This is based on a true story Chapter one. Background
When I was six my mother was killed in the blitz. It was wartime London. My dad had died fighting and my two sisters and I were put in seperate orphanges. I never saw them again. It aws Governement policy to split children by _s_e_x_ in those days. I lived for the next three years in the 'care' of a matron, headmaster and daymaster ad about twenty other boys roughly my own age divided into tow dorms.
I was evidently a good looking boy and matron took an instant liking to me which andered some of the others. We had to make our own beds, and were shown how and we had to keep our clothes clean. These were the two rules I remember most well. If we did not do as we were told we were sent tothe headmaster ( a small man with bad breath) for punishment. Morning punishment awas with a wooden yardstick while bending over a smelly old chair in his study. We nver saw the headmaster much during the day as the daymaster supervised us and he never ounished any of us, although we were constantly afraid that he might. Some evening the headmaster would come into our dorm and help us into our pyjamas-he usuallly helped the same few boys undress. The matron appreciated the help with all us lively talkative boys and we chatted loudly until it was time to get into bed. Matron would say goodnight leaving the headmaster to turn out the light. He sometimes pointed to one of us and told us to wait outside in the hall for him, we knew what was going to happen and whoever had been chosen obeyed immediately.
He would hold your hand as he walked you to his office and then you had to climb over his lap-he pulled your trousers down and would rub your bottom for a while before beginning a long hand spanking. Sometimes these hurt a lot and other times they were not too bad but over the months all boys in my dorm experienced a spanking, some more often than others. Over the months we began to notice that if you had been given the stick in the morning you were more likely to be selected for a hand spanking that night.
When I was nine years old a family adopted me. It turned out that my new father and uncle liked to punish me. In those days there was nothing that a child could do about this and I was completely at their mercy.
Chapter two. My new boy
My brother and I had always wanted sons. It went back years. My wife was unable to have children so we gave up and then the war came along and our lives and those of everyone in the country turned upside down. My brother had a lively 5 years old at the time I am writing. Harry, my brother and I had just returned from life at sea. Things were different in the county and I had a new view of life. My experiences had taught me that life is short, I had re-thought my priorities and the next thing we were sitting in a small office in St Mary's, an orphanage in East London. We lived in a quiet village 40 miles from London and its peace was in great contrast to the grimy, blown out streets we saw in London. I had been put in contact with the orphanage through a charity introduced ot me by one of my colleagues in the navy and I was amazed at the informality of the process, so many children ophaned and so few resources to cope meant that the authorities would place children quickly, especially in middle class families. I had returned to my post as bank manager in the nearby town so my wife and I were considered ideal for a placement. In the back of my mind I was already wondering if I would like a second son but had not discussed this with my wife. I would see how things went with one first. If I could get one into line properly then we would see about a second boy. We were to meet 3 boys seperatly and my wife and I would have a short time to talk to each of them after a meeting with a fellow we were introduced to as 'the Headmaster'. Peter was the third boy we met and I liked him within the first minute. He was slim but of average height with a round, cheeky face and a happy expression. His light brown hair fell across his forehead so that, from time to time he would u_s_h_i_t_ back with his right hand. He had pale skin and large brown eyes. My wife glanced her approval as out eyes met. I took the opportunity to walk to the other side of the room and ,returning to my chair, studied his bottom and the back of his legs. The bottom was on the small side but a nice shape, two distinct halves, a little pointed but round and nice from what I could make out.
The 'Head', an unpleasant little man with poor breath and who smelt of cheap scoth, expalined that Peter had been with him for three years and was generally a bright and well-behaved boy. I could sense that Peter was wary of the man and guessed that such a man was probably quick to punish such a handsome young boy when he felt correction was required. Later, when the Head and I were chatting privately and my wife was engossed in conversation with the matron about what a lovely little boy Peter was and how sweet with that cheeky grin he had, the 'Head' explained that Peter could be kept in line with an occasional hard hand spanking. I assured the Head that I would be providing both strong love and firm discipline to my new son. The Head smiled, I think we understood one another and I thanked him for his help.
Three weeks later when I collected him it was clear that Peter had been crying his goodbyes to his friends. The Head told him he would be having a good life with new parents and .with a warning to be a good boy, we set off on the journey home. I took Peter by the hand as we amrched down the street and I felt excited to be taking my new boy home. My feelings were of pride at his good looks and excitement and anticipation about the responsibility and authority I now had. At one point Peter slowed down a litte to glance in a shop window but I gave his hand a quick tug and as I was walking quite quickly he began to trot along at my side. I knew that I would enjoy the feeling of power I had over my new, shortly to be, son and couldn't wait to show him off to my brother and nephew. I slo pondered as we walked towards the rain station that as his new father I would be able to select the type of clothes he would wear, in summer he would not be allowed underpants at home for one thing, arrange a meeting with my frind the village primary school headmaster to set high academic goals for Peter and to decide how often and when to punish him. Later I would show him the cane I had bought when I had got married.
Tomorrow Peter and I would go to play football in the local fields but we had our first evening as a family to enjoy before that.
After dinner my wife put on her coat and left for an evening of cards with friends. I had some business to attend to with young Peter. His table manners left something to be desired and , whilst I understood the lack of proper upbringing so far in his life, I intended to be a strict father to the 9 year old from the beginning. We said goodnight to my wife, waving to her from the door. I took Peter by the hand telling him we would now go to my study for our firts father and son meeting. Peter looked apprehensive but I explained that we would use this private time to discuss any concerns he was having or for me to let him know how he was getting along, meeting my expectations and so on.
As we entered my study I placed a hand on each of his small shoulders and we marched him to a point within reach close to my armchair. I sat on the chair facing him. I reached out and put each of his arms by his side and both legs together. I liked the feeling of moving him into the position of my choice and felt very happy to have him here and my wife out for the evening. I explained a long list of rules to him and his face showed concern, almost worry. I could see he was struggling to take it all in. I calmed his fears by explaining that we would spend time the next day here in my study where he would wirte out his rules of prpoer behavior. I explained that I understood it would be difficult adjusting at first and that I would be as patient with him as possible but that any deliberate naughtiness would result in a punishment. I told him he would be caned if he was bad and ,rising, I recovered the cane from my desk drawer, returned to my chair and flexed the whippy stick in my hands. His expression again turned to one of fear and I thought he was going to start crying. I asked him if he had been caned before and he quickly replied ''no''. I reminded him that he was to call me daddy by saying ''no daddy'' and he repeated quietly ''no.... daddy''. ''Very well then'' I said, lets see how well you can behave''.