Jay's Confession

                      Author : Jay Bee JBates3327@aol.com

The walk home from the crater seemed to take ages. Yet I was home far too soon. There is probably no journey that lasts so long, but whose destination is reached so quickly, as that undertaken by a boy who knows that on arrival he will be soundly spanked. What will I get? Will it be the leather tawse that so scalds my bare bottom? Or, worse, will it be the thin whippy cane known as Stinger? I can’t take one stroke from that. How many? How long will he make me wait for it? Couldn’t I say....? No that won’t work. What about.....? Useless. It’s going to be at least six with Stinger! But perhaps not. He might let me off. No chance. I’m for it! They’ll be real scorchers.

When I started my new job at the Town Hall I never thought that what happened on my first day would lead to this. It began well enough. I was to work in the main planning office, a pleasant, large, open room. I had a good desk and a comfortable chair. The others in the office were friendly. My immediate boss, Mr Finlay, was mild and took time to explain things to me. The tea trolley made its rounds with a good selection of cakes and buns. The job was easy after what I had done at my last place. Things were definitely looking good. Then came lunch. Mr Finlay took me to the canteen.

The Council had old fashioned views about who sat where. Staff were divided into grades. You didn’t sit with your department but with your grade. So all the juniors in the Town Hall sat together. In general this was a good idea as you got to know people from across the Council. I was on a table of boys of between sixteen to nineteen. At seventeen and a half I was in the middle. The problem was Brian Mason. He obviously thought he was head of our group. He was older than me and a bit bigger. He had plans. One day he would be the Town Clerk. But he only had `O’ levels. I was doing `A’ levels. He saw me as a challenge. So from the first day he tried to put me down. I was chatting with a couple of other guys and mentioned that usually I had to be home by 6.00.

"Oh," sneered Brian, "Will you get your little bottom spanked if you’re not then?"

"Possibly," I admitted ruefully, "Why, when did you last get it?"

Talk about a direct hit. He went bright red. Like a school of piranhas that have been thrown a joint of meat we were on him. He buckled under the pressure. The sad truth emerged. He wasn’t allowed to smoke at home. Every evening he went to the garden shed for a quiet drag. A week ago his dad had caught him. Garden canes were stored in the shed. He had to select three and take them to his room. After an hour his dad came up. There was a long lecture. His dad slowly chose a cane. He had to take his trousers and pants down and bend over his bed. He got nine. Yes, he howled. Yes, he jumped up. Yes, he still had marks. No, we couldn’t have a look.

When he had finished there was a silence. We all grinned at each other; all except Brian. He finished his meal hurriedly then left. As he went out he glared angrily at me. I knew I had made an enemy. However at the time it didn’t bother me. I was enjoying the job too much. Mr Finlay had even started teaching me a little about planning. Then I went on the scout camp and forgot all about the incident.

About a week after coming back from the camp I got my `A’ level results. I had passed. I got a grade C. I was a little apprehensive about that. Mr Foster, my landlord who was effectively in charge of me, had a rule that boys who got Cs got spanked. But I needn’t have worried. He just smiled and said it only applied to course work. However, he warned sternly, the rule would be back in full force when I started my Geography `A’ level course this Autumn. I grinned weakly. I knew he meant what he said.

The day after that I was walking back from work. I was thinking about what Mr Finlay had been teaching me. Another boy, in T shirt and jeans, was coming towards me. He looked vaguely familiar. As I got close I realised it was Colin. Col was a friend with whom I had had my first sex session a few weeks ago in a barn. Unfortunately the farmer had caught us there and we had to take the strap before he would let us go. But Col should have been in school uniform. It was a punishment from his dad. He had to wear the uniform at all times. It was part of the penalty he had paid for having allowed a prefect at his school to have an affair with him. The worst bit was the way the other boys treated him. He was shunned and bullied.

"Hey, what this?" I called as he came up to me.

"Hi, Jay, isn’t it great." Col grinned. "I got my `A’ level. I had a long talk with my mum. I said I’d been punished for more than a year now. I threatened to leave home. I said I wouldn’t go to university. My mum went on at dad and now I’m free. I had to take six to achieve it but it was well worth it."

I had a brilliant idea. Mr Foster and Mrs Davies, his housekeeper, were going on their holidays on Saturday. I would be alone in the house for two weeks. I had the scout church parade this Sunday, but the Sunday after was all mine. I invited Col round for Sunday lunch. He willingly agreed. We both knew lunch wouldn’t be the only thing on the menu.

