That evening, as she tucked me into bed, Nancy, my nurse, told me that she would be leaving at the end of the week. My father -my mother had died when I was very young and my father travelled a great deal - my father had decided that I was too old to have a nurse and since I had failed my Eleven Plus exam, I was to have a Tutor instead. I was sad that Nancy was going, but not unduly so: my friends often teased me over her. I would have been much sadder had I known in advance what sort of a man he was.
The following Monday Mr. Payne arrived. I watched him from my bedroom window. He had three big cases, I noticed, and one battered one a bit smaller. I went back to my bed and read a comic. Then there was a knock at the door, and Barns, our old butler, told me that Mr. Payne wished to see me in my play room. I went downstairs.
"Hello," I said as I entered.
"Hello SIR," he corrected. Then he said, "I expected you to be wearing your best clothes," he paused, looking me up and down,"instead of that atrocious collection of rags." I was very surprised. I was wearing my favourite pair of jeans, admittedly rather faded, but we all wear jeans like that at school. I was also wearing a tee-shirt with "Manchester United" on it.
"Shall I, er, go and change?" I asked, adding "Sir" as an afterthought.
"What into?"
"Well ... My Sunday clothes?"
"Go and fetch them." I ran upstairs and fetched them. I looked in my full-length mirror and thought I looked alright.I ran back downstairs and showed Mr. Payne the clothes.
"Rubbish!" he said. "These are not the clothes for a child, haven't you any knickers?"
"Knickers?" I asked, puzzled.
"Short trousers."
"No sir!" I said flushed. I was much too old for those! "Then strip! If you have nothing suitable to wear, then nothing is what you will wear until we can get some."
I could hardly believe my ears. Strip! He must be joking. But I soon realised he was not joking, and very slowly I peeled off my tee- shirt. Then I took off my plimsolls and socks. I undid my jeans and also slid them off. Then I straightened up.
"And those." he ordered, indicating to my underpants.
"But sir--" I said.
"Silence! Obey me this instant!" There was nothing to do but obey. I took them off and stood shyly covering my little willy with my hands. However, he ignored my nudity. He picked up my underpants and looked at them scornfully. "Little boys have no need for these. You will not wear them in future. Now you will go out into the garden and play until lunch time."
"Like this, sir?"
"Like that, sir" he answered sarcastically.
I met Barns outside the play room door. He looked a little surprised to see me naked, but he didn't seem to mind. I ran out into the garden and, trying to ignore the strange look the young gardner gave me, and the fact that any of the neighbours might see me, I ran straight to a little gap in one of the hedges which I had made into a den.
I stayed out there, bored and ashamed, until about twelve o'clock, when I discovered I needed to go to the toilet. I came out and was just about to go out of the back door when Mr. Payne stopped me. " I told you to stay outside until lunch time," he said.
"But sir, I had to go to the toilet."
"No matter, you could have gone outside."
"But sir, it was number two--"
"come up to my room at once, and don't argue."
"He followed me upstairs to his room. He had already sorted out a lot of his things. He told me to put his battered case on the bed and open it. I did and was extremely surprised and dismayed by its contents. There were canes, straps, whips and all sorts of painful looking instruments. I had occasionally been spanked by Nancy and once or twice she had used the back of a hairbrush, but I had never before then faced (if that is the right word) anything worse. "I use the cane often and frequently," Mr. Payne said, while I just stared into the case. "You will have to learn that, and you must also learn never to argue. I shall cane you now. Bend over the bed." "Oh no, sir," I said, and tried to resist. But he was much stronger than me, and soon had me over the foot of the bed. Twisting my arm to force me to keep reasonably still, he gave me six stinging cuts with it, which made me cry out and yell until I was quite hoarse. Finally he put down the cane. "That will do for now," he said, releasing me. "I shall give you a proper caning this evening, and I shall continue to thrash you until you take it properly. Now go outside and play.
Barns was in the hall as I came down I suppose he'd heard my screams and was curious. I tried to nip past him so that he wouldn't see my bottom, but that was impossible. I went back my camp, where I thought about my caning to come, and the prospects of living with Mr. Payne.
I was naked all day, even at the lunch table. There were no lessons -- Mr. Payne was busy fixing up my play room, and I had to stay out of the way. At tea time, Mr. Payne told me to report to the play room at seven o'clock.
I was shivering as I entered the room, and I was surprised at the difference. My toy-box was gone, and Mr. Payne had padlocked my cupboard. A desk with a plain stool was in place of the table, an ordinary school desk, but much wider. I soon learnt the reason for the width.
