In The Woods

                      Author : Jay Bee JBates3327@aol.com

One summer June morning in 1963 I cycled lazily to work. I was in plenty of time. I was thinking about my coming exams. I was doing a Geography `A’ level. The first exam was next week. I hoped it wouldn’t be too hard. My teacher at College was optimistic about my chances. I had done well in the course work. Next week would see it all put to the test.

I arrived at the Town Hall early and put my bike in the shed. My mate Josh was there. We hung around chatting for a bit. Then Pete walked up. He usually cycled to work as well. Unfortunately two days ago he had been caught in a pub at lunchtime; something forbidden to boys working for the Council. He had been reported to Mr Edwards, the man in charge of us. It was a condition of our employment that we had to accept corporal punishment until we were 20. Pete got a double helping, six with the strap and four with the cane. He’d shown us the marks afterwards. Cycling was not a good idea for him at the moment.

We grinned at each other and started to walk round to the main entrance. The first ordeal of the day now had to be faced - Mr Baxter. Mr Baxter was the head porter. He was an ex-Navy Chief Petty Officer who thought he owned the Town Hall. Boys were dirt beneath his feet. Each morning, as we went in, we had to run the gauntlet of his inspection. Usually he managed to find something wrong. As soon as we got through the door and into the cavernous entrance hall he pounced.

"You three boys, come here," he barked.

We went to where he was self-importantly standing, hands behind his back, bouncing up and down on his toes. He looked us over carefully, paying particular attention to Pete. He’d have loved to find something wrong with him that would earn him another visit to Mr Edwards. But there was nothing to find. Pete knew better than to get himself into more trouble. We got the usual comments about our hair, shoes and attitude and were allowed to go. Thankfully we strolled into one of the corridors and let out sighs of relief. A week ago a boy had played a trick on Mr Baxter, ringing him on the internal phone saying he was wanted round the back. No one was there of course. Now it had become a dare among the boys. About ten of us were in on it. We three had said we’d do something but hadn’t decided what. We’d have to make our minds up soon. We split up, saying we’d meet in the park after lunch and thrash out a few ideas.

I went up to the planning office where I worked as a filing clerk. Mr Findlay, my immediate boss, was already there, drawing on his first pipe of the day. He waved at me as I went over to my desk. I grinned back in reply. I really liked him. A few weeks ago he had saved me from a nasty situation. Even if I did something wrong he was usually nice about it. He was teaching me, bit by bit, about planning. It was dead good.

When I got to my desk there was a file on it. Under the band of the file was a note from Mr Lewis, the senior planner. `Read this file carefully and see me at 11.00.’ I looked hesitantly up at Mr Findlay. I must have filed something wrongly. Was I in trouble?

Mr Findlay caught my glance. "Just read the file, Jay," he smiled. "It’s Ok."

Reassured I opened the file. It was about a planning application and river licence for a landing stage. The applicant was a farmer. He had a field by the river. The field was let in the summer to campers and caravanners. He wanted to add a landing stage on the river so they could bring boats and fish and so he could attract business from passing boaters looking for somewhere to moor. The applications had been agreed. He was allowed to build a stage jutting out twelve feet into the river. The latest letters in the file were complaints from members of the public. They said the stage was too long. It hindered the use of the river. The Council was asked to take enforcement action.

At 11.00 I went in to Mr Lewis’ office. He was a tall, slim man in his late thirties. His thin face was dominated by a pair of bushy eyebrows that were quick to draw together in displeasure. But while he snapped at my mistakes and generally treated me with cold efficiency, if I was doing something right he was equally quick to acknowledge it. I had worked as the clerk to an inquiry directly under him. When he saw I was keen to do well he relaxed a bit, even cracking the occasional joke. I liked him, but I was also wary of him. If I messed up he wouldn’t think twice about sending me to Mr Edwards.

"Well, Jay," he smiled as I entered his office, "What do you make of it?"

"It depends on what length the landing stage actually is, sir," I replied confidently.

He looked a bit disappointed, "And?" he prompted.

I thought furiously. Then it came. "And what space is left between it and the other bank, sir."

"Good, and how do we determine that?"

"We measure it, sir."

"Right, and how can we measure the gap in the river?"

Light dawned. I was a keen canoeist. I had even become a canoe instructor. I saw now why he wanted me. "With a canoe, sir," I grinned.

