Who knows how these things start? Sometimes you can look back on a series of events and you can see that there was a certain inevitability about the end result. At other times nothing seems to make any sense, there really does not seem to have been any logical or even illogical sequence, and you are simply left trying to come to some sort of understanding about how you ended up in this situation.
Kind reader, please excuse my ramblings here. But you see, I really am very puzzled about what has happened in my life over the past few days and I am struggling to find some way of explaining it all to myself. It's Sunday evening and I'm sitting alone here in this bedroom, apparently it's my bedroom now. I'm thinking back over the hours and moments that have passed since Wednesday night and even though I know that I was the one who initiated all this I still can't work out how I ended up in this situation. So I hope that you won't mind if I share my tale with you. Maybe you will be able to make more sense of it than I can, and if you do please let me know. Because I really do want to know how I ended up in this mess.
You see, dear reader, on Wednesday I was an independent adult, twenty-three years old and squeezing every second of pleasure out of every available minute. I was very independent. Which is to say that even though I didn't actually have a job, in fact I was signing on unemployed, I did have enough to get by, and I had my own little bedsit. But most of all, I was single, unattached and flirting like mad with every pretty girl or boy that I came across. My immediate family lived miles away and I really didn't have to give a thought or a _d_a_m_n_ for anyone else. I was fit and trim, all of five foot eight with a thirty inch waist, exactly the same size as when I left school nearly six years ago. I had been to college, learned the difference between a transistor and a transformer, and had worked for two years in an electrical goods store. It wasn't much of a job and obviously I wasn't going anywhere very fast in terms of career, but it paid the rent and booze and the occasional tab. But I really didn't miss it all that much when five months ago the boss called us all in and announced that three of us were going to have to be let go. As always it was last in, first out, and ever since I've been going round to the Jobcentre every other Thursday and spinning my yarns about all the efforts I had been putting into finding a job. You might say that it wasn't much of a life but it was mine, all mine, and I didn't have to worry about anyone else and I certainly didn't have anyone nagging me and getting on my case all the time. Not much of a life, but I was enjoying it.
So if that was my life on Wednesday, can you explain how I now find myself in this room, dressed in the most ridiculous clothes, and smarting from the severe caning I received this afternoon? And when I say 'ridiculous clothes', I mean that I am wearing something that looks a lot like a traditional schoolboy uniform from years ago, with blazer, striped tie, and yes, grey school shorts and kneesocks. Anyone seeing me would think that I was a teenager in the nineteen-fifties instead of a fun-loving adult in the twenty-first century. And when I say, 'severe caning', I mean that my backside is actually throbbing and still hot after I bent over to receive eighteen strokes of a cane across my bared buttocks. What I still can't get over is not so much the pain, that's bad enough, but the fact that I bent over to receive my punishment. For all my bravado earlier in the day, and despite the fact that I know that I'm an independent adult, I actually submitted and obeyed when I was told to drop my pants and bend over. I must be going mad.
And now you find me in this room, this room that I have been told is to be mine from now on, having been sent up here to reflect on my conduct, my disobedience, and to consider how I will endeavour to be a much more well-behaved little boy from now on. A well-behaved little boy! And the weird thing is the fact that, as you well know, I am actually doing just that. Reflecting on how I ended up in this sorry situation and trying to work out how I might avoid any more meetings with that cane.
Anyway, as far as I can make out, it happened something like this.
It was, as I have said, Wednesday. Now you know Wednesdays, half-way between weekends, these are nothing days. The clubs around here are pretty sad at the best of times and there really isn't anything worth doing midweek. So I was sitting at home surfing the net, picking up stories here and there (actually more here than there), when I keyed in 'gay' and 'contacts' to see if I might find myself a bit of online fun. The result was that within a few seconds I was reading through the ads placed by all these really sad weirdoes on a site for guys who are into spanking each other, and corporal punishment, and weird role play stuff. I doubt that you, kind reader, will ever have come across this kind of stuff, but let me assure you that as I read I was laughing out loud to myself at the sick mentality of these guys. Could you imagine it, 'retired headmaster offers traditional education in realistic schoolroom', 'schoolboy 14 (real age 32) in traditional grey flannel shorts seeks firm disciplinarian for otk and bare-bottom caning'. Believe me I was nearly on the floor with laughter as I read through this stuff.
So naturally I decided to have a bit more of a laugh, I mean these guys were just asking to be set up!
So I picked on one of the older ads; "firm but sane mature gentleman wishes to adopt a boy, real age eighteen to twenty-five, for long-term commitment and educational development". Let's face it, this guy was perfect for a bit of a online teasing, and it would be both safe and a good laugh. Just what I needed.
