Jay's Holiday

                      Author : Jay Bee JBates3327@aol.com

IIn the summer of 1961 I was nearly sixteen and a half. I had left home in the spring and was lodging with a Mr Foster and his housekeeper, Mrs Davies. I had a job as the office junior in a local stationary wholesalers. It was dead boring. I worked hard there but after five months of mindless drudgery I was anxious to find something else. Also, Mr Jackson, my boss, was a little too keen to use the flat of a heavy ruler on my bare backside. By August I was ready for a break.

Apparently at the beginning of every September Mr Foster and Mrs Davies would rent a cottage in a seaside village in Devon. They liked that time of year. Most of the schools had gone back so there were few screaming brats. Yet the weather was good and the tourist attractions still open. This year they had a problem - me. For some reason they weren’t keen to leave me on my own in their house for a fortnight. So it was decided that I would go to Devon with them. Mr Jackson agreed to let me have the time off. He even said he would give me £10 spending money in addition to my usual wages. I was going on holiday!!

After five months’ of lodging with Mr Foster I was becoming part of the family. I worked in the garden, washed his car once a week and had started cooking Sunday lunch for them while they were at church. I think Mrs Davies was a bit apprehensive about me being in her kitchen, but after I proved I could turn out a good meal she relaxed. We became quite friendly. From time to time she would give me cooking lessons just like my mum used to before she left home. With Mr Foster things were a bit different. He was kind but strict. If I was in trouble I would get a summons to his study at 9.30 in the evening. When I left it my bottom would be burning from the attentions of his leather tawse. Yet I liked him and didn’t resent his punishments. I accepted his authority; although we nearly had a major row when he told me to put £5 of my wages a week in a building society. A boy of 16 is not interested in saving but in spending. It was only when he suggested we continue the discussion in his study at 9.30 that evening that I saw the light. All of a sudden saving seemed a very good idea. Don’t know why I didn’t think of it myself.

I was really looking forward to the holiday. I got a map of the area and spent hours poring over it in my room. I bought a new pair of shorts, a couple of cool T shirts and a pair of dark blue swimming trunks. In those days people worshipped the sun. The idea was to get as much of it as possible. So the trunks were cut back at the side and rear, exposing a large area of both buttocks. This was common then. I did not realise when I bought them how embarrassing they were going to be.

Mr Foster thoroughly approved of them. "You’ll get a lot of time in the sea, young Jay" he commented. "It’s a tradition in the area for people to have a dip before breakfast. So you’ll be in early in the morning and doubtless throughout the day as well."

I held my peace. I wasn’t that keen on an early morning dip but knew better than to argue. As the holiday time approached I grew more and more excited. Then one Friday it was my last day at work for a whole fortnight. Only the thought of Mr Jackson’s ruler kept my mind on my job. The day dragged more than usual. But at last 5.00 came round and I was free. I said a hurried goodbye to the others and raced for the bus. When I got home I checked my small suitcase for the tenth time. It had been packed for days. I could hardly sleep that night.

We were all up bright and early. After some last minute fuss that had me fuming (very silently) we set off in the car. It was a long drive. Eventually we reached the resort at about two in the afternoon. We got to the cottage, collected the keys and moved in. I was bursting to get my shorts on and go out and explore. But no. I had to carry stuff in, help Mr Foster with an inventory of what was in the place and then go shopping with Mrs Davies. When we got back I put the food away and made puppy dog eyes at Mr Foster. He gave me a grin and said I could go. I was almost undressed before I got to my room. I flung my travel clothes on the bed, was in T shirt, shorts and gym shoes in seconds and raced out of the door. I only just heard him call after me to be back at 6.30.

It was a brilliant place. A sandy beach was only a hundred yards from the door. There were cliffs to climb, boats to hire and even a small funfair. A little row of shops seemed to sell everything from books and clothes to souvenirs and sweets. A café was doing a roaring trade. I counted at least three ice cream stands. I wandered happily around taking it all in. At 6.00 I turned back to the cottage. I got lost but then found it alright. As I walked up I noticed that the building wasn’t one cottage but two. The other half was set a little back from ours which was perhaps why it hadn’t registered before. There were people moving in. I wondered what our new neighbours would be like. However, before I could investigate Mrs Davies called me for supper.