We discussed the details. He wanted me to meet him at the landing stage at 12.00 the next day. We would measure the stage then I would take a piece of string across the river to measure the gap. It shouldn’t take too long. We would be back at the Town Hall for lunch. I could get a boat easily. I just had to ring Simmy - my senior scout leader - for the keys to the boat shed. But there was a problem. I didn’t want to leave my suit there. There was nowhere to put it and it might get stolen. Reluctantly Mr Lewis agreed I could come to work tomorrow morning in shorts and T shirt.

"Mr Baxter will have a fit, sir," I laughed.

"Then the shorts and T shirt had better be immaculate, hadn’t they young man?"

"Yes, sir," I sighed.

I left the office and got back to filing. At lunch I went to the canteen. Mike and another boy from the postroom were at our table killing themselves with laughter. They wouldn’t explain. Eventually they sobered up. Then, when all us boys were at the table, a cold shadow fell over us. It was Mr Edwards. He looked really mad. We were all to report to one of the committee rooms at 1.45; no exceptions, no excuses. He stalked off. We all looked at Mike and the other guy, Jim. They had gone a bit white. They finished their meal and left hurriedly.

At 1.45 all twenty or so of us were standing rigidly to attention in the room. Mr Edwards paced up and down before us. Someone had lured Mr Baxter to the side of the building. A suspicious looking object was on the ground. As Mr Baxter had bent over to examine it a bucket of water had been emptied on him from a high window. I have never so swiftly repressed the urge to laugh as I did then. No one moved. Mr Edwards saw a grin on one poor guy’s face. He would report to the basement at 5.15 for a good spanking. As for the rest of us, we were warned. Any further tricks on Mr Baxter would result in severe punishment. It was a very subdued group of boys who left that room a little later.

The next morning I was a bit worried. The shorts and T shirt had seemed a good idea when talking to Mr Lewis. But even with his permission I might get it. At least they were immaculate. A crisp white T shirt and dark navy shorts, ironed to perfection. I also had dark blue ankle height socks and my black gym shoes. Pete and Josh nearly had heart attacks when they saw me. Even after I explained they thought I was mad. Still it was too late now. They let me go in on my own. I actually got halfway between the door and the nearest corridor before Mr Baxter noticed me.

"That boy, yes you boy, come here at the double," he yelled.

I raced over to him and slammed to attention. He winced. He looked me slowly up and down. I think he must have realised I had permission. That didn’t stop him giving me a succinct commentary on my past life, my present disgraceful behaviour and my all too inevitable sorry end. I was bright red by the time he let me go. I scurried away, aware of the grins of other staff and boys who had witnessed my humiliation.

Worse was to come. I never realised that Mr Findlay had a mean streak. For the first time ever he sent me with a file to the typing pool. This was a large room with about fifteen women typists. As I went in there were whistles and rude comments about my legs. As I passed one desk to get to the lady the file was for a girl pulled at the hem of my shorts. They slipped a bit showing part of my bottom. More comments followed. It was all I could do not to slam the file on the desk and run for it. When I got back to the safety of our office I scowled at Mr Findlay. He just grinned and left me smouldering.

It was a relief to get out of the office after 11.00. I made sure I left by a backdoor. It was a lovely day. I felt really good as I went down to the boathouse. I selected my favourite canoe, locked up again and started to paddle upstream to where the landing stage was. I had plenty of time. I came to a weir and played about in it for a bit. It was running well and parts were a challenge. After a while I reluctantly carried the canoe round it and paddled on. I was now well into the countryside. Then I turned a bend and quickly stopped paddling. I lifted the blades from the water and glided quietly on. There, on a post in the river, was a kingfisher. I loved watching them. This one was a brilliant blue. I just dipped my paddles to keep position. I got the closest I’ve ever been to one before it flew off, weaving among the low hanging branches. I waited for a bit, hoping to get another sighting, but it had gone.

I arrived at the landing stage late. Mr Lewis was already there, fuming. I started to apologise but he waved it aside. I tied some string onto the stern of the boat and crossed the river. That gave us the measure of the river from bank to bank. Then I did it again from the landing stage. On the way back I let the string go, and, to show off really, rolled the boat. It was nice and cool under the water. My reception from Mr Lewis was equally chilly. I had to get out of the canoe and help him measure the landing stage. At last we finished. He walked up to his car. I followed him. It was parked by the side of a dense wood, on the corner of a field.

"Now, Jay," he said sternly, "Why were you late?"

I suppose I could have lied but I didn’t like to. So I told him about playing in the weir and the kingfisher. I got a feeling he sympathised when I described the bird but it didn’t show. Instead his eyebrows grew closer and closer together.

