Date: Mon, 26 Nov 2001 18:44:45 -0800 (PST)
From: Ukboy <moonspender2@yahoo.com>
Subject: Arson Around -2 by UKboy (Historical) (M/b anal, spank)

(In part one of this story our 11 year hero set
fire to bush above his small country town. His
father took him to the fire station where each of
the firemen gave him a hiding. The Johansen twins
also introduced him to 'rooting'. Now read on
...)

Hindsight is a wonderful thing. Now I can
appreciate how appropriate it was, the firemen
setting my small bottom alight like that. After
all, my carelessness had caused a big fire and
they had laboured all day, in intense heat, to
put it out. At the time, all I was conscious of
was the incredible hurt being inflicted on my
backside. I never played with matches again.

Almost a year passed before a dreadful tragedy
ocurred which was to change my life forever. My
parents were both killed in a train accident. The
local policeman came to the school and told me
what had happened. His masculine face was grey as
he struggled to find the words. Then he took me
home. My Auntie Ida stayed for a few days. The
funerals were attended by every person in the
district. People were kind but I felt alone,
lost, sad beyond measure.

Adults pondered what to do with me. Auntie Ida
was a widow and in no position to bring up a
headstrong young boy on her own. There was talk
of me being sent to a Boys' Home but then Pa
Johansen, father of the twins, stepped in. He
offered to raise me as if I was his own son.

So, one warm summer's day, I left the house I'd
been born in and climbed up into the cab of Pa's
truck. We drove the short distance in silence. My
guardian was a tall, sparse man, of kind
disposition but he was also a strict
disciplinarian. The night of the fire I had seen
many thick cane weals on Percy's taut buttocks.
The twins were 19 years old but as long as they
remained under their father's roof he dispensed
punishment as he saw fit.

The twins were at the door to greet us. They were
not identical but had the disconcerting habit of
sometimes speaking in unison. Both men worked for
the district council so were strong and very fit.

Pa was a widower and a woman who lived nearby
came in every weekday morning to do the houswork
and cook the midday meal.

I was made very welcome. The twins shared one
bedroom so I could have a room all to myself.
After I'd unpacked I went outside and sat on the
porch. Scott sat down beside me.

"You remember the hidings you got the night of
the fire?" His voice was masculine and deep.

"Uh, huh". How could I forget!

"And the root?" I blushed at the memory of his
bloated penis - like a massive log jammed up my
virgin rectum.

"Uh, huh".

"Well, it was very wrong of me to do that. I'm
sorry. Am I forgiven"?

"'Course".

"Good lad". He ruffled my hair.

The twins showed me around the small farmlet.
There was a cow called Daisy who provided milk
for the house and a dozen hens in the henhouse. I
met Florrie the dog and Rastus the cat.

After tea, Pa read Saturday's newspaper and the
twins taught me how to play Chinese Checkers. The
wireless provided the innocent music of the
1930s.

When it was time to go to bed I dutifully pecked
Scott and Percy's smooth cheeks and Pa's stubbly
one. It was still daylight outside. I got
undressed and into bed. The loss of my parents
again overwhelmed me and I cried myself to sleep.

After a few weeks with my new family I discovered
the twins were really very different men. Scott
was brash and confident while Percy was quieter,
more vulnerable. Pa favoured Scott but poor Percy
often got a thrashing from his father. I used to
hear the sound of stick whacking flesh coming
from the twins' bedroom. It was always Percy who
was in trouble, never Scott.

One Sunday afternoon Percy got a good hiding and
then Pa and Scott went out for a few hours. After
he'd recovered Percy joined me on the porch,
wincing when he sat down. I pur my arm around
him.

"Percy, why is Pa always so mean to you?"

"He's just trying to make a man of me, that's
all".

"But Scott was just as much to blame yet he
didn't get a hiding".

"Scott is Pa's favourite. Always has been".

There was a long silence. I cuddled up to my big
friend.

"Well, you're MY favourite, Percy and that's the
truth".

He ruffled my hair.

"You're a good kid. Damnation! My backside hurts
like the devil".

"Come with me". I took Percy by the hand and lead
him into the twins' bedroom.

"Shuck off your trousers and pants".

I went to the bathroom and filled a basin with
cold water. I picked up a flannel and went back
to the bedroom. Percy was lying face down on the
bed, his muscular buttocks covered with
angry-looking raised purplish-red weals. I soaked
the flannel in cold water and gently wet his
swollen mounds. Percy groaned his appreciation. I
wet my hands and then slowly massaged Percy's
bottom.

"That feels so good".

"Percy?" I asked my friend, "Do you and Scott
still..um..root?"

