JAY AND ALAN

Author : Jay Bee JBates3327@aol.com

1964 had arrived. My new job had started. At nearly nineteen I was now the clerk responsible for the planning department’s Local Plan. But I had another responsibility. The Council I worked for employed nearly forty boys. I was to look after the discipline of those between fifteen and seventeen and a half. All boys, including me, had to agree to accept corporal punishment. I just hoped I wouldn’t have to whack any of my lot too often.

The first week in January was a busy one for me. I had to get all the files out of the old Local Plan, together with any files we had inherited from the area of the Council we had taken over, arrange them all on the shelves and work out a system so they were easily accessible. It took me all week to get it right. But finally Mr Findlay, my immediate boss, approved. I heaved a sigh of relief. Now all I had to do was work out an index for them.

My other job was more of a worry. The first day of the new year at work I had assembled all the new boys for whom I was responsible. I explained the system. They had all signed an agreement that they would accept the cane. Their parents had also signed. Now I introduced them to the reality. I took them down to the basement. I showed them the canes and the strap. I pointed out the old sawhorse over which they would bend their bare bottoms. It was a very subdued group of boys that I later dismissed.

As usual with any re-organisation nothing went entirely to plan. The Council’s planning department had expanded. New staff were taken on. The trouble was that there wasn’t enough room. There were two desks in my poky little office. It was decided that I would share for a while. The Council’s newest planning officer would join me. His name was Alan.

I had met him at the planning department’s Christmas party. He was straight out of university. This was his first job. At twenty three he was keen as mustard. He was tall, at least six feet, which dwarfed my meagre five foot eight, with light brown curly hair. His slim, rangy figure was full of energy. I was a bit wary of him. Even though I had worked for the Council for nearly a year and a half he was quick to impose his authority on me. He had the crisp, assured manner of the public school prefect he had once been. Yet he was friendly and soon we were getting on really well.

When he first moved to the area he had been living in lodgings. Now he’d had a couple of weeks to look around he’d found a small cottage just outside of town. It needed a fair amount of work doing on it so it was reasonably cheap. Anyway his parents came up with the price. He had moved in over the New Year. He was living in just two rooms at the moment. He wanted help getting the rest of the house in order. As I didn’t have much to do over the weekend I agreed to lend a hand.

On the Saturday morning I arrived at his place. The garden was overgrown; with weeds everywhere and the front hedge needing a severe trim. Inside wasn’t much better. The cottage looked as if it hadn’t seen a duster or mop for years. The walls were grimy, the floors filthy and you could hardly see out of the windows for dirt.

Alan met me at the door. He was wearing tight blue jeans and a white tee shirt. He looked really good.

"I hope you’re ready for some hard work," he grinned.

"No problem," I laughed, "The way you guys keep me busy at the Town Hall this’ll be easy."

An hour later I wasn’t so sure. He wanted the hallway scrubbed clean. I had done the walls first. The paintwork was now spotless but shabby. It would need a new coat before it was anything like presentable. I moved on to the floor. The dirt was really ground in. I sighed, knelt down and started attacking it.

"Want a coffee?" Alan smiled down at me.

"Sure," I replied. I was more than ready for a break.

"Come on then," he said, leading the way to the kitchen.

I got up, stretched my weary little body, and followed him through.

The kitchen was one of the rooms he had already done. It was really nice. There was an old coal fired oven against one wall. The heat it gave off warmed the room. On another wall an old dresser held plates and mugs. The spotless sink gleamed by the window. I looked around in appreciation. If this was what the rest of the place would be like when it was done then Alan had himself a really good home. I wouldn’t mind living here myself.

We sat round the kitchen table with coffee and chocolate biscuits and chatted. He told me about his parents’ house. They had a place in the country. They had two cats there. He missed them. Once the cottage was sorted out he was going to get a kitten.

"That’ll ruin all your hard work," I grinned.

"Only a bit," he shrugged. "But it’ll be worth it."

