Roger Livingstone pulled the car up into the gutter, put on the handbrake and got out. He locked the door, went up the drive he had stopped near and hesitated. The house looked wrong. Something was missing. He looked around and then he realised what it was. Normally, alongside the garage which stood well back down the drive and beyond the house, his uncle's caravan was parked. It was not there. He was puzzled.
First there had been the telephone when he had tried to call. All he could get was the "number unobtainable" tone. When he rang and asked, the exchange had simply told him that the line was out of order. Now, the house looked empty and the caravan was missing. March seemed remarkably early for them to have taken it for a holiday.
Roger was approaching twenty years old. He was fair haired and slim and even a casual observer would have recognised that he was worried. He went to the front door, hoping against hope that the indications he was receiving were misleading. He pressed the bell but could not hear the normal ringing sound which that action produced. He was about to knock when he heard a voice.
"Roger!"
He looked around. If he had thought of it, he would have realised that it was inevitable. Mrs Pearce, the next door neighbour was calling. It had been a family joke that it was impossible to get to the house without her noticing. Indeed, in the past, during family visits, they had often tried to make their approach unobserved and had always failed.
"Hello, Mrs Pearce. Are they out?" He went across to the fence.
"Didn't they tell you? Your uncle's lost his job. Actually, they made him redundant. He's got fixed up with another one, but that's not until September, so they've closed the house down and gone touring on the continent with the caravan."
Roger said, "That'll be why the phone's not working, then."
"That's right. It was cheaper to disconnect it for all that time, rather than pay line rent. Did you want them?"
"I was hoping to see my uncle. It looks as though I won't be able to."
"Not unless what you wanted will wait until the end of August, Roger."
"No. It was rather urgent. I'll just have to try to work something else out."
"Can we help?"
The question actually meant that she was curious about what he wanted but he took it at face value.
"No, thanks. I might as well be getting back."
"Give my best wishes to your Mum and Dad."
"I will when I write next. Dad's working on a contract in the back end of Borneo as far as I can make out."
He made his excuses and went back to the car.
Inside, as he started the engine, he said, "Bugger it! I can't see anyway out now." He smiled a slightly grim smile. He knew his father would disapprove of his expression of annoyance. He moved the car into gear and started forward. Soon he was approaching the main road.
He had considered going on the M4 but the detour to get to it did not seem to be worthwhile and so he was travelling from Marlborough to Bristol on the main road. As he cleared the roundabout which brought him onto the main road out of the town, he saw a figure standing, thumb extended and hitching a lift. Roger decided that anything was better than his own thoughts just at the moment.
The waiting figure opened the door and said, "I'm making for Chippenham. Can you help, please?"
Roger replied, "I can get you as far the town, but I'm going off the A4 there and using the other road for Bristol."
"That'll be great, thanks."
Roger found himself with a passenger. At a rough guess he thought that he was probably in his forties. He looked as though he could well work on the land. His complexion was well weathered and his hands gave the impression of having been involved in manual work.
Roger set off. His passenger said, "Thanks. That road's the one I want. I live in a village called Biddestone. It's just under a mile off the main road about three miles the other side of Chippenham on the road you're using. If you can drop me at the end of the lane, I'll be grateful. By the way, I'd better introduce myself, I suppose. I'm Peter Hill."
"I'm Roger Livingstone. I'm glad you were there. I need some company."
"Problems?"
"You could say that."
"Do you want to tell me? You know what they say. A trouble shared is a trouble halved."
Roger replied, "I might as well. I need to get it off my chest. It looks as though everything's gone wrong. It was my own fault in the first place but that doesn't help."
"What's the problem?"
"I'm a student at Bristol University."
Peter said, "Lucky blighter. I wish I'd had a chance like that. All I could do was help my sons to go to college."
"It looks as though I've blown it now."
"Failed your exams?"
"No. It was just stupid in the first place. I was up to my neck in work and I'd got behind. Well, one piece of work was overdue and I found an article in some obscure magazine and I copied that as part of the essay. Yesterday, my tutor sent for me. He had recognised it. In the end, I had to come clean with him. Now, if he reports it to the University, it'll be curtains. I'll be out. No chance of a degree and, with leaving like that, no chance of starting again, even somewhere else."
"Well, he's got to do something, hasn't he?"
"Yes, but he's the old fashioned sort. He said that what I really deserve isn't being thrown out, instead, he said that I ought to have a really good thrashing."
"Do you mean a caning or something like that?"
"That's right. He went to a boarding school years ago. From what he says, it must have been fairly tough and he says it taught him and it would teach me."
"Well, what's the problem. It's obvious that you've got to let him thrash you."
