Clive Marshall was bored. Spending the summer at his family's cottage near the coast wasn't nearly as much fun as the 14 year old had anticipated. He'd ridden his mountain bike around the area with his mate, Jeremy Gaines, whose family also had a summer home nearby, but there just wasn't much to do. He didn't give a toss about fishing, and the water was too cold to do much swimming.
The two boys had biked and explored the area thoroughly. the nearby country town didn't offer much in the way of entertainment possibilities, and the local teens tended to regard the summer visitors as beneath them.
As Clive and Jeremy were riding along a road by the coast, they saw a battered pickup parked on a hill overlooking the water. Down below, on the beach, there was a man busily setting up his chair, cooler and gear, obviously looking forward to an afternoon of fishing. When the two boys checked out the old Nissan, they saw that the keys were still in the ignition.
Jeremy turned to Clive. "I bet we could take this and have a bit of fun. We can get it back before its missed- that guy'll never know. Are you up for it?"
Even though Clive knew that it was wrong, the lure was irresistable. He was mad for motorcycles and all cars, and had been pestering his father to teach him to drive on the back roads and private property, where his age and lack of a license wouldn't be a problem. He had already had a few lessons, and felt confident in his ability. "You're on," he said. They loaded their bikes into the bed.
Jeremy got into the driver's side and turned the key. The truck started up and they were off. Almost immediately, Clive saw that Jeremy's lack of experience would be a problem. "Stop," he said. "Better let me- I've driven manual before."
Clive took over the wheel. The sense of freedom and power were thrilling, and he increased speed as he drove down the country road. They cranked the radio up as loudly as it would go. It was a glorious day!
The fork in the road was Clive's undoing. He was driving too fast to take the turn properly, and the truck skidded, bounced into a sign post and flipped over on its side.
The boys were stunned by the impact, but not seriously hurt. They were bruised and bleeding from minor cuts and abrasions when they crawled out of the damaged vehicle. Their bikes had been flung across the road, and lay there, crumpled.
"Oh _f_u_c_k_," Clive said. "What are we gonna do now?" His heart was still pounding hard, and he felt a genuine sense of fear and anxiety from the close call.
Jeremy was limping a bit, and his knee was badly bruised from where it had smashed against the door. "We gotta get out of here," he said. "Nobody saw us; we can pretend we fell off our bikes or something."
"But what about the fisherman?" Clive asked. "He'll want to know where his truck is."
"Hey- just keep your mouth shut," Jeremy said. "No one's gonna figure out it was us, just as long as you don't act like some _f_u_c_k_ing nancyboy and run home crying."
Clive looked at him as though he were seeing Jeremy for the first time. He had been taught to take responsibility for his actions and even though he had never been in such serious trouble before, he realised that Jeremy couldn't be trusted. If somehow they were questioned, he was sure that Jeremy would put the blame on the entire affair onto him. It would be better if he acted first.
The boys began the slow and painful walk back. The bicycles were too damaged to be ridden, and Jeremy was limping badly.
It took almost an hour before Clive reached the unpaved road which led to his family's cottage. He took a deep breath and steeled himself as he wheeled the bike up the drive. He leaned it against the side of the house and came in through the kitchen door. To his relief, no one was home. Clive quickly headed for his bedroom and slipped out of his clothes. Then he made his way to the bathroom, where he showered and washed the dried blood from the cuts and abrasions on his face and body.
Clive headed back to his bedroom. He picked up his torn and bloodstained t-shirt and stuffed it under his bed. He would throw it out later. He moved more slowly than usual, now feeling the pain of his injuries. The initial adrenalin rush had blocked it, but now he was definitely sore.
He lay down naked on his bed and as he closed his eyes, his hand went almost automatically to his _c_o_c_k_. He stroked himself rapidly, and methodically, working the foreskin up and down, enjoying the pleasurable sensations. For a few moments nothing else mattered, as he felt himself getting hard, and then the familiar feeling as his balls tightened and he came, shooting white spurts into the air and onto the sheet.
