Date: Tue, 9 Feb 2016 13:44:54 +1000
From: Jeff Albertson <albertson194@gmail.com>
Subject: Misdemeanors

Misdemeanors

a collection of short stories by plantagenet

Disclaimer: Yes, this story is fiction, and not based on any real-life
events (that I know of). It is intended for the use of consenting adults
only in jurisdictions where permitted. If you enjoy this story, may I
suggest that a good way to show your appreciation is by making a small cash
donation to support the continuing existence of the Nifty Archive. There's
a donation link on the first screen, it's easy.

Misdemeanors

There are many small infractions of the rules that are committed by the
boys at Wilfordton Prep School. Each of these carries its own punishment,
and infractions must always be punished, mustn't they?

1. Running in the Hallways

Mr de Montforde, the Deputy headmaster, was also the Master of
Discipline. Any pupil at Wilfordton caught in a misdemeanor, or any minor
kind of breaking of school rules, is sent to him for discipline. But
sometimes a boy does not need to be sent - Mr de Montforde catches the
culprit in the very act, which is convenient, for it excuses the boy from
having to make up some tedious falsehood in a vain attempt to avoid
punishment.

The staccato clatter of leather shoes on linoleum signalled to Mr de
Montforde a misdemeanor in progress. A boy was running in the hallway,
right outside his office door, no less! He rose from behind his desk and
strode to his door, which he flung open just in time to see the miscreant
racing past. "Carstairs!" he bellowed, making the boy stop as suddenly as a
cartoon coyote.

"Yes, sir?" the boy answered, a tremble already apparent in his high voice.

"Come!" the man demanded, holding his door wide and expecting immediate
compliance, which he got. The downcast boy trudged into the Deputy's study,
full knowing what awaited him.

"Sir, I-" the boy began, but was halted mid-excuse by a wave of the man's
meaty hand.

"Do not compound your offence by offering some feeble explanation,
Carstairs. Is the building on fire?"

The boy blinked. "No Sir, but-" Again, the hand stopped him.

"Have enemy military forces invaded the school grounds?"

"Er, no Sir, But I-" the boy managed before the hand rose again.

"In that case, we shall proceed directly to your punishment. You have been
in trouble many times in the past, Carstairs; suppose you tell me what that
punishment shall be," the man tomented the unlucky boy.

"Er...lines, Sir?" the boy suggested, a glimmer of hope in his voice.

"Lines, boy?" the man thundered. "That may be appropriate for a first
offence, but you are far, far from a first-time offender, aren't you,
Carstairs?"

The boy dropped his head. "Um...a detention, Sir?" the boy offered, not
eagerly.

"Detention?" the man gasped in mock horror. "You are in a boarding school,
Carstairs. You are already detained here for 24 hours a day, six-and-a-half
days a week, forty weeks of the year! What possible punitive merit could
there be in keeping you after class? So that you can avoid rugger practice,
no doubt, you lazy scoundrel! No, detention simply will not do! I believe
the time has come for...a spanking!"

"Sir, no Sir, not a spanking, Sir!" the boy whined, reflexively putting
both hands on his bottom, palms outward.

"Oh yes, a spanking, I think. And to illustrate the magnitude of your
offence, Carstairs, I believe I shall administer said spanking upon your
bare bottom."

"Sir, not my bu-...er, bare bottom, please Sir!" But the boy's heartfelt
plea did not soften Mr de Montforde's resolve one iota. He had decided on a
bare-bottom spanking, and that is what he meant to impart.

"Remove those trousers, Carstairs, and be quick about it. In fact, take all
of your clothes off. I do not want you to forget this punishment in a
hurry. The boy, his face still towards the floor in sadness at his
lamentable fate, carried out the requested task. He unzipped and dropped
his trousers, then pushed down his briefs. He untied his school tie and
pulled it from his collar. He unbuttoned his shirt and let it fall from his
shoulders. He finally pulled his undervest over his head, making his
longish blond hair fly around before settling back down on his adorably
cute head. He stood, trembling, naked, shyly covering his crotch with both
hands (even though a single hand would have more than adequately
accomplished the task of concealment.)

"Is that any way to treat your clothes, boy? Which your dear mother bought
for you out of her own money? Pick them up at once, fold each item, and
make a neat pile of them on my desk this instant!" Mr de Montforde
insisted, pointing to the substantial piece of furniture on the far side of
the room. "Then come back here for your punishment." While the boy set
about his task, the man made himself comfortable on the middle cushion of
an overstuffed leather three-seater.