I signed in to the anonymous email account that I use for occasional fun sessions like this and sent this weirdo a message that was guaranteed to tempt him into correspondence: "Bad mannered boy (real age 23) needs caring adult to take responsibility for his upbringing. Slim thirty inch waist, 5'8" tall, I am unemployed and available for long-term commitment as requested". I was in a complete fit of giggles as I sent the send button and figured that there might be a reply in a few days time. With that I surfed back to the search engine and decided to do some more research by looking up some gay spanking stories. Well, blow me! There was a whole universe dedicated to this stuff and I found myself downloading loads of stuff and hardly noticing the time go by. Nearly an hour must have passed – it's just as well that I decided to fork out for unlimited surftime – when I got an alert to say that I had a new mail message; a reply already!
"Boy", it said, "you clearly need the sort of secure and disciplined environment that I can provide. If you are interested go immediately to my room at Yahoo chat in the adult fetishes area, 'Firm parental discipline'. I shall interview you there."
Smiling to myself I opened up Yahoo Messenger and went off in search of his room. We chatted back and forth, all kinds of daft stuff about my background, and I was beginning to enjoy our little conversation. It seemed pretty obvious to me that this guy was a sad and lonely weirdo, but it was all innocent enough and I was still getting a laugh out of the fact that he seemed so serious about our exchange. So when he suggested that we meet the next day, it would have meant a train ride to another city for me, I simply agreed to his suggested arrangements and then we both logged off. It must be pretty obvious to you that I had absolutely no intention of meeting this guy and I went to bed giggling to myself at the thought of this old geezer standing around in a railway station and waiting for a bloke who never showed up. All in all, a pretty good laugh I thought.
Next day, Thursday, was a signing on day for me so off I went first thing to the Jobcentre. Well, I don't know if it was something in the air, her time of the month, or what, but the girl who checked my details gave me a really thorough grilling about my efforts to find myself another job. She wanted all kinds of details about how many letters I had written, how often I visited the Jobcentre to check the vacancies, how many interviews I had had in the past few months. I thought I was doing a pretty good job with the story I was telling her but the end result was awful. I was put on weekly signing and assigned to a special adviser who would be checking up on my every move and on my attempts to get work. The new programme would start on Monday, unless, I wanted to sign off and stop getting benefits.
I left that place in a very lousy mood. It was just typical. Just as life is beginning to be a bit of fun someone always gets on your case and messes it all up. I kicked my way along the pavements and scowled at everyone who crossed my path. This was going to really screw up my life. I came to a standstill outside the railway station and looked up at the clock. It would be good, I thought to myself, to be able to get away from this _s_h_i_t_-hole city and seek adventures and fun somewhere else. But I had nowhere to go. At least that was what I was telling myself as I read the timetable and imagined myself escaping.
Then suddenly I found myself laughing. I had reached the list of trains to YYYYYY, the town where the weirdo I had been chatting with last night had said he would collect me and check me out as a candidate for his 'long-term commitment programme'. Well well, I giggled, why don't I just hop on one of these trains see what kind of sick old guy fantasises about caning and spanking other guys. So that, dear reader, was how I ended up getting off a train and walking up, as arranged and actually on time, to a very tall, grey-haired man in a dark suit, who smiled at me and said, 'welcome boy, I was sure that you would turn up. Follow me, and do try to walk smartly.'
Within an hour I was getting out of his car and looking at his house for the first time. It was no mansion but it was standing in its own large garden; and it was very secluded with nothing but farms and countryside around. I could see that it was the sort of house where the right kind of guys could have some hell-raising parties, but the conversation in the car hadn't suggested that this guy, Mister Royston Greyling as he had introduced himself, was the kind of guy who threw my kind of party. All the same, I was feeling quite relaxed even if I hadn't meant to let things get so far as ending up at his house. But for some reason he seemed to simply expect me to do as he said and I, for some even more strange reason, simply followed.
We went into the kitchen, he put on the kettle and then he turned and faced me. "Well boy, we might as well start as we intend to proceed. You will need to remove those appalling clothes immediately".
I must have been in some sort of trance. Either I was tired, or still upset about the Jobcentre, or this Mister Greyling had some sort of commanding presence, but my shirt was off and my hands were undoing my cargoes before I realised that I was standing in a stranger's home, stripping off my clothes. I knew that this was weird and that if I had any sense I would stop now and get the hell out of there but some unknown force seemed to be controlling my actions. Despite my misgivings and reluctance it was only a few moments before I was standing naked in front of Mister Greyling with my hands carefully arranged over my dick and balls.
"Hands by your side boy". I stood to attention before him as his eyes inspected every part of my body. "Not bad, not bad at all", he said. "I think we may well be able to do something with you despite your initial appearance. Do you take milk in your tea?"