"So," he concluded for me, "You kept me hanging about for quarter of an hour while you played and gawped at birds?"

I hung my head. "Yes, sir" I mumbled, "I’m sorry sir."

"Is there any reason why I shouldn’t send you to Mr Edwards?" he asked.

I gasped and looked straight at him in shock. Any boy who went to Mr Edwards in the next week or so would be really for it. It wouldn’t just be double helpings either. It would be real scorchers. I shook with fear just at the thought.

"Oh, please sir, not now. He’s in a really foul mood with us. I’d really get it."

"Serves you right for playing tricks, doesn’t it?"

"But sir, it wasn’t me."

"Hmm, well, I suppose I could deal with you myself."

My heart sank. "Yes, sir," I said sadly.

He opened his car and rummaged around. He tossed me a towel to dry myself with.

"Take your T shirt off and leave it on the stage to dry," he ordered.

I did as I was told; although it would have dried on me in a few minutes. My slim, smooth, firm body was now on display. When I got back from the stage he was looking at me thoughtfully. He seemed to heave a great sigh. Then he was back ferreting inside the car. He put something in his jacket pocket. From the back seat he picked up a large gym shoe. I stared at it. I had a good idea what that was going to be used for.

"Right, young man, come with me," he said, and made his way to a narrow track leading into the wood. I followed cautiously behind. It was alright for him, he was fully dressed. I had only a pair of short shorts and ankle socks. There were loads of nettles and brambles about. I got stung on the thigh before I had even got properly in. I put the towel round myself to give added protection.

Once in the wood it was better. The trees stopped a lot of the undergrowth from gaining a foothold. Even so there were patches of brambles and clumps of bushes. After a few twists and turns the path led to a fallen tree. It was in a little clearing, surrounded by vegetation. There was a dank, moist smell of rotting leaves. Mr Lewis gestured me over to the tree. Part of the trunk was clear of branches. I went to stand in front of it. Brusquely he told be to fold the towel and put it over the trunk. I hastily complied.

"If you were to be punished by Mr Edwards, what would you get?" he asked quietly.

"The cane or the strap or both sir," I replied.

"There’s a birch tree over there, do you want me to cut a switch from it?"

"Oh no, sir, please don’t." I shuddered.

"Then will you accept fifteen with the gym shoe instead?"

"Fifteen?" I yelped, astounded. Fifteen would be really bad. On the other hand a birch switch wouldn’t be a lot of fun either. At least the shoe wouldn’t leave so many marks. Reluctantly I nodded.

"Very well, take your shorts and pants down and bend over the tree trunk."

"But, sir, suppose somebody comes?"

"Then they’ll get a good view of what happens to boys who play when they should be working won’t they? Don’t worry, Jay, there’s no one for miles."

There was no help for it. I turned and faced the tree. I lifted my hands to my waistband and pushed my shorts and pants down in one go. They fell to my ankles. I was effectively naked. He stepped to one side and took a good look at me. I was hard in seconds. His hand moved as if to grip my rigid cock. Then it fell back. I smiled shyly at him, but he looked away.

I adjusted the towel then bent over the trunk. It was a bit bigger than I had thought. I was left almost hanging over it, my feet only just on the ground. My bare bottom rose in the air. I looked at the ground. Ants scurried by. Tree bark lay rotting. There was a group of nettles to one side. I inched myself away from them. When I was settled there was a pause. In the distance I could hear a tractor. But my mind was focussed on one thing; my poor, vulnerable, quivering bottom.

The sole of the gym shoe came to rest on me. Then it lifted away. Unlike the cane or strap it made little sound as it came back. It landed with a loud thwack, stinging a large area of my bum. Yet although it stung it didn’t seem to hurt very much. More whacks landed. They began to hurt but not enough to make me shiver let alone yell. By the sixth I was beginning to get confident. This was going to be easy. For once I’d actually take a spanking without yelling.

By the tenth I was changing my mind. Each whack was now hitting an already burning bottom. I was wriggling a little and gasping with it. The eleventh smacked my right cheek. It really hurt. I couldn’t hold back a long drawn out ooooooh. The twelfth was a direct hit in the centre. I yelped with the pain. The thirteenth was the worst. I got me in exactly the same spot. It was too much. I howled, tears beginning to form in my eyes. My poor bottom was on fire, each whack fanning the flames. The next two were almost as bad. Twice more I screamed with it. Then it was over. I felt the air trying in vain to fight the blaze. I longed to get back to the canoe and sit in some water.

