When I was a young man I got a new job and needed somewhere to live. Simon, a co-worker of about my age, told me about a clergyman in a nearby village who let out rooms. Ian, the guy who I replaced at the office, had lived there.
Simon drove me out into the countryside. The vicarage was old and a bit dilapidated. I’ll call the vicar Rev Jones (it’s not his real name) although I don’t think we need to be too careful. He was ancient even then. Or at least he seemed so to my twenty-year-old self. He must have shuffled off to meet his maker many years ago.
Rev Jones showed us into his study and then left to busy himself with who-knows-what? I’ve always been a bit nosey, so I took a look at his bookshelves. My eyes immediately fell on a book called something like The History of Corporal Punishment. I had already developed an interest in spanking, but I was young and naïve and had never had the chance to do anything about it.
I showed Simon the book. “Oh,” Simon said too glibly, “He must be interested in history.” I’m sure Simon knew more than he was letting on.
I didn’t take the room, I found somewhere closer and more convenient to where I worked. I never saw or heard about Rev Jones again. But, the memory of that August afternoon never quite left me. Even after many years I wondered if I had missed an opportunity. Simon left the company shortly after and I was never able to find out what he really knew.
I have invented many fantasies about what might have happened to me had I taken lodgings at the vicarage. The stories of the Spanking Vicar of Aston Budleigh are inspired by them. I have no way of knowing if Rev Jones was a spanko. The stories are from my imagination. Rev Crick is not Rev Jones. Like everything I write they are entirely fictional.
Much later – after I thought I had done with writing about the Spanking Vicar – I returned and wrote a story called “Remembering the Spanking Vicar” in which I imagine what might have happened if I had taken that room …
I have put all the stories together here. Click on the title.
I hope you enjoy reading them.
Craig’s mother who is a convinced Christian has arranged for the nineteen-year-old to stay with Rev Crick while he studies at university. “He has no self-discipline,” Craig’s mother tells the vicar. Not to worry! The vicar has two canes hanging from hooks in his study.
“Rev Crick was nearly finished. Only two more strokes to go; then it would be over: a traditional six-of-the-best. He rested the cane across the by-now raw cheeks from the top left corner to the bottom right. Craig’s whole body tensed as he recognised what the vicar was up to. Crick raised the cane high and lashed it down so that the stoke cut across the previous four, slicing across them and reigniting their agony.”
It is Sunday and Craig and the two other young men who lodge with Rev Crick must face the weekly reckoning. It’s time for him to go through their week. Have they done all our chores? How are their grades at the university?
“It was eight o’clock precisely and the three young men stood in the study shuffling their feet in front of Rev Crick’s magnificent leather-topped desk. It reminded Craig of his visits to the housemaster at school. They were always extremely painful. Would this be the same? Was he in for a spanking?”
Rev Crick takes his pastoral duties very seriously and often makes house calls. Donald Blewitt has been giving his widowed mother a hard time. Send for The Spanking Vicar!
“The boy watched impassively as Rev Crick pulled a chair away from the dining table and placed in the centre of the room. Then he sat down, straightened his back and spread his legs.
‘“I want you to take down your jeans and your underpants, Donald.”
Bob has missed his curfew and Rev Crick paces his study in silence. He genuinely fears the boy has come to harm. But no. It was a woman of course who made him late. Rev Crick shows his relief in the only way he knows.
“Bob stretched over the arm of the couch, secretly relieved that he hadn’t been ordered to drop his trousers: or worse yet, his trousers and his pants.
‘“Keep very still, boy and push your head right down into the cushion.” Bob pushed himself further down into the couch, raising his bottom well up for the cane. His firm bottom stretched his now very tight trousers.”
While the cat’s away the mice do play. Rev Crick goes off to a conference and leaves the boys at the vicarage unsupervised. But, he returns unexpectedly early.
“Crick had both presence and a reputation. He had hardly stepped through his front door before the party-goers headed for the hills, leaving Craig and Tommy alone in the kitchen. Bob had long-since disappeared with Sally Hargreaves; a young lady with a reputation of her own.
“Crick’s anger was real, but it was outmatched by his astonishment. For Craig and Tommy were dressed only in their underpants. Tommy’s were traditional white Y-fronts, but his nineteen-year-old partner-in-crime sported rather fashionable sky blue briefs. The two lodgers stared sheepishly at one another, as if realising only for the first time that they were in their underwear.”
A case of ginger beer goes missing at the village fete.
“Will and Olly might be sixth-form pupils, but they were not the brightest stars in the firmament. They had been caught in possession of their stolen goods. They were, as hardened criminals say in B-pictures, “Bang to rights.”
‘“You will both go to the vicarage and wait outside until I return. I am going to give each of you a thoroughly-deserved thrashing,’ he growled.”
Tommy is addicted to self-abuse.
‘“What did I tell you would happen if I caught you playing with yourself again?” the Reverend demanded.
‘“Answer me boy, what did I say?”