Less than a minute had passed before the boy returned to stand nude before
the Deputy, face a little flushed, shoulders quaking, hands still hiding
his tiny penis and immature balls. "Stand to attention, you slovenly child!
Hands by your sides! Shoulders back! Chest out!" the man demanded, forcing
the boy to reveal that he had an erection, his two inch stiffie quivering
with an unthinking anticipation, his peanut-sized nuggets pulled up tight
in his wrinkled sack.

"Now, you shall place yourself face downwards over my thighs, so that I may
spank you with the minimum of discomfort - to me!" The boy jumped onto the
couch knees first and crawled into position, lying down across the man's
lap. He rested his head on his folded arms, his feet almost reaching the
armrest at the other end of the couch. The man's hand caressed the smooth
bottom which he was about to castigate, making the boy flinch.

"What is it, boy? Are you constitutionally unable to lie still and accept
your chastisement like a man?" the Deputy bellowed.

"It...it's your, er, trousers, Sir. They very scratchy on my, uh,
penis. It's making me aroused, Sir. Uh, more aroused."

"Well, then, hop off me and do something about it. Show some initiative
boy, don't just lie there," the man countered. The boy scrambled off the
man's thighs and knelt on the floor at the Deputy's feet, reaching up to
undo his belt. The man's trouser zip followed, whereupon the boy pulled the
scratchy garment off the Deputy's hips and down his thighs, and over his
shoes.

"Do you think my briefs will be scratchy also, Carstairs?" the man
demanded.

The boy inspected them closely. "I think they might be, Sir," he answered
timidly. A raised eyebrow from the man was all it took for the boy to tug
at the waist of the offending underwear, and drag them downwards, so that
they soon joined the man's trousers on the floor.

"Now, if you have no further complaints, Carstairs, assume the position!"
the man declared. The boy climbed back onto the couch only to find that
when he lay down on the man's lap, the Deputy's substantial penis, which
had trebled in size and stiffened remarkably for a man his age, was now
digging into his lower tummy, making him writhe about while the man's hand
still caressed the boy's tender bottom searching for the optimal strike
zone.

"Damnation!" the man cried. "What is it now, Carstairs?"

"It's...it's your, ah, penis, Sir: it's digging into my tummy and poking at
me, I can't settle." the boy explained, kneeling up even as the man
continued caressing his exquisite behind.

"Well then, hold it out of the way, boy! Do I have to think of everything?"
Catching on, the boy seized the man's hot prong with both hands, making a
drop of pre-cum appear at the eye of his flaming red glans.

"Ooh, Sir, it's...it's leaking!" the boy moaned pitifully.

"Well of course it is, boy! Your hands are squeezing the juices out of it!
But those juices had better not find their way onto my leather couch, or
there'll be hell to pay, and you'll be the one paying it! Think of
something, boy, and be quick about it!" Poor Carstairs watched as the
little droplet at the end of Mr de Montforde's big penis grew to become a
large droplet, and threatened to roll over the red mountain top, down the
shaft, onto his skinny fingers and then onto the leather couch, possibly
ruining the lustre of the leather. He had to stop that drop! But how?
Seeing no other remedy, he did what he would have done had the man's
erection been an ice-cream exposed to the hot sun - he covered it with his
lips!

"Ohhh," the man groaned. His right hand was still occupied caressing
Carstair's delightful bottom, so his left hand came up and settled on the
boy's unruly blond hair, pushing his head down and making the man shudder
as the boy's lips slid down his cock. He let the boy's head up, then pushed
down again, repeating the operation. The boy quickly got the hang of it,
sucking even more deeply as the fingers of the man's right hand grazed the
cleft of his bottom and passed right over his tight anus. Mr de Montforde
sighed with pleasure as he looked down at the sight of the boy's sweet
face; to him, there was nothing more beautiful than the blush on a boy's
cheeks as he sucked his first adult cock.

"Ohhh, Carstairs, you naughty boy! I hope you are learning your lesson, not
to run in the hallway, uhhh." The man was not sure whether the boy was
nodding in agreement, or bobbing his head to impart more of the sensuous
feelings of a sublime blow job. "Ohhh, Carstairs, a little more, yesss,
uhhh, uh, uh, aaah, now swallow, there's a good chap, ahhh."