The table was by the window and on it the canes and other instruments were placed. There was a blackboard in front of the desk, and a noticeboard on the wall. The was an armchair on one side of the blackboard, and Mr. Payne was stood beside it, stroking a long thin cane, allowing me to examine the change."You are a spoilt brat," he said at last. "And it is my job to change that. You are ignorant and lazy -- that I shall correct also. In a few days you will have changed. You will obey every little order I give you instantly and without thought,no matter how silly you may think it, or how unpleasant. Now,"he added, pausing, "I am going to thrash you. You will receive twelve strokes and they will be very hard and very painful. Are you going to take your punishment?"
NO, I wanted to cry, but I was forced to mumble yes. "Yes what?"
"Yes, sir."
"what are you going to do?"
"I am going to take my punishment."
"How many are you going to get?"
"Twelve sir." I gulped.
"And how are they going to be?"
"Hard, sir, and very painful."
"Good. Now bend over the table."
There was a sort of clearing in the middle of the table, between the canes. I stretched over in this clearing. I could smell the leather of the straps and the varnish of the canes ( one of my jobs later was to varnish those canes regularly.) The caning was terrific. I never thought I would survive. Tears blocked my vision so that I could only see the blurred outline of my knuckles as my hands gripped the far side of the table. Again and again came the stinging cuts, cutting, burning my sore, hot bottom. He concentrated on the lower half of my buttocks and upper part of my thighs, that was where it was most painful.
Somehow I managed to count the strokes, and after the twelfth I started to rise. "I didn't tell you to get up," said Mr.Payne. I lay down again. "I think I shall give you two more, on your thighs, so that when you are wearing knickers tomorrow they will show and everyone will know you for what you are, a naughty little boy." Oh how unfair! I thought, but what could I do, but to take them? They were extremely painful too. "You may now get up -- Well was it painful?"
"Yes, sir," I answered.
"How painful?" "VERY painful, sir!" "I gather from your father that you've never been whipped before, do you think you will benefit from it?"
Once again I wanted to say No, but was forced by circumstance to say Yes. "Tell me," he said, sitting on the arm of the chair and putting the cane across his thighs, "where did it hurt most?" "On the er, bottom of my bottom sir, and the top of my legs."
"Ummm. Supposing, just supposing, I was to let you choose the instrument that you are to be punished with, which would you choose?"
I really didn't know. I stared at the table and at first thought the strap, but then changed my mind and said the short cane.
"Well, actually," he said, "that is not for your bottom, but if it were, I agree that it would probably be the least painful. One day, we will try each of them, then you can tell me which hurts most. Now off to bed."
Actually, my bedtime in the holidays was nine o'clock, but I didn't want to argue. I just went to bed and rubbed my sore bottom and cried myself to sleep.
At breakfast the next morning, Mr. Payne said that I was to go to the kitchen at seven o'clock and fetch his coffee. After that we would to into town and buy some more suitable clothes for me. I did not want to fetch his coffee because of the cook. In fact, I was blushing terribly: but she said she didn't mind -- she had had three boys of her own and I had nothing they hadn't got. Attracted by her sympathetic tone of voice I told her about the beatings and turned around to show her my bruised and still very sore bottom. But she wasn't very sympathetic about that. "When you're my age," she said, "you'll realise that there is no better way to bring up a boy. Now run along or that coffee will get cold and you'll be in more trouble."
After his coffee, which he drank as I stood beside him, Mr. Payne came upstairs with me (following me) and sifted through my clothes. He said that I could wear a white shirt, a tie, black shoes and ankle socks, and my raincoat. Nothing else.
My white shirt was a bit too small for me and did not cover my bottom or winkle. The raincoat only had three buttons and the wind could easily blow it open.
That trip into town was a nightmare from beginning to end. Too start off it was a warm day, in spite of a gentle wind; he didn't take his car, but we went by bus; in the bus I had to sit on the outside of the seat and I was sure everyone realised that I had nothing on under my coat -- and very probably did, because I was frantically trying to pull the bottom of the coat down further still.
We didn't go immediately to the clothes shop. We stopped to get some tobacco for Mr. Payne. Then he had to get some stationery. Then he had to go and see someone on business and left me outside, warning me of the consequences if I moved. While I was standing there, looking very conspicuous in a raincoat on a warm, sunny day, holding it down against the wind,a school friend came along. He noticed my bare legs, and in answer to his questions I told him about the tutor, and the fact that I had nothing on under the coat. Unfortunately, some more boys came along, and my friend, wanting to show-off this exciting piece of news, suddenly grabbed my coat and pulled it up. The humiliation! All the boys rocked with laughter and I wanted to run away as they continually tried to expose me again. They were still jeering when Mr. Payne came out. They followed us all the way down the street, and of course, more boys joined them.