“The Reverend’s demand was met by another indistinct response. The last time Crick caught Tommy playing with himself he had delivered a summary spanking on his bare bottom: very hard indeed. Obviously, it did not have the effect the Reverend desired.’
Sam Ramsden is a sixth-former, prefect and incorrigible nuisance at the church youth club.
“Rev Crick sucked a final drag on his cigarette before stubbing it out in an ashtray alongside seven or eight other butts. Then, he tipped the whole lot into the swing bin before leaving his bread to bake in the kitchen to go to his study where he had left the schoolboy he was going to thrash.”
“School had just finished for the day and the wretched boy was still in his uniform. He had made an effort at least, the vicar supposed. His blue-and-green-striped tie was tied tightly at his neck; the white shirt was tucked neatly into his mid-grey trousers.”
“Rev Crick stared ferociously at the Boy Scout standing before him. He had a great shock of fair wavy hair and the ruddiest cheeks he had seen on a young man in a long time. His buttocks would be just as red by the time I’ve finished with him, he thought. Those short trousers would have to come down too: the material’s far too thick.
“Leon Hawkes was a scout leader, of sorts. At nineteen years old, almost twenty, he was supposed to be a responsible young man. He was expected to set an example; to give guidance to the younger boys.
“He shuffled from one foot to the other; embarrassed, but not ashamed, as Rev Crick berated him. He had been “irresponsible”, “reckless”, “careless”, “unconcerned,” “negligent” and “inconsiderate”. The vicar was throwing the book at him.”
Terry Miller, a milkman and the star player in the village cricket team, goes missing before a vital match.
“The buttocks were creamy white, in stark contrast with the young man’s sun-tanned body. They were also surprisingly devoid of hair. O’Dowd gripped the cricket stump and took his aim. Miller was not especially tall but he was still a little large to fit comfortably across the older man’s lap. O’Dowd could not easily get the stump to cover both cheeks simultaneously without himself leaning so far back in his chair that the body across his lap might slip to the floor.”
Craig is caught travelling on the tram without a ticket. Bad luck for him the ticket inspector recognises him as one of Rev Crick’s boys.
“Rev Crick admired the man standing before him. Craig’s hazel green eyes shone and despite the cold weather his pale skin glistened. But, it was the boy’s cutest button nose that always got the vicar’s heart skipping. That and the sweep of his buttocks that looked gorgeous no matter what he wore (or did not).
“The underpants were the briefest briefs; they clung to the contours of Craig’s buttocks and held his cock and ball sack snugly at the front. In all his years spanking young men, the vicar had never seen such unsuitable underwear. The boy was a slave to fashion, the tightness of the fit meant the pants rode up his crack all the time and there was no escape for the penis when it was time to go to the toilet. The only way to pee was to unbutton your trousers, pull them down a little and then poke your cock over the top of the pants, taking great care not to urinate all over your trousers.”
Byron Jones, aged 18, always attends church service in his “Sunday Best”, but this time he is wearing smart, tailored short trousers, just like a small boy.
“Rev Crick remembered the pitiful sight of Byron, humiliated at the church, his dark, hooded eyes staring blankly ahead. Putting him in short trousers was not the best way to get the boy to behave. The vicar had the solution to the problem; the two whippy school canes that were hanging on hooks on his study wall.
“Rev Crick rose from his desk and slowly walked to the canes. He turned his back to Byron but could feel the teenager’s eyes burning into the back of his neck. He picked up the thinner of the two canes and flexed it thoughtfully in his hands. It was as if he had never handled the whippy rod before and was trying to get its measure. He turned on his heels and wobbled the cane menacingly a few feet away from Byron’s face.”
Craig missed curfew last night. Now, he must face the consequences.
“Craig watched Rev Crick move towards his desk and lean down to a drawer. Crick cleared his throat and reached inside. Seconds later he removed a heavy wooden American-style paddle. He tested its weight in his hand and seemingly satisfied it was up to the job he turned to face the teenager.
‘“Assume the position,” Rev. Crick let a smile crack his face, pleased with his phoney American accent. That’s what they said on the other side of the pond, “Assume the position.” The kids seemed to know what they had to do then. Craig’s puzzled look spoke volumes. What did the reverend want him to do? Bend over the Chesterfield? One of the armchairs? It couldn’t be the desk his coat was there.”
Where I imagine what might have happened if I had lodged with Rev Jones.
“He reached forward and expertly unbuckled the wide leather belt around my waist. We wore enormously-flared trousers with high waistbands in those days. He had to undo six buttons before the front of my trousers flapped open. This gave me more than enough time to punch him in the mouth and make my escape.
“I did no such thing. I stared over his left shoulder at the bookcase behind him. I felt a draught against my thighs when the vicar pulled my trousers to my knees. The weight of the belt and gravity took them to nestle in a puddle over my platform shoes. Still, I gazed at the bookcase. I had no courage to look my punisher in the face.”
Picture credits: Unknown
There is also a prequel of The Spanking Vicar here
Other stories you might like
More stories from Charles Hamilton II are on the MMSA website
Also writing school stories as Scholastic here
Charles Hamilton the Second