I heard him move away. There was a sound of breaking wood. Then it seemed as if he was stripping small twigs away from a stick. I shuddered with fear. He was making a switch after all. He came back. "Right," he snapped. "Just one with this switch to show you what might happen next time."

I tensed. There was a slight tap on my rear end. Then suddenly there was a whop as the switch lashed through the air. It got me dead centre on the part worst affected by the gym shoe. It really hurt. I jerked forward and let out a shriek of pain. It was worse than Mr Foster’s Stinger. I wriggled about, nearly dislodging the towel. My tears fell in earnest now. I wished I had never seen that kingfisher.

He left me hanging there, quietly sobbing, for a bit. Then his hand came and slowly rubbed a cheek. I stiffened but didn’t move. It moved on to the other cheek and once more rubbed at the pain. He was surprisingly gentle with me. I settled down. He began to rub all over my bottom and down to my thighs.

"Lift your feet up," he commanded.

I didn’t know what to do. On the other hand I wasn’t in any position to disobey him. I did as I was told. I felt his hands go to my ankles. My gym shoes were removed. My shorts and pants followed. Apart from my socks, I was now completely naked. Was I going to get more? I just closed my eyes and hoped for the best.

His hand returned to my throbbing bottom. Now however it felt around the crack. It pushed at my legs and I obediently opened them wider. A finger came to my hole and went inside. It pushed and went deeper. I heard him gasp.

"I’m not the first one in here am I?" he exclaimed. I think he was a bit shocked.

"No, sir," I admitted.

There was a pause. Then I heard a jar of something being opened. His finger came back to oil me around my ring and inside. I squirmed a bit. A swift, hard slap on my sore backside stilled me. When he was satisfied I was ready the finger withdrew. There was a rustle of clothing being removed. He closed in one me. I could feel his breath on my back. One hand came up to my bottom and guided his hard cock to me. It felt different somehow to what I had known before. He rubbed his tip up and down my crack, then settled it into place. His arms enveloped me, his hands gripping the tree trunk on either side.

He thrust with his waist. I could feel him enter. He thrust and thrust again. Soon he was in deep, really deep. It seemed as if he was driving up inside me right to my heart. I had never had anyone this big before. Soon he was fully in. It felt strange but good. He touched part of me that sent a new sensation bursting through me. I moaned with pleasure, my sore bottom forgotten in the thrill of the present. He started to move. It wasn’t like the way Mr Foster did it, or Colin’s hesitant strokes. This was a hard, purposeful swaying that had me moaning and writhing with his every motion. My own cock was rock hard, rubbing against the towel. Suddenly he gasped and I felt him come in a long shuddering motion deep inside me. There was a moment of stillness, then he pushed himself away from me and slipped out. I couldn’t resist raising myself up for a look.

He was really big. I thought it must be at least ten inches of hard, circumcised muscle that had been in me. He was puffing and panting, spunk still dripping from him. Without being told I stood up. I was still hard. My proud cock jutted out in front of me. He gripped it, fondled it for a moment and gave me a quick pull. I came almost immediately. He rubbed his hands over my body then turned to dress. I got a look at his hairy bum. It was nice and firm. I stayed as I was. When he had finished dressing he came back to me. He put an arm round my shoulder and once more bent me over the tree trunk.

"What happened just now Jay?" he asked.

"Sir?"

His hand came down across my poor, bare bottom stinging worse than the gym shoe had done. I yelped with shock and pain. After a couple more whacks I suddenly got the message.

"What happened just now, Jay?" he asked yet again.

"Nothing, sir" I squeaked, tensing for another smack. It didn’t come. Instead his hand once more caressed my burning skin, rubbing away the pain. For a moment I thought he was going to take me again. Then he stood me up. I dressed awkwardly. We made our way back to the car.

"Back to work," he grinned. "I’ll see you in the office at 2.00"

"Yes, sir, thank you sir," I replied.

When I got back to the office at 2.00 he just waved at me as if nothing had happened. Part of the way through the afternoon he dumped some more work on my desk and walked off without a word. He never mentioned it again. Nor did he ever try to get me on my own for another session. But I remembered, even if I kept it to myself. And sometimes, particularly when he was telling me off, I once more saw him standing in that wood, his collapsing cock still dripping, and smiled to myself. He wasn’t as perfect as he liked to make out.

Jay Bee

May 25 1998