The next morning Mr Foster banged on my door at 7.15. "Up you get Jay," he yelled, "Time for your early morning dip."

I groaned but dutifully got out of bed. I put my new trunks on and admired my slim, hairless body in the mirror. At home Mr Foster made me go out running twice a week. At times I hated it, but looking at myself I had to admit that it worked. My stomach was hard and flat, my legs were well muscled and my bottom was firm and round. Mr Foster gave another yell. I ran downstairs. He was in his trunks too. I had never seen him stripped. He had a good, muscular figure. We walked to the beach where about twenty to thirty people were gathered. They were all ages from about six to eighty. Mr Foster clearly knew some of them. There was also a boy of my own age there. I wandered over to him. Before I could get chatting there was a cry of "In we go" and everyone ran into the sea. Everyone except me. Then I realised I was on my own. Gritting my teeth I took the plunge. It was freezing!! I gasped and spluttered and got knocked under by a wave. A hand grabbed me and hauled me to my feet. It was the other boy. We stood grinning at each other for a minute then he looked down and said, "Like the trunks."

I blushed and muttered something about the sun. He was wearing green swimming shorts which covered a much larger area than my skimpy things. We waded out of the sea and I got a better look at him. He was a little smaller than my five foot eight, sandy haired with a freckled face that seemed to be made for smiling. Like me he was slim and had not started shaving yet.

Mr Foster came over, "Ah, Jay," he said, "I see you’ve met Paul. His family have been coming here ever since he was small. They always take the other half of the cottage at the same time as us."

"Hello, Mr Foster," Paul grinned, "I didn’t know you had a son."

"Cheeky little brat," Mr Foster replied,"I’ll get your dad to deal with you if you’re not careful. Jay lodges with me at home. He’s usually a good boy so make sure you don’t get him into any trouble."

We walked back to the cottage. Mr Foster dropped behind to talk to Paul’s mum and dad. We went on and arranged to meet after breakfast. I had a really good time that week. We were firm friends within an hour and once that was established did everything together. We swam, climbed trees and cliffs, raced about the village, gorged ourselves on chips and ice cream, scrapped and then made up and generally lived life to the full. We were in and out of each other’s houses as if they were our own. So were the adults. It was obviously a custom that we would share dinner times, so one day all six of us would have dinner at our place, the next at Paul’s. Paul’s dad was a solicitor and I liked to hear him talk about his work. It sounded a lot more interesting than what I did.

Paul was still at school. I teased him about that. But he was at a public school which made me a bit wary. He talked about life there. I was glad I never went to a place like it. It was very regimented with cold showers in the mornings, lots of games and the cane in frequent use. He scoffed when I told him I had never been whacked at school. But then I told him of the spankings Mr Foster gave me and what I got at work. I think he was a bit shocked that I got it at work.

The first week flew by. I had never been so happy. On the Saturday we got permission to go to the county town nearby. We set off after breakfast and spent a great time wandering round the record shops and the market. We had egg and chips and then took in a film. We got back at about five thirty. When we arrived we noticed that Paul’s cottage was shut up and his dad’s car was gone. Mr Foster met us at the door. Apparently Paul’s house had been burgled last night. Paul’s mum and dad had gone back to check on what was missing and to make sure everything was secure. They would be away for two nights. Paul would stay with us. His bed had been moved into my room.

Paul was a bit subdued that evening. I tried to cheer him up but he was worried about his stuff at home. We went to bed early. I got into bed quickly and watched him undress. I had never seen him naked before. He had a firm, well rounded bottom and, as he turned to get his pyjama trousers, I got a glimpse of a small, uncircumcised cock. We chatted for a bit until Mr Foster told us to shut up. After that we went to sleep quickly.

The next morning Paul was back to normal. After breakfast we went out. As usual I wore my swimming gear under my shorts. There was no need for towels. The weather was so good we dried off in minutes. On this day we walked away from the village and along the cliffs. We came to a spot where the cliffs dipped down to the sea. Here the water looked cool and inviting. But there was a sign `Danger - strong current, bathing prohibited by order of the Town Council. Penalty £10.’ I went to move on but Paul said "Let’s have a swim."

"You’re joking," I answered, "Can’t you see the sign?"