"That is the problem. He's getting on a bit and he's got a dicky heart. He can't do it properly and he told me to go to a relative or friend and ask them to do it."
"Well, that's what you should do then."
"That's what I tried to do. It's obvious that it's unofficial and confidential. I couldn't ask a university friend to do it. It wouldn't even be fair to my tutor. He is giving me a chance and other people in the university should know what he's doing. I think he's right when he says that I ought to be punished and it's obvious that this is a better way to get it over."
"You've got some relatives, haven't you?"
"That's the problem now. My parents are over in the Far East with Dad's work and they won't be back until Christmas. I've only got one other relative I think I could ask and I've just been over to see him. He's away until the end of August."
Peter said, "Let's get this clear. Your tutor says you've got to have had a caning or be thrown out?"
"That's right?"
"He can't do it and he says that you've got to get it done?"
"Yes. I've got to go back and satisfy him that it's been done properly."
"Does he want a letter?"
"No. He doesn't know any of my family. From the way he was talking, he wants to see the marks. It sounded like that, anyway. He said that I'd have to accept that he'd have to make certain that it had happened and he told me to wear a jockstrap so that I wouldn't expose myself unnecessarily."
"That's fair enough. If he was at an old fashioned boarding school all those years ago, he'll know what a well thrashed backside will look like. And you went to ask your uncle to do it?"
"Yes. I just don't see what I can do now."
"Well, it's obvious, isn't it?"
"I just can't think of anybody that I could ask to do it."
"Well, Roger, you've explained the problem to me and you're doing me a favour. Do you want me to do it for you?"
This was a solution that had not occurred to Roger.
"Would you mind?"
"No. As I said, it would be a favour to you in return for the lift you're giving me. I know how to do it. I've had a couple of sons. They're grown up now, but they tasted the strap and the cane when they deserved it."
"I'd be grateful. It was good of him to give me a way out that would have me punished but wouldn't be ruining everything. If I take you to your place, could we get it done there, please?"
"That's no problem. My wife will probably be in, but we'll do it in the workshop across the yard. I'll just explain to her. She'll understand. That's where I did it for my lads when they deserved it, but you're going to need more than they had, aren't you?"
"Yes. His school was probably far stricter than you would have been with the family, this is probably more serious than anything they ever did and I'm older than they were. I'm not just a schoolboy now."
"I'm glad you're looking at it like that. Have you ever tried the cane before?"
"No. My school didn't use it and my father didn't either. Neither of my parents approved of corporal punishment and I can't remember even having a slap after taps when I was very small."
"You're in for a bit of a shock, then."
"I know, but, as I said, I know that I deserve it and it'll be better to get it over this way."
Roger noticed that Peter was trying to adjust his trousers inconspicuously and he understood his problem. Even though he had never been caned, he had read about it in school stories and the idea had inspired his imagination. He often fantasised about it in bed as he masturbated. He had done this for years. Indeed, he sometimes wondered whether it had been the idea of a thrashing which had aroused his first hard. Now, thanks to his own behaviour and his tutor's upbringing he was to discover what it really felt like.
Most of the remainder of the journey was spent in silence, each one of them looking forward in their own ways to the coming events.
Roger followed the instructions his passenger gave him. He pulled up outside a very traditional looking cottage just clear of the village. They got out and Peter led the way up the neat path and round to the back. He went to the back door and said, "Come in."
Roger followed. Inside the tidy kitchen stood a lady working preparing a meal.
"Gladys. This in Roger. He's given me a lift from Chippenham."
"Peter!" she chided. "You shouldn't have dragged him all the way off the main road. It's nice weather. You could have walked."
"He's got a problem. He's done something wrong at university and he's got to be punished."
"If you ask me, that's one of the things wrong with university. I'm sure that our Robert would have done better if he'd known that he'd have got the cane round his bottom if he didn't work properly."
"That's what Roger's tutor says. Robert's done something serious wrong and he ought to be caned. The tutor can't do it and he says Roger's got to get it done or he'll be thrown out. He went to his uncle but he's away."
"Well, you can do it for him, can't you?"
"Yes. That's why he's brought me all the way home. It's very serious and he's not just a schoolboy now. He's got to have quite a thrashing. I think it'll be better if we have a break in the middle. You couldn't get a cup of tea for us for then, could you? He might need it."
"Of course I can." She turned to Roger and said, "You'll need a bit of refreshment."
Peter said, "Right, Roger. Come with me."
They went back to the yard. Across the space was a building with three doors. Roger suspected that the larger room had originally been a washhouse or brew house, but he could already see that it now served Peter as a workroom.
