JAY ON REPORT

Author : Jay Bee JBates3327@aol.com

This is a story from when I first started living with Mr Foster. At that time I was a fairly shy sixteen year old, about five foot seven, nowhere near needing to start shaving yet despite my dark hair, and with a slim, firm figure.

Settling into a new home and new job was a bit difficult. It didn’t help that in the second month I was living with him I got a good - and well deserved - spanking. I had never felt a leather strap on my bare bottom before. It really hurt. I also got one stroke with a thin whippy cane called Stinger. That cane certainly lived up to its name. In the couple of weeks after that I was even more subdued than usual.

About a month later I got it at work. I’d managed to annoy almost everyone in the firm. The three men I shared an office with gave me four each with the blunt edge of a heavy ruler. My boss, Mr Jackson, added six with the flat on my bare bottom. To cap it all when I got home Mr Foster’s tawse and cane made their presence felt. You’ve never seen a boy’s attitude change so fast.

After that things settled down. It was now the summer and I had a holiday to look forward to. The real trouble was that I was new to the area. I didn’t have any friends and couldn’t make any at work. So I was a bored young man. I worked in the garden at home, went for long, lonely walks and took in a few films at the local cinema. Mr Foster had me running round the park twice a week and I would help Mrs Davies, the housekeeper, in the kitchen. But it wasn’t enough. In that summer of 1961 I was pretty much at a loose end.

That affected my behaviour. I was careful not to get into any more trouble. But I suppose I became a bit sulky. I was polite but withdrawn. I would do my work around the house but no more. I started to be late for meals, didn’t bother to comb my hair or keep my shoes clean and generally drifted around in a little dream world. I got a rude awakening.

It all started one evening at the dinner table. As usual I was a bit late down from my room. But that was fair enough. There was a record I liked on the radio and I wanted to hear it through. So I was a couple of minutes late. So what? As I came in to the dining room Mr Foster scowled at me. I just ignored him and sat down. The meal proceeded with Mr Foster and Mrs Davies chatting from time to time and a sullen silence from me. After pudding I didn’t wait for them to finish. I just pushed my chair back and stood up.

"Where do you think you’re going Jay?" Mr Foster snapped.

"To the living room sir," I replied. "There’s a programme on tele. I want to watch."

"Very well," he said firmly. "Go and watch your programme. But I want to see you in my study at eight o’clock. Is that clear?"

"Yes sir," I sighed and left the room. I wasn’t that worried about the summons. I knew I might get told off but that was all. I hadn’t done anything to deserve a spanking. Besides I only got it at 9.30 so I was OK.

Nevertheless the thought of going to the study ruined the programme for me. It was a detective story. Normally I liked to try and work out who the villain was. I usually managed to guess it before the end. But not tonight. I just couldn’t concentrate. Even though I knew my bottom was in no danger I didn’t like the idea of a lecture. If anything I became even more stroppy.

At five past eight I knocked on the study door. He told me to enter. I went in, closed the door behind me, put my hands back into my pockets and sauntered over to his desk. He was not impressed.

"What time did I tell you to be here, young man?" he started.

"Eight o’clock, sir," I muttered sulkily.

"And what’s the time now?"

"Five past."

"Jay, take your hands out of your pockets, brush your hair down and stand up straight and look at me when I’m talking to you."

Sullenly I did as I was told.

"Right young man, we’ve both had enough of your sulks and sighs. You’re careful to avoid real trouble but your behaviour is just not good enough. I don’t feel I can spank you now. That wouldn’t be right. But I am going to ensure you mend your ways."

He paused and looked at me. I just stared back.

"As you know," he continued, "A few years ago I was a housemaster at a boys’ boarding school. I quite often had to deal with boys like you. We had a very effective system. I see no reason why it shouldn’t work here just as well as it did there. Boys whose conduct fell below an acceptable level were put on report. That is what I am putting you on now."

I started to get uneasy. I didn’t like the sound of this. But there was nothing I could do. I liked living with him and Mrs Davies and my dad would have a fit if I thought of moving. So I just stood there and waited to see what was coming.

Mr Foster reached into his desk and brought out three or four pocket sized cards. He gave one to me. It was printed with `Starbrook House’ in large letters. Underneath were the words `Report card’ and a space for my name. It opened out to a larger page with lines and columns.