"Ah, that’s rubbish. I’ve swum here for the last four years and never had any trouble. There is a bit of a current but it’s OK. Unless you’re scared."

"Supposing we get caught?" I worried.

"Who’s to catch us?" Paul said scornfully. "There’s no one for miles. Stop being a baby and get in."

With that he stripped to his shorts and jumped off the low cliff edge. I wasn’t far behind. He was right. There was a slight current but it was nothing to us. We splashed and laughed and jumped off the cliff more times than I could say. After about half an hour I climbed out of the water to jump off again. I casually glanced over at where we had left our clothes and froze in horror. A policeman was sitting on a rock by them! I beckoned Paul to get out of the water. Shakily I clambered up the slope until I was in front of the officer. Paul came up and stood by me. The policeman got to his feet.

"Now then, boys, what are you doing swimming here? Didn’t you see the sign?"

We could hardly say no. Our clothes were almost under it. "Yes sir," we chorused.

"Then you know you are committing an offence don’t you? What will your parents say?"

Almost of their own volition my hands crept round to cradle my bottom. The policeman noticed this and grinned. "Well, you obviously know what you’re in for."

"Yes sir," I whispered.

He asked where we were staying and I told him. Paul shot me a furious look. I think he would have tried to give a false address. I may be stupid but I’m not that stupid.

"Get dressed then." The constable ordered.

We were still damp but quickly put our clothes on. We then had to take the policeman back to the cottage. I could have died of shame. It was a sad little procession. The uniformed policeman leading the way. Two fearful boys trailing reluctantly behind him. We passed people who were in the before breakfast swim. I just looked at the ground and wished it would swallow me up. We approached the cottages from Paul’s parents’ side. The officer could see it was empty and began to get angry. I quickly led him round to our bit.

Mr Foster had gone for a walk. Mrs Davies was in. The policeman told her what we had done. I had almost forgotten that she had been a matron at a boy’s school. I got a quick reminder. She was furious. She smacked my backside with her hand. It really stung. I was sent to sit on a bench in the garden `while I still could.’ Paul was sent to our room. The constable left saying there would be no charges this time. I sat on the bench and shivered.

After what seemed ages Mr Foster came back. I heard Mrs Davies tell him all about it. There was a nice moment when I heard him ask if I was alright. It faded fairly quickly when he commented that I wouldn’t be for long. Shortly after I was summoned into the living room. Paul was already there. Stuttering and mumbling we acknowledged our guilt. We listened in silence while he went over our shortcomings.

"Jay," he concluded, "You know what’s going to happen to you."

"Yes sir," I mumbled.

"Paul," he continued, "It’s up to you. You can take my punishment now or wait for your father to come back. Which is it to be?"

Paul squared his shoulders, " I’ll take your punishment sir," he said bravely. I wasn’t surprised. From what he said his dad didn’t spare the rod. Anyway, who wanted to spend a day or so in anticipation of a good spanking?

"Very well. Go back to where you were. I’ll see you both here in half an hour. Jay, if you want to use the bathroom do so now."

I fled upstairs. I did my business and went back to sit on the bench. Minutes slowly passed. I could hear the sounds of people enjoying themselves on the beach. I wished I was with them. I just sat there, head bowed low, dreading what was to come. When the time was right I went back into the living room. I noticed the coffee table had been set out in the centre of the carpet. Paul joined me. Trembling we waited for Mr Foster to appear. We looked at each other but didn’t dare speak. He kept us waiting for another quarter of an hour. Then we heard him come in. He went upstairs. A little later he entered the living room. In his hand was the tawse. I gasped with fear.

"I nearly didn’t pack this," he said heavily. "But unfortunately it’s just as well I did. I might have guessed you two would get into trouble. What do you have to say for yourselves?"

"I’m sorry sir," I mumbled. "It wasn’t really dangerous. We’re both strong swimmers. Please don’t whack us."

Paul nodded and added, "We won’t do it again, sir. Honestly."

"It doesn’t matter whether it was really dangerous or not does it?" Mr Foster snapped. "There was a notice saying bathing was forbidden. You disobeyed the law. Do you really expect me not to punish you?"

"No sir," we said together.

"If you learn anything out of this I hope it is that rules are there to be obeyed."

"Please sir," I asked. "How many sir?"

"Ten."