The man released the boy's head, the middle finger of his right hand still
embedded deeply in the boy's hot moist rectum. Carstairs wiped his hand
across his mouth to remove the last traces of the Deputy's semen which
seeped out when the man orgasmed. "Have you anything to say for yourself,
Carstairs?" the man demanded.

"Yes, Sir, " the boy answered demurely.

"Well, out with it!"

"I think I'll be running in the hallway again tomorrow at the same time,
Sir," he said, his sweet face so innocent.

"See that you do!" the man growled, removing his finger so that the boy
could dress himself and scamper off to class.

2. Incorrect Sports Uniform

"Explain yourself, Hopgood! Exactly what do you call this...fashion
abomination that you are wearing?" Mr de Montforde bellowed at the
quivering boy who stood before him in his study, shoeless and bare from the
waist up.

The boy looked down at his vibrantly floral swimwear. "They're boardshorts,
Sir," he mumbled.

"Really," the Deputy in charge of discipline at Wilfordton Hall replied
sarcastically. "Boardshorts, you say," he repeated the terrified boy's
answer. "Tell me," he continued, "does today's swimming lesson involve a
board of any kind?" He rose from his chair behind his oversize antique desk
and walked around behind the dejected boy.

"Sir, no Sir," the boy replied, as obsequiously as he could manage through
his fear.

"And are boardshorts the correct uniform for swimming at Wilfordton?"

"Sir, no Sir," the boy replied, his voice laden with defeat. The man did
not reply, but continued walking in a large circle around the boy, staring
at the offending garment.

"I suppose you have some sort of explanation for this curious breach of
school rules?" he eventually said.

"Sir, my togs, I...I...um, lost them. I think," the boy offered. "So I
thought these ones would do. I didn't want to miss out on swimming."

"You...lost them," the man mused aloud. "So...you thought those would do,"
he concluded, mimicking the boy's lame excuse. "No doubt you checked before
the lesson with Mr Matthews that your substitute swimwear would be
acceptable?" The boy shook his head miserably. "Well then, perhaps you
asked another boy if he had a spare pair?" Again, the boy shook his head in
the negative.

"Well then, it seems that you should be punished for such a flagrant,
ill-considered and eminently avoidable breach of school rules, don't you
think?" The boy could only nod his head slightly.

"And so you shall be. But before I administer your punishment, I have good
news for you. You will not miss your swimming lesson, or at least not all
of it. There is yet another 45 minutes remaining of your swim period, and
if I know Mr Matthews, he is still giving his safety talk, and no swimming
as such has yet commenced. I happen to have a swimsuit here which complies
with the school regulations which I am prepared to lend to you for the next
hour." The man returned to the other side of his desk and opened a drawer,
pulling out a tiny triangle of material held together by thin straps. He
handed it to the boy. "You may wear these for today"

The boy took the proferred garment and held it up before his
eyes. "Sir...what...what is this thing?" he asked, as politely as he could.

The man regarded the boy with amusement concealed behind a stern
visage. "It is a swimsuit, boy. I believe it is known as a 'g-string'. Now
remove that monstrosity you are wearing and put on the suit I gave you, and
you can return to the pool."

The boy gaped at the quarter-ounce of material. "But Sir, I can't wear
this!" he complained.

"Actually you can, Hopgood. You put a leg through each of the straps, pull
them up and behold! You are wearing it!"

"But it's not...I mean..." the boy floundered for a reason not to comply
with the Deputy's direction.

"You are wondering whether this garment complies with the school's swimming
uniform policy, Hopgood, I take it. I must confess, I wondered about that
myself when I confiscated that g-string from another boy. Well, let's
see. What are Wilfordton's colours?"

"Claret and gold, Sir," the boy replied without hesitation.

"Correct. And if I am not mistaken, those stretchy straps are claret
coloured, and that little pouch is gold, is it not?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Whereas, the item that I ordered you two minutes ago to remove, and which
I notice you are still defiantly wearing, is basically white, with blue and
green flowers, hibiscus if I am not mistaken, splattered all over it, is it
not?"

The boy could not have hung hs head any lower. "Yes, Sir,"

"So explain to me, Hopgood, in nice simple terms that even a Deputy
Headmaster can understand, why you have not already removed that floral
extravaganza and replaced it with the correctly-coloured item which I gave
you?"

The boy's shoulders slumped as his fingers tugged at the ends of the white
lace at the front of the boardies. When he had untied the knot, he shimmied
his hips to make the bulky nylon garment fall to his ankles, then stepped
out of them, now fully naked, and tried to figure out how to wear the
g-string, without success. "Sir, I...I can't...I don't..." he begged the
man.