I just smiled up at him. Our eyes met. For a moment I thought he would reach over and touch me. But he looked away.

"Back to work," he said.

"Yes master," I mocked and returned to the hall floor.

By lunchtime I had nearly finished it. The wooden boards were now clean and dry. What they needed was a good polish. Alan had got some wax and I had covered the floor with it. The hard work of rubbing it in now awaited me. I had just begun the job when he called me back to the kitchen. Lunch was ready.

He’d cooked a chicken stew with mashed potatoes and greens. It was really tasty. We chatted a bit about cooking. I told him how to make a great fruit cake. He got a pad and scribbled down my words of wisdom. We moved on to the Council. He enjoyed working there but was a bit down on Mr Findlay. I put him straight. Mr Findlay might be fat and boring but I really liked him. He had got me out of a bad situation. I told Alan all about it.

"Well," he said stretching his arms wide, "You may be right. But there’s work to be done."

I grinned and went back to the hall floor. I had got nearly half of it to a good shine when something nudged my upturned bottom. I shot round. It was Alan, pushing at me with his foot.

"Give yourself a break Jay," he smiled. "Come and help me unpack some stuff in the study."

I was more than ready to comply. My arms felt like they were coming out of their sockets. I got up from my crouched position and followed him to the room he was turning into a study. He had it part way set up. To one side there was a desk and chair. Near the middle of the large room a big leather sofa had pride of place. Around the walls were empty bookshelves and cupboards. Some packing cases were scattered about.

"Just empty these out, if you would," Alan asked me. "The books can go anywhere for the time being and other stuff in the cupboard."

I got down to it. The first case had loads of books in it. Some were planning texts. I wondered if I could borrow some to help me in my diploma. Others were fiction, mainly science fiction. There were sci-fi mags as well. He was obviously an addict. I looked at some of them. The stories seemed interesting. I might see if I could borrow one or two of these as well.

I was getting into the third box when I had a shock. There, nestling among some pictures and books, was a cane. I looked deeper inside. There were two more.

"What do you want these for?" I exclaimed.

"Oh, they’re what I used when I was head of my house at school," he replied. "Although they weren’t my main weapon. Dig a little deeper."

I sorted through the rest of the box. There wasn’t much else. The only thing I could see that might be used was a miniature cricket bat, signed by some long forgotten team. I drew it out hesitantly.

"That’s it," he grinned. "The bat. Boys who could face the cane would tremble when I produced that. There were two reasons. First they got the cane with their pyjama trousers on. The bat was delivered to their bare bottoms. Secondly, ten good ones with the bat were far worse than six with the cane. It was rare that even a boy of your age wouldn’t howl for that."

"You whacked boys of my age?" I said incredulously.

"Oh yes. I once whacked the senior house monitor for being out of bounds. He was nineteen. You should have seen the way he swaggered in to my room. Nothing could touch him. Then I produced the bat instead of a cane. His face fell. He really didn’t want to take his trousers down. But it was that or be expelled. He had a nice, smooth, round bum. By the time he’d had his twelve it was crimson. He howled on the ninth. If I’d given him the cane he would probably have taken it and swaggered out again. Instead one very sorry, tear stained boy left my room that evening."

"But why do you need them now?" I asked.

"Oh, you never know when they might come in handy," he laughed.

I gave him a weak smile. I didn’t like the way he was looking at me. Shortly after I finished the unpacking. I went back and shined the hall floor. When it was done it was time to go home. I left promising to come back on the Sunday afternoon.

That night I struggled with an essay for my planning diploma. It was hard going. I had to discuss the contents of a development plan and how an authority should start making it. For about an hour I stared at the paper and my books. In the end I gave up. For all my time I had only one and a half pages to show. I would take it with me to Alan’s and ask him to look it over. With any luck I’d get a few hints to get me through the rest.