Ten! I nearly wet myself. I’d had nine at home and knew I could never take ten. Through the window I could hear the happy cries on the beach. They would soon be drowned out by my howls. I glanced sideways at Paul. His face was white as a sheet. I expect I looked the same to him. My eyes filled with water but I managed to hold back the tears.

" Jay, is there anything you want to say to me before I punish you?" Mr Foster said.

"I’m sorry, sir. I won’t do it again. I’ll be good; I promise."

"You always say that," Mr Foster smiled. "Go and close the window and draw the curtains. We don’t want everyone to know what’s going on."

I went to the window and closed the heavy frame. I could still hear the people on the beach but now they seemed miles away. As I drew the curtains my world shrank to that room. Time seemed to stand still. I walked back and stood next to Paul.

"Take your shoes, shorts and swimming trunks off" Mr Foster commanded me.

I bent down and untied my gym shoes. I pulled them off and stood up again. The shorts were only elasticated. I slid them down past my knees and stepped out of them. The trunks were a bit more difficult. Somehow the knot had tightened. I struggled to undo it. Mr Foster impatiently slapped the tawse against his leg. I frantically tugged at the knot. At last it came free. I hastily dropped the trunks to the floor and put them with the other things. I stood up. My T shirt only came down to my waist. To all intents and purposes I was naked. I saw Paul looking down at me.

"Go and kneel on the coffee table."

I walked up to the table. I steadied it with my hands then climbed on to it on my knees. I knew what to do. I shuffled about until I was in the centre. Then, bending forward, I rested my head on the carpet and put my hands down on either side for balance. I inched my knees wide apart. I raised myself up so that my bare bottom pointed to the ceiling. My T shirt slid up my back.

"Right young man, for what you are about to receive may the Lord make you truly grateful."

I felt the cold leather of the tawse touch my rear end. There was a pause. Then it lifted away. It returned with an echoing crack. Right across both cheeks. The pain was intense. Somehow I managed not to yell but I couldn’t hold back a gasp.

Mr Foster was on form today. The second quickly followed. I shivered with the pain. Already my bottom was on fire. I was desperate not to yell in front of Paul but knew it was only a matter of time.

The third got me low, nearly on my thighs. I gasped again and wriggled a bit. "Stay still" Mr Foster barked, "Or you’ll get some more."

I steadied myself and waited for the fourth. It was right on target. Dead centre. I couldn’t help it. I let out a howl of agony. I no longer cared what Paul thought. My only concern now was my burning bottom. I writhed in pain. I just wanted it to stop. But I knew there were six more to come. Reluctantly I raised my quivering backside into the correct position.

Oddly enough I managed the fifth. It cracked down hard on my left cheek. I shivered and writhed but remained silent. I heard Mr Foster move round. The sixth got the right cheek low down. A new fire blazed up. I gasped and then gasped again. Tears formed and began to roll down my face.

The seventh completely did for me. It was another direct hit across both buttocks. I let go a howl that must have been heard outside. I shot upright, clasping both hands to my bum. But in getting up I lost my balance and sprawled sideways across the table. As I lay there Mr Foster closed in and cracked another scorcher into me. I screamed again and started to cry in earnest.

"Get up and get back into position," Mr Foster snarled.

I did as I was told. All dignity gone, sobbing and sniffling, I crawled back onto the table. Once more I rested my head on the floor and raised my reddened bottom high in the air.

"How many have you had now?" he asked.

"Eight sir," I moaned. "Please sir, I’ve had enough. No more."

"You’ve had seven in the correct position. Another three to go."

I wailed my grief but stayed where I was. I think he took pity on me. The next one really hurt but wasn’t as bad as the others had been. I ooohed and ouched but found I could stay down. The next was the same. It was delivered low and stung like blazes but again I managed not to scream. His tenth ( my eleventh) and last finished me off. It seared hard across my tender cheeks. Again I reared up and howled my sorrow to the sky. Tears flooded down my face. But it was over.

He waited until my sobbing subsided and then told me to get up. I painfully drew back from the table and got onto my feet. I turned round and looked at Paul. Despite my agony I noticed a large bulge in his shorts. I went to stand beside him and looked at Mr Foster. He didn’t say I could get dressed so I stayed as I was. My hands reached back to my bottom but a curt order made me place them at the back of my neck. Then, like the gun turrets of a cruiser, his eyes swivelled slowly round to Paul.