The Deputy sighed. "Very well, stand on this chair, Hopgood, and I will
show you. I can't bend down to the floor as I used to anymore, and this
will make it easier on my poor old back. Up you get," he explained, as he
helped the nude boy climb onto the hardbacked seat. The man took the
g-string from the boy and touched him on one foot. "Lift," he ordered, and
the boy raised one dainty leg. Hopgood found it a little awkward balancing
on the chair, especially as the Deputy had pushed his bushy head of hair
right into his crotch, giving his small penis little tingly
scratches. Hopgood felt, to his horror, his penis begin to stiffen, and
could no longer be correctly described as 'small'.

"Other foot," Mr de Montforde indicated, and the boy complied. As he lifted
the second foot, it felt to the boy as though the man was actually pushing
his head into his hairless crotch more forcefully, making his penis even
more stimulated. But that couldn't be right, could it?"

"And now the pouch," the Deputy remarked as he slid the straps up the boy's
shapely legs. "Up we go...oh, my, Hopgood, what have we here?" Mr de
Montforde gasped in mild amusement as the skimpy triangle reached the boy's
penis, which was now a full-grown two and a half inch stiffie. "We seem to
have a problem, young man," the Deputy observed, pulling the back strap up
into the cleft between the boy's bottom cheeks. "Your penis seems to be
unwilling to be covered, Hopgood. If I pull the material up and over your
erection, like so, your balls fall out the sides. And if I cup the material
around your balls, like so, the head of your penis pops out over the
waistband."

"What...what shall I do, Sir?" the boy asked, a pitiful whine in his voice.

"I think I may have a solution. Or would you rather go back to the pool
like this?"

"No Sir!" the horrified boy replied. "What...what is your solution?"

"Come over to the couch, and I will endeavour to solve your little problem
for you," Mr de Montforde suggested. Without waiting for the boy to descend
from the chair, he picked him up and carried him to the leather
three-seater. He sat down, still carrying the boy in his arms. "Lay back,
Hopgood, and I shall make your penis capable of fitting into this swimsuit
for you." The boy complied without hesitating, as any Wilfordton boy would
do. Tilting his head upwards to watch what the man was doing, Hopgood was
fascinated to see the man pull the g-string down his smooth thighs, past
his knees and all the way off his legs.

"How is he going to get that thing to fit me if he takes it- OH!" the boy
gasped mentally as he watched the man swallow his stiff penis whole and
begin sucking and licking it. The feelings were tremendous! The boy writhed
in the man's grasp, trying to keep his penis in the man's mouth yet
squirming from the delicious feelings.

Pausing for a moment in his blowjob of the boy's tasty morsel, the man
turned his head to the boy's face and explained, matter-of-factly "Of
course, Hopgood, I will not always be available to perform this service for
you - you should take the initiative and seek out some classmate, one of
your best friends perhaps, to do this for you. It may be that you could
offer to do the same back to him, to thank him. Only a good friend, mind -
don't go asking every single boy in the School, or you will spend so much
of your spare time thanking all of them that you will have no time left for
anything else." He resumed tonguing and sucking the boy's little shaft and
knobhead.

Hopgood was delirious with pleasurable sensations. "Who cares if I don't
have time for anything else!" he thought. "This is awesome!" He began to
plan in his mind whom he would ask...perhaps Bolton would like to do it, he
often gets stiffies in the showers...or maybe Collier, he slept in the next
bed and usually wakes up with a stiffie poking through the fly of his
pyjama bottoms...Barnstable was another possibility, he thought he saw him
playing with his penis under the desk in class the other day. The boy's
imagined possible liaisons dissolved as a more urgent feeling took over -
Mr de Montforde's efforts were about to reach a thrilling conclusion!

"Oh, Sir! Oh! Aah! Oooh!" the boy moaned as the man's mouth brought him off
in a dry but thoroughly satisfying orgasm. Mr de Montforde caressed the
soft, smooth body as the boy's breathing slowed down. Hopgood watched as
his erection, now slippery with saliva, wilted. "I think it might fit now,
Sir," he suggested. The Deputy set the boy on his feet and helped him put
the g-string back on, but Hopgood was a quick study and could now do it
himself. Tucking his softened penis into the little triangle of material at
the front, the boy smiled at the man and said "Thank you, Sir. May I go
now?"