Sunday morning I did my week’s chores for Mr Foster. Mrs Davies had cooked roast lamb for lunch. I ate slowly, savouring the thick slices and mint sauce. All too soon I was finished. There were tinned pears and custard for pudding. By the time we left the table I didn’t feel like more work. A nice nap in front of the fire would be the thing. But I had promised. Reluctantly I got my bike out of the garage and cycled up to Alan’s. It was a cold January day. I was wide awake by the time I got there.

I parked my bike by his front door and rang the bell. He let me in. I admired the gleaming hall floor. All my work.

"Yeah, wonderful," he said, ruffling my hair, " Now you can clean the bath for me."

I groaned. More slave labour.

"Well at least you can look over my essay," I told him. "The labourer is worthy of his hire."

"For you that’s about a penny a day," he grinned, " But OK give it here."

I went upstairs and started on the bath. It was about as bad as the rest of the place. It took me ages to get the grime off. By now I was bored and fed up. I wished I had never said I’d help him. I suppose in my boredom I got careless. I was sluicing out the dirt. I turned the cold tap full on. I leaned over to get a bit of the far side I’d missed. I tripped and fell right into the tub. I must have yelled. Within seconds Alan was there. He just stood looking at me. I tried a sheepish grin. He wasn’t amused. There was water all over the floor and as I got out I was dripping onto it.

He took me down to the kitchen. I had to take all my wet clothes off. I managed to get a towel round my middle before removing my pants. My clothes were hung up to dry. Curtly he told me to follow him. My heart sank. We were headed for the study.

He ushered me in and closed the door firmly behind him.

"Well young man," he snapped, "What do you think you were playing at?"

"I didn’t mean to," I answered. "I just slipped and fell in."

"If you had been paying attention to what you were doing it wouldn’t have happened, would it?"

"No Alan," I sighed. I looked down at the floor, then up at him. I stiffened with horror. The bathroom must have been above the study. A stain was beginning to appear on the ceiling. His eyes followed mine. He gazed for a good minute at the damage. Then he turned back to me. He was furious.

"Look what you’ve done!" he cried.

"Oh, but Alan it was an accident," I stammered.

"You just admitted you could have been more careful. Now I’m going to have to repaint the ceiling. Damn you."

"Please Alan, I honestly didn’t mean to."

"I ought to whack your little bottom off," he snarled. "That would teach you wouldn’t it?"

"But Alan....."

"Ten with the bat."

"Oh no, please."

"Go over to the sofa."

I hesitated. He couldn’t do this to me. I could get into my damp clothes, go home and there would be nothing he could say. But then I thought harder. He was senior to me in the Council. He could make life difficult for me if he chose. Besides he was right. If I’d been more careful this would never have happened. I sighed heavily. Slowly I moved towards the sofa.

"Go round to the side of the arm."

I paused and looked at him. He was reaching into one of the drawers of the desk. He pulled out the bat. He was holding it by the blade but then took it by the handle. He swished it through the air. I shuddered and quickly went to stand at the side of the sofa, facing it. He looked me up and down then came up beside me.

"Drop the towel."

"Oh but Alan, can’t I have it like this?"

He made no reply. Instead his free hand moved to my waist. For a moment I clutched the towel to me but then let it go. He tugged. The cloth unwound and fell to the floor. I was naked in front of him. My cock sprang to attention. He looked down at it. He lifted the bat and rubbed it along my length.

"Very nice. Right, bend over the arm."

I leaned forward and bent over. I stretched my arms out to grab one of the leather seat cushions. I took a firm grip. Without being told I straightened my knees and moved my feet wide apart. My bare bottom rose in the air. Its smooth, firm cheeks were now at his disposal.

"Stay like that," he muttered and moved away. I wondered what he was doing. I desperately hoped he wasn’t getting one of the canes I’d seen yesterday. I just buried my head in the cushion, its rich leather smell almost overwhelming me. Then I heard a movement behind me. He was back. I stiffened in anticipation of the spanking I was about to get.