"You will see that there are twelve lines there," Mr Foster told me, " And four columns. Each time you are late, rude, ill mannered, untidy or commit any other minor offence a red mark will be placed in the first column of a line. The second column is for the date, the third for a brief description of the offence and the fourth for either my or Mrs Davies’ initials. This card is for a fortnight. If you get six red marks in a week or ten in a fortnight then those marks will be transferred from the card to your bottom. Is that clear?"

"Yes sir," I said shakily. I didn’t like the sound of this at all.

"To give you an example your behaviour tonight would have earned you three marks. You were late for dinner, your hair wasn’t combed and you had the bad manners to leave the table before we were finished. It’s lucky for you the system wasn’t working then. But it is now."

"Yes sir."

"Right. You can pull your socks up or take your trousers down. It’s up to you. You will carry the card with you at all times. Off you go."

I left in a daze. I just went to my room and stared at the card. Surely he wasn’t serious? Yet by now I had come to know him quite well. He meant what he said. I shivered. That evening I stayed in my room and went to bed early.

The next morning was a Sunday. I got up earlier than usual and made my way down to breakfast. Mrs Davies took one look at me.

"Give me your card please, Jay," she said firmly.

"But miss, I, I, I’m on time," I stuttered.

"On time but unwashed," she replied. "Your card please."

"It’s in my room, miss."

"Then go and get it," she snapped.

Reluctantly I went back upstairs and got the card. When I gave it to her she made a red mark in one line and filled out my offence. After she’d initialled it I held my hand out to take it back. To my horror she picked up the red pen and made another mark. I just gaped at her.

"Weren’t you told to carry this at all times?" she asked.

"Yes miss," I sighed. I’d hardly started the first week and I already had two marks. Suddenly I began to take this seriously. Unfortunately, not seriously enough it seemed. My shoes weren’t clean, I ran downstairs and nearly knocked Mr Foster over and I left the hoe out in the garden when I came in. By six o’clock that Sunday evening my card had five red marks in it. Then came disaster. I’d had a bath after my gardening. I spent a bit longer in it than I should have. By the time I got downstairs for supper I was late.

At nine thirty I was back in the study. This time I wasn’t so casual. Mr Foster went over my sins. I could only stand there shivering and awaiting the inevitable. It didn’t take long to arrive.

"It’s time you learnt to behave properly," he concluded. "Take your dressing gown off and go over to the footstool,"

I went cold. I looked at him, begging with my eyes. He took no notice. Reluctantly I turned and made my way to the door. I hung my dressing gown on the hook, then went over to the stool.

"Drop your pyjama trousers and kneel down"

I undid the cord and let them fall to my ankles. Then I knelt on the stool and arched myself over so that my head and hands were on the floor. My bare, firm, quivering bottom rose into the air. I inched my knees apart. I heard him stand up. He crossed over to me. My pyjama jacket was brushed up my back. Cold leather rested on my smooth, round cheeks. It lifted away.

Whack!!! A wave of pain radiated out from my bottom, leaving it burning and tingling. I jerked forward a bit and gasped out loud.

Whack!!! The tails of that dreadful tawse seared into me, I only just managed not to yell.

Whack!!! "Oooooh" I squealed, shivering with pain. These were good, firm shots. My poor backside was blazing.

Whack!!! "Yeow ow ow!!" I writhed in agony. Tears began to gather in my eyes.

Whack!!! "Oh sir, please sir!" I sobbed.

Whack!!! "Ooooooyah" I howled. My hands flew to my scalded backside. I gave it one quick rub then hastily took them away. I scrunched down, hoping I wouldn’t get more.

My luck was in. He let me stand and get dressed almost immediately. Then I had to go back to the desk for a new card.

I just stared at it. Despite the hot tingling in my bottom I was getting a bit angry. How many times would he do this? I could get whacked once a day. It wasn’t fair.

He gave me the card and dismissed me with another warning. I was really fed up. Even so I didn’t mean to slam the door. But I did.

"Jay!" he yelled, "Get back in here."

I froze in horror. But there was no help for it. Tears of self pity beginning to flow I re-entered the study.

"How dare you slam the door like that," he said furiously, before I was halfway to the desk. "Turn round, lift your dressing gown up, take your pyjamas down and bend over."

Fearfully I obeyed him. He let me wait there for a while, my bare, reddened, tingling bottom high in the air. It felt cold and vulnerable as well with the draught blowing lightly over it. I had to clutch the gown tightly so it wouldn’t slip back over me. After a while I again heard him get up from his chair. I shivered with more than cold. Would it be Stinger?

It wasn’t. It was three more real scorchers with the tawse. I writhed and howled with each one, tears pouring down my cheeks. My poor bottom blazed and throbbed. I closed the door very carefully when I left after that.

During the next week I was really good. I put a little note on the inside of my bedroom door to remind me to check my appearance before I left the room, I set my clock to run five minutes fast so that I would always be on time and I was careful to be polite and helpful about the house. Even so by Sunday evening I had five red marks.

"Just scraped in under the line," Mr Foster grinned at me when I showed him the card. "I wouldn’t get another five next week if I were you."

"Oh no sir," I said seriously.

"Alright Jay," he smiled. "You’re doing better than I expected. Keep it up. To help you stay on the straight and narrow I’m going to raise the stakes. If you get five marks this week then while I’ll make it nine with the tawse there’ll be two with Stinger."

"Oh but sir...." I squeaked. "Really?"

"Really Jay. You’re doing well. I want to make sure you don’t slacken off."

"Yes sir," I said miserably. Two with Stinger! I would be extra good this week.

On week days I was usually safe. I was out at work most of the day and I spent more time in my room in the evenings. I got a red mark on Tuesday for not cleaning the washbasin after I’d used it and another on Friday morning for whistling too loudly. So the weekend started with three to go. I had a plan for that. I would stay out all day Saturday - going for a long walk and then a film in the afternoon. That should leave me Sunday and with any luck I should manage to survive that day with my bottom intact.

However Mr Foster did not approve when I mentioned my plans for Saturday to him at supper on Friday.

"No Jay," he said sternly. "You’re not running away. You can stay home in the morning. See your film in the afternoon by all means but tomorrow morning you can get on with your gardening."

"Yes sir," I muttered sulkily and promptly got a red mark for my attitude.

However Saturday went really well. I didn’t do a thing wrong. Until the evening that is. I had been reading the newspaper in the lounge when Mrs Davies yelled that supper was ready. Not wanting to be late, I just dropped the paper and scurried into the dining room. A minute later Mr Foster came in with the paper in his hand. Another red mark was placed in my card. One to go and all day Sunday before me. I shivered.

Sunday was a bright sunny day. I put on a pair of dark blue shorts and a light blue T shirt. Making doubly sure that I was immaculate before leaving the room, I walked quietly downstairs and into the kitchen a good two minutes early. Mrs Davies smiled at me.

"Trying extra hard today are we Jay?"

"Yes miss," I replied.

"Good boy," she told me and gave me two fried eggs instead of the usual one. I grinned happily at her and tucked in. Afterwards I did the washing up and checked the kitchen was neat before I left it.

I went for a short walk then came home and started cleaning Mr Foster’s car. I wasn’t that keen on doing it but it was part of the arrangement between him and my dad. I had to clean the car once a week and do at least two hours gardening. Today that car was going to be the smartest in the street. And it was. I washed and polished for good hour. In the end it was gleaming. Mrs Davies smiled approvingly at me when she left for church. I sighed with relief. She’d be gone for a while and Mr Foster was working in the study. I was safe for a bit. I took the card out and looked at it for the hundredth time. I definitely didn’t want another red mark.

I got myself a cup of tea, made Mr Foster a coffee then went to my room and started to read a thriller I’d borrowed from the library. I had just got to a good bit when I heard Mr Foster calling me. Reluctantly I marked my place and started to wander downstairs. Then I remembered my precarious position. I went cold. I couldn’t have done anything wrong, could I? I scampered down to the hall.

"It’s alright, Jay," Mr Foster smiled as he saw my anxious expression. "You’re not in any trouble. But I’ve run out of ink. Could you run down to the shop and get me some?"

"Yes sir," I said, took the money and shot off. I ran all the way there and all the way back. I was a bit out of breath when I got home. He took one look and started laughing.

"I didn’t mean it literally Jay," he grinned.

Something rude bubbled up in my mind. I hastily suppressed it. Today was not the day for a cheeky comment. I just smiled weakly at him and returned to my book.

At eleven thirty Mrs Davies came back from church. She started to cook Sunday lunch; roast lamb, my favourite. I mooched down to the kitchen to check on progress.

"I know what you want," she chuckled. "Well you can work for your chocolate biscuit. Go and get me some mint from the garden."

I went into the garden, picked the mint and wandered back to the kitchen. Mrs Davies smiled at me. Then she looked down. The smile turned to a frown.

"Jay, look at your shoes! Look at the floor!"

I went white. Ice water seemed to gush through me. Oh no!!

I looked down. My shoes were muddy. I hadn’t noticed. I’d got mud over the kitchen floor because I hadn’t wiped my feet.

"Oh miss, please miss," I managed shakily. "I didn’t mean to. Please don’t."

"Your card please Jay," she said sternly.

"But miss it’s my tenth!" I wailed.

"I know that Jay, now give it to me."

I just looked at her, desperately willing her to let me off.

"Would you prefer I went to Mr Foster and told him you refused to give me your card?" she inquired.

"No miss," I stuttered, nearly in tears. Slowly I dug into the pocket of my shorts and brought out that wretched card. She took it from my trembling fingers. Numbly I watched as she took the red pen, made a firm mark on the tenth line and filled in the details. I shuddered. I was really for it now.

"Alright," she said as she handed the card back. "Now go and show it to Mr Foster."

"Oh please miss," I said in a small voice. "Must I? Couldn’t it wait until the evening?"

"Now Jay."

"Yes miss."

I turned and left. I felt really down. I’d tried so hard to be good. All in vain. I stood shivering in the hall for at least five minutes before I could find the courage to knock on his door. Then I sighed and gave it a firm rap.

"Come." He ordered.

I went in slowly and shut the door behind me. The click as it closed seemed like the clang of a heavy prison door.

"Well?" He asked glancing up from his work.

"Mrs Davies sent me to see you sir," I said holding out the card.

He frowned and took it. He glanced at it, sighed heavily and slowly stood up.

"Oh Jay, so near and yet so far. You know what’s going to happen now don’t you?"

"Yes sir," I quavered.

"Would you like to get it over and done with?"

I couldn’t look at him. I just gazed down at his desk. My eyes filled with moisture. But, reluctantly, I nodded.

"Good boy. I know you feel this is a bit unfair but it’s for your own good."

"Yes sir," I replied. I was beyond that now. Time seemed to stand still. I could hear Mrs Davies in the kitchen, children were playing in the park; it all felt as if it were happening miles away.

He came round to me and put one arm around my shoulder. I was led to the front of the desk. Unresisting I allowed myself to be placed close to it. There was a pause. He cleared away the inkstand and some papers. Then he came to stand behind me. His hands sought the waistband of my shorts. He grasped it firmly and tugged. They dropped to my ankles. He then took hold of the hem of my pants and sent them slithering down my legs to join the shorts. My light blue T shirt hardly came down to my waist. I was effectively naked.

"Right," he told me. "Bend over the desk and get a good grip on either side of it."

I slowly bent forward, a bit anxious in case I damaged anything, until I was at full stretch across the desktop. I hadn’t realised it was so broad. I put my arms down and tightly grabbed the sides of the pedestals. My hands reached down almost to the bottom drawer. I moved my legs as wide apart as they would go and straightened my knees. His hands rubbed my firm, trembling bottom. He gave it a light pat then came round to my front.

As I watched in horror his hand opened the bottom drawer. Inside it, on its own, was that terrible tawse. He grasped it by the handle and lifted it out. One of the dark brown leather tails brushed my face as it came clear. I gasped in shock and shook like a leaf. His free hand ruffled my hair.

"It’s alright Jay. It’ll soon be over."

"Yes sir," I squeaked.

I heard him move round the desk again. There was a pause that seemed to last forever. Then the cold leather of the tawse caressed my waiting bottom. I shuddered. It lifted away.

It came back with a firm crack that had me gasping and wriggling. The first one always had that effect. The shock made me jerk forward. But I was so tightly stretched I couldn’t move very far. My bottom felt uncomfortably warm and tingled where the tails had landed. The second got me lower down. I stayed still and quiet but already I knew I could never take nine. And there would be two with Stinger after that.

The third was a direct hit across both of my firm, round cheeks. I shivered with the pain and bounced up and down on my toes. The fourth was in almost exactly the same spot. I couldn’t help a little squeal of pain. It really hurt. My bottom felt red hot. I was shaking so badly he had to wait for a moment. Then the fifth cracked home. It was too much. I lifted up my head and howled my sorrow to the sky.

He let me have a little rest. I just lay across the desk, my T shirt riding up to my chest, and sniffled and whimpered. The cold wood of the desk on my stomach and thighs made the burning heat of my poor bottom feel far worse. I heard him move about. Then he came back behind me. My backside quivered in anticipation of a new assault.

It came without warning. I had expected him to rest the tawse on me before starting again. Instead suddenly there was the light swoosh as it flew through the air and the resounding crack as it landed. I was so shocked I didn’t even move. But I felt it. My bottom blazed and throbbed anew. The seventh was a real scorcher. Once more the room echoed to my howl of pain, I jiggled and wriggled, tears beginning to fall on to the carpet below. I took a deep breath and clung firmly to the sides of the desk. Only two more to go. I had to stay down.

Another scorcher cracked in. I couldn’t help it. Despite my resolve I sprang up, my hands flying to the aid of my burning bottom.

"Please sir, please sir," I sobbed. " I’m sorry. I’ll be good I promise."

He just looked at me sternly. "Get back down Jay, or it’ll be worse for you."

I gazed up at him, tears streaming down my face, my hands desperately rubbing at my scalded cheeks. He gestured to the desk. I knew I had to bend over it once more. I really didn’t want to. I hesitated, then turned back to it. Like an old cripple I lowered myself down. My bare bottom rose in the air. I got my legs properly apart, straightened my knees and clung onto the sides for dear life. He waited until I was ready. I felt the tawse briefly touch me. Then it whipped into me for the last time. It was another good one. I howled and wriggled and sobbed but at least that part was over. Stinger was to come.

He moved away from me, leaving me sobbing and sniffling over the desk. Then he came back. A hand rubbed around my cheeks and briefly between my legs. I got another pat that, even though was fairly light, made me gasp. He moved away again. I heard him go to the sideboard. A drawer was opened. I whimpered with fear. Stinger was on its way.

He came back again. I felt the cane tap on my trembling bottom. Then it whopped through the air and laced into me. I let out a high pitched scream. It was agony. Pain shot through me. I nearly bit my tongue it was so bad. I jerked and writhed. My sobs intensified. But I managed to stay down. Then the second cracked home. It completely finished me. It felt like a white hot wire had been placed across my already burning cheeks. I screamed and screamed again. I jiggled about on my toes. My bottom was just one throbbing mass of heat and pain. I lifted my hands up from holding the desk, pillowed my head on my forearms and just lay there sobbing my heart out.

I must have been lying there, crying and whimpering for a couple of minutes. Then a gentle hand took me by a shoulder. He raised me back up and turned me round so I was facing him. My hands automatically found their way to my burning rear end. Slowly they started to massage the pain away. We must have looked a strange sight. The tall, grey haired man, holding a half naked, sobbing boy by the shoulders. A boy whose only thought was the torment of his deservedly well spanked bottom.

"Now then," he said softly. "Are you going to behave properly in the future?"

"Oh yes sir, yes sir," I promised fervently.

"Alright Jay it’s over."

"Oh thank you, thank you sir," I sniffled, my tears beginning to dry.

"You’re basically a good boy Jay," he said quietly. "But you do need discipline. Hopefully this has taught you a lesson. I’ll take you off report for the time being but if your behaviour deteriorates you’ll go back on. Is that clear?"

"Yes sir," I replied. My hands were still busy behind me. I was beginning to recover. I felt a little awkward standing there with my shorts and pants around my ankles and everything on display. He looked down at me. Then his eyes met mine once more.

"I think too you need more than just spankings. You need the company of boys your own age and a purpose in life. It’s too soon before the holiday to do anything now but we’ll have a chat about it while we’re away and fix something up when we get back."

"Yes sir, thank you sir."

"Alright, turn round please."

I just looked at him. He’d said it was over. Fearfully I turned round, my hands clutching protectively at my burning cheeks. They were firmly moved to my sides. He half bent me over one of his legs. He lightly ran his fingers over my poor bottom.

"Hmmm," he murmured. "No damage but I suspect you’ll be sore for a while."

"Yes sir," I squeaked.

"Good," he said briskly. "Serve you right."

A firm slap with his hand got me dead centre. I squealed with shock and surprise. The fires in my bottom relit.

"Oh sir, please sir" I begged, close to tears.

"Alright Jay. You can get dressed."

I didn’t need telling twice. I grabbed at my shorts and pants and pulled them up as one. I tucked my shirt in then looked at him.

"You can go Jay but remember what will happen if you go back to your old ways."

"Yes sir. I won’t I promise."

"Go on then," he smiled. "Lunch in about half an hour I should think."

"Yes sir. Thank you sir."

I left the study and ran to my room. I dropped my shorts and pants and looked at the damage in the mirror. My bottom was bright red and crimson with the two firm lines of Stinger almost dead centre. He was a good shot!! I dampened my flannel and soothed away the pain. But my backside was still hot and tingling when I went downstairs for lunch.

I made sure I never went on report again.

Jay Bee

September 5 1998