Not long afterwards he led me upstairs to the bathroom. I was feeling really nervous now but I still didn't seem to be able to simply say that I had had enough of this and wanted to go. Instead I waited patiently while he ran a bath, and when it was ready I simply got in and sat down in it as he instructed. My mind was doing loop the loops at this stage. I've had fun times with lots of guys before but never anything like this, and certainly never with any guy who was old enough to be my father. And with that very thought, 'old enough to be my father', I burst into tears, and Mister Greyling started to sponge my body and scrub me clean. It was as if all the struggles of adulthood had come to mind at once and this grey-haired man was washing them all away.
I didn't even object when he washed my pubic area or when he told me to turn around so that he could make sure that my bottom was cleaned out thoroughly. I felt his fingers soaping my backside and then gently pulling my cheeks apart and soaping my crack and around my anus. I really wasn't all that surprised either when I felt one of his fingers press at my hole and then slide in. It just seemed as if I really was only a little boy who had to accept the ministrations of his adult carer. There didn't seem to be a rational adult thought left in my brain even when I felt his finger slide out of my bottom only to be replaced by something harder. What the hell is this, I thought, but I still didn't turn around to object. But within a few seconds I knew what it was. I had never had an enema, or even seen one before, but it was pretty obvious that my guts were filling up with fluids being introduced through the object in my hole. "There, there, boy", he said, "just let this clean you out inside and you will feel like a whole new boy again, and Daddy will look after you for ever." I was in tears again as he led me out of the bath and sat me down on a toilet. Every emotion in me was simply pouring out through my eyes, just as every motion in me was being passed into the toilet bowl. Ah yes, sweet reader, my mind was totally shrivelled and reduced to trite poetic metaphor. This man had conquered me.
He told me to take a shower, dry off, and then follow him along the corridor. We were in a bedroom and he laid some newspaper on the floor and told me to stand on it. Within a few seconds he was reminding me to be a very good boy as he brandished an electric hair trimmer in the air. Every last fibre of my being was screaming at my brain to try and jumpstart it into some sort of rational activity. Let's face it, it really didn't need a genius to work out what this guy was going to do with this trimmer. But still I stood to attention and remained still as he removed the hair under my arms and around my pubic area. Then he changed cutters and worked his way down my legs, over my chest, and around my bottom. The hairs simply fell away onto the newspaper and all that I was able to do was to let go of a few sobs as I saw my adulthood float down to the floor, and my boyhood reemerge.
Another change of blades and now he was giving me a short back and sides haircut. He hadn't asked my permission for any of this, he didn't need to. I didn't understand it then, and I still don't understand it now, but I simply submitted to his treatment of me even though I knew that he was destroying me. He took me back into the bathroom and administered my first all-over wet shave before ordering me into the shower to remove any stray hairs. He left a towel for me with the instructions to come back downstairs as soon as I was finished so that he could start my training. I took my time in the shower. My hands seemed to be amazed at the smoothness of my body and I kept cupping my testicles and weighing them, stunned at how light they now felt.
Something in my memory registered the fact that none of this was supposed to have happened. Afterall, the only reason I had contacted this guy was to have a laugh at his expense. Some laugh. I towelled off and went back down the stairs. My heart was thumping madly. I guess I knew full well what was about to happen; and still I seemed powerless to resist. I knew I didn't want any of this to be happening, but somehow I seemed to feel that I needed it, that I would really feel better and somehow improved if I went through with it.
Once again I was standing naked before Mister Greyling. This time he was sitting down in an armchair in his study. This room was amazing; books seemed to cover every inch of wall. The whole room breathed reading and education, and serious study. I was told to approach, to stand by his side, to bend across his lap, to reach over and touch the floor, to relax. All of these things I did.
Then it started as I knew it would. It had never happened to me before so I had no real experience to compare it with but somehow my body seemed to know what was expected as I received my first bare-bottom spanking.
There's no two ways about it. This guy was very very thorough. Smack! Smack! His hand came down again and again on my cheeks. I have no idea how long I was there but it seemed like for ever. I felt the heat building up inside me, then the pain, then an unrelenting throbbing. It felt as if my bottom had developed its own pulse and it was pulsing, pulsing, in response to the relentless spanking. My mind, which hadn't been working anyway so far that day, simply went blank. There was nothing in the universe except my body draped over his, his hand spanking my bottom. On and on it went, blow after blow, smack after smack. Smack! Just as I thought that I was surely about to pass out with the pain, he paused, just for a second or two. And then he started again, but this time lower down along my thighs. The agony was incredible. The agony was unbearable. The agony was exquisite and I was in total ecstasy. None of this made any sense, but I knew that I had surrendered everything to this man. Deep down inside me I knew that, for the first time in my life and despite the pain, I was truly happy. For the first time in my life I knew that I had found my proper place.
