A few days passed by in a general haze of study sessions, exercise, household chores, canings, and form-filling. My new self-appointed guardian had me sign a pile of stuff which meant that by the end of the week my old life had been consigned to the dustbin. Everything about my adult life as a fun-loving 23 year old had been erased with the closure of my bank account, formalised change of address, and then he even required me to sign a contract by which I agreed to bind myself to him. He would be my legal guardian for the next three years until I reached the age of eighteen again. His presence, my subserviant status, the clothes he made me wear, and the constant threat of the cane, all conspired to hold me in total obedience as he reshaped my life and turned me back into a fifteen year old teenage boy.
And what a strange teenage boy, for there could hardly be another fifteen year old in the country who was being subjected to the kind of lifestyle and rules that I was now subject to. I certainly had never seen any boy over the age of twelve in the sort of clothes that I was being made to wear, a very traditional school uniform. The shorts were bad enough, short grey school shorts with white lining, but the items that really made me feel the effects of my newfound status were the socks. Each morning as I pulled them up to my knees and turned the dark green stripes over the garters that would keep them uncomfortably smart for the rest of the day, I felt the total humiliation of what had happened to me. And then there were the canings. No fault was too slight to be overlooked. No imperfection in my assigned schoolwork, or in my daily chores, would fail to bring swift retribution. No moment of slight hesitancy before I obeyed some order or other was too short to be ignored. The days passed and I was a well-thrashed, very obedient, traditional schoolboy. Life was bearable but only because I really couldn't imagine any escape from this very bizarre situation. It was bearable, but only just. And then it got much worse.
The bombshell came on the Friday morning. I had been with Mister Greyling for a whole week now, but that was a whole life-time ago and it was already difficult to remember a time when I had been able to sit comfortably and without pain. He looked at me over breakfast and made the simple announcement, 'I can see that you need a good haircut boy, we'll go into town this morning and see to it. And while we are at it we can visit the headmaster at your new school and see that arrangements are in place for you to start as soon as possible'.
Not for one moment did I even dream that I would be allowed to wear a less conspicuous outfit but I could well imagine the shame of being made to accept some awful schoolboy haircut. And then the threat of school. School had been awful enough when I was a normal growing teenager, but I really couldn't begin to imagine how awful it would be to be made to go back again. I had been so relieved to escape at sixteen and hadn't stayed on a day longer than was legally required, and now I was going to have to go through it all again. Only this time it would be for at least three years that stretched ahead as a never ending series of humiliations.
I didn't expect to be allowed to wear ordinary clothes today as we went into town, and I fully expected that my Guardian would carry out his threat to send me to school in shorts all year round until I left. My only hope was that the school authorities would take one look at me and refuse to accept me into their school. Anyway, I thought, as I washed the breakfast dishes, there would be birth certificates and other documents that the school would want to see. I allowed myself a little glimmer of hope as I was led out to the car. Mister Greyling was smart, but even he couldn't get everything he wished for. This headmaster would be bound to see through my guardian's perverted little scheme.
The trip to the barbershop was as embarrassing as I had feared. Mister Greyling parked on the street and I had to step out and present myself to the public eye for the first time since I had been forced back into being fifteen again. Nearly everyone we passed did a double-take as they registered the fact that they really were seeing a tall teenage boy in very short traditional grey school shorts and smartly pulled up kneesocks. I just followed my guardian and hoped that I could avoid catching anybody's eye. Of course there was no such luck. As we approached the door of the barber's we were greeted by an elderly man who was clearly some sort of friend of Mister Greyling's. I was introduced simply as 'the new boy, he's beginning to learn his place'. I had to shake hands with the friend who held on to my hand and asked me directly if Mister Greyling was looking after me properly and giving me lots of good old-fashioned bare-bottom canings. I felt my face go a deep red from the shame as I politely replied in the affirmative. I felt even more humiliated when Mister Greyling suggested that the friend should visit on Sunday and assist in my training. I felt my bare knees tremble slightly as I registered the fact that Mister Greyling really intended to expose me to every possible humiliation in my new status.
