Newsgroups: alt._s_e_x_.spanking From: crispenn@tawnycoll.win-uk.net(Crispenn) Date: Sun, 06 Nov 1994 16:31:34 GMT Subject: Billy's Tutorial M/M CP Lines: 395
"Straighten yourself up Billy, " I tell the boy "Chin up, tummy in, back straight, thumbs pointing down your thighs towards your shoes."
"Yes Sir."
I watch him for a long suspended moment. Billy hardly dares to breathe for fear that the slightest relaxation on his part will bring several inches of supple scottish leather lashing about his bare thighs. I do not need to pick up my tawse as I leave my desk. That fiendish, twin tailed, two footer is seldom out of my hands on these occasions.
I walk round him slowly. I slap the leather tails against my palm deliberately. The sound of leather slapping bare flesh is almost more than Billy can bear.
The blazer, bright green with yellow trim, and upon the breast pocket an embroidered school crest, is freshly cleaned and pressed and correctly buttoned.
The matching school tie is impeccably knotted, and not a millimetre out of place.
The grey trutex shirt has been so well laundered and ironed, it might almost be new.
The grey school trousers are equally clean and neatly pressed. They are short, a good five inches above the knee, and would not look out of place on a boy of 8. But Billy is a good deal older and taller than that. I don't think he likes wearing such tiny shorts as these. As if he had any say in the matter. Besides I like his thighs bare for the strap.
The socks, grey with green and yellow piping, hold his smooth calves firmly. Tops neatly turned down at his knees.
The shoes are sensible school boy style, gleaming black leather, with not the merest hint of a scuff on the toecaps.
Really, I'm quite proud of my boy Billy. He must be the tidiest schoolboy in the land.
But also, alas for him, one of the most forgetful. I refer to his peaked cap. Green with yellow trim, matching his blazer, placed squarely on his head, and not jauntily at an angle. But it shouldn't be on his head should it?
"Who taught you to wear your cap in the Master's study, Boy?"
"N-nobody, sir!" he chirps as he snatches the offending article off his tousled hair. "Sorry sir!"
"Sorry will not do. You are old enough to know the rules. Widen your legs boy."
"Aw sir."
"Legs wide apart! Hands behind your back! Quickly now!"
"Not the belt, Sir Please!!!"
But for all his protest, he does as he is told and obediently parts his legs, baring his sensitive inner thighs to receive the strap.
His skimpy little shorts rise even higher on his thighs as his legs widen, threatening to bear something a good deal more sensitive. I have to take special care when wielding the strap in that area.
He squeals as I belt the inside of his left thigh.He squeals as I do the same to his right thigh, he positively yelps as I repeat the entire operation.
A few painful moments later, he is bent double, rubbing away feverishly at the smarting crimson blotches.
I let him get on with it as I return to my desk and restore the tawse to its place of honour on a hook below the blackboard. I pick up Billy's exercise book and rifle through the inky pages. I stop at the last page of smudged writing. The last addition to the page is mine. Written large in stabbing letters of red biro: "POOR EFFORT SEE ME."
I summon up my most severe frown and glare at the boy. He is still rubbing his leathered thighs, but I can tell from the anxiety in his eyes that he knows the worse is yet to come.
"Cone our here boy, at Once!"
"Yes, sir," he drags the words out as he drags himself over to my desk.
I push the exercise book towards him, "Is this your idea of homework?"
He looks at the blotted work, knotting his brow and chewing his lower lip.
"Answer me boy!"
"Is it wrong Sir?"
"Is it wrong!! Come round here, to my side and I'll show you if it's wrong!"
He moves closer to me, but not fast enough. I seize his wrist and jerk him into my knees. He begins to snivel. I take up my heavy wooden ruler and give him a juicy crack across the knuckles. I try hard not to smile.
"Hand away from your mouth, boy, or I'll strap it! Now look at this miserable excuse for homework. Blots and smudges everywhere, and those answers that I can make out are all wrong, you just don't listen do you boy?"
"I try sir!"
"The only thing that you try is my patience! Now what happened to you the last time you had the impudence to present work like this?"
"Slipper sir!" he whispered, no longer able to look me in the face.
"Yes, I took your pants down, didn't I, and slippered your bottom red and sore, and I warned you that you'd get worse than that if there was a next time. Hold your hand out!"
Whimpering the boy obeys. Rising briskly from the desk, I reach for the tawse and begin belting the boy's outstretched palm.
He can only take a few strokes before snatching his hand away, so I have to grab his wrist and hold his hand out firmly in order to strap it properly. I manage to land four or five jusy lashes before going for his other hand. This proves to be impossible; he is making a terrible fuss, so I swiftly change tactics. Seating myself again, I catch him off balance and flip him across my thighs.
He seems to be so relieved at rescuing his hands from the torment of the tawse that he lies over my knees quite submissively, although he knows that nothing can save his bottom from drastic punishment.
