I thought I would let him wait again. He could savour his burning bum while I cooled off, in all senses of the meaning.
After about two minutes I suddenly spun round on my heel and thwacked him with the belt. I think he'd thought it would hurt less than the cane, but what he hadn't known was that the pain would be quite different, just as sharp, but different. He yelled immediately, and straight away I brought the belt down again right across his ass from one side to the other. Once again, he yelled, and once again I hit him. As I did it I noticed he was beginning to settle into the rhythmic writhing which I've seen before in boys of his age at this stage of a beating.
He was almost certainly unaware of it because of the pain in his backside, but he was becoming _s_e_x_ually aroused, and would probably reach a climax before he knew what was happening. Paradoxically, the same thing was happening to me, but I was very aware of it. Every time I whipped the belt round his buttocks, he responded by yelling, moving his pelvis into the edge of the bench, moaning, writhing and then relaxing. With each stroke the movement became more pronounced until at about the tenth he suddenly cried out, quite differently from before. I knew what had happened, but looking round the room I guessed that nobody else did, other than the sergeant who had seen it all before (and that's another story) and would always remain impassive.
I really laid on the last two, and then turned away as I felt my own climax come with an almost overpowering release. It was one of those British occasions where you have to keep your cool when the most extraordinary things are happening.
The Superintendent put down his files, and took off his glasses again.
'Is the punishment complete, Officer?' 'Yes, sir.' 'Thank you, Officer.' He looked at Stephen. He was limp, moaning a little, but making no other noise, I guessed he was deeply embarrassed by what had happened to him involuntarily during his thrashing. He needed some cover from the attention of Thornton in particular. The Super said: 'Sergeant, release the offender.' The sergeant unbuckled the straps and motioned to the boy to get up.
He staggered a little. The sergeant undid his handcuffs. I stood between the boy and Thornton to block his view. I could see the wet patch on the front of his jeans, so I knew I was correct. Stephen massaged his wrists, but then put his hands on his backside and rubbed it.
The Superintendent said: 'Have you got the boy's charge sheet and records, Sergeant? Please destroy them.' The sergeant took the buff folder and tore it in half; then he pulled a cigarette lighter from his pocket and walking over to a fire bucket in the corner of the cell set fire to the records and we all watched until they were burnt.
'Mr Barratt, you are free to leave. We have no record of the reason for your punishment here today.' The boy looked at me. I was concentrating on keep a ramrod straight expression. Then he walked out of the cell with the sergeant. The Superintendent said: 'Thank you very much Mr Thornton, for giving us your time. I hope it wasn't too tedious for you.' Thornton looked at the floor. 'No. It wasn't tedious at all.' I thought to myself: 'Well, well ....we've learned something about you today.' 'Thank you Officer Neale. A most efficient job of work. We've all done well today I think.' Once again I was thinking to myself 'If only you knew.' The other two left the cell.
The sergeant came back in. With a completely straight face he said to me 'The lad wants a word with you.' 'Are you kidding?' I said, 'After what I just did to him?' 'I think he's genuine. He wants to talk to you.' I walked down the corridor, and knocked on the door of the cell where I thought he would be changing. When I went in he was standing with his back to me. To outward appearances he was back to normal, though I could imagine what his ass must have felt like to him, and would look like to anybody who got a sight of it uncovered.
'There was nothing personal in that, lad' I said. 'Sometimes you boys deserve a good hiding.' Without turning round he said; 'Can I ....can I talk to you some time?' He stopped; he seemed to be embarrassed. I waited for a while. Then he blurted out: 'My dad never did that to me ....not even once.' I wasn't sure what to say. I waited a while again and then said: 'I'd hope he didn't.
That was a police thrashing. You broke the law and we punished you.
Your father would get put in jail if he did something like that to you.' He turned round and looked at me. I could see he had been crying.
'At least I know you care one way or the other.' I started to feel uncomfortable and simply said: 'Get on home, have a bath, and forget about all this. The slate's clean. You're a free man again.' He shook his head. 'I've seen you around on your bike. I've always noticed you ....' Then he stopped. 'Go home,' I said again, and at that point the Sergeant came back in. 'Come on; young man,' he said, 'how are you going to get home?' and with that I left and thought no more about Stephen.
*****
Three weeks later, I had just got in from my patrol when I was called to the phone at the desk. I walked over, and picked it up. 'Neale,' I said. There was a short silence. Then 'I'm sorry to bother you, sir. It's Stephen Barratt. I don't know whether you remember me.' I couldn't believe it. He went on: 'I didn't know whether they'd let me speak to you, but when I asked for you they just put me through.' 'How can I help you, Stephen?' I was a bit worried about where this could be leading; one of the issues we'd covered on the course was emotional dependence in the punishment situation. He seemed very hesitant.
'Could I have a word with you some time, sir?' 'What about, Stephen?' 'Could I tell you when I see you?' 'Is there a problem? Were you injured or anything?' 'No, sir.' 'What is it then?' 'I'd rather not talk about it over the phone. Please ....could you just give me five minutes?' All my instincts were screaming 'No' at me, but even as I was conscious of that, I heard my voice saying. 'OK, just five minutes. I'll meet you by the market clock at ten tomorrow morning.' I spent most of the evening thinking about this weird turn of events.
Strictly speaking he shouldn't even have known who I was, but it was a small town, and I knew him. I wondered about discussing it with the sergeant, but an inner voice persuaded me that would not be a good idea.
