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It was a long time ago that I discovered the availability of CP pictures on the internet. More recently I have sought to write stories that might account for those pictures. I am fully aware that many of them come from a completely different background. Indeed in some cases I was already aware of that setting so please don't complain if you feel I've taken liberties. I intended to.
If the reader would like a copy of the picture for any stories in my "Inspired By Pictures" series, please drop me an email with a request and statement of which picture you need and I will try to send it. Many came from the now defunct site which was run for a long time by Johnny in Holland. These are in bitmap form and so are of fair size. I have tried changing them but always succeed in losing some quality and so I will send them as they are.
Picture Name: The Workmate
Jordan Hirst pulled the car up outside the family home. He was seventeen years old and had had his driving licence for six months. He engaged reverse gear and checked behind. Skilfully, he reversed into the drive. Long before his driving test, his father had insisted that he must be able to do that. It was a busy road and, in his father's view, it would be foolhardy even to attempt to reverse out of the drive unless there was someone to direct him and even to try to hold the almost endless flow of traffic up. The manoeuvre completed, he put the handbrake on, moved to neutral gear and turned the engine off. He got out, locked the car and walked round, checking that there were no scrapes or marks.
He went in to find his father waiting.
"What do you think you've been doing?"
"I only went for a drive, Dad. I left a note so that you'd know the car hadn 't been nicked."
"To employ your own vocabulary, the car was nicked, Jordan. You took it without permission."
"I knew you wouldn't mind, Dad and I'd got to get a tape across to Peter Barrett."
"You've got a bike. You could have used that. You took it without permission and, if I'd been around, I wouldn't have given you permission. As it is, I' ve had to ring a client and tell him that I couldn't get to him to meet an appointment because my _d_a_m_n_-fool son has taken the car. It's only because I know him so well that he's agreed to an appointment tomorrow. Otherwise, it might have cost the company an order worth well over fifteen hundred pounds and possibly losing a customer altogether. That could have cost me my job."
"I'm sorry, Dad."
"You're going to be more than sorry, by the time I've finished with you. When was the last time I thrashed you?"
"I can't remember, Dad. It was ages ago."
"Judging by this escapade, it was too long ago. Let's sum up the main ingredients. Taking a car without the owner's permission. That's a criminal offence. So is driving without insurance and that's going to be the case if I haven't given you permission to take it, which I hadn't. Then there is direct defiance. I've told you that you can borrow the car if you need it and neither your mother nor I want it providing you ask and either your mother or I give you permission for each occasion. What might have been catastrophic results for the whole family illustrate how right I was to lay down those conditions. Get out into the garage. I'll deal with you there."
Jordan knew that there was no point in arguing. He might be approaching eighteen but his father still ruled the roost and he knew from past experience that any questioning when he spoke like he had would only make matters worse. He rose and went out of the house. The garage was right down the drive and past the house, occupying space in the back garden. Any sound from the cane that Jordan assumed his father would use would not be audible to people going past or even coming to the front door although the next door neighbours might be close enough to hear.
He was about to open the up and over door when his father called out, "Go in through the other door. You can't close that one very easily from outside. You don't want every passing pedestrian to see, do you?"
Jordan went along the side of the garage to the back door. He went in and saw that his father had already made some preparations. His Workmate stood near the door, already erected and with its feet lowered, thus raising the level of the table. Leaning against it was a cane, ready for use.
Jordan was dressed for the summer holidays, which he was enjoying. He wore shorts and tee-shirt. Assuming that this would be the dress he would wear for the caning he could not escape, he said, "Do you want me bending over the Workmate, Dad?"
"Before then, I want your shorts and pants down. You're getting too old to be indulging in such stupid tricks."
"But Dad," he said, "I'm too old to be taking my bags off like that."
"You're nothing of the kind. Get them down before I get even more annoyed."
Jordan knew there was no space for argument. Quickly he unfastened his shorts, undid the zip and simultaneously pushed them and his underpants to below his knees. He went to the bench and bent forward, pulling his tee-shirt well clear and lying with his body over the bench and supporting himself on the top with one hand.
It was a mistake. His father took the cane back and aimed. He drove the cane firmly across the waiting buttocks. It had been a long time since Jordan had been caned. He was out of practice and he allowed instinct to take over. His free hand went back to his damaged seat.
His father snapped, "Come on. You know better than that. Reach right down with both hands and hold onto that rail. That way you'll keep them out of harm's way."