The sight of Billy's boyish bottom jutting up at me through his tight grey shorts never fails to excite the stern schoolmaster in me. I grab him further still over my lap until his toes are barely touching the carpet. In this superb spanking position, his shorts are at there tightest, emphasising the bold roundness of his ripe young bottom.
I spank his bottom with my hand. I can never resist the thrilling sensation of my hand actually slapping the taught seat of his shorts. So I smack and smack until my palm is as sore as his well stripped hand...and then I reach for the tawse again.
The tawse is not the easiest of implement to wield upon a bottom at such close quarters. But frequent experience on Billys bottom as made me quite an expert. I hold the tawse a third of the way down the handle and lash both tails with a loud and satisfying thwack on the lads squirming bottom.
I lay it on hot and fast, leathering every inch of the bottom, although it wriggles every which way. I like to belt the sit upon part of bottoms, just above the thigh, that's where Billy feels it the most, and he will go on feeling it most, for the next two days at least.
I have seen Billys bottom bare after a particularly sound strapping. The whole seat is a lurid deep crimson. The leather tails leave a welted impression in ugly purple yellow bruising.
At this stage of the exercise, Billy only has one desire, to let down his shorts and get a breath of cool air at his inflamed buttocks. Even a pair of underpants is torture to him. That is why he prefers to spend his punishment nights lying tummy down on top of his bed.
I give him a couple of dozen with the tawse, not really bothering to keep count; just keeping a fast agonizing rhythm going. All the time telling Billy what a naughty sloppy little boy he is, and that he must do better the next time or woe betide him.
"Very well boy. That will do for now."
"Ooh, that didn't half hurt, sir!"
"It was meant to".
"Cor-Ouch!"
"Yes, rub your bottom if you must."
"Can't sir, it stings!"
"Stop pulling those ridiculous faces, and take your blazer off" This last command stops him dead. "Sir?" he falters.
"Did you think that I would not notice that you're not wearing underpants? You are not properly dressed, my young man, and I take that as a mark of disrespect."
"But sir!"
"Not another word! Just slip your shorts down and bend over my desk. Right over now. I want that bottom as high as you can get it."
The tawse had left Billys bottom in a very sorry state. But, manfully, he manages to elevate it above the desks edge so that I can get a good whack at it.
The cane has been hanging over the top edge of the blackboard, from where I now retrieve it. As always, when I flex it between my hands it sends a shiver of excitement through me. It's a frail little thing, hardly three feet long, and as thin as my little finger. But, oh! How Billys bottom flinches at the sound of it swishing through the air.
I take up position at his left side and draw the cane across his belt marked bottom. He moans a little.
"Twelve of the best for you my lad, and it will be more if you don't stay down and take your medicine."
I swish the cane across the broadest swell of Billys left buttock. The cane sinks in, bounces back, leaving its vivid scarlet tell tale weal. Billy bites down on his fist to stop himself crying out. His body writhes, his bottom jerks, but he stays bent over for the next stroke.
Pat..Pat..Pat.. I tease his bottom gently with the cane, warning him where the next blow will fall, two or three inches above the first welt, still on the left cheek, but just above the fleshy crown.
The cane whips down, a flashing blur, hitting the boys bare buttocks with a terrific smack! The boy groans, his bottom ripples with muscular contractions. Will he stay down for the full dozen? Already I'm slapping the cane teasingly against the lower part of Billy's quivering bottom, The cheeky, chubby seat. I change my stance for this stroke, swishing the cane up and under to achieve the devastating whiplash effect. The force of the blow nearly sends Billy flying across the desk. He tries to say something, imploring me to stop, but the pain is so great he simply cant get the words out.
And now its the turn of the left buttock to suffer.
"THWACK! SMACK! WHACK! OUCH! RING!!!!
"_d_a_m_n_-there's the phone"
"Tell them that you are sick or something! I urge as Billy rises painfully and hobbles across the room to the ultimate torture instrument.
"Hello- yes this is Doctor McEwan."
And even though I am still by the desk, I can still hear the familiar ear-drum piercing wail of a Glaswegian shrew:
"Oh Doctor, I'm awfully sorry to bother you now, but it's oor wee Jimmy. He's been playing submarines in the bath, and he's got something lodged up the tap...."
I suppose that most spanking twosomes generally have a more satisfying end to their punishment evenings. But this sort of disturbance tends to be the rule when one of you is in General Practice. Still we don't do badly, Billy and I. He loves having his bottom beaten, and I get my kicks from dishing it out.
I hardly need to tell you that inmost CP based relationships the roles are often reversed from time to time so that both bottoms get their fair share of the whackings. In ours its Billys bottom that gets all the attention.
For my part I cant be doing with a smarting rear. I had enough of that as a child in a strict Scottish household. Luckily I was big brother to two sisters and young Matthew whom we called the baby of the family. When Dad died, our Mother dad to take a full time job. That meant I had to oversee matters of discipline, and that how I acquired my taste for chastising naughty bottoms.
Looking, I'm making it all sound as if all this happened 40 years ago or more. In fact, I'm only 35 now, and I was a stripling of 16 at the time. My two sisters were twins of 14, and little Matthew was just 11.