He turned his head and looked at me.

"Yeah. He gives me a root every morning. Pa does
it most nights".

Such arrangements were not uncommon between males
in small country towns, back then. I looked
inside Percy's hairy crease at his prominent anal
bud while I kneaded his beautiful buttocks.

"So who do you ..um.. do it with?"

"No one". His voice was so sad, barely more than
a whisper. I thought for a moment and then
stripped off all my clothes.

"You can do it with me if you like".

Percy rolled over and his massive erection came
into view. I swallowed at the sight of ten inches
of thick love-muscle but, heart pounding, lay
down beside him on the bed. Percy's tongue licked
my bum cheeks and then moved inside my crease
onto my pink pucker. He slurped my tiny opening,
showering it with saliva. He reached under the
bed and retrieved a jar of petroleum jelly. I
felt his lubricated finger at my backdoor.

"You're so tight", Percy marvelled. "Push down
like when you do number twos". I relaxed,
allowing his finger inside my hot, tight chute.

"Feels like velvet" he said. After some minutes I
got used to the feeling of his finger being
inside me.

"Are you sure you're ready to be rooted?" Percy
asked me. "My big pecker will hurt".

"I'm sure".

Percy kissed me on the mouth. Then he sat on the
bed and positioned me over his huge penis which
was sticking right up in the air. He guided me
until my hole was on top of his lubricated
flesh-pole.

"Lower yourself down onto me"

My first rooting had been with Scott at the time
of the hidings at the fire station. That had been
both lusty and painful. Unlike Scott, Percy was
determined to minimise my discomfit. I put my
full weight on his penis and relaxed my
sphincter. There was a plop! and he was inside my
tunnel. After many minutes of inching my way down
I felt his pubic hair brush against my
bum-cheeks. My ring still hurt a little but I was
overwhelmed with the sensation of his man-meat
filling my boy-tube. Gently, Percy turned me
until I was on my knees with him on top.

"Are you ok?" he asked.

"Yes!" I whispered. I had never been more 'ok' in
my life.

Slowly Percy began thrusting. When he felt me
move in unison under him he picked up the tempo.
Time stood still. Then the thrusting became more
urgent and Percy groaned. I felt his wetness
spray my bowels. His flesh-pole slowly subsided
and then he pulled out of me.

"You're the best root I ever had", Percy murmured
as he gently cleaned my orifice with the wet
flannel. He kissed me on the forehead.

After that we did it nearly every week. Dear
Percy was everything Scott was not: kind,
patient, anxious not to hurt. Scott had slammed
into my tiny virgin pucker, with hard, brutal
thrusts, thinking only of his own selfish
pleasure.

Like any normal, healthy boy I got into mischief.
One time I forgot to close the henhouse door and
the chickens got out. There was a storm and six
of the chicks were killed. Pa was furious.

"I'll get The Stick, Pa", Scott said hopefully.

"No", his father replied, "But the boy needs a
spanking". He pulled my pants off and carefully
peeled ny undies down, baring my bottom. Then he
put me over his knee and smacked my bum hard with
his big hand. Scott watched me get every swat.
Percy left the room. The spanking really hurt
and before long I was bawling.

"Are you sorry about the chickens?"

"Y-yes, Pa! I'm sorry! Ow!"

The spanking ended.

"You're backside looks like two ripe tomatoes",
Pa said as I pulled up my clothes. "Next time
it'll be The Belt". Scott smirked at the
prospect.

After I'd recovered I went outside. Percy was
busy moving the henhouse door latch down lower so
I could reach it more easily.

"Are you ok?" he asked, looking anxious.

"Yeah. It was just a spanking".

A few weeks later I came down with a bladder
infection. Pa took me to see the doctor. He was a
big, gruff man. I had to take off my shorts and
undies and lie on my side.

"I'm just putting my finger up your back passage"
the doctor said. There was a 'back passage' at
Pa's house but that's not where the doctor meant.
His digit penetrated my anus with an ease he had
not expected to find in a 12 year old boy. The
finger poked around and touched my prostate.

"I got to do wees", I said urgently.

The finger was withdrawn.

"You can get dressed".

The doctor told Pa I had a bladder infection and
gave him sulphur tablets for me.

"There's no easy way to say this. From my
examination it's plain the boy has been
interferred with. I am required by law to notify
the Police".

When we got home, the twins had been called out
by the fire brigade. Pa asked me who'd done it
but I just shook my head. An hour or so later
P.C. Thompson arrived looking very stern. He
questioned me a length but I remained silent.
He helped me pack a few things and took me the
Boys' Home.

