Usual disclaimers apply - do not read if you are offended by reality, fantasy, mythology, _s_e_x_ or discipline! Now if anyone is still reading ....
Part I:
The prologue:
Now, I ask you: where is the centre of your universe? Right now, mine is somewhere between my thumping heart and that place where the sun never shines. I'm terrified, scared witless and about to piss my pants.
Does that disgust you? Well, tough _s_h_i_t_. You are the creep, along with a whole bunch of others just like you that put me here, so deal with it.
I'm not going to make excuses but I am going to point the finger straight at you and tell you that my misery, my pain, my fear, and my life is just as much your responsibility as it is mine. You sit there, in your comfy chair, reading this narrative, hopefully squirming as we proceed but get real dickhead, this is about your society, your values and your decisions.
Every two or three years, you get off your fat ass and waddle off to the polling station. You vote for whatever politician you least detest and, along with a whole bunch of mindless, uncaring citizens, you elect a government that doesn't give a _s_h_i_t_ for the likes of me, doesn't care - just like you.
Me? Well I'm nobody. I'm a number in a system that doesn't give a _d_a_m_n_ who I am. I may be scared now, but just remember, I could become your worst nightmare!
My name is Jason. Don't worry about the surname because it doesn't matter. I am twenty years of age and I know more about the _f_u_c_k_ing world than you ever will. Let me give you some lessons.
I grew up on a farm. Where, doesn't matter. Why? I don't know, for all the events of my life conspired to cut short my existence in what seemed at the time to be a relative paradise. How? Well let me tell you.
Glimpses from the past
My mother died when I was four. My father killed her by getting pissed and driving into a tree. My father was always pissed and was always giving grief to someone else. Paying off the cops, he had no problem when he did something really _f_u_c_k_ed up. When mom was killed, I guess he had to pay a little more, but, _f_u_c_k_, a few extra dollars for a life - seems reasonable, doesn't it?
Now before you get up and throw this account away, just think for a minute. In your so-called civilised world, doesn't the same thing happen? Go figure - great fat beasts of industry slobber their way through the economy, raping and pillaging as they go, and paying lawyers, accountants, the cops and the politicians to make sure that they never have to pay their taxes. What's the difference? My father paid so that he wouldn't have to be accountable for his actions. Your so-called leaders of industry do precisely the same thing - it's just a little subtler. But wake up; they are killing you by making you pay taxes while they pay next to none. You struggle, they profit. My father kills or maims, others suffer. Just tell me where the moral difference lies. Bull_s_h_i_t_ - you can't!
Enough already. I don't want to rant and rave. I just want you to realise that there is no moral distinction between these two forms of lowlife. That's all.
Where was I? Oh, yeah - dead mother, four years old and wondering what the _f_u_c_k_ was going on.
You may think it's a cop-out but the truth is that the years following the so-called accident are a bit of a blur. I stayed with my grandparents for a while and then was sent to boarding school because I didn't really want to fit in to the ways of two old farts. I saw may father on rare occasions but nothing was memorable. Not at least until I was about twelve.
By the time I was twelve I knew a few absolute truths: religion was a fraud, _s_e_x_ dominates the brain, pain was real, love is really important, the law sucked, all people were two faced and I had to survive despite all of the above.
Now before these facts piss you all off, let me give you some of the details that demonstrate the accuracy of these conclusions.
RELIGION:
Well, the priests tell you all about the Ten Commandments and right and wrong and all that stuff. To a young mind, that is pretty important stuff. You take it seriously; your try to live right but then, reality hits your right between the eyes. Here are the priests telling you all about right and wrong and then you find them taking you to the organ loft with something on their minds that don't seem quite right. Ten years of age with a priest's hands fondling your genitals and caressing your arse and you know, instinctively, that all is not right with this scene.
I can tell hypocrisy from a mile away and on a summer's Sunday afternoon, having just finished the last service, I can tell you that I knew, without any doubt, that this religion business was built on the proverbial sand hill. And if you want to know the truth, I was one of the lucky ones. Blokes that I knew got the full treatment from some _s_e_x_-starved priest who thought that the meek should inherit the earth but should also give a bit on the way.
Tell me, when you next go to church, do you really think that you can look your priest or whatever in the eye and know that he, or one of his mates, hasn't had the odd choirboy doing more than a little lap dancing? Bet you can't. if you can, well stop right here because now I know you believe in fairies.
_s_e_x_ and PAIN:
At sixteen, I also knew a lot - not just about _s_e_x_. I knew about pain, the fear that can be generated by manipulating people, how to manipulate, how to be strong and how to be smart. I was no great intellectual but I got through my exams with a little help from the practiced art of cheating and, no matter what anyone tells you, I had a native cunning which helped me survive.