Susan and Sally were real Glasgow tomboys, and heaven knows how they would have ended up without a fatherly hand to control them. A good job that they had my hand to contend with. To say nothing of a very flexible gym slipper that I brought home from school for the purpose.
There was no shortage of love in our family. We were a close knit bunch, and we all had to do our bit to help our mother through a time that couldn't be anything but difficult.
Still, kids will always be kids. Many is the good skelping I metered out at bedtimes. I remember the time when I had to put them all to bed with swollen and bruised bottoms, for I was never one to spare the rod.
As the youngest, and a tough high spirited wee lad, Matthew got it the hottest. I slippered his bottom so severely some times that I had to get the two girls to hold him down across the bed while I finished the job.
Matthew was a little devil, no doubt of that. He was forever getting himself into hot water; wagging of school, cheeking his mother, terrorising the neighbourhood moggies, even breaking the odd window. I took it out on his bottom every time. With interest. While the lasses could always be kept in check with fairly frequent applications of the slipper to the seat of their tight jeans or thin knickers, Matthew mostly had it on the bare.
I have to confess that it wasn't long before I began to discover a certain thrill in baring my brother's bottom and turning them a lovely shade of crimson while he yelled the place down.
Poor lad, he never did get a taste for it. A bright boy at school, he was too much of a tearaway to save his bottom from frequent beatings, and he got plenty. What with the hidings he got from me in the evenings. I can't understand how why he didn't compensate for it by twisting it into a source of pleasure. My 'boy' Billy certainly did in his school days. Billy calls it a sort of survival mechanism. But I'm afraid that it quite eluded Matthew.
Billy was, I think more typical. He went to a good old fashioned High School, which favoured the English cane to the more traditional Scottish tawse. Beatings were so prolific at that place, with prefects indulging in a vast amount of illicit swishing, that the young short trousered victims had to subconsciously turn the pain into pleasure as means of survival. The result being that most of them grew up with a repressed but undying desire to re-live the pain/pleasure of their youth.
I met Billy when he joined our health centre as a very junior G.P. He was a few years younger than myself, and a little on the short side, so I suppose that it was inevitable that I would come to treat him as a kid brother once we got to know each other. What attracted us in the first place? Perhaps I sensed a certain appealing boyishness about him, an element of submissiveness. Or was it just that he had a saucy little bottom-especially in the faded cheek hugging blue jeams that he wore off duty! He always claimed that it was my brisk 'School masterly' bossiness that turned him on. I forget which of us first broached the subject of bottom smacking, but it soon became a frequent subject of conversation.
We talked about the brats who misbehaved in our waiting room, and how our hands hitched to give their bottoms the spanking that they so richly deserved. We had some very stimulating reminiscences of our own school days and the use of the strap and cane. We discussed teenage hooliganism, which led us to consider the pros and cons of birching. (Billy is pro, and some day soon I am going to have to get round to getting him to make a birch to further our studies in the fascinating field of corporal punishment.
And by and by, our shared interests in spanking entered into our most intimate moments together. I slapped his bare buttocks at the point of the greatest excitement. Encouraged by his appreciation of the extra stimulation, I took to slapping his delightfully rounded bottom afterwards to restore his flagging enthusiasm. So successful were these experiments that the time came that I was slapping his bottom beforehand, and that got us going like a pair of loved crazed stallions.
That is when the regular spanking of Billys willing bottom became a daily way of life. We developed a scene in which I played the strict teacher to his naughty schoolboy. We bought exercise books and a genuine school desk to add realism, and I constructed a very passable blackboard and easel, and, as you can guess, I lost no time in putting my boy Billy back into school uniform. It only took a few visits to a local rummage sale to put his whole kit together.
Slim built, he has no trouble fitting into a sixth former's shirt and blazer. The grey shorts are a much tighter fit, but they don't half make Billy's bottom a fabulous target for a swishy cane!
I too wear a sort of uniform for what I call our tutorials! A gown from my university days, and the tasselled mortar board bought for my graduation day.
When we started, genuine punishment canes were not easy to find as they seem to be these days. we had to doa fair bit of searching before we managed to purchase several crook handled canes of varying lengths and thickness from a supplier in Bristol. It was quite a red letter day when they arrived - or should I say 'red bottom' day, for I couldn't resist treating Billy's bottom to a dozen smart swishes from each new cane.
Next came a superb two tailed tawse, a firm favourite of mine, from a saddler in Fife who actually supplied the leather lovelies to Scottish schools.
A large gym plimsoll and a few leather paddles complete our 'arsenal' is you will forgive the pun.
Every Friday, we set aside the whole evening (anxious patients willing) for our punishment sessions. This gives Billys bottom time to recover from its pervious thrashing. I do love a smooth unmarked bottom to work on. Come 6.30, Billy leaves the room to change into his uniform. I sit behind the desk, tawse ready to hand, and wait for the timid knock on the door. Billys schooldays are about to begin again.