James Danvers left his home at six-thirty on the dot every morning. His house was unexceptional in every way, just one more suburban box in a street composed of identical suburban boxes. His journey to the newsagent took about five minutes. He bought a copy of the Daily Express and then he walked home again. … Continue reading The milk bottle thief
Hal hated his job at the liquor store in Snarlesville. The hours were bad and the pay poor. The only consolation was he could take home a bottle or two under his coat from time to time – if he sneaked them from the room at the back away from the CCTV cameras. He did … Continue reading The liquor store
I am watching Aitkens. He seems to be waiting patiently for me to begin. He is prostrate across a gym horse, dressed in his PE kit: white shorts and vest. The horse is a little high and he is on tip-toes so he can stretch his body across it to grip the two front legs. … Continue reading The bully
Yes, you’re right, I am bent over a horse in the gym about to get the slipper across my arse. I know what you’re thinking, “Isn’t he a bit old for a spanking?” Well, that’s schools for you I suppose. I am eighteen and in my final year, but rules are rules. What can you … Continue reading Waiting for the slipper
My heart skipped a beat, my jaw dropped, my tongue hung out. And, yes I got more than a tingle below. It was forty years ago that I saw the boy at the motorway service station and not a day has gone by since that I haven’t thought of him. I sat at a picnic … Continue reading The Boy at the Service Station
Mr. Twirler had his doubts about the boys in room 3b. Yes, they had been at his rooming house since last January; six months now, but still there was something about them he just couldn’t get. Try as he might he couldn’t quite put his finger on it. Why should he worry? He told himself … Continue reading The boys in room 3b
Why me? Why am I always the one coach picks on to paddle when something goes wrong? I’m the one who has to “assume the position,” palms on shins, legs straight, butt sticking out. It’s me who feels the full force of coach’s 14-inch paddle across the arse. I don’t have much padding back … Continue reading Why me?