There were fifty lads at The Lodge. Most were
orphans like myself. The place was run by Mr
Matheson and his wife. He was a former army man
and ran the place with military precision. That
first night in the big dorm I cried myself to
sleep, thinking sbout my parents and Percy.

It was the school holidays and the staff tried to
keep us amused. Unfortunately it rained that
first week which meant we were all cooped up
indoors and soon got bored. An older lad and I
were having a game of Chinese Checkers. Amos
accused me of cheating so I gave him a shove. The
duty attendant was Mr Quinn, a big man in his
early thirties. Effortlessly he lifted Amos and I
by the scruff of the neck and took us into the
staff room.

"Boys lucky enough to stay at The Lodge are
expected to behave themselves or face the
consequences", he said, santimoniously. He opened
a desk drawer and produced a long, thick strap. I
gulped and held out my hand like boys did at
school.

"No lad", the big attendant said. "I'd better
attend to young Master Amos first so you can see
the way we do things here".

Amos shrugged. He unbuttoned his trousers and let
them fall to the ground. His shorts soon
followed. I caught a glimpse of his willie and
its bush of pubic hair as he turned and lay over
a stool. The attendant leathered Amos' firm, taut
buttocks with six hard licks. Broad red bands
crisscrossed the boy's pink flesh. When he was
allowed up again, Amos' face was quite unmoved.
He pulled up his clothes and was dismissed by Mr
Quinn.

The attendant watched while I bared my bottom and
placed myself over that stool. It's padded top
stiil retained the warmth from Amos' body. Six
times that heavy leather struck my small globes.
I gasped at the fiery hurt being inflicted, to
teach me a lesson. When I was allowed up I got
dressed and tried not to show the attendant how
much he had hurt me.

Amos was waiting for me outside. As a result of
the shared ordeal of the strappings we became the
best of friends.

P.C. Thompson came to The Lodge several times to
question me about being 'sodomised' as he called
it. I remained silent so a special sitting of the
Youth Court was convened. Mr Matheson of The
Lodge took me to the small courthouse. The
stipendary magistrate dealt with the drunks and
then cleared the court. I was brought in and had
to stand in the dock. Apart from P.C. Thompson
the only other person present was a male
stenographer.

The magistrate read through the doctor's report.
The police officer gave evidence.

"Do you have anything to say?" the magistrate
asked me.

"No, Sir".

"Very well. You have allowed a gross indecency to
your person. Silence, and your refusal to name
the perpertuator, can only mean you are in
collusion with him". He looked very stern. I
shuffled my feet. "The usual sentence for
allowing unlawful carnal knowledge would be
imprisonment in an Approved School for an
indefinite period. However, given the tragic loss
of your parents I am inclined to show you
leniency. You will receive the lesser penalty
prescribed by law, a whipping to be carried out
within the precincts of the court. Eight
strokes".

The magistrate rose. The stenographer stared in
my direction and P.C. Thompson escorted me to a
cell to await my fate. A drunk in the next cell
was singing 'Show Me the Way to go Home'.

In those days, police officers in rural districts
were assisted by unsworn, unpaid volunteers
called 'specials'. P.C. Thompson enlisted the
help of two men to 'subdue' a terrified young boy
while he flogged him. I was taken back into the
courtroom. The stenographer was present to act as
an independent witness. My trousers and
underpants were pulled down and the police
officer's men held me over a table.

Without warning, the cane struck my quivering
bottom. A raw, red jolt of pain that made me yell
at the top of my voice. There was a disruption
while the tender-hearted stenographer vomited
into a waste paper basket. After he'd recovered,
seven  more hard cuts were inflicted at 30 second
intervals. The hurt was frightful and, in my
misery, I spared a thought for dear Percy who was
often caned by his father. Each cruel cut was far
more painful than that entire strapping I'd
received at The Lodge.

Afterwards, I lay on that table, panting. Tears
ran unchecked down my face. A hand applied iodine
to my torn rump and I groaned at that unexpected
hurt. Then I was allowed to get dressed, the men
refused to look me in the eye. They had the grace
to feel a bit ashamed of themselves. The
white-faced stenographer signed the witness
statement. I caught his eye and managed to wink
at him. He relaxed a little and smiled back.

Outside the courtroom Pa was waiting with the
truck. He opened the door but I said I'd better
stand up on the back. Scott sat beside his
father. Percy, dressed in his Sunday suit, was on
the tray of the truck and helped me up. He put
his arm around my thin shoulders and held me
tight. Despite my painfully throbbing backside I
felt needed and loved. All was right again in my
small world.

(Fiction. Usual disclaimers apply).