"I haven't punished you yet, lad. What do you think might be suitable?"

The boy thought for a moment. "Perhaps when I come back after swimming to
return your swimsuit, and collect my boardshorts, one of us may have
thought of something, Sir," he answered, fluttering his eyelashes
coquettishly.

"Perhaps we shall, Hopgood - perhaps we shall." He reached around the boy's
hips to make sure the vertical strap of the g-string was securely seated
between the boy's delightful cheeks, and gave him a playful pat on the
bottom. "Off you go," he said, and the boy skipped out of the Deputy's
room.

3. Homework Not Done

"Ahh, Compton, Compton, Compton," the Deputy muttered, then sighed
theatrically. "What am I going to do with you?"

The small boy sitting on the straight back chair in front of the discipline
master's desk sucked on his bottom lip. "I don't know, Sir," he
whispered. That was, in fact, the literal truth. Compton had heard so many
stories about what happened to boys who entered the Deputy's room for
disciplinary infractions, that he didn't know what to expect. He had heard
that some boys had been made to suck the Deputy's erect penis until it shot
its sauce into their mouths, which they were then required to swallow.

Other boys assured him that they were forced to strip naked, and be spanked
upon their quivering bottoms by Mr de Montforde's thick, meaty hand. These
boys told Compton that they were unable to sit comfortably for days
afterwards, and that they all popped boners when they stripped, making
their punishment embarrassing as well as painful.

Still other boys regaled Compton with torrid tales of having their bottoms
fingered by Mr de Montforde until they screamed out in sexual climax. Mr de
Montforde kissed their mouths roughly during this anal violation, until the
poor boys had no avenue of release except to shudder in glorious orgasms in
his big strong arms.

Compton was terrified. He had never been in trouble before, not in his four
years of schooling. He diligently followed all of the school rules, even
the rules that contradicted the other rules. He was that rarest of boys, a
model student. Besides which, he was exceptionally good-looking, to the
point of being almost feminine in appearance. Clear skin, sparkling eyes,
long lashes, slender physique, narrow waist, well-rounded bottom, delicate
hands; Compton was the complete package. His classmates were jealous as
hell. It was they who had removed Compton's homework assignment from his
folder, in an effort to get him into trouble, as he now was.

Compton did the only thing that he thought possible under the
circumstances: he burst into tears. Weeping copiously, his upper body
heaved as he cried his little heart out. "Oh, Compton, no need to take on
so!" the man remonstrated with the bawling child. "I haven't even touched
you yet! Come over to the couch," the Deputy suggested. "Usually the crying
starts after the punishment, not before. Get a grip on yourself, boy."

Using these and other platitudes to try to calm the poor little fellow, the
man picked the boy up from the chair and carried him to the leather
three-seater, the site of so many punishments in the past (but Compton
didn't know that). Holding the boy in a strong cuddle the man tried to ease
the boy's suffering. "There, there, old chap, it isn't as bad as all
that. Calm yourself down and we'll talk about what's bothering you."

"I'm...I'm scared, Sir" the boy whimpered.

"Scared of what, Compton?"

"Sir, the...the other boys, Sir, they...they told me about the punishments
that you gave them, Sir."

"Hmm, they did, did they? Well, we can't have you being terrified, now, can
we? A punishment should not make you terrified - it should just make you
follow the rules next time. So tell me: what is the one thing that they
told you that frightens you the most?"

The boy had to think for a minute. The he replied "Having to take off all
my clothes in front of you, Sir, I suppose," he answered cautiously.

"Is that all?" the man replied, hugging the boy more closely. "You take
your clothes off every day, when you take a shower, and when you change
into your pyjamas to go to bed! You take your clothes off for your physical
examination with the doctor every year! What's such a big deal, Compton?"

"Mother told me I shouldn't, Sir" the boy replied primly.

"Really? But didn't your mother also tell you to obey your teachers?" he
countered. A look of consternation crossed the boy's face; here was yet
another example of contradictory school rules. What to do, what to do...

"I suppose...if you think I should...I mean, you are the Deputy Headmaster
and all..."

"And the Master of Discipline, don't forget that. Besides, it doesn't hurt
you to take your clothes off, does it? It's not painful, is it?" the man
murmured into the boy's ear. His whisperings soon had an effect. The boy
sat up and stood on the floor, his back to the man, his fingers moving over
his buttons. His school uniform fell away from his body item by item, until
only a pair of briefs separated Compton from total nudity.

