Jay and Tim

                      Author : Jay Bee JBates3327@aol.com

The first Monday of September 1963 found me a very worried eighteen year old boy. I had had my job with the Council planning department for over a year now. My performance review was coming up on Friday. I didn’t think I’d done badly. Certainly I hadn’t had to report to Mr Edwards for discipline. On the other hand Mr Lewis, the senior planner, had given me a good spanking once. Otherwise I worked hard in my job as a filing clerk and I knew they were pleased with the way I had acted as the clerical assistant to a large planning inquiry. So things should be alright.

There might even be promotion. Apparently there was going to be a re-organisation. One council in the county was being abolished and our council was getting some of its area. We would take staff from the abolished authority, but, as we were going to be larger, there was room for expansion. In particular a new planning sub-committee was being set up. I was hoping to get the job of the junior clerk to it.

Yet while I wanted to impress with my keenness I needed to ask for time off. I was the senior scout in our scout group. Among other things that meant that when Mr MacKenzie, the Group Scout Leader, was away I had to deal with discipline. At the summer camp I had spanked three cubs. Mr MacKenzie was pleased with the manner in which I had carried out my duty. In the school winter half term the scouts went away for a long weekend. Usually Mr MacKenzie went with them. This year he had to be at work at that time. I was expected to go instead of him; partly to help with the activities but also to ensure that the boys behaved themselves. I needed three days off. I had only two days leave entitlement left for the year. Mr MacKenzie wanted an answer on Friday. I was bound to upset someone.

All boys employed by the Council had to do twice weekly gym sessions. I never enjoyed them. The only good thing was seeing some nice round bottoms in the showers afterwards. And, too, I quite liked showing off my own smooth, slim, firm figure. The sessions were on Mondays and Thursdays. So that Monday night when I got home I wasn’t particularly happy to start with.

It was when we were having supper that Mr Foster, my landlord, dropped his bombshell.

"Jay, you know Timothy Saunders don’t you?" He asked.

"Yes, sir," I smiled, "He’s one of the seniors in the scout group. We went on that canoeing course in Scotland together."

"Well he’s coming to stay tomorrow for a few days. His parents have the opportunity to go to Norway and have decided to take it up. They wanted to take Tim with them but as he’s in his `A’ level year his school wasn’t keen. So I said we’d have him until the Sunday when they get back. I’m afraid that means he’ll have to share your room. There’s a camp bed in the attic he can use."

I was shocked. I just put my knife and fork down and looked at him. I liked Tim a lot. We were good friends even though he was only seventeen. But I didn’t want him or anyone else sharing my room. Mr Foster must have seen my dismay.

"Jay, it’s arranged. I’m not going back on my word. I’m sorry you weren’t consulted but it was a bit of an emergency. You’ll just have to make the best of it. It’s only for five nights."

"Yes sir," I sighed and got on with my meal. It was no good making a fuss. At best I’d get told off. At worst I’d be invited to his study at 9.30 for a spanking with his tawse or the thin whippy cane called `Stinger.’ I sulked throughout the rest of supper and went to bed early.

When I came home from work on Tuesday Tim was already there. I’d never seen him in his school uniform before. His ginger hair set it off quite well. He was a little smaller than my five foot eight but would probably grow taller than me in time. He had a slim, trim figure that I’d often admired in the showers. But I knew there would be no nighttime fun. Not only did he have a girlfriend of his own age, he was also rumoured to be having an affair with a forty year old housewife. At least over the next five days I might find out if the rumours were true.

Together we dragged the camp bed down from the attic. It was dusty and smelt sour. We took it into the garden and gave it a good beating. Clouds of dust and dirt rose from it. You wouldn’t have got me sleeping on it but Tim seemed satisfied. We got it back to my room and put it by the window. Mrs Davies, the housekeeper, brought some sheets and blankets up.

I liked Tim but he quickly managed to get on my nerves. He had homework to do. He needed a desk. My desk was the obvious solution. He just picked my stuff up and put it on the floor. I had wanted to jot down some ideas for my review this evening. Now I was effectively banned from my room. I went and sat at the kitchen table, seething quietly. Mrs Davies saw I was upset and jollied me into baking a cake for her.

"It’s only a few days Jay," she said as she got some raisins out of the larder.

"I know miss," I replied sulkily, " But I wanted to sit and think about my review. I ought to have some ideas when I go. Now I’ve got two `A’ levels I should be trying for at least a diploma if not a degree. But I don’t know what subject to do or where to study for it."