"Right, Paul, is there anything you’d like to say before I punish you?"

"No sir," Paul managed, his voice shrill. "Well, only, I’m sorry sir. Really sir."

"Not as sorry as you will be. Get your things off."

Paul took his shoes and bathing shorts off in record time. His cock was still stiff and jutted out in front of him. Mr Foster took no notice but gestured to the table. Paul hesitated, gave a deep sigh and moved forward. He clambered onto it. He wriggled about a bit then got into the right position with his knees wide apart. I sneaked a look at Mr Foster. Was it my imagination or did his tongue lick at dry lips? What must he be thinking as he looked at that pert, white bottom rising up to meet his justice?

Whatever he thought he didn’t hesitate. As Paul settled into position the tawse came to rest on his backside. I noticed the flesh puff out a bit on either side. Then he drew it back. I had never seen anyone whack before. He raised the tawse a little above his hips but must have brought it back a good five feet. It paused behind him, then swished through the air to land on Paul’s bare bum with a thwack. Paul shivered but didn’t move. As the strap moved away for the second stroke I saw the livid mark it left on those white cheeks. The impact of the two tails could easily be discerned.

By the third whack Paul was gasping in pain. His bottom was a bright red. The marks of one stroke merging into the others. Despite my own, unrubbed agony I felt myself stir in response. With the fourth and fifth he whimpered but still didn’t howl. I was proud of him. He could certainly take it better than me. The sixth really hurt him. He jerked, wriggled and gasped but somehow kept quiet. Mr Foster waited until he had stopped shivering and cracked the tawse down again. Incredibly there was still no yell of agony. By now I was rock hard.

The eighth got him. He gave a high pitched scream and began to sob. I looked at Mr Foster. He grimaced and the next stroke seemed slighter. It echoed around the room but it didn’t seem as loud as the others. But Paul was broken. He howled again and his sobs increased. His last, like mine, was again delivered at full strength. Paul let out a cry and shot up. Then he realised his mistake and quickly bent forward; offering his bare bottom up as a penance for his wrongs. For a moment I thought Mr Foster was going to take advantage of the target. The tawse twitched in his hand. Then it stilled. He let Paul stay down for a bit before gruffly telling him to get up. Paul backed off the table and came to stand by me. Tears running down his freckled face, he put his hands behind his neck. Together we waited to see what would happen next.

He kept us waiting there for at least ten minutes. My bottom still stung as if I’d only just been whacked. I longed to give it a good rub. That wasn’t my only problem. I had a hard on that wouldn’t go away. A sideways glance at Paul revealed he had the same problem. We stood side by side; backsides blazing, cocks showing proud in front of us. Finally he looked down at us. "Naked, but not unashamed I see," he commented. "Well you’d better get dressed."

Hastily we pulled our clothes on. He looked at us carefully.

"Lunch in a quarter of an hour," he said, "Go and clean yourselves up."

"Thank you sir," I said. "I’m sorry, sir."

"I should think so too, now off you go."

Paul added his thanks for his scorching lesson. We trudged up the stairs and washed our faces. I wanted to look at my bum and slid my things down. I was well marked. Then Mrs Davies called us to lunch. By the time it was finished we had recovered. With the resilience of youth we were aching to be out again. Mr Foster let us go. As we went past the front door he ruffled my hair. "No more trouble now."

"Not likely, sir," I grinned and was on my way. Neither of us felt like a swim. It was Sunday so most of the attractions were closed. But our favourite cliff climb beckoned. We raced up and down. Soon only a slight twinge in my bottom reminded me of the morning.

That night when we went to bed we looked at each other’s wounds. As we did so we both got hard. An argument started as to who had the biggest. Nothing would do but to get a ruler out. Alternatively giggling and then shushing I measured Paul - five and a half. He then measured me. In doing so he held my cock firm to keep it steady. No one had ever touched me there before. A thrill of pleasure ran through me. I came in at nearly seven inches even though I’d had the snip. He was mortified. But, before letting me go, he gave my tip a quick squeeze. It felt really good. I had to dash to the bathroom to relieve the sudden aching.