"You...won't laugh at me, will you Sir?" he peeped over his shoulder as his
graceful fingers lingered near the waist of his last garment.

"Laugh at you? Of course not, Compton. In fact, to show you how reasonable
and normal it is to get undressed, I'll do it too. Look, I'm taking all my
clothes off right now, the shirt, the trousers, the undervest, the boxers,
the- Good Lord, Compton! Is that... real?"

"You promised you wouldn't laugh, Sir!" the adorable boy pouted. Having
slipped his underwear over his delicious bottom and down his thighs and off
his feet, the boy had turned around to face the man, revealing a
substantial, if hairless, organ of generaion. Mr de Montforde took a few
seconds to gather his wits at the sight.

"I did not laugh, Compton, I expressed disbelief! Completely different
thing. Come here, boy, and let me inspect that marvel of biology." The
naked boy walked over to the Deputy, his seven inch dong slapping against
his thighs with each step he took.

"It's...it's deformed, isn't it, Sir," the boy whimpered.

"It's beautiful, is what it is, Compton. It is a miracle of nature. A
perfect specimen, an ideal which can only be admired and envied by all
men. May I...touch it?"

The boy looked down at his outsized cock, hanging below a bald pubic area,
over a scrotum not much bigger than a walnut. "I...guess so, Sir, but
usually that only makes it worse."

"By 'worse', do you mean 'bigger', Compton?" The dejected boy nodded. "Good
Lord, Compton, how big does it get?" the astonished Deputy asked.

"Some...some of the other boys...at night...pull my pyjamas down sometimes,
and play with it until it gets stiff so they can measure it, Sir. Or that's
what they said they wanted to do.They said it was nine and a half
inches. Then they touched it some more. A few of them rubbed their own
penises on it."

Mr de Montforde forwned. "Why on earth would they do that, Compton?"

"I think it was because of something I told them, Sir. I...didn't mean
to...but a boy asked me about my Dad, and I said he didn't live at home any
more, so the boy said 'why not?' and I explained how he used to get into
the bath with me, and rub his big penis all over mine, until the day that
Mother walked in and saw us. I told the boy that my penis got big by Daddy
rubbing his onto it. I'm such a freak!"

"No, my boy, no freak. You are a wonder! Just let me verify what those
naughty boys found out. I'll stroke it for you very gently. How much cum do
you make?"

"How much what, Sir?" the puzzled boy replied as the man stroked his hefty
organ.

"Jizz, boy. Semen. You must know, surely? How much spooge does this
marvellous weapon squirt out when you have your orgasm?"

"I...I...don't know what you mean, Sir. What's spooge? And what's an
orgasm?"

"Oh dear, Compton,it appears we have so much to talk about! Let me just
keep stroking your lovely penis and we'll chat about the first thing that
comes up, eh? The Deputy caressed the boy's massive organ for what he
thought was ample time to produce an orgasm, but all the boy did was sigh
and moan. When he arched his hips off the deputy's lap, but produced no
cum, the man was convinced.

"Compton, I feel that I may have misjudged you, my boy. You are clearly
every bit as innocent as you profess yourself to be, and I now fully
believe your story about your disappearing homework. Up you get and dress
yourself, and remember, you can always come back and see me if you need to
have that beautiful penis...attended to."

The boy sighed as he climbed off the deputy's lap, and dressed himself,
carefully tucking his prodigious weapon inside his boxer shorts. "Thank
you, Sir, for your understanding. I will remember your advice."

4. Telling Tales

"Sir, Jamie Peterson was pulling faces behind your back!" Walter Sodforth
primly declared when the teacher finished writing on the chalkboard and
turned to face his students.

"Sir, I wasn't" an indignant Peterson shouted. The teacher glared at the
boy and turned back to the board to continue the sentence. The class was
supposed to be studying grammar, and the sentence was divided into subject,
verb and predicate, with the teacher taking the trouble to underline each
part of speech in differently coloured chalk.

"Sir, Peterson's making a gesture with his fingers behind your back!"
Sodforth called out, not even waiting for the teacher to turn around this
time. He was a patient man, like most teachers, but this was wearing him
down on a Friday afternoon.

"Sir, I didn't!" Peterson protested.

"I've had quite enough, boys. Both of you take yourselves to the Deputy's
office immediately, and not another word!" the man stated firmly.

Peterson started trudging off immