himself. “Now, I want you to stand behind that armchair,” he swished the cane in the required direction so there could be no doubt what he meant. With legs of lead, Jake shuffled the three steps needed to comply with the order.
Paddy Price stood flexing his cane thoughtfully between his hands. “Lower your trousers,” he said sternly. Jake hesitated. His head was light, Paddy Price’s voice sounded as if it was travelling from a vast distance. Paddy Price tapped the end of the cane across the back of the padded armchair, making a series of dull thuds. As if in a trance, Jake fumbled to unbuckle his belt. His hands moved more freely as he slipped the fastener and unzipped his trousers. The weight of the belt and gravity made them slither down his thighs and rest at his knees. “All the way down,” Paddy Price growled. Jake stooped forward and pushed them to his ankles.
He straightened himself in time to hear Paddy Price intone, “Now, your underpants.” There was a thundering noise in Jake’s ears, his temples throbbed, his head ached. He looked down at his gleaming white Y-fronts; he had bought them specially for the occasion; all the boys in the videos wore them. He put his fingers in the waist band and peeled them down, exposing his cock and balls. He left them bunched just below his buttocks. Instinctively, he placed both hands at his from to hide his genitals. “Pah!” Paddy Price wheezed, unimpressed.
He swished the cane through empty air once more, it made a terrific whooshing noise as it flew. “Bend over the chair,” he touched the top of the armchair with the cane for emphasis. A feeling he had never felt before overwhelmed Jake; he could not be certain, was this fear? Or was it extreme excitement. He bent forward feeling his bottom tighten into a smooth curve. His bare buttocks were presented submissively over the back of the armchair.
“Head nice and low please boy.”
Jake’s thigh muscles and bottom tensed as he stretched his arms grasping the armchair’s cushion at the front. Paddy Price watched quietly as the teenager slithered into position. Then he gently took a grip of Jake’s underpants and tugged them so they fell to rest on top of his trousers. He was almost ready. Paddy Price heard Jake’s heavy wheezing and smiled. He lifted the nineteen-year-old’s shirt away from his backside, exposing me, so that his body was naked from the middle of his back to his ankles. Jake shivered; not with cold but fearful anticipation.
“Keep very still, boy and push your head right down into the cushion.”
Jake pushed himself further down into the chair, raising his bottom well up for the cane.
“Don’t forget, boy, don’t move around too much or you will get extra strokes.”
“Yes, Sir,” Jake’s reply was muffled as his head was buried in the chair cushion.
Seconds passed. Only now did Jake realise his master had a perfect view of his crack and hole. And Finn had said there was nothing gay about this. Jake’s hole winked, opened and closed, his buttocks quivered, then clenched. Never in his life had he felt so vulnerable. Suddenly there was an enormous noise. The thwack of the cane landing on Jake’s backside echoed round the room. Jake hardly had time to recover from the shock when there was another crack which this time was immediately followed by an intense burning pain. He held his breath as the next stroke landed causing the pain to increase in a sickening wave.
Number four stuck and Jake hissed a whine. Mr Price continued, determined. Three more strokes landed each one lower than the previous, yet all in a band about three centimetres wide on the lower half of Jake’s bum. As the next stroke cracked across his poor sore seat Jake let out a roar, any restraint he may have had was gone. He could no longer see the chair for the tears filling his eyes. Jake closed his eyes and gritted his teeth and hung on to the chair, aware of nothing except the pain burning like a furnace in his bottom.
Raising his arm high Paddy Price brought the cane down with a full swing, landing in the middle of Jake’s bottom. He cried out and tossed my head, humped the back of the chair and swayed for a few moments. The next three strokes seemed to merge together. Jake was concentrating on staying bent over, in so much pain, and trying without success to stop the tears that were by now flowing down his cheeks.
He desperately wanted to but he did not stand up. Instead he remained bent over the caning chair offering his bottom for the next stroke, completely at the mercy of Paddy Price, who could make each stroke as severe as he wished and all Jake could do was accept it and then wait for the next.
Paddy Price was in his element, he was an expert caner, a master master if you will. He swished in yet another stroke across the very centre of Jake’s bum. Although he still stayed over the chair, his feet beat a frenzied dance, his hips twisted and squirmed.
Jake thought his head might explode; blood coursed through his arteries. His bottom felt like he had been sitting on a barbecue. His arse felt corrugated; welts criss-crossed his once creamy-white buttocks. He was certain some might be weeping blood. How many strokes had it been? Jake had not thought to count. What was certain was it was more than a simple six-of-the-best. Finally, Paddy Price walked over to the cupboard to replace the cane. Jake felt a terrific sense of relief that it was over but remained across the chair, breathing heavily and in great distress.
Paddy Price stood watching the teenager gasping for breath, like some beached dolphin. He had taken it well. “It’s over. You can get up now. I think you have learned your lesson, haven’t you?”
Jake slowly pushed himself back on his elbows and rose unsteadily. His legs felt weak and he had to lean on the desk before he got his balance. Tentatively at first, he touched then carefully clasped his raw buttocks and began kneading them, as though he could somehow squeeze the pain out. Only then did he see his rigid cock staring at a forty-five degree angle to reach the ceiling. His head was the clearest it had ever been, like an out-of-body experience. No amount of weed would ever give him a buzz like this.
Slowly, painfully, he pulled up his underpants, staining to get the soft white cotton to cover his cock. Still he massaged his injured rump as vigorously as he could.
Paddy Price slipped his arm around Jake’s shoulder for an instant, before propelling him towards the door, and out into the hallway. His eyes were still wet and blurry, but he found his way to the bathroom where he stayed for the few moments it needed for his cock to explode into a wodge of toilet paper.
“Come down, for a drink,” Paddy Price called, “When you’re quite ready of course.”
Picture credit: Unknown
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More stories from Charles Hamilton II are on the MMSA website
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