We got into the barber's and had to sit on the waiting bench as there were three men ahead of us and only one barber. I stared down at my shoes, knowing full well without even looking, that the other men were running their eyes over my old fashioned school unifom. When I glanced around I could see that one of them had arranged himself so as to be able to stare at my thighs. It didn't take much imagination to have a mental picture of what he was seeing. My smooth legs running from the top of the kneesocks up to the hem of my shorts. I guessed that he could probably glimpse a bit of the white lining and the thought vaguely excited me.
I looked up and caught the barber's eye as he glanced at me through the mirror. He winked as if to say, 'looking forward to dealing with you, boy'. I really wished and prayed that the floor would open up and swallow me. Nobody in the shop seemed to be paying attention to anything else other than my bare legs; it felt horrible. Even worse was the fact that as each customer got his haircut they simply returned to sitting on the bench as if they had nothing better to do than to stare at me and, I presumed, fantasize about giving me a jolly good seeing to.
At last it was my turn. I was dreading the results as Mister Greyling gave his instructions for a traditional short back and sides, but I hoped that soon enough this part of my ordeal would be over and we would escape this place. The barber dropped the chair to its lowest point and then placed the plank across the arms that would have been used for much smaller boys. I had to sit on the plank and then felt the chair being raised until my feet left the ground. There I was, perched like a child with my feet swinging in the air. I felt as if I was being regressed to being an eight-year old never mind fifteen. And then I watched in silence, almost in tears, as the barber ran his clippers through my hair and reduced it to a cropped schoolboy cut. It looked awful, but it also had the strange effect of making me look even younger. Minute by minute my old self was being totally destroyed. My guardian had taken full control of my life. The haircut was over and then the barber did something that seemed really weird. Instead of brushing me off me walked over to the door, slipped the latch, turned the sign round to closed, and then dropped the blinds. 'Time for lunch, gentlemen', he announced to Mister Greyling and the other customers. My stomach tightened with fear as I realised that this was unlikely to be pleasant for me. I was right again.
I was told to stand up and to stand in front of each man in turn as they ran their hands up and down my bare thighs and even up under my shorts. Then Mister Greyling ordered me to ask the oldest customer if he would be so kind as to pull my shorts down and give me a spanking. Within seconds I was lying across this man's lap and he started to spank my bared bottom until I was in tears. And the tears came very soon because even just his hand was enough to reawaken the pain of my previous thrashings. Smack, spank, smack. He just kept on and on for what seemed like an incredible age.
Then I was stood up again and ordered to parade myself before each of the men again. This time their groping hands had unimpeded access to my throbbing bottom and each of them was very careful to comment on the heat that was radiating from me. Two of them also made sure that they enjoyed a little fondle of my genitals, shorn of hair by Mister Greyling last week, and looking like the undeveloped genitals of a very little boy. I was passed humiliation and was in a trance of shame by the time the second of these men remarked that he thought he could feel a little stubble beginning to grow around my balls. No time was lost before I was being lathered up and the barber had produced a straight razor and was carefully ensuring that it would be quite some time before anything like pubic hair began to appear on my body.
Then it was almost over except for one last task. The barber had yet to be paid for his ministrations. I was ordered to my knees so that I could show my gratitude in the time-honoured fashion. I was almost sick when I saw the penis that I was being expected to swallow. The barber was far from being a young man, in fact I would have guessed that he was well past retirement age, and his wizzened and rather wrinkly penis was not the most attractive that I had ever seen. But it was obvious that I had no choice and I worked hard at it until I felt the familiar tingle of spunk on my tongue. The barber's orgasm was hardly overpowering but it was enough to send much of his load down my throat and as I was allowed to stand up again and pull up my shorts and smarten myself up, I knew that I would have the taste of barber in my mouth for the rest of the afternoon. The thought was disgusting but even that was compounded by my guardian's next words when he announced that I would be coming in every fortnight on Friday afternoons after school and that he hoped that the other customers would continue to assist him in disciplining and training his wayward son. As we left the shop and walked back towards the car I simply knew that I would never be able to escape from this awful nightmare. I was well and truly trapped and my life for the next few years was clearly going to be miserable and awful.
A few minutes later and Mister Greyling had turned the car off the road and up a tree lined avenue towards a gothic looking school building. There were teenage boys out training on rugby pitches and the whole place stank of discipline and tradition. I gulped. So this was going to be the scene of my continuing humiliation. Protest was pointless. I knew that whatever happened, I would simply do as I was told.