But then, reality intruded. This was the most serious trouble he had ever been in, in his entire life, and he was definitely scared of how his father would react. On top of everything else, he had also wrecked his new bike. Not good. But exhaustion over took him, and before he knew it, he had fallen asleep.
The sound of his parents' voices woke him up. Clive opened his eyes and slowly sat up. It was hard, but he knew what he had to do. He dressed as quickly as he could. He walked into the kitchen, where his parents were putting away groceries. "Dad, I need to talk to you, it's important," Clive said. His eyes were fixed firmly on the floor.
Phillip Marshall looked at his son. "What's this all about?" he asked. "Those bruises- what happened?"
Clive took a deep breath and winced slightly. "There was an accident," he said. "I was out riding with Jeremy and there was this pickup parked on the hill near Corbin Bay." He paused. "The keys were in it, and Jeremy thought it would be fun if we went for a drive, so we took it. And there was an accident," he finished, his face flushed with embarrassment.
He could see the anger on his father's face. "What kind of an accident?" Phillip asked in an icy tone.
"I flipped the truck," Clive said. "I tried to be careful--I didn't mean for anything like that to happen. There was a fork in the road, and I couldn't stop in time."
"Oh my God!!" That was his mother.
"I'm alright, really," Clive said quickly. "So's Jeremy, basically. He hurt his knee a bit, but nothing serious."
His father's expression was grim. "This has to be reported to the authorities," he said.
Clive nodded. "I know."
Phillip reached for the telephone. The conversation was brief and to the point. When he put down the receiver, he looked at his son. "They want to see you at the station," he told Clive.
"Do I have to?" the boy asked.
His father nodded. They drove in silence to the police station in town. Clive's heart was pounding, and his stomach was turning flip-flops. He had never been so frightened in his life.
When they reached the station, Chief Constable John Cluger was waiting for them. He escorted them into his office and sat behind a large wooden desk. Clive stood in front of him, eyes on the floor.
"I understand you have something to tell me, young man," the officer said.
"Yes sir," Clive responded. He told the man the same story he had told his father. "I didn't think anything bad would happen," he added. "I thought we'd just go for a ride and have a bit of fun." He paused. "I"m sorry--- I didn't mean to wreck the truck."
"Well now," Cluger said. "This is serious business. I'm sure when whoever owns it was through fishing, he expected to find his pickup where he had parked it. He bloody well didn't expect a couple of young morons to go for a joyride and destroy it!"
Clive hung his head.
"Wait outside while I speak with your father," the policeman commanded.
Clive walked out to their Land Rover which his father had parked in front of the building. He opened the door and got in.
He wasn't sure how long he waited before his father came out. Phillip didn't say a word to Clive as he got in and drove back to the cottage. Clive stared out the window during the trip. Obviously, he hadn't been arrested. Maybe it would all blow over.
His father drove into the garage and turned off the ignition. As Clive reached for the door handle, he felt his father's hand on his arm.
Clive turned to his father. "I came to an agreement with the constable," Phillip said. "You'll not be charged with anything as long as certain conditions are met. You have to write a letter of apology to the owner of the vehicle and deliver it in person. I agreed to pay for the cost of repairing or replacing the truck- you'll be working off that and pay me what it costs." He paused and looked at his son. "And when the injuries you received from the accident are healed, you're to be turned over to Cluger for punishment- whatever he deems appropriate."
Clive gulped. He could deal with everything but the last condition. It sounded seriously unpleasant, and probably painful. "I..." he started.
"Silence," his father commanded. "I don't want to hear a word out of you. Do you know how lucky you are not to have been arrested? How badly you could have screwed up your future? This way, your record stays clean, and there are no official consequences. But there will be unofficial ones, which I expect you'll remember for a long time."
Clive felt a chill run through him.