A cold hand rubbed up and down my bottom. It felt me all over, even inside my crack. It paused at the hole then moved on. Finally it left, giving me a firm smack as it went. I winced at the sting but stayed still. There was more movement to my side. The next thing I felt was the chill wood of the bat. It too rubbed up and down my rear end. Then it lifted away. I tensed.

"Right," he said. "Ten with the bat. You will count each stroke. If you fail to do so you’ll get another. Is that clear?"

"Yes Alan," I squeaked, my voice a bit muffled by the sofa.

The wood once more briefly rested on my quivering stern. Once more it lifted away. It came back with a swish and a resounding thwack. It really stung.

"One," I gasped, my bottom tingling with heat.

Thwack! "Twoooooh,"

Thwack! "Threeee, oh that hurts!"

"Serves you right. Straighten your legs more."

I did as I was told. My bottom was now on fire. I realised why the bat was so dreaded. It wasn’t just the pain of it landing, although that was bad enough. It was also a heavy bit of wood. I’d have bruises for days.

Thwack! "Ah! Four. Ooooh!"

Thwack! "Yeoooowooooh! five, that was five!!"

Thwack! "Ow ooooh! Six, please sir."

I was shaking all over. Tears began to flow. My bottom felt like it had been scalded with boiling water then battered with a club. I could only stay down by gripping the cushion of the sofa tightly. Only four more to go.

Thwack! "Oh! Oh! Seven."

Thwack! I couldn’t help it. I jumped up, my hands flying to my poor, burning bottom.

" Yow oooh! Eight sir. Please no more. I’m sorry, really I am."

"Get back down," he snapped, "or it’ll be more."

"Please sir," I sobbed.

"Down!"

I gazed up at him through my tears. I quailed from the look of determination in his face. There would be no mercy. Sobbing and sighing I bent myself over the arm again. My bare bottom once more rose to meet his justice. I gripped the seat cushion tightly and awaited my fate.

Thwack! "Ahhhh. Oh sir, pleeeease."

"I beg your pardon," he said coldly. "Why have you stopped counting?"

"Oh no sir! That was nine," I squealed.

"Too late. This is the ninth."

Thwack! "Ow wow oooh! Nine sir, nine."

Thwack! "Ooooh yaroo ooh! Ten sir!"

He left me there, my bare bottom in the air, sobbing quietly to myself. It was really sore. It throbbed and tingled with pain. I longed to be able to give it a good rub but didn’t dare get up. I just stayed down and hoped that there wouldn’t be more.

For a moment it seemed my hopes would be dashed. I heard him move up behind me again. I let out a little whimper of fear. His hands caressed my burning cheeks.

"You strip very nicely Jay," he said quietly.

"Thank you sir," I sniffed, my tears beginning to dry.

"Maybe one day I’ll do something about that. But not today. You can get up."

I rose unsteadily to my feet. I hesitantly put my hands round to my throbbing rear end and started to rub away the pain. He stood looking at me with a funny smile on his face. I recovered the towel and wrapped it round me again.

"Well, what do you say?"

"Thank you sir," I managed. "I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean to."

"But you did. Still you’ve been punished for it so we’ll put it behind us."

"Yes sir. Thank you sir."

We went back to the kitchen. Over tea he read my essay and gave me some tips. He even lent me one of his planning books. Once my clothes were dry I started to get changed. Before I could get dressed though I had to bend over the table so that he could inspect the damage. He took his time over it, his hand once more exploring me. Another firm slap announced the end of the exploration. I hurriedly got into my clothes.

"Alright Jay," he grinned.

"Yes Alan," I smiled back. Despite the spanking I was beginning to think I might have found a new friend.

"I can’t help you next Saturday," I told him, "I’ve got a canoeing competition. But I could come the Saturday after if you want."

"That would be fine," he smiled. "We can get to know each other better."

"OK," I replied. "See you tomorrow."

I wheeled my bike down the path. I thought about getting on it. But my bottom was a bit too sore for that. As I trudged home I looked forward to going back to Alan’s. I just hoped I wouldn’t have another encounter with the bat.

Jay Bee

September 10 1998