Finally we went into a shop and Mr. Payne chose some clothes.He bought several shirts - all short sleeved - a couple of jumpers, and about five pairs of shorts. We took them into a cubicle and tried them on, one by one. Mr. Payne refused to listen to my complaints about their tightness, and merely told me to "shut up". There was a white pair, with turnups on the leg, which were extremely short and barely covered my bottom. A black pair were equally as tight, only they didn't have turnups. They were all too tight, but I must admit, looking at old photographs now, they were very attractive.
Mr. Payne made me wear the white shorts with a pale blue shirt. My white shirt and tie were wrapped up with the other clothes. I had forgotten about the two stripes on my thighs - although it would have been impossible to cover them while carrying the parcel and my overcoat. The boys were still outside and jeered all the more when they saw how I was dressed. It was all right for them, I thought, in their jeans, and not having to worry whether I'd be beaten for something today.
The next stop was at the tailors. The tailor, who apparently knew Mr. Payne, told us to come to a room at the back. Then Mr.Payne told me to take off my shorts and the tailor measured me,but not just normally. He measured how deep the cleft of my bottom was, how long my winkle was; he even told me to erect it so as to get that measurement. Of course I was terribly embarrassed and found it difficult. But when Mr. Payne told me that if I didn't obey instantly he'd whip me, I managed. Mr.Payne didn't give the tailor any instructions, but just left.The clothes he made arrived about a week later.
We got back in time for lunch. On the bus, as we were getting off, Mr. Payne was going first and didn't see a man suddenly put his hand out and feel the front of my shorts.
After lunch the lessons began. He started with an hour of maths. Maths had always been my weak subject, and after the first quarter of an hour I found myself, shorts down, over the table inhaling leather and varnish. A few minutes later I made the same mistake again.
"It is evident that we shall waste too much time if we go on like this," said Mr. Payne. He pushed my books to the back of the desk and told me to kneel on the stool. Then he undid my shorts and let them drop to my knees. He told me to rest my elbows on the desk and arch my back. He gave me three stinging blows on the bottom and told me to stay in that position. He stood there, looking over my shoulder. I felt the cane rubbing gently, accidental, I believed then, on my bare bottom, so that I found it difficult to concentrate. I added up six and eight and got fifteen and immediately I felt another stinging blow on my bottom. I corrected it and carried on. I made three similar mistakes, and was rewarded with a stroke for each.
Then the hour was over, so Mr. Payne let me pull up my shorts and relax or go for a wee for five minutes before the next lesson which was English. "In order to get an idea of your handwriting and spelling," he said, "you will write an essay about your trip to town this morning." I sat down on the stool - one advantage of the previous position was that you didn't have to sit down afterwards! - while he sat in the armchair watching me.
I finished it quite soon and Mr. Payne corrected it. There were plenty of spelling mistakes and Mr. Payne told me to write each of those words into a book. "I do not expect perfect spelling in a little boy," he said, "so I will not beat you for them." I was relieved to hear that, after watching him cross out one word after another with growing apprehension. "But I will test you on those words tomorrow and you had better know how to spell each of them."
After tea, Mr.Payne told me I was to have a bath and report to him in the classroom, as my platform was now called. I had a nice bath, but was careful not to take too long with it. When I reported to him, he told me to strip. I feared another beating,but obeyed. As I took off my pyjamas (it was getting quite late and bedtime was near) he said that I didn't need them anymore,and that I mustn't wear them in the future.
He inspected me thoroughly - checking my ears, back of the neck, feet . He was satisfied, luckily, but each time I had a bath after that I was extra careful to wash properly, even in there. Mr. Payne unlocked my cupboard and said that I could play for an hour on the floor before going to bed. "You needn't put your dressing gown on again," he added.
I spent nearly all of most of the lessons knelt on the stool,my shorts around my knees, Mr. Payne never caned me very hard in that position: once a postman needed a signature for something,and Mr. Payne had refused to allow me to pull up my shorts, in spite of the strange look the young postman was giving me. But in spite of all this, my work was improving considerably. But never enough to satisfy Mr. Payne.
After the first week, the clothes from the tailor arrived. In the evening, after tea, Mr. Payne made me try on each pair of shorts on. Each were worse than the other, from my point of view. The first were quite ordinary when seen from the front, just grey worsted school short trousers: but in the back were two triangular tears, not very big, but enough to see that my bottom was bruised. The tailor had made the tears appear quite natural- these Mr. Payne told me, I would wear in public if I misbehaved.