For the next to weeks, life returned to normal. Clive put the threat of punishment out of his mind. He wrote a letter of apology to the fisherman, and his father drove him to the man's home. The meeting went better than Clive had expected. Joe Beck accepted the apology and even shook his hand for being a man and taking responsibility for his actions. Of course, the fact that Phillip had purchased a replacement vehicle might have had some influence on his mood.
Finally, the cuts and bruises had healed. It was time. There was silence as Phillip drove Clive back into town and walked him into the police station.
"Here he is," he said to the Chief Constable.
"I'll ring you when you can collect him," Cluger said, and Phillip Marshall walked out of the building.
Clive looked around the station. "In here," Cluger said, directing him to a room in the back. The room was empty, except for a post in the middle, a chair, and a large cabinet in the back. There was a big man whom Clive had never seen before, standing there and waiting for them.
Clive felt a sense of terror stronger than anything he had ever experienced.
"Well, what do we have here?" the big man asked.
"This is the one I told you about, the summer boy who thinks stealing cars is fun," Cluger said. "He needs to learn a lesson he won't soon forget."
If he thought that he could have run out of the room without being caught, Clive would have done just that. Instead, he stood there, biting his lip and doing his best not to show the fear he felt.
The big man nodded. "I'll take care of it," he said. Cluger walked out the door and the two of them were alone.
"My name is Cade. I'm Mr Cluger's chief deputy," the man said. "And you are?"
"Clive Marshall," sir," was the reply.
"Do you know why you're here?"
"Because I stole and wrecked Mr Beck's pickup," Clive said. The words were spoken with just a touch of defiance.
Cade looked at him. That would soon change, he thought. "Clothes off, now," he said harshly.
Clive looked at him with astonishment. "What do you mean?" he asked.
CAde walked over until he was only inches from the boy's face. "I know you understand English," he said. "Don't make me repeat myself. Everything, now."
Slowly and reluctantly, Clive pulled off his t-shirt and undid his shorts. He hesitated a moment before pulling off his boxers, but did so, and stepped out of them. His clothes were in a pile on the floor, and he stood there, naked and embarrassed, his hands covering his four inch _c_o_c_k_.
Cade looked him over approvingly. The boy was slim, about 5'7" tall, and weighed maybe 135 pounds. He had the body of an athlete, with muscular legs, and Cade was pleased to note, a well rounded bottom. This would be more pleasurable than usual, Cade thought. Cluger had said the boy's father had told him he didn't believe in corporal punishment. A pair of virgin mounds to thrash soundly was the stuff of his dreams.
"They give you a taste of the strap at that fancy school of yours?" he asked.
Clive gulped. "No sir," he replied shakily.
"Well, you'll be getting it now."
Cade walked over to Clive and took him by the arm. He walked him to the post and raised Clive's arms up. there was a hook protruding from the post, and he quickly and expertly bound Clive's hands to it. Tears were already starting to trickle down the boy's face.
Cade walked to the cabinet, opened it, and selected the appropriate tools. Since this would be the boy's first time, he wanted to make sure it would be memorable. He chose a heavy harness strap, and a senior school cane, and closed the cabinet doors. He laid the strap across the chair and picked up the cane. He looked at the bottom, invitingly round and pink, and felt a quiver inside his own trousers.
"Alright," Cade said. He aimed the first cut at the middle of the boy's bottom and drew his arm back for the full power of the stroke.
Clive screamed as he felt the burning sensation as the cane landed. the next cut was lower down, aimed at the crease where thigh and bum meet, and Clive shrieked even louder. Cade focused his attention on that most tender of areas, swinging the cane with the full force of his powerful arm. the boy was sobbing in agony at the growing pain, as each new cut produced a fresh welt, carefully overlaid on the welt before it.
After 12 strokes, Cade turned his attention to the lovely bottom, now marred by only a single large welt. Slowly and deliberately, he repeated stroke after stroke until every inch of those lovely pink globes was covered with purple welts, and the boy was screaming hysterically.
Cade paused to admire his handiwork. He hadn't drawn blood yet, and the boy's agonising screams of pain were music to his ears. He never admitted to anyone just how exciting it was for him to administer these unofficial punishments, but his own rapidly growing erection let him know that some private time would definitely be needed once this session was over.
Clive had never known it was possible to hurt so much. He had only beeen spanked by hand a few times inhis entire life, and this was a totally new and excruciating expereince. His bum felt like it was on fire.
Cade put down the cane and picked up the strap. he walked over to Clive and stood in front of him as he doubled it over. He wanted to make sure the boy saw what was coming next.
Clive's red eyes were wide with terror. Surely he'd been punished enough. He didn't think he'd be able to sit comfortably for at least a week- now.
Cade ran his hands over the smooth leather of the heavy strap. He walked behind Clive and ran his hand over the boy's battered bottom. It was red, with purple welts, and hot to the touch. He stood off to one side and aimed the heavy strap. Clive's scream let him know it had hit the target. Over and over, Cade swung the heavy strap. He started on the back of the boy's thighs, and was rewarded with Clive's howl's of pain as the tender area tasted leather for the first time. Clive shook with pain, and screamed each time the strap connected. "Please, no more," he begged frantically. "I can't take any more. Please." He was sobbing desperately now.
Cade stood back and paused for a moment, and Clive thought that it was over at last. But then, without warning, the strap was cracked firmly across his already well caned buttocks, and he he shrieked in agony as the leather left a fresh mark over the cane welts. Cade paused between blows. He wanted to ensure that Clive would feel each stroke of the strap. Slowly and methodically he began whipping the boy. He started with the tender crease area and laid the strap hard across it. Clive was screaming almost incoherently now, aware of nothing but the searing, burning, agonising pain in his rear. His body shook with each application of the strap.
Cade worked his way up Clive's bottom, applying the strap with every ounce of his considerable strength. Welt covered welt, until he saw little droplets of blood appear. Through it all, Clive screamed non-stop. The pain was beyond endurance, and he cried and screamed hysterically; each new stroke of the strap taking him to a level of pain that he didn't know he could feel.
Finally, it was over. Cade untied Clive, and the boy crumpled to the ground, sobbing so hard that he was unable to speak. Cade brought Clive's clothes over to him, and helped him into his t-shirt and boxers. Then he pulled up the shorts and zipped them. Clive continued to cry. The pressure of even the lightweight fabric on his badly battered rear just magnmified the already excruciating pain. When Cade let go of his arm, Clive crumpled to his knees. Every movement just increased the pain, and he didn't know if he could walk. "Wait here," Cade said. He put the cane and the strap back in to the cabinet, and walked out of the room, leaving the sobbing 14 year old lying on his stomach on the floor.
Clive didn't know how long he lay there, crying. He was a pitiful mass of burning, searing pain, and his rear felt as though it had been sliced to ribbons. And then he was helped to his feet and half carried out to the front of the station where his father and the Chief Constable were waiting for him.
"I don't ever want to see you here again," Cluger said. "If you do, next time you won't be so lucky."
"How can this be lucky?" Clive managed between sobs.
"If you break the law again, you'll be arrested and prosecuted," Cluger said. "I trust you've learned your lesson."
Clive nodded. He was still sobbing, but he managed to get out a choked "Yes, sir."
Phillip half carried his son to the Rover and helped him in. Clive cried out in pain. Even the feel of the well padded seat cushion under his badly bruised rear was excruciating.
As they drove home, his father told him in a stern voice that there were going to be some changes made. From now on, serious misbehaviour would result in a session with a belt firmly applied to his bare bottom. "If that's what it takes to get through to you, then that's what I'll have to do," Phillip said.
Clive just sniffled and said nothing. He wished he had never let himself be talked into taking that _d_a_m_n_ed truck. If his father meant what he said, he'd have to be really careful from now on, or this could be the worst summer of his life!
end