The next morning it was dip time. I got into my trunks. Then I looked at myself in the mirror. The marks on my bottom showed clear. My right cheek was worse with a firm imprint of the tawse low down. I couldn’t go in in these skimpy trunks. Everyone would know that I had had a really good spanking. Mr Foster yelled for us to come down. I went downstairs and showed him my buttocks.

"Please sir," I begged, "Don’t make me go in like this. Everyone will laugh at me."

" Serve you right," he snapped. "If you could manage to behave yourself you wouldn’t have any marks to show. Now get out there and stop whining."

I looked at him pleadingly but he grabbed me by the shoulder and whacked a bare bit of my bottom with his open hand. I yelped with the shock. After that I didn’t dare say anything more. He was obviously in a bad mood. Paul looked at me sympathetically but there was nothing he could do. I made my way down to the beach as slowly as I could. I was hoping to be the last there. Unfortunately at least three groups passed me. They obviously noticed the state I was in. I had to endure their grins. Then everyone raced onto the sea. I followed, determined to stay in as long as I could.

It was freezing cold. I didn’t last five minutes. I staggered out and, eyes straight ahead, marched back to the cottage. There were a few indrawn breaths as I walked past people but otherwise no one commented on my bruised posterior. No adult that is. But as I made my way up the beach I came up to little Michael, the six year old, and his mother. She was drying him off with a towel. I went past without a word. Behind me I heard a shrill voice pipe up "Mummy, why is that boy’s bottom all red and purple?"

"That’s because he’s been a naughty boy and had a good spanking," she replied.

"He must have been a very bad boy," said Michael.

I gritted my teeth and walked on. All of a sudden I heard his mum cry, "Michael !! No!!"

Almost immediately after I felt a little hand smack my bare right cheek. As I whirled round, hands coming automatically up to defend myself, I got another smack on my left one. Michael confronted me. "You’re a bad, bad boy," he said and stalked back to his mum.

I felt myself blush bright red. There wasn’t a straight face on the beach. Paul seemed to be suffering from a choking fit. Mr Foster was standing there with his hand covering his mouth. Even Michael’s mum started laughing. I turned round and with whatever dignity I had left got back to the cottage. I went straight to our room, put on my long trousers and stormed out again. I heard Mr Foster call me but ignored him. I didn’t care what trouble I might be in. I wasn’t bothered about breakfast. I just wanted to get away. I went for a long walk along the cliffs feeling sorry for myself. But after an hour of self pity I saw the lighter side of things. I imagined how it had looked to the others. All of a sudden I couldn’t help myself. I collapsed in a fit of laughter.

At about lunchtime I apprehensively came back to our cottage. I needn’t have worried. Paul grinned at me but otherwise no one said anything. As I went into the dining room I noticed a little packet by my plate. I tore it open. It was a neat pair of light blue swimming shorts. They would cover my shame. Mr Foster met my eye. He didn’t make any comment but I knew it was his way of saying sorry. I smiled my thanks. He looked at me sideways and said, "I hope little Michael likes them!" We all laughed and after that everything was alright again.

The next four days flew by. Paul’s mum and dad returned and he moved back with them. He was a little worried that he would get it from his dad. But apparently, after inspecting the marks, Paul’s dad was satisfied with what he had got; although he added a few stingers with his hand. We went out and about as usual. One day we hired a boat and had a great time with it. Then it was Friday and Paul had to leave. He was going back to school that Sunday. As boys do we swore faithfully that we would keep in touch. But somehow neither of us got round to it. I never saw him again.

The rest of the day was a bit flat. We were going home on the Saturday. So that night I did the cooking. I baked fresh mackerel and made gooseberry sauce to go with it. Neither of the adults had had that before. They were a little cautious at first but I noticed they both had seconds. After supper I went for a long walk with Mr Foster. We talked about my future. I wanted to get away from the office. Also being with Paul made me realise how much I missed the company of boys of my own age.

The next day the discussion continued on the way home. Mrs Davies added her bit. By the time we reached home it was all decided. I would go to evening classes once a week to study for an `A’ level. Mr Foster would look around for another job for me; ideally in a solicitor’s office. He even promised to have a word with Mr Jackson about his use of the ruler. In addition I would join the local scout troop. As I unpacked my suitcase in my room that evening I didn’t feel too bad about going to work on Monday. I had had a good holiday.

Jay Bee March 30 1998.