Peter said, "We don't want any accidents, Roger. The middle door is the toilet. Go and use it. Come to me when you're ready."
A few minutes later, Roger joined the older man in the workroom and closed the door.
Peter said, "I think the best thing I can do is to give you what I would if one of my sons or a nephew of mine had done a bloody silly thing like that. While we are here doing this, if you speak to me, it'll be better if you call me Mr Hill."
Roger detected a complete change in the man's attitude. He had taken complete control. He could see a saw bench. It was designed with strong wooden struts at each end, in "X" shape held together by other pieces of wood between them. It's normal purpose was to hold logs which were being sawn. Now, to add to its utility for its present purpose, Mr Hill had put small pillows to pad the X's.
Mr Hill stood, flexing a cane and pointed to it. "That's what we used with the lads when they needed anything. Now, let's get you ready. Take your jacket off and lie it on the bench there. With those pillows, it's not too uncomfortable and it'll help you stay in place."
Roger obeyed, noting that the room was meticulously tidy and clean.
"Now, pull your shirt tail well clear of your backside and then pull your trousers tight. You can keep them on for now. Then lie down over there." He pointed to the saw bench with the cane.
Once again, Roger obeyed. Mr Hill said, "We'll start like this but later we'll have less protection. It'll give you better marks for him but we couldn't give you what you deserve to have the lot like that. You could well be bleeding too much. It's your job to stay there for now. If you stop things, it'll be all the worse for you. I always say that making yourself accept the punishment is part of the way you show you're sorry for what you've done wrong and you'll get extra if you can't do that."
Roger lay there, aware that his backside, tightly encased in his trousers, must be presenting a splendid target for Mr Hill. He felt the cane lie across his rump as Mr Hill took aim. It went away. Many times, Roger had imagined this about to happen. Now, for the first time he was to discover what it actually felt like.
CRRACK! Mr Hill struck squarely across his target. Roger felt a surge of pain flood out from the line of impact and seem to fill his consciousness. He had often wondered exactly what it felt like. Now he was discovering. He clamped his jaws together to prevent the almost automatic cry of pain issuing from his lips and was aware that the shock of its arrival had made his head bounce back.
He was grateful that he was lying in this contraption. Rising from it was a little difficult. Had he been in a more traditional position, he was afraid that he would have had problems staying in place.
THWHACK! The second stroke followed. Roger knew that Mr Hill had managed to deliver this one exactly along the line of the first. He had nothing to compare it with but he felt certain that he had found someone who knew what he was doing.
THWHACK! A third. This one fell low, cutting across what Roger realised was a tender area joining his buttocks to the top of his legs. The blows were falling with a variable gap so that he never knew exactly when the next would arrive but with something of the order of ten seconds between each stroke, giving him time to savour each one and prepare for the next.
CRRACK! The fourth. He had asked to be punished and he was getting it. He knew this was being delivered well enough to be producing marks which should satisfy his tutor. Now there was only the question of how many he would be given.
THWHACK! The fifth arrived slightly earlier than he had expected and, for the first time, it forced a cry of protest.
Mr Hill snapped, "There's no need for that noise! If you misbehave, then you take the consequences."
Roger was convinced that the sixth stroke was delivered with extra power to remind him of that fact. He was also becoming aware that his bed time fantasies had a real side to them. For the first time, his backside was getting it rather than his imagining the strokes to be falling but that did not stop an increasingly powerful erection developing.
CRACK! That was number seven. By now, Roger knew that his seat must be well striped and he was wondering how many more he would have to take.
THWHACK! THWHACK! Numbers eight and nine followed.
Mr Hill said, "Get up."
Gratefully, Roger forced himself to his feet and grasped his trouser seat.
"There's no time for that! Just get your trousers off. We'll finish this session with you in your pants. It'll hurt a bit more, but it'll be better marks for your tutor. Leave your pants on. That way we'll get the thrashing he wants and you deserve without getting you too badly cut."
Roger eased his trousers over his blazing seat and lowered them, contriving to give his bruises a little massage at the same time. He climbed out of them and placed them on the bench alongside his jacket.
Mr Hill flexed the cane and said, "Come on. Let's get this working again! Get back down there."
Roger rubbed his bruises quickly as he crossed the room to the saw bench, stood at the end and started to bend over. As he went down, he realised that his shirt tail might get in the way and he pulled it well up.
Mr Hill said, "Well done. That saves me doing it. Now, get ready. I'm starting again."
Roger braced himself, clamping his jaws together after the warning about noise. He was aware of the cane being aimed again. Then it started. THWHACK! Once again there was the surge of pain from the line of contact. Once again, it seemed to fill his entire mind and flood to every part of his body. CRACK! The second one fell. THWHACK! A third and Roger was wondering how much more he would have to endure. CRACK! A fourth stroke was driven into his backside. THWHACK! THWHACK! That was six.