"Well you can think about it while you’re beating that cake mixture," she laughed and wandered out of the kitchen.

Bed time was just as bad. I liked the room to be neat and tidy before I got into bed. Not only because if Mr Foster came in I’d get told off for being messy but because by now I had got used to being tidy. Tim just shucked his clothes onto the floor, scrambled into his pyjamas and wriggled into bed. It was quite nice to see his pert, milky white bottom but it wasn’t worth this trouble. I usually read a bit before turning the light out. He wanted to go to sleep straight away. I sullenly turned the light off. Then, as I was snuggling down, I started thinking of Colin, my old boyfriend, who now worked in London. I began to get hard. I took hold of my shaft and gently started to pull. Tim noisily turned over. I sighed and let myself go. I couldn’t even do that now.

The next day was just as bad. In the evening Tim and Mr Foster went for a walk round the garden. Tim was quite keen on gardening and made some suggestions for improvements. They came back in chatting happily away. I scowled. I knew who would have to do the hard work.

Everything came to a head on Thursday. For a start I made a fool of myself in the office. There was a lull in the flow of files coming to me. I thought I would improve things by getting out old files and putting them in new file covers. I got a load of covers from the stationery department and settled down to the job. I had hardly got one done before my immediate boss, Mr Findlay, lumbered over to my desk.

"What are you doing, Jay?" he asked crossly.

"Replacing these scrappy covers with new ones sir," I smiled, hoping for a compliment.

"Well, don’t. Put the one you’ve done back in its old folder and take those new covers back to stationery."

"But sir....." I started.

"Look Jay," he interrupted. "First, planning officers have scribbled notes on some of the covers. You throw them away you lose the notes. Also those covers cost money. Having spick and span files is just a waste. So do as you’re told please."

I sullenly re-filed then took the new covers back. I was really upset. I would have to go and do something like that on the day before my review.

Thursday evening was gym evening. It really dragged. Mr Edwards was taking us. He put us through it. I didn’t mind the exercises so much, it was more the way he yelled at you if he thought you weren’t trying hard enough. This evening I came in for the usual abuse. Then I slipped on the wall bars and fell off. It wasn’t far but enough to hurt. Of course it was my fault. I was a clumsy, pathetic, useless, wimp. I had to do fifty press ups in front of everyone.

I got home in a foul mood. I didn’t speak at all during supper. Tim went to our room to do his homework. I stayed in the living room and watched television. Mrs Davies’ favourite soap was over at 8.00. She went off to her room. I switched the channel and settled down to enjoy a good comedy. Tim wandered in.

"Oh, we don’t want to watch this rubbish," he grinned and turned to a documentary.

"Hey," I exclaimed, "I was watching that, turn it back."

"You’re too superficial Jay. Watch something educational for a change."

I’d had enough. "Turn it back now," I snarled, jumping up.

"Get lost."

We stood facing each other. I pushed him. He staggered a bit then pushed me in return. I fell back against my chair. That was it. Recovering I went for him. We both landed on the floor, rolling and trying to get on top. There was a crash as a small table went over. My legs caught a chair and that went over too. I’d just about got his arms pinned when suddenly Mr Foster burst into the room.

"What’s going on here?" he demanded sternly.

We froze. Then we disentangled ourselves. Shamefacedly we got to our feet. There was nothing we could say.

"Tidy this mess up." Mr Foster ordered. "When you’ve done that Jay you can come to my study and explain yourself. Tim, I’ll see you after Jay. Both of you will report to the study in your dressing gowns and pyjamas at 9.30. Now get on with it."

We silently set the room to rights. Then I slowly made my way to Mr Foster’s study. I knew I wasn’t going to get it now. That would come at 9.30. But I still shivered as I approached the door. I felt really low. Everything seemed to be going wrong just when I needed it to go right. Tonight’s spanking would cap it all.

Mr Foster was seated at his desk. I went and stood by it.

"Well, young man," he said, "You’ve got some explaining to do."

I couldn’t think what to say. He started shifting impatiently. So I told him the whole sorry story; my problems at work, Mr MacKenzie’s reaction if I hadn’t arranged time off, the gym sessions, the review, everything.

"I suppose Tim was the final straw, sir," I finished. "Normally we get on together. But he treats my room as his and wants his own way all the time. When he changed channels I just saw red. It’s fair to say I started it."

"Well at least you’re honest," Mr Foster smiled. "But that won’t save your skin. I think after I’ve dealt with the pair of you, you can stay behind and we’ll discuss this review, alright?"