The second pair had a large square cut out of the back. The third pair had no middle seam. They were connected at the waist,but there was no fly or anything from the front to under my legs to the belt at the back. Mr. Payne was pleased with these, since when I tried to hold the front together, the back came open,showing my bare bottom, and if I held that, my winkle would be exposed.
Another pair had a zip at the side, and a small hole which my willy and/or balls could be pulled through. With both out, it was painful, sitting down, since it pulled my balls.
Another pair had a large hole in the front. The next pair were pretty much normal, albeit, very brief. These, I was told, I would only be allowed to wear if I proved worthy of them. The final pair also looked quite ordinary and were a good fit. These were for school and social occasions. The only difference was that these had a rubber tube, quite thick, sewn into the seam level with my bottom hole.
To try these shorts on, Mr. Payne put some cream onto the rubber and then pulled them on, guiding the tube with his hand. He pushed it a little way in, which hurt a lot, and then from the outside of the shorts, pushed it right in, which hurt like murder. He buttoned them up, and then told me to sit down and stay there for a while. Soon I more or less got used to it - though I could never forget it was there - but if I moved, even slightly,the pain was tremendous. I told Mr. Payne as much, but he told me to stop whining, and said that I would get used to it eventually.
I was, in fact, to suffer worse as time went on. When I was older, Mr. Payne found stains on my sheets, and had a pair of shorts made with a rope inside, which rubbed against my willy every time I walked, even when I tried to walk bow-legged. However, at that time, I knew nothing of those. Nor did I know that after that incident, Mr. Payne made me wank myself off in front of him, one evening a week.
One day, Mr. Payne took me with him when he visited a friend.We went in his car, but I was very uncomfortable because I had the neat shorts on, the ones with the rubber thing in. Each time we went over a bump I felt it more than Mr. Payne: once he deliberately went over a hole which made me cry aloud.
Mr. Payne's friend, who I had to call uncle, looked very nice,but in fact I soon found out that he was just as strict as Mr.Payne. While the two men were having _c_o_c_k_tails I had to show uncle my various shorts. Mr. Payne had brought them along in his battered case. Uncle was very interested with the shorts with the plug in, and examined them carefully. I put each pair of shorts on in turn, and as I was changing Uncle remarked to Mr. Payne that my bottom was unmarked. "Every so often," replied my tutor, "I give him a weeks holiday from beatings. All his offences are marked in a book, and he pays for them the next week. Otherwise his bottom would become insensitive." I knew for a fact that beatings always seemed more painful after such a "holiday".
The last pair of shorts I put on were the shorts without the seam - these shorts I hated most after the ones with the plug. They were fairly loose so I could arrange then so that they hide everything, but then I would have to move for something, and I never knew which side to cover.
At lunch, I knocked over a glass of water. After a short silence, Mr. Payne turned to uncle. "Since it is your table cloth he has ruined, perhaps you would like to deal with him. He's got a nice fresh bottom: let's see what you can do with it."
I was told to put on the shorts with the square cut out of the bottom and then made to stand in the corner until they had finished lunch. I was still standing there, not bare, although my bottom was, which made it worse somehow, as the footman cleared the table. I don't know whether he took any notice of me. It was a large room, with the table at one end of the room and a suite of furniture at the other. When the footman had finished, Uncle called me over to him.\
"We shall start off with a simple spanking, I think," he said,his hand on my flies. He undid them one by one, allowing my shorts to fall to my ankles. Carefully he arranged me over his knees - he was sitting in the middle of the couch - with my head in the cushions.
I was not afraid of him. He seemed much more affable than Mr.Payne. I was reassured when the spanking started: I could hardly feel it. But then I started getting worried. The spanks got harder and harder as he went on, each spank being slightly harder than the previous one. At first it was only a warm tingling.Then a pleasant stinging. Then each individual slap started stinging, and he didn't give me time to recover after each slap.
Soon I was wriggling in agony and Uncle had to twist my arm to stop me from involuntary resistance - i.e. I knew it would be worse for me if I resisted, but I couldn't help it.
My bottom feeling like a ball of fire, Uncle finally let me struggle up. I started to rub it, but Uncle stopped me. "Go to the bottom drawer of that chest of drawers," he said, pointing,"and open it." I opened the drawer. Like Mr. Payne's battered suitcase, it was full of canes and straps.