Mr Hill said, "You can have your break now. Get your trousers on and we'll go for that cup of tea."
Gratefully, Roger stood and held his seat as he moved towards his trousers. He rubbed gently and started to dress.
Mr Hill said, "It'll hurt now, but you'll be grateful in the end. It's better this way that throwing everything away."
Roger stepped into his trousers and replied, "I know. I'm grateful now. It's obviously better this way and if you hadn't offered to help I can't see how I could have got it done."
"You earned it by giving me a lift. If you hadn't been kind enough to do that, we wouldn't have met and I couldn't have offered to do it. It's like what my old Dad used to quote, 'Cast your bread upon the waters and it'll be returned to you'."
Now dressed and with the pressure to get in place without annoying Mr Hill, Peter was able to massage his trouser seat gently. Even through the material he could feel some of the ridges the caning had produced and he knew that there was more to come. He followed Mr Hill through the door and across the yard.
In the kitchen, Mrs Hill said, "I've timed it well. The tea's brewed and ready for you." She poured it out and said, "Help yourself, Roger. There's sugar in the bowl."
"No thank you. I don't take it."
"You're sweet enough?"
Roger said nothing. She said, "Peter, are you giving him enough?"
He replied, "I don't know. I think it will have been by the time I've finished. I've got to guess how much he wants."
Roger said, "I haven't really got any idea. I told Mr Hill that I've never had the cane before."
Peter said, "The way I looked at it, Roger's tutor probably thinks of six of the best as standard."
Roger said, "That's what it sounded like for ordinary things, I think, but he did say that they used the birch for very serious things."
Peter replied, "That's what I would have expected. You've had fifteen already and we'll give you another dose when you've finished your tea. I told you that can be on your bare backside. It'll be better marks for him and, just as important, it'll hurt you more as well and so it'll be better punishment for you. I'll tell you this lad. You'll think twice before you do anything as stupid again."
Roger rubbed his seat again and replied, "You're telling me."
As soon as he had finished his tea, Peter said, "Right. Let's get going again."
They returned to the workroom. Mr Hill closed the door and said, "Get your trousers and pants off."
Dreading what was to come, Roger obeyed. His temporarily discarded clothes went onto the bench. He crossed to the saw bench again, carefully trying to ensure that his shirt covered the evidence of his arousal at the thought of both of what had happened and what was to come. He lifted his shirt tail well clear and lay forward, carefully ensuring that his hardened penis did not get trapped against the firm wood of the structure. This time he was not allowed simply to lie there. Instead, Mr Hill said, "We'll help you to stay for it all." Roger found his wrists being secured to the trestle by leather straps which were presumably kept for this purpose. His ankles were also secured. Roger knew that he deserved punishment. He also knew that he needed it to happen. Mr Hill had been fair so far. He prayed that he would not now go over the top. What he was certain of was that there would be no escape if he did.
Once again, Roger felt the cane resting across his seat as Mr Hill took aim. He felt it leave and knew that it was being taken back and soon it would return to continue his punishment.
THWHACK! It did return! Roger felt a gasp force itself through his lips as the pain flooded through his body, apparently taking over every fibre of his being. He wondered how many Mr Hill had decided that he ought to have.
Mr Hill had thought of a new refinement. Roger heard him say, "One." Perhaps he was going to count the strokes aloud.
CRRACK! The second exploded into Roger's rump. Mr Hill said, "Two." Roger had been right. He was getting the count out loud this time.
CRACK! "Three." Roger longed to get his hands round his seat and massage the stripes and bruises but, even had it not risked the cane falling across his hands of annoying Mr Hill, the restraining straps prevented any attempt to do so.
CRACK! "Four."
THWHACK! "Five."
THWHACK! "Six."
Roger was longing to escape but there was no escape. He felt as though his backside was on fire but there was no cooling water to deal with it! He had no choice but to lie there
CRACK! "Seven."
THWHACK! "Eight."
THWHACK! "Nine."
Remorselessly, Mr Hill went on. Roger remembered that the first allocation, across his trousers had been nine and wondered whether it was going to stop at that level. He soon got his answer.
CRACK! "Ten."
CRACK! "Eleven."
CRACK! "Twelve."
Perhaps the dozen would mark the end. It was not to be.
CRRACK! "Thirteen."
CRACK! "Fourteen."
CRRACK! "Fifteen."
Surely that was enough. He had only had fifteen during the first session and that had had a short break. Now he was getting that many in one run. He looked round and was disappointed. Mr Hill was taking the cane back again. Peter turned back, clamped his jaws together again and closed his eyes.