"Yes sir. Thank you sir."

"Very well. Send Tim in."

Tim went in white faced. I wandered out into the garden and did a bit of weeding. Anything to take my mind off what was about to happen. But weeding is an automatic job. You don’t have to think about it much. All too soon I started wondering what we’d get. It wasn’t that cold but I began to shiver.

At about 9.10 I went indoors. Tim was in our room, sitting on his camp bed and staring at the floor.

"He’s going to spank us," he said miserably.

"I know, we’d better get ready."

"You’re a jinx Jay," he sighed. "I’d never been whacked before I met you. Then we go on that canoe course and get it. Now I come and stay with you and get it again."

Seeing him so downcast made me feel sorry for him. After all he was my friend. I went and sat next to him on the bed and put an arm round his shoulders.

"Cheer up," I tried, "It’ll soon be over and done with. If it helps I said I’d started it."

"Did you?" he gasped. "Well more fool you cos I said the same thing."

I couldn’t help laughing. "Oh well, we’ll both get extra for starting it then."

That brought a faint smile if nothing else. We got ourselves ready. By 9.25 we were in the hall next to the study. I’d hoped with Tim there I’d manage to control my usual shivering at this stage. But I couldn’t. If anything it was worse. The ticking of the hall clock never helped. Each tick sounded in my ears like the crack of the tawse on my bottom. Tim seemed unmoved. Then I noticed his dressing gown was riding up, so tightly was he gripping it. The clock struck 9.30. I knocked. We went in.

"Close the door behind you," Mr Foster commanded, standing up behind his desk.

I closed the door, my hand slippery on the brass handle.

"I will not have fighting in my house. You’re both old enough to know better aren’t you?"

"Yes sir," we mumbled.

"It’s lucky for you no damage was caused. Is there anything either of you want to say before I punish you?"

"I’m sorry sir," I said looking at the floor. Tim added his regrets.

"Very well. Six with the tawse and three with Stinger. Take your dressing gowns off."

We took them off and hung them on the hook on the door. He let us stand there while he sat down again. He reached for the bottom drawer. I tensed. The drawer opened. The brown leather tawse emerged. Tim gasped and shivered. I was shaky as well. My eyes felt moist.

"Jay, go and put the footstool in the centre of the room," Mr Foster told me. I silently obeyed and took up my usual position between it and the desk, my hands going to my pyjama cord.

"Right, I want both of you at the armchair opposite an armrest."

I looked round and saw what he meant. Tim was already moving. He took the left armrest. I went and stood opposite the right one. The chair was at an angle in the room so Mr Foster had a good view of our trembling backs. Time seemed to stand still as we waited for the next command. Outside I could hear the rain drumming on the window. There was a dog barking in the park. It all sounded far away.

"Drop your pyjamas."

I hastily undid the cord and let my trousers slide down my legs to my ankles. Tim’s got caught at his knees and he bent over to push them down. He straightened up. We both glanced at each other then looked away. I could almost smell my fear. I desperately wanted to be somewhere else. I was eighteen. This shouldn’t be happening to me.

"Bend forward along the armrest."

I bent down as ordered, folded my arms and let my head rest on them. I could feel the back of the chair against my skull. I had another look at Tim. His hands were hanging down. He glanced at me and hastily copied my position. There was another pause. Then I heard the creak of Mr Foster’s chair as he got up. I shivered in anticipation.

"Both of you get your feet further apart. Jay, straighten your knees."

I pushed my feet wider apart on either side. Suddenly I felt Tim’s foot coming the other way. I didn’t know what to do. He moved it away, then brought it back. His bare skin was cold against me. I could feel his trembling and I expect he could feel mine. I straightened my knees, raising my bare bottom higher in the air.

Mr Foster came to stand behind me. He pushed my pyjama jacket up my back. Out of the corner of my eye I saw him do the same for Tim. Then I lost interest in Tim. The cold leather of the tawse came to rest on my quivering bottom. I buried my head in my arms and waited for the pain to start. The tawse lifted away. It swept back with a resounding crack, searing across both cheeks. I gasped and wriggled. Almost before I knew it the next one was on me. Both tails landed firmly on my right cheek, setting it ablaze. I couldn’t hold back a squeak of pain, although it was muffled by my arms. I bounced a little on my toes. The third was another real scorcher across both cheeks. I couldn’t take it. I howled and writhed in agony, the tears beginning to flow.