"Take out the cane with the ivory handle and bring it to me."The cane he mentioned was shorter than the one Mr. Payne usually used: but it was just as "swishy". I took it to him. Again he put me over his knees, and again the beating started very gently,but increased in pain as the time went on. He gave me quick little flicks, one immediately after the other, covering the entire area of my bottom, even the top halves of my buttocks.
Then he stopped and told me to kick off my shorts (when I had fetched the cane, I had managed to keep the shorts at my knees),and he moved one leg off his knee, so that they were now wide apart. Holding me firmly, he gave me a half a dozen cuts on the insides of my buttocks, where the flesh is really tender, and each one made me really scream. It really is the most tender part of the body. He then had me stand up and fetch him a leather paddle from the drawer. I was told to clear the dining table and sit up on the edge of it. When I had done so, he lifted my legs high over my head, forcing me to lay back on the table. He told me to hold my legs apart, forcing my legs wide open. I was told that if I let go it would cost me an extra six strokes.
In this position I was completely defenceless. With my legs up in the air, my bottom, balls and hole were all exposed. Uncle swung his arm back.
The first one was right on the center on my bottom and hurt so much that I almost let go of my legs. The second was a bit lower: The third a little higher than the first. The next six were all centred around that spot and with each blow the temptation to let go of my legs was stronger and stronger.
Then he started aiming higher, so that he was hitting me where my thighs joined my bottom. The tenth and eleventh strokes were right on the "crease" but the twelfth and last landed right on my balls. I let out a terrific shriek, and clutched my sore balls frantically. Uncle waited until I had sufficiently recovered.
"You will now have the extra six for letting go of your legs." "Oh but sir, you hit--"
"Silence!"
I held onto my ankles again and he began walking over to the drawer. He returned with a thin leather strap that was split near the end into six very thin strands, each one knotted at the end. It looked terrifying.
He stroked my sore bottom with it for a few minutes, particularly putting it between my buttocks and drawing it upwards, over my hole. It tickled and hurt at the same time, somehow. Then suddenly he drew back the whip and flicked it across my bottom. Not hard, but it hurt far more than the paddle. The little knots rubbed right across my bottom, as though scratching it. Two more followed, just as painful. The fourth however landed right on my hole, the knots seeming to tear it to pieces.
I clung onto my ankles until my knuckles were white: but I could not stop screaming. The fifth landed on exactly the same spot. "You have one more to come," said Uncle. I could feel him tickling my balls with the ends of the whip and I guessed where it would come. "If you let go of your legs this time, you will get twelve more."
I clenched my teeth and steeled myself. I clutched my ankles so tight that my wrists ached afterwards.
SWISH!!!
"Aiiiyyeee!!!" I cried, and almost fell of the table -- but fortunately I didn't let go of my ankles. The pain was tremendous, and lasted for days afterwards. My little ball-bag,apart from being bruised (and later a little swollen) was now covered with little scratches.
"You may get up and rub yourself now," said Uncle finally. Both men watched, grinning as I tried to soothe both sides of my body at once.
The whole punishment had lasted over an hour and it was now time to go. Mr. Payne told me to put on the shorts with the square cut out of the back. Since Mr. Payne had his car, and both Uncle and our houses had drives, I was not particularly worried.
About half way home, Mr. Payne asked me if I would like an ice- cream. "Oh, yes please," I said. He pulled up at an ice- cream van, and handed me the money. There were lots of small kids and a few boys my own age waiting to be served, and I suddenly remembered which shorts I was wearing.
"Er," I said, "I don't think I want one after all"
"Go," he said slowly, "and buy an ice-cream."
Blushing furiously, I got out of the car and walked up to the van. As I joined the queue, I was immediately the centre of attention, and all the kids alternately jeered and cheered me. When I finally bought the ice-cream, looking neither left or right, blushing bright red and trying to pretend to be deaf or something, I walked back to the car. One of the older boys said that I wanted the ice-cream to sit on, "'cos the poor darlin's 'ad 'is bottom whipped. 'e's been a naughty little boy!"
I leapt into the car and wanted Mr. Payne to drive off straight away, to get away from all the embarrassment. But instead, he waited, in the car, with all the kids running around us, while I finished the ice-cream. I was so humiliated that it tasted like powder.
I spent the next six years under Mr. Payne's control. Even at school I was always under his command, due to the fact that I was still kept in short, tight, grey knickers. Most of my holiday hours were spent kneeling, bare bottomed, on the stool. I took my G.C.E "A" levels at eighteen, in shorts, which was another source of embarrassment, as our school did not have the facilities to mount "a" level exams, and I had to travel up to Oxford to sit them, with every other candidate staring at my bare legs. But I passed them with Honours!