Of course, just when you think you have things under control, crap comes and smacks you in the head. I can't pretend that I wasn't expecting it, but _f_u_c_k_, puberty has to be one of the great challenges in life. Almost without knowing it lust grabbed me by the balls and swung me every which way. Any thought of studying was suddenly gone and my whole world seemed to be overwhelmed by _s_e_x_. And what a world it was. There was the girls' school down the road, which got me into more trouble than you can possibly imagine. But there were also the boys and young men around me, which also had its attraction. This really startled me when I first realised where my mind was going.
Jerking off quickly became a poor substitute for what I needed, which was basically some friendship and a place to put my _c_o_c_k_. So I started playing truant and went down the road in search of some young girl who would enjoy meeting my needs.
On my first excursion I got no further than the side fence when a hand descended on me and Brother Francis interrupted my mission. This was the start of a ritual - I would escape, they would catch me, I would get my arse thrashed and they would have the fun of trying to make me scream. This first episode set the rules of the game and I quickly found out how serious the game was.
When we got back to the school, Brother Francis took me to gym, which was empty at the time, and told me to wait. After an eternity he returned, strap in hand and then he lectured me about the error of my ways and why God wanted me to be punished. As he rabbited on, I can remember wondering why God had given me a rapidly growing _c_o_c_k_ if He didn't think I would use it. Well, Brother Francis covered that point by a little homily about my future role as a husband and father of umpteen children. Yeah, right! He knew and I knew that my being a slave to traditional behaviour was as likely as Hell freezing over.
Anyway, lecture completed he had me bend over the vaulting horse and delivered six of the best to my backside. As if this was going to stop my lust! Sure it hurt like Hell and as I trudged to my dormitory I thought my arse was bleeding and that there could be no greater pain that the one which throbbed through me. By morning however, when the pain had subsided, which was more than could be said for the swelling in my arse, _s_e_x_ again reared its head.
My dorm did everything together. There were no secrets and certainly no privacy. That morning in the shower room, every boy in my dorm could see the rather bluish-purple welts on my arse and when, in the depth of the steam, two boys patted my swollen cheeks in sympathy and suggested that I quieten down a bit I found that my body reacted surprisingly by giving me an erection. I was a bit put off by this and during the days that followed couldn't help but wonder about the relationship between their affectionate attitudes and my physical response.
Now they reckon that Life is a path and from time to time you come to a junction at which certain fundamentals changed as you took one route or another. That morning in the was one Hell of a junction and I ran down the fork in the road that, at the time, appealed to my instincts. So a few days after, my backside restored to its normal size and the bruising all but gone, I left what was a protective cocoon in which I lived my life and ventured out to find the two boys who had gently touched me in the showers.
I found Craig and Matt sitting under one of the shade trees down by the oval and sauntered up to them and asked if I could join them. Invited into their company, and surprised that I had ventured so far out of my private world, I asked them why they had touched me and why they had any feelings towards me whatsoever. Well, it turned out that both of them had a thing going in which they secretly explored the new found delights which accompanied puberty and for some reason they fancied my joining them.
Before I go on I should mention that Craig and Matt were pretty handsome. Craig was a little taller than Matt, had blond hair where Matt had dark, both were trim and very fit because of sports and both loved having orgasms. Me, I was about Matt's height, had sandy coloured hair which was fine and always falling over my eyes. I was also fit and pretty lean and enjoyed orgasms more than you could possibly believe.
So there we were, three kids in the early stages of _s_e_x_ual exploration contriving to find ways of sating our lusts. Craig and Matt had found a way into the cricket pavilion where they went whenever they could escape from the school and it was there that we went night after night and often during weekends and explored the joys of jerking off, dreaming about girls, planning our conquests even as our hands gently roamed over each others' bodies.
Our jerk off sessions gradually drew in new recruits and it was from some of our new friends that we learned other refinements to our _s_e_x_ual pleasure. One kid, Richard I think, taught us how he had experienced _s_e_x_ual relief from having his ever-growing _c_o_c_k_ sucked by one of the priests. While that sounded gross, we willingly let him demonstrate and some of our group took to the practice like ducks to water. I figured, what the Hell and joined in. Good training for pussy I figured, or maybe that was just how I rationalised it. Anyway it was fun.
Being invulnerable, or so we thought, in our hide-away we let our security slip and within a few weeks of our group forming we were sprung. Badly. Our exposure was effected by one of the Prefects, Bradley, whom we all thought was a fairly reasonable man and had earned his fair share of respect for his prowess on behalf of the school in various sports. Tall, handsome, athletic and fair - now lets get real. It doesn't happen. Tall, handsome, strong and perverted - now that's more like it.
Anyway, Bradley caught nine of us, all naked, all erect and in any number of compromising positions in the subdued light of the cricket pavilion. Bradley's problem was that with so much action going on as we all scurried for cover he couldn't be sure just who was doing what to whom so he couldn't quite work out what specific punishment should apply to particular individuals. So that night each of us was summoned to his study for the chastisement we undoubtedly deserved.