He moved away from me. In the distance I heard Tim gasp. He too must be feeling that cold leather. His foot pushed against mine. Then there was the crack of the strap on his bare bottom. He couldn’t resist a long drawn out oooooh. He took the second. It was almost as if he didn’t feel it. It was only the movement of his foot that told me it had got to him. He took the third as well, although now he was shivering with pain, his breath coming in short gasps.

Then it was my turn again. Once more I briefly felt the tawse rest on my burning flesh. Once more it lifted away. I tensed. It crashed down, getting me low, almost on the back of my thighs. I managed not to yell but I bit deeply into my arm. Suddenly I had two sources of pain. Unfortunately they didn’t cancel each other out. My bottom throbbed and blazed. My arm just hurt. The fifth cracked in. Another really good one, dead centre across both cheeks. I lifted my head up and howled my sorrow to the world, tears streaming down my face. Only Tim’s presence stopped me begging. The last with the tawse got me low again. It wrung another wail out of me and left me writhing and bouncing up and down on my toes.

I was so hurt I honestly don’t think I heard Tim’s fourth. All I could think of was the pain in my poor burning bottom. I heard the fifth alright. He screeched in agony, a really high pitched scream that seemed to go right through me. I think it must have upset Mr Foster too because there was a pause. Then the sixth whacked Tim’s scalded rear end. Another howl filled the air.

I heard Mr Foster walk away. I longed to be allowed to get up and massage my blazing cheeks. Yet I knew I couldn’t. Stinger was next. Even in my pain and fear I sneaked a look at Tim. All I could see through my tears was the back of his head. He was shaking and obviously crying. Yet he too stayed down, his trembling bottom awaiting the kiss of the cane.

The sideboard drawer was opened. Stinger hit the wood as it came out, the click sending a wave of shivering from my head to my toes. Again Mr Foster loomed up behind me. Once more I buried my face in my tear soaked arms and prepared for the worst. There was a light tap on my bottom. Then Stinger whopped through the air and cracked into me. It was a direct hit. Right in the centre. It was like being stung by a whole line of wasps. I jerked forward and screamed in agony. I wriggled and writhed so much he had to tell me to keep still. I managed to control myself and settled, sobbing, for the next one. It seared into almost exactly the same spot as the last. I couldn’t help it. I shot up, wailing and crying, my hands flying to my injured behind. Then I realised what I’d done. I quickly got back into the right position, praying I hadn’t earned myself more. Another tap. I steeled myself. The cane sliced into my rear end, lower down this time. I yelled again, wriggling so much I nearly fell off the armrest. I waited in an agony of suspense for another for jumping up but it never came. Thankfully I heard him move over to Tim.

Poor Tim. He’d managed alright with the tawse. But hearing me get the cane must have unnerved him.

"Sir, please sir," I heard him beg, his voice quivering with fear.

"Stay down," Mr Foster snapped.

There was silence for a few seconds. Then the cane whopped onto Tim’s bottom. He yelled in the same high pitched way as before. Even though I was having problems with my own pain I wanted to look at him. But I didn’t dare. My backside was sore enough without inviting more. So I sobbed into my arms and kept my head down. A whop announced the onset of Tim’s second. It cracked into him. I felt the chair move as he jerked forward. This time he didn’t so much howl as let out a long moan of distress. The third drew another howl. Then it was over. We both lay on the arms crying and sniffling.

"Alright, you may stand."

I got up stiffly, my hands reaching back to my red hot bottom. Tim bent to pull up his trousers but seeing me standing there with mine around my ankles, straightened up again. His bottom was scarlet, with three angry lines across the centre. One whack with the tawse had got him low on the right cheek and the outline of the tails was clearly visible. He too clasped his wounded backside and started to rub.

"Now, what have you learned tonight Jay"

"Not to lose my temper sir," I sniffed.

"And you Tim"

"Not to be so selfish sir."

"Alright you can get dressed."

We hastily pulled up our trousers and did up the cords. Then I went back to massaging my throbbing cheeks.

"Tim," Mr Foster ordered, "You can go to your room. Jay and I have something else to discuss."

Tim shot me a worried look. I tried to grin back at him. He put his dressing gown on and opened the door. Then he turned back to Mr Foster. "Thank you sir," he said softly.

With that he was gone, closing the door behind him. I was left alone with Mr Foster. I could hear Tim scampering up the stairs. I guessed his plans included a cold flannel on his sore bottom. I stood there in my pyjamas, still snivelling a bit, as Mr Foster put the cane away. Then he opened the sideboard and poured two glasses of sherry.

"Have a sip of that then go over to the desk," he smiled.