The next day I rode my motorbike into the market square just before ten and parked under the clock, where I often stopped. Almost immediately Stephen stepped out from a shop front. He was wearing much the same grungy clothes he'd been wearing back at the station. He looked diffident at first, but then walked straight up to me. He seemed to screw himself up to speak. He looked absurdly young and vulnerable.
'I want to ask you a favour, sir.' I looked at him without replying, and took off my sunglasses. 'I need you to take me in hand, and deal with me the way my father didn't.' I couldn't believe my ears. I still said nothing. 'What you did to me the other day was like releasing me from my own internal mess. It was the most important thing that's ever happened to me. It's made me grow up.' I felt I needed to say something. There were few other people around. 'I can't take the place of your parents, Stephen.' 'I don't want you to do that.' 'What do you want then?' 'I want you to give me a good hiding again, and then repeat it at regular intervals until I don't need it any more.' I looked straight at him, and found him looking right into my eyes: he meant it, with all the fervour of an eighteen year old. I felt my pulse quickening, and that old excitement in the pit of my stomach. Without needing to think about it I said to him: 'Go away, and think about what you've just said.' I thought to myself that I ought to get on my bike and leave now, but my mouth ran on: 'If you still feel like that in a month's time you'd better phone me again, and I'll see what I can do for you, but I think you'd be better off finding yourself a girl friend, for example, and forgetting about this part of your life.' He looked down at the ground, and shuffled his feet. 'I need something sooner than that. I can't sleep at night for thinking about it.' He looked right at me again, pleading. 'It's nothing for you ....you probably enjoy doing it ....' I thought to myself 'You don't know how right you are, boy.' To him I said. 'Meet me here again at nine this evening. I'll be in my car ....it's a BMW 3 series. I'm not making any promises to you.' I pushed my dark glasses back on, started up the bike and rode off. I could see him in the mirror walking away.
*****
When I picked him up that evening, he was still in his jeans and T-shirt.
He got in the car, and I drove out of town into the countryside. We stopped in a large wood about ten miles away. The sun was just starting to set. 'Get out, boy' I said to him. We walked into the wood. It was completely deserted and very quiet. In the distance an owl hooted.
'You realise why I've brought you here?' I said. He nodded his head.
'Do you still want me to thrash you again.?' He nodded again. 'Let me hear you say it, boy. I don't want any doubt about it.' 'Yes, sir.
I need it again.' We had passed into a small clearing. 'Come over here' I said to him.
Over to one side of the clearing there was part of a fairly large tree trunk, on its side, which had been there for a few years. I knew about it, of course, because I'd used it for this purpose before.
'OK lad, I want you over that with your backside in the air.' 'Aren't you going to say anything to me?' he said; 'You're just going to hit me?' He seemed surprised.
'Get over that log. You're not visiting the psychotherapist.' He bent over the horizontal tree trunk. It was about four feet in diameter, so he didn't make an upside own U-shape so much as a C turned over.
'Move along this way' I said to him as I pulled out my handcuffs.
I walked round and clipped them over his wrists. He didn't realise until it was too late that there was a hasp let into the tree trunk; I felt in my pocket and brought out a padlock, and locked his cuffed wrists to the hasp. He looked as if he was about to argue with me, but then thought better of it. His arms were right down in front of him, and his legs in the air behind him, and his ass conveniently presented for me to beat.
The trees round about were mixed woodland. I knew there was a wide choice of branches. I walked away about a hundred yards until I found a silver birch tree. Everybody knows about punishing boys with an old-fashioned birch, made up of the whippy twigs, but surprisingly few know how effective a single birch cane can be. This is what I was looking for, and I soon found a suitable branch. I pulled it down, snapped it off, and broke off the finer twigs and leaves. In just a minute I had a cane about three feet long, three quarters of an inch thick at the end I was going to be holding, tapering down to about half an inch at the end which I going to be whipping round Stephen's backside. I walked back. It was getting darker and I didn't have much time. He was trying to see what I'd got.
'Ok, boy. Just two dozen this time. We'll see whether you want to hurry back again after this.' I walked quickly round to his side, and brought the freshly cut cane down across the middle of his ass.
He almost shot off the log. 'Ow ....OW ....OW!!!' he shouted, with his legs waving in the air. I waited half a minute or so, as he quietened down. 'Don't try to tell me you've changed your mind, because I can't hear you,' I said, and gave him another sweeping stroke, which wrapped right round to the side of his leg. He shouted again, this time almost screaming. I knew that we were far enough away from other people that nobody could hear him, so I kept on caning him. He kept trying to turn his bum away from me, but he hadn't got enough grip on the log for it to be effective.
After about a dozen strokes the cane broke about a foot from the end.
That's the trouble with using natural products. I threw it across the clearing and took off my belt. He was rocking from side to side.
This time I didn't fold the belt, but simply wrapped it round my hand until I had about two feet of leather to act as a whip. I started to feel excited again, and after the first two blows with the belt I could see he was getting aroused again too. This wasn't meant to be a _s_e_x_ual experience, but with the way I was feeling, and the way he was obviously going, I just kept beating him until he came off.
It only took about another ten strokes. I held on to mine: this wasn't the moment for release.
I let him lie there for about five minutes, and savour the feeling in his backside. Then as I released his cuffs I said 'I can see you're going to need a lot more of this, boy. I think you'd better report to me at weekly intervals for the next few weeks.' I thought at first I'd perhaps overdone it, but as he stood there rubbing his bum he grinned at me and said 'Yes, sir.'
****
In fact it started to get quite busy for me, as the new Act turned out to be more popular than anybody could have imagined.