Richard, who had taught us the joys of oral _s_e_x_ came back to our dorm sobbing and holding his backside and while Matt was making his way to his execution we asked Richard what had happened. He turned and dropped his pants to reveal a backside that was striped from top to bottom. Those who were waiting our punishment winced at the sight and asked what had gone on. I didn't get to hear the explanation for Richard spent several minutes sobbing and calling Bradley every profane name under the sun - and a few that I hadn't heard before. Anyway, before he started to relate the gory details, Matt returned in an even worse condition and indicated that it was my turn to face the music.
Now I have to say that I was almost wetting myself as I entered Bradley's study. He stood waiting for me, exercising his right arm as if to remove any kinks which might have arisen as he had flogged the others. I waited and was presently given a lecture about how sinful it was to do what I had been doing and how I now had a choice to make. The choice was simple. I could either take a beating now and another in a week or I could take a beating now and be a complaints _s_e_x_ual partner the second time around. Bradley said that each of the other boys had taken the second option and that he would ask me to make a choice after my first encounter with his cane.
Ritual. _f_u_c_k_ I hate it. Take off your shirt, fold it neatly, take of your shoes, take off your trousers and fold them, take off your underpants and then bend over the edge of the desk and wait for the pain.
Now I have to admit that I had already made up my mind that I wasn't going to submit to blackmail and that I was going to show Bradley that I was able to take whatever he dished out. Great in principle, lousy in practice!
The first six strokes I remember most vividly for they hit every sensitive part of my arse. But the strokes that followed are a bit of a blur because they slashed everywhere from the middle of my arse down to well below the crease where the thighs meets one's arse. I don't know how many strokes fell. But my will was broken and I was crying out with every stroke as my resolve broke and he judged, quite correctly, that I would submit to anything to avoid another beating of this kind.
I returned to my dorm having made a pact with the Devil, my only apparent source of satisfaction being that I had taken more strokes of the cane before I surrendered.
That might, nine boys made a predictable contract with Bradley - the sanctimonious bastard.
Richard was the only boy who did not lose his virginity during the weeks that followed. (Richard had been deflowered by one of the Brothers some months before.)
We didn't speak of the actual event when it occurred but we knew from the way our friends walked or how they blushed or cried that Bradley had made them keep their part of the bargain.
My turn came on a Tuesday evening when Bradley caught me before dinner and informed me to report to him at 8.00pm. Even today, when I see a clock at 8.00 in the evening my mind immediately returns to the sights and sounds of that Tuesday evening. I entered Bradley's Study to find that several of his fellow seniors were there waiting. There were no preliminaries - just the command to strip and get on Bradley's bed. The next thing I knew there were hands pinning me down and a well lubricated _c_o_c_k_ trying to find its way into my arse. My protests at the pain that I was feeling were quickly stifled by another _c_o_c_k_ being thrust into my mouth.
Now I know you don't want all the _f_u_c_k_ing details so let me simply say that after I had unwillingly taken four _c_o_c_k_s up your arse and swallowed any amount of other guy's sperm, I felt like _s_h_i_t_. The trip to the dormitory via the bathroom, where I expelled most of the cum that had been deposited there, was really a bit of a blur. The following day I too displayed the unmistakeable signs which I had observed in others of a person who was totally brutalised and was finding the experience difficult to comprehend.
Now I told you about having gone down this path but what I found was that it led, for some reason, back to the one from which I had wandered and my need for the companionship of someone of the opposite _s_e_x_ suddenly reared its head again. Perhaps the driving force was a need to prove something to myself about my natural inclinations, or perhaps it was simply that any further intimacy with my fellow students was bound to end in disaster.
My second attempt to get to the girl's school followed the same routine except that I actually got near the girls' changing room down by the sports ground before - you guessed it - sprung! Back to school, fifteen strokes of the cane this time on my underpants. Now that hurt. Even my classmates thought the punishment was severe as I paraded my striped backside for them in the showers that evening.
My third adventure followed the same pattern although I did get to see into the girls' changing room. Back at school I found that Brother Francis was getting his rocks off by making me take off more clothing each time he caught me. I swear he had a hard on beneath his hassock as I removed my pants and underwear.
This didn't surprise me because on of the seniors had told me that I had a nice firm butt as he tried, unsuccessfully, to get into my pants and from what I had heard he was a pretty good judge having had many boys in his bed over the years.
Anyway, Brother Francis seemed to be enjoying the prospect of striping my butt and I was there, bent over and thinking that this would not be much worse than last time when the _f_u_c_k_er hits me with full force right across the centre of my cheeks. Now I don't know if any of you have ever really felt naked pain but I can tell you that a cane across your bare butt is not something that you quickly forget. By the time the twelve strokes had been delivered I was crying but didn't give the bastard the pleasure of hearing me scream - I kept that inside me. But my arse was really a mess and I was more than just a little wary about taking another excursion - for a few days.
End of Part 1.