CRACK! "Sixteen."
CRACK! "Seventeen."
CRACK! "Eighteen."
Would it stop now?
CRACK! "Nineteen."
CRACK! "Twenty."
CRACK! "Twenty one."
Mr Hill said, "I think I'll have to stop now, Roger. You're beginning to bleed."
He released Roger's ankles and wrists. Roger forced himself to his feet and grasped his bruised rear end. Even in his pained state he remembered to keep his back to Mr Hill. His throbbing organ might well have drawn attention to itself, even under his shirt tail. He went over to his clothes and collected his Y-Fronts. He stepped into them, pulled them up and eased them over his stripes.
Mr Hill said, "I was wondering whether to give you forty or fifty altogether but that was three dozen with the ones before. I should think that will satisfy him."
Roger said, "I should think so. I hope it does." He started to get into his trousers.
"If it doesn't, then come back and I can give you some more. It would be even worse to have all that and still lose everything than it would have been if you hadn't found anyone to help."
Roger rubbed again and said, "You're telling me." He fastened his trousers and put his jacket on. They went out and Mrs Hill appeared at the door.
"You aren't finished, are you?"
Roger rubbed his trouser seat again and said, "We hope that's enough for him, Mrs Hill. If it's not, Mr Hill said I can come back and he'll give me some more."
Mrs Hill said, "Peter, this isn't the first time that you've done something like this, is it? Remember when you thrashed Robert for stealing at school?"
Peter turned to Roger and said, "That's right. The fool managed to get his hands onto some money that wasn't his. It was just before he left. I had a word with the headmaster and he agreed that I could cane him rather than him being expelled. The headmaster came out to see it done. I could give him more than the school would allow and the blighter deserved it. It was just before the end of term and so nobody at school was going to see his bruised backside."
Mrs Hill said, "And what happened after the headmaster had gone?"
Peter said, "Oh, I see what you mean. Yes, I think that you're right." He turned to Roger and said, "What you've had was a punishment for your dishonesty. That's like the thrashing Robert had while the headmaster was there. But there's more to it than that. It was letting your family down and you deserve something more for that. I gave Robert a belting for that, so that he could see that it was different from the official caning. I said that I'd give you what I'd have given one of mine and that's what your uncle should have given you. There's still a good belting to happen."
Aghast, Roger said, "I don't think I can take it now."
"I can't stop you walking out now but if you want to be honest with your tutor, you ought to have it."
"I see your point. Look, if he's not satisfied, I've got to come back anyway. If he is, I'd like to come back to thank you. Could I have a few days to get over this, please, and then come for the belting or whatever you think is right? I promise that I'll come back."
"Very well. That's fair. I'll trust you. You're right. I probably wouldn't leather you properly with your backside in that state. I'm in most evenings and at weekends."
Roger said goodbye and went off to his car. He unlocked it and very gently lowered himself into the driving seat. He started the engine and began his journey back to Bristol. It was too late to see his tutor now. Instead, less than an hour later, Roger was letting himself into his own flat. Inside, he stripped. He turned round at a mirror and looked at his backside. He could see that Peter had done a good job. The bruises would still be there for his tutor in the morning. Now there was a more urgent task. He settled down to the wank he had been aching for. Only when that was complete did he run a bath and lower himself into its soothing waters.
Later that night he relieved the entire events in a more powerful fantasy than he had ever enjoyed before.
Next morning, he stood before his tutor's desk at eight thirty. It was the time that had been appointed when there was little chance of being disturbed and his tutor could satisfy himself that it had been done properly.
Roger stood with his back to him and lowered his trousers and pants. He lifted his shirt tails and felt the man's hands gently running over the stripes.
"He did a good job for you. Get dressed, Mr Livingstone. Very well. Get dressed. We'll draw a veil over that episode. All you need do now is get that essay done properly and get it to me. Make it all your own work this time."
"Thank you, sir, I will."
"Was it a relative who did it?"
Roger thought quickly. "No, sir. I did try to find my uncle but he's away. I didn't feel that I could ask anyone here, of course. You were running a risk for me and it had to stay completely confidential."
"Thank you. Apart from that, I imagine that you would have preferred other people here not to know. Who did it?"
"It was an acquaintance, sir. An older man. I thought that was better because he would do it properly. He says I have to go back for a second allocation, sir, for letting the family down."
"Are you going?"
"Yes, sir. I said I would and it wouldn't be honest not to."
"Give him my thanks, then, please. He did a good job for you."
Roger half grinned, held his seat again and said, "I know, sir."
To be continued.