And that place was over the knees of this man who had shaved away my manhood, invaded and washed out my body, and who was now spanking me just above the back of my knees. I was begging him to stop, to spare me. I was promising him that I would behave, that I would obey, that I would be a good boy. Then, just as I knew that I really could take no more punishment, I screamed out, "please Daddy, please don't spank me any more Daddy".
And on the word "Daddy", he stopped, and whispered to me, "there, there, there's a good boy". He took me by my hand and led me up the stairs again, but this time he showed me into a smaller bedroom at the back of the house. He placed his hand on my bottom and caressed me, turned me round and kissed me on my lips, and said, "this is your room now son. Go to bed, I'll wake you in the morning".
I slept fitfully and was already awake when he came in wearing a dressing-gown and smiled at me and said, "rise and shine son. Turn over and let's inspect that bottom of yours."
I turned over and felt his hands running all over my bottom and thighs. Then he pushed my legs apart and I felt him get up on my bed. My heart was in my mouth as I waited, anticipating what was to come. I wasn't wrong. His body descended on mine and I felt him guide his penis towards my awaiting anus. I took some deep breaths in expectation and then I felt him enter me and fill me. It was an amazing experience. Despite the pain of the spanking that did not seem to have faded overnight, I simply felt relaxed as he tenderly took me and _f_u_c_k_ed me. "Now boy", he whispered, "everything that you are is mine". He kissed the back of my neck, withdrew his _c_o_c_k_ from my hole, and walked over to the door.
"Your clothes are laid out on the chair here. Get dressed quickly, breakfast is in ten minutes".
There were some clothes laid out on the bedroom chair but they were not clothes that I would ever have called mine. I had never worn anything like these. My old school didn't even have a dress-code let alone a traditional uniform like this. But somehow, strange and all as they were, the clothes felt just right after all that I had been through. I pulled on the underpants first, plain white cotton briefs. Then a matching vest, followed by a grey shirt. I sat down then and pulled on the socks. Long grey kneesocks with two dark green stripes at the tops. I had never had socks like these before in my life but I instinctively knew that they should be pulled up properly and folded over at the top. Then I stood up, took a very deep breath, and reached for the trousers. I knew that they would be short but as I pulled them on I was still startled to realise that they were in fact, very short. But they fitted well around my waist and I knew that there really was no point in complaining.
I didn't know how things were going to be worked out with my other life but I knew that these shorts were part of my very being now. Mister Greyling hadn't said anything about how long he intended to keep me around but I guessed that it would probably be some time before I would be allowed to wear long trousers again. For now, as I looked in the mirror, all that I could see was a smart, well disciplined boy. A boy in a traditional short-trousered school uniform which I was now completing with a blue and green striped tie.
That was Friday. Now it is Sunday evening. I've grown used to wearing shorts, doing the chores that I'm given, being spanked across my new Daddy's knees. Each morning is the same. He comes into my bedroom, tells me to turn over, and then he tenderly _f_u_c_k_s me. Each day has chores, exercise periods, study sessions, and frequent spankings. I've grown used to it all and I know now, because we've talked about it, that I won't be going back to my adult life for at least a year. It felt good to know that I would be looked after and given a second chance at growing up. Then there was this afternoon.
Mister Greyling called me into his study. He had my school copy-book in front of him on his desk. He was flexing a cane in his hands. Apparently my academic work needs to be improved a lot. Apparently Mister Greyling expects to be able to send me to a real school within a month. Apparently I am to be the only boy at that school who is made to wear short trousers. Apparently very high standards will be expected of me.
So to encourage me in working hard at my studies he told me to bend over and touch my toes. He reached round from behind me, undid my shorts, and pulled them down around my knees along with my briefs. And then he caned me.
It was, he told me, only a junior cane. But it still sang out and whistled through the air each time he raised it and brought it down on my bottom. Basically he thrashed me. He made me count each stroke, and thank him for punishing me. He insisted that I ask him politely for the next stroke each time. "Please Sir, will you be so kind as to thrash me again Sir". I submitted but after the eighteen strokes I was in bitter, bitter agony. The pain was simply unbelievable. Then he told me to go to my room, and reflect on my past conduct, and consider how I might take serious steps to become a much better boy in the future.
And that, dear reader, is where you found me. A twenty-three year old reduced to a most traditional boyhood. A teenager again but this time in short grey shorts and school attire. A well-thrashed boy. And reader, dear reader, I really need your help. Because for the life of me, I really cannot begin to understand how I ended up in this situation. Can you help explain it? I hope so, because I suspect that I have many more canings awaiting me if I don't sort this out soon.