In the Global North (where most of you readers of these stories live) it is summer. School is out oh happy days etc. People are taking holidays (or vacations if they are American). They are kicking back. They are relaxing. To help keep you in the mood here are a few of my stories with a summer theme.
Click on the title to read the full story.
The Glorious Summer
“I am prepared, in the name of God, to give you a second chance,” Parson Scorn’s beady eyes burned into Crispin. He really was the most delightfully looking fellow. The sun highlighted the colour of his yellow hair which contrasted with his deep suntan.
“It will not be pleasant,” Parson Scorn’s voice broke. He coughed nervously. “But, I am prepared to do my duty.”
Crispin stared at the Parson. He had seen the way the old men looked at him at Parson’s Pleasure. Suddenly, he realised the significance of it name.
Parson Scorn reached for the canvas bag at his feet. Inside seconds, it was open. Crispin’s eyes widened. It had been years since he had seen such a thing. Furtively, he exchanged glances with Alfie. Now, they understood the vile clergyman’s game.
Parson Scorn picked up the birch rods in his hands and held them up to the eighteen-year-olds, as if making a religious offering.
Summer in the Headmaster’s Study
Alfie Rogers was one of those eighteen-year-olds who believed rules did not apply to them. Well, the headmaster was determined to demonstrate, that they did. “If it were a first-form boy before me,” he intoned, “I should cane him and frankly Rodgers I see no reason why I should not do the same with you.”
Rodgers’ face blanched. “You cannot be serious,” he thought the words but knew better than to say them aloud. The headmaster’s icy stare demonstrated he was deadly determined in his course of action. This was confirmed when he strode across the room to a tall, narrow cupboard. Within moments he was flexing a long, whippy rattan cane between his hands. Rodgers stared hard.
The Summer Holiday Camp
Mr Wilkinson was finding his aim. Goosebumps stood up on the boy’s buttocks. The wood felt heavy. It could pack some punch. Tony wished he could stop his eyes blinking.
He felt his boss move the paddle away from his naked flesh. Then. Crack! “Ssssssssss!!” It wasn’t a yelp, not even a groan. Tony expelled air between his lips. It sounded like a punctured car tyre.
It hurt. A lot. Tony’s back arched further and his knees buckled.
“Back in position.” Mr Wilkinson watched quietly as a dark pink mark formed across the very centre of both the boy’s buttocks. The boss was an expert at this; after all he had enough experience.
Suddenly One Summer
Emboldened by curiosity, Stewart tip-toed closer to the open window of Kevin’s bedroom. Yes, Stewart confirmed to himself. it was the sharp sound of slap, slap, slapping. He paused and listened intently as the slap, slap, slap continued in a rhythmic and repetitive fashion. Stewart’s heart stopped when he heard Kevin’s voice, “Ow, Dad, no please stop it. It hurts!”
Then in reply, Mr Barker growled, “Be quiet! I told you if you disobeyed me again you’d get a spanking.”
Summer at Uncle’s
Peter, an eighteen-year-old from a small town, stays with Uncle Barnabas in London for the summer. The country boy soon learns the wicked ways of the city as he is introduced into the world of corporal punishment by a cast of characters including his cousin Albert; “out-and-proud” Nickie; and an old-fashioned schoolmaster by the unlikely name of Dr Cains.
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Summer Spent Staring at the Carpet
I cannot begin to remember how often I had a close-up view of the carpet that summer. My nose hovering inches above the dusty, cheap flooring. Trousers at my ankles, underwear at the knees and Uncle Simon flogging a birch rod into my naked buttocks. Yowl! I can still feel the sting as I recall the pain and indignity of it all.
Nineteen years old and over an older man’s knees for a bare-arsed whipping. Can you imagine such a thing?
A Summer to Remember
Wilberforce was a year older than me and was strikingly handsome. His high cheekbones, and wavy fair hair gave him a dreamlike quality. His racy smile and quick wit captivated me. But what occupied my thoughts most was Wilberforce’s round, firm bottom. I already knew of my tendency in this direction as I had developed a passion for a boy while a schoolboy at St. Tom’s. We would sneak away to the cricket pavilion during summer nights and explore each other.
As we rambled through the hills and over the nearby cliffs I would encourage Wilberforce to walk ahead of me, thus allowing me to admire his two cheeks, like two firm peaches inside his loose baggy shorts.
One Hot Summer Afternoon
Simon and Tony were in the room. They weren’t doing anything much. Listening to the radio. Talking. Hanging out. The room was small. It was hot and sticky. So were the boys.
Nothing was planned. Off came their shirts. It didn’t help. The heat was unbearable. Sweat glistened on Simon’s defined torso. A pool of perspiration soaked the top of Tony’s snug blue sport shorts. Tony grabbed his own shirt and wiped down his friend’s body; making circular motions across the chest and stomach, like he was polishing a car.
Simon squawked. It was a giggle the like he had never shrieked before.
Tony laughed. His eyes shone green. He pushed his best pal onto the bed and leapt on top of him.
Small children call it “pretend fighting.” It’s when they wrestle around on the floor, but they’re not really trying to hurt one another.
Charles Hamilton the Second
Male on male spanking stories 