Jordan obeyed. He could picture himself lying over that Workmate, providing that many functioned apparatus with an employment its designer would never have contemplated. He could imagine his legs apart. For some reason, when he had his pants round his legs, he always kept his feet apart, to help prevent their falling to the ground. His healthy, well tanned body did not disguise the fact that he had spent some considerable time in the sun wearing nothing recently, for he was well tanned and the area which might have been paler because of the shelter of shorts or swimming trunks showed no loss of colour. What did not occur to Jordan was that he was also displaying, for anyone who chose to look at him, the evidence that he was know longer a small boy for a well developed pair of testicles were clearly visible, hanging between his legs.
His father's attention was on the caning, however. The cane crashed into his naked seat a second time. Jordan hung on. He knew that any break would make things worse and he had always made it a matter of pride that he took his canings well. He was out of practice and his father was laying this on well, but he was determined to try.
Craackk! The cane struck a third time. That was a good one and Jordan knew it. It hit squarely across both cheeks and was delivered with full power. Jordan gasped and raised his backside again. It was also a matter of pride that he did not admit by his actions that he was being badly hurt. Instead, he braced himself for the next. All too soon, it fell.
Craackk! That was four. Jordan had no idea how many he would be receiving. This was like the old days. His father had never told him in advance what he would get. Now he was simply praying that it would stop. His prayers, of course, were not answered. A fifth stroke crashed into his bruised seat and then a sixth.
Even as it happened, Jordan was wondering what the pattern looked like. His father had never gone beyond six before but there was no instruction to stand. Jordan knew better than rise before he was told.
Craackk! A real corker! It demonstrated why he had not been told to rise. Two more followed. Tears were in Jordan's eyes and he was struggling to hold his seat ready for later blows.
It was relief that he heard his father say, "That will remind you to get permission before you take the car."
Jordan almost stood and then his father added, "But there's another matter. I now understand veiled comments from Mrs Thompson and Miss Chesworth about being embarrassed to look out of their back bedroom windows. In spite of a warning, you've being going around starkers in the garden. There's no other possible explanation for a sunburnt backside. I'll tan it a bit further, as that's what you want. I won't have neighbours made to feel uncomfortable. After I've finished, you'll write letters of apology to both houses."
It was bad luck that his offence with the car had revealed his other offence but Jordan knew that the veiled comments from the two ladies would have been unveiled in the end. Now he was to pay the price. To be more accurate, his unveiled backside would pay the price.
The cane crashed into him again. The pause had allowed his seat to recover a little, becoming more sensitive in the process. Once again, the anguish of the cane was filling his conscious mind. Jordan increased the intensity of his grip. He had never broken during his punishment and did not want to start doing so now. He did not know how his father would react but for Jordan, it was a matter of pride that he took his punishment without fuss.
Craackk! The cane struck again, this time increasing the agony as it cut across the line of previous strokes. Jordan took a deep breath and closed his eyes.
Craackk! That was a dozen that he had had this time. Nine were for taking the car. Surely three on a sore rear end was enough for giving a couple of old biddies a thrill.
He soon had his answer.
Craackk! The cane struck again. Would four satisfy justice? The next arrival told him that it would not. Jordan did not feel that five was the sort of figure his father would settle on if he were counting the offence separately and fourteen was not a round number if they were together. He was sure they would be at least one more. He was right.
Craackk!
Jordan jumped in the air and barely restricted himself from holding his seat. It was something his father had done on some previous occasions when he had caned him. He drove the final stroke with as much power as he could, accurately along the line which separated buttocks from thighs. It seemed to be singularly tender and always made a good final impression.
Jordan lay forward again and hoped that it was the last.
This time, he was fortunate.
His father put the cane on a shelf and said, "Get dressed and make that the last time. We'll say no more about it now."
He went out. A relieved Jordan stood up, looked round and then rubbed the ridges on his bare seat. He pulled his shorts up, put the Workmate away and looked round again. He was alone and the garage was as good a place as any to do what he needed to do. He took his enlarged and throbbing organ and handled it. The throbbing and pulsing became more intense. Deliberately, he made himself hold back, pulled his pants and shorts right up and fastened his shorts. There was too much risk of someone seeing him. He walked out just as his father opened the wide garage door to put the car in.
Relieved at his close escape, Jordan went upstairs. In a locked bathroom he lowered his shorts again and examined the stripes in the mirror. They were the best he had ever had! Now he was alone and safe. The unfinished task from earlier was completed.