I took the glass and tasted the sweet, smooth liquid. I was getting a liking for sherry and this was a good one. It certainly helped soothe my raw throat. I walked over to the desk. The tawse still lay on it, its brown leather winking at me in the light. I shivered. Mr Foster came over and sat in his chair. He made no move to put the tawse away. Surely I wasn’t going to get another spanking?

For the next ten minutes we discussed my review. I found it hard to concentrate with the tawse only a foot away from me. I wished he’d get rid of it. But no. As I sipped my sherry and tried to talk about my future that dreadful piece of leather dominated my thoughts. That and my sore bottom. It was decided that I would ask for advice about the next step in my education. Mr Foster though a diploma would be better than a degree as it would be difficult to study and work. I should express interest in the reorganisation but not push myself forward. I should be polite, accept any criticisms and promise to do better. As far as the extra day’s leave was concerned I should raise it during the review. I nodded and chipped in some comments of my own.

"Now," he concluded firmly, "This whole sorry mess could have been avoided if only you’d had the sense to come to me earlier, couldn’t it?"

"Yes sir," I managed, my eyes locked onto the tawse.

"Well I am going to give you three more to remind you that if you’ve got a problem you should come to me with it."

"Oh sir, please sir."

"On the footstool please Jay."

I started to cry. It was no use. He just looked at me sternly. Reluctantly I made my way to the stool. For the second time that night my bottom emerged from my trousers. I glanced round hoping for a reprieve. He was standing up, the tawse already in his hand. I shuddered and knelt down. I put my head and hands on the floor, inched my knees apart and raised my bare bottom up.

I had hardly settled before the first one cracked in. It was a good one on my left cheek. I couldn’t stand it. I howled in pain and bounced up and down on the stool. I’d only had one but already my tears were making a little damp patch on the carpet. The second was just as bad. It got me across both cheeks, reigniting the fires of the earlier spanking. I screamed and sobbed. Only the fact that there was just one to go kept me from begging. It got me in almost the same spot. Again I howled and writhed on the stool. Somewhere, deep inside my head, I felt a dam break.

"You can get up now," he said kindly.

"No sir," I sobbed.

There was a pause. "What did you say?" he asked incredulously. I doubt any boy in my situation had ever said that to him before.

"I said no sir," I managed bravely through my tears.

The cold leather rested on me.

"You can get up now Jay."

"No sir," I squeaked.

It lifted away and cracked down. It was a really hard one. Another direct hit across both cheeks. I screamed and cried and wriggled. But I stayed down, gouging my fingers deep into the carpet.

"You can get up now Jay."

"No sir," I wailed, tensing for another.

It didn’t come. Instead his hand patted my bottom. "What’s this all about?" he asked.

It all came out. He’d said I could come to him but he never came to me. After he’d taken me the first time he’d been cold for ages. Then one evening there had been another time. And that was it. What had I done wrong, I sobbed. Didn’t he like me any more. Didn’t he realise I was his for the taking.

There was a long silence. He moved away, going over to the window. Then he returned. A gentle hand lifted me up. He turned me round to face him. I gazed at him though a veil of tears, racked by sobs far worse than the tawse could draw out. He pressed me against his chest and hugged me for a while. When I finally managed to stop crying he put his hands on my shoulders and held me at arms’ length.

"Jay, Jay," he said huskily. "It’s difficult for me. I very much want to have you again. You’re everything I ever looked for in a boy. But you must understand that I don’t find this easy. I feel responsible for you. To have sex with you seems wrong."

"Even if I want you sir."

"Even then Jay. Possibly especially then."

I just looked miserably at the floor. He lifted my chin up so I was staring him in the face.

"Don’t worry Jay. We’ll sort something out between us. Just give it some time."

"Alright sir."

"I’m glad we’ve had this little chat. If nothing else it’s cleared the air a bit. But I strongly advise you not to disobey me again."

"Yes sir. Thank you sir."

"Off you go then."

I pulled my pyjamas up. Somehow the pain didn’t seem so bad. As I put my dressing gown on he came over to me. He ruffled my hair, took my face in his hands and kissed my forehead.

"Now," he said with mock sternness, "Bed."

I grinned up at him, my sore bottom forgotten. "Yes sir. Thank you again sir."

I think Tim must have wondered why I was so happy after two good spankings. But I lay in bed that night with the glow in my mind far warmer than that in my bottom. He cared after all. I snuggled down to sleep a very contented, if sore, young man.

Jay Bee

June 11 1998.