He arrived promptly at 11.00. I had prepared everything but hadn’t started to cook. So we had a bit of time. We played the fastest game of strip poker in history. We had a friendly wrestling match. The loser had to bring the winner off. I won. But once I had come I did the same for him. After we got dressed again he sat in the kitchen and we chatted while I cooked. I really pulled all the stops out and gave him a five star meal. Then we sat in the garden with a beer. When we were recovered from the meal we went up to my room.

It was really great. For once we were on our own with no chance of being interrupted. We undressed slowly, enjoying the sight of what was being revealed. When we were naked we romped about a bit. As before Col put his finger up me. He wanted to go further. I wouldn’t let him. After we had both come we got into my bed and lay there holding each other in our arms. I explained why I wouldn’t let him screw me. I had promised myself that Mr Foster would be the first. The trouble was I had no idea of how I was going to get him to do it. I thought he was interested but wasn’t sure. We talked about it for a bit. Col said I should let him know I was available. Giggling and laughing we discussed several ideas. Then something came up between us. Mine followed rapidly. Conversation lapsed.

In the next few weeks I only saw Col twice. We went walking in the countryside. We managed to find a quiet spot where we could enjoy each other, but I didn’t really like it. I was always scared someone would interrupt us. We couldn’t meet too often anyway. He was back for his last term at school. I had work. I was really liking it there. It was such a change after my last job.

On the first Wednesday of October I was in the canteen, chatting with some of the other guys. Brian Mason came up to the table and put his tray down. He fixed me with a self-satisfied stare. I wondered what was on his mind: assuming he had one. When he had finished his meal he looked at me again.

"Well, Jay," he said loudly enough for the whole table to hear, "I gather you’ve been going around with that little pansy Colin Apps."

Everyone fell silent. I felt a surge of adrenalin. I knew what was coming. I had been here before. I also knew something he didn’t. I was a fighter.

"So?" I replied. "We went to the same evening class. Col’s a mate."

"And what do you two get up to I’d like to know?" Brian sneered. "I’ll bet you’re a queer as well."

"Put money on it then," I challenged, "And I’ll see you at the crater at 3.00 on Saturday and we’ll sort it out."

That shut him up. I don’t think he was prepared for a challenge to a fight. But he couldn’t back down. Muttering a surly "OK, then." he left. A babble of conversation broke out. People were offering odds. I wasn’t the favourite. He was bigger than me. I didn’t care. In those days (1962) boys like me had three choices; go underground, do nothing and be bullied or fight. I fought.

I got to the crater early that Saturday. Rumour had it that it had been made by German bombs during the war. All sorts of events surrounded it. The bombs were supposed to have fallen on the mayor and a land girl who shouldn’t have been doing what they were doing. The original explosion had revealed a Roman ruin. There was treasure underneath. No bombs had ever fallen; there had been a top secret research establishment that had blown itself up. But, whatever the rumours, the crater had become the place where boys from the town went to fight. It was on a derelict bit of land, surrounded by trees. There was a flat arena for the combatants and sloping sides for the spectators.

When I arrived there were already several boys there. Some I didn’t know. Some were from the office. There were even some scouts present. I was only wearing jeans and a T shirt. I knew better than to wear too much. At five to three Brian appeared with a few of his cronies. He swaggered down to the floor. I felt a bit weak. It was one thing challenging him in the safety of the Town Hall. Now here he was; bigger, older and probably stronger. On the other hand I was fit and knew what I was doing. More spectators arrived.

At three we squared up to each other. My first aim was to get him to attack me. So when he called me a queer I replied in kind. The exchange grew more heated. Then he rushed me. It was so easy to trip him. He crashed to the ground. I let him get up; big mistake. He sprang at me and landed a really good punch on my mouth. I reeled back. He stopped and smirked. I think he thought he’d won. I recovered and went for him. I kicked him on the side of his knee and, as his leg gave way, punched him hard in the face. We grappled. We rolled on the ground trying to land punches. Within minutes we were both exhausted. Some of the other guys separated us. The fight was a draw. A few of my friends congratulated me. I felt my face. My mouth was puffed up and bleeding. There were stinging grazes on my left cheek. As I started to walk home I knew it was obvious I had been fighting. I was in for a really good spanking.

When I got home I raced unseen to my room. I washed my face but I realised it was hopeless. Nothing could hide my cut, fat lip or the grazes on my cheek. There was also the beginnings of a bruise on my forehead. When Mrs Davies called me down to supper I went with my heart in my mouth. Mr Foster took one look at me.

"My study, 9.30," was all he said. It was enough.

At 9.25 that evening a fearful boy waited outside Mr Foster’s study wearing only his dressing gown and pyjamas. What if he asked me about the cause of the fight? I had promised I would always tell him the truth. If I told him about me and Colin he might be really angry. He might even send me away. By the time 9.30 arrived I was nearly in tears. Trembling I knocked. I was given permission to enter. I went in and closed the study door behind me.

"Take your dressing gown and pyjama jacket off and hang them on the door," he ordered.

I did as I was told. I checked to make sure I was decent. He beckoned me towards the desk behind which he was sitting. I went to stand at my usual place by the corner. But he wanted me to come next to him. He examined my face and body carefully; turning me this way and that. There was an ugly bruise on my right side where Brian had kicked me but otherwise I was OK. When he had finished he let me go. I went back to the corner of the desk.

"Well, Jay, you had better explain yourself."

I mumbled about how Brian had insulted me and I challenged him to a fight. We had it out this afternoon and that was that. Mr Foster wasn’t satisfied. He wanted more details.

"What did he call you?" he asked.

I was trapped. I really didn’t want to lie. "He called me a queer, sir."

Mr Foster looked away. There was a long silence. Then he turned back to me. "And are you?" he inquired.

"I... I’m not sure, sir" I tried. Well it wasn’t really a lie. Boys go through phases.

"Have you ever had relations with another boy.?"

I hung my head. "Yes, sir," I whispered.

"You had better tell me about it."

So I told him about me and Colin in the barn. I was in full confession mode. I said what we had done. I explained that I wouldn’t let Colin inside me but added that I wanted him there. I was just a bit frightened by it. In the end I was crying.

"Please, don’t send me away, sir," I begged. "Is it really so wrong?"

There was another long pause. He got up from behind the desk and walked to the window. He stood looking out into the night for sometime. Then he drew the curtains and came back to the desk. Instead of sitting down he took me by the shoulders. I raised my head and, through my tears, looked up at him.

"No, Jay," he said heavily, "I don’t believe that it is wrong. But it is against the law. I accept the law may change but until it does every time you go with your friend you are committing a crime. Personally I feel that the law is foolish. You can’t hold back human nature. If two men agree to enjoy each other they should be allowed to do so without fear of punishment. You aren’t a man yet. Even at eighteen you won’t be; although I feel you are perfectly capable at that age of making up your own mind. You make your own choices. I am not going to send you away."

"Oh, thank you, sir, thank you," I sobbed, my tears drying rapidly.

"However, I am going to punish you. This punishment has two purposes. Firstly I am going to deal with you for fighting. There is no excuse for that. You must find some other way to cope with the insults."

"Yes, sir. Please sir, what am I going to get?"

"Six with the tawse."

"Yes, sir," I sighed.

"The second part isn’t so much done in punishment but as a warning. As I have said you are breaking the law. I think you are old enough for that to be your decision. However, am going to give you four with Stinger to show you there may be unpleasant consequences. If nothing else it may make you more careful."

I shuddered. I hated Stinger. "Yes, sir," I sadly agreed.

"Is there anything you would like to say to me before I punish you?" he asked.

"I’m sorry for fighting, sir." I replied.

"But not for going with your friend?"

"No, sir."

I could swear he gave a little grin. Certainly he patted me on the shoulder. But then it was back to business.

"You’re getting a bit big for the footstool," he decided. It was news to me, I was still only five foot eight. He put his hand on my shoulder and guided me to the front of the armchair. I was positioned so that I was facing it. His hands came round to my front. My pyjama cord was unfastened. The trousers drooped then fell down to my knees. Without being told I pushed them down to my ankles. He left me standing naked there and went back to the side of the desk. I twisted round to watch. From the bottom drawer he pulled out the leather tawse. I shivered in fear. He gave it an experimental swing. Then he came and stood behind me and to the right.

"Kneel on the seat of the chair," he ordered. "Then bend forward so that your head is on the cushion."

I did so. I wouldn’t be jumping up from here in a hurry. If I wasn’t careful I’d slip. I spread my knees apart. He wanted them wider. I hastily complied. I put my hands under my chin. He told me to raise my bottom higher. I lifted it up until he was satisfied. My round, white, bare backside was now entirely at his mercy.

The tawse tapped me. Then it was gone. It came back with a swoosh and cracked across my left cheek. It was a real shock. A second later the pain hit me. I was on fire. Yet for once I managed not to yell on the first stroke. The next whack was better placed. It got me across both cheeks, low down. I shivered with the pain but stayed quiet. The third was higher, but again both buttocks were scalded by it. I shivered, gasped and panted loudly. The fourth was right on target - dead centre, both cheeks. I yelped and wriggled as the agony grew worse. He paused until I settled down. The fifth drew a proper howl. It seared in almost on the same spot as the last. I almost automatically moved my hands to protect myself, but luckily stopped before I could get them round. I tucked them under my chin again. Tears formed in my eyes. The last with the tawse made them fall. It got me dead centre yet again. I screamed and then screamed once more. My bottom was alight. It throbbed with pain. And there were still four with Stinger to come.

I heard him walk back to the desk. He put the tawse on it. He then the drawer to the sideboard opened. There was a slight rattle as a cane was brought out. Was that my imagination? For a moment it seemed like he had two canes, one in his hand, the other being put on the desk. I could have sworn I heard something like that. Whatever it was, he swished the cane in his hand through the air. I trembled in anticipation.

"Now I want you to remember why I am caning you," he said gently. "It is not for what you have done or want to do. I just want to warn you to be careful. Raise yourself up."

I lifted my sore, quivering bottom into the air. The cane came to rest on it. It stayed there for what seemed ages. Then it was gone. Suddenly it whopped back, landing with a thwack right on the area that had been so scalded by the tawse. I jerked up, raised my head and howled my agony to the moon. I writhed with pain. The tears that had been drying started to fall again.

"Sir, please sir. I’ll be careful I really will."

He took no notice. The cane tapped me on the shoulder. I shuddered and put my head back down on the cushion. I resumed the right position. When he was satisfied the second stroke whipped into me. It caught me lower down. I yelled and wriggled but managed to stay down. The third seared across both cheeks. Again I howled and sobbed and begged to be let off any more. To no avail. The fourth and last was as bad as the first. I cried and cried but at least it was over.

He went back to the desk. Stinger was placed onto it. Then I heard him pick up another cane. I had been right!!

"As you know," he said, "When you’ve had the tawse you get one with Stinger. You’ve had Stinger so now you get one with the next cane up. This is Whacker. It won’t hurt you as much as Stinger when it lands but it will leave a reminder on your bottom for quite a few days. Raise yourself up again please."

I knew it was no good arguing. I wasn’t in exactly the best position to have a debate anyway. Still sobbing I once more pointed my bare bottom at the ceiling. Whacker came to rest on me. It felt a lot heavier than Stinger. I drew a deep breath. It lifted away. Then it fell across me with a loud thwack. It was like when you bump hard into something. After the impact there was a line of numbness right across each buttock. I was too shocked to yell. He was right. It didn’t hurt at the moment. But I knew I would be really bruised for days.

He made me stay down for a while. The line left by Whacker started to throb. The weals left by Stinger added their voice. All of my rear end was sore. I longed to get up and give it a good rub. I was left to consider my sins for about quarter of an hour. By then my tears had dried.

When he let me up I crawled out of the chair. I was stiff with cramp. He allowed me to pull my trousers up. I moved my hands behind me and began to gently massage my bum. Still on the desk were the tawse and the two canes. I looked at them and shuddered.

"Jay," he said, " You deserved the tawse for fighting. You got what you deserved. With Stinger, as I said, I was warning you. Remember tonight when you feel tempted. If it goes wrong you could end up in prison. That’s really what I am trying to do. I want to keep you safe."

"I know, sir. Thank you sir."

"Are we still friends?"

"Oh yes, sir."

"Good boy, off to bed with you."

That night I had to sleep on my stomach. The one stroke from Whacker throbbed unceasingly. It was painful to lie on. But before I drifted off to sleep I snorted and then began to laugh. Col had said I should let him know I was available. Well, he certainly knew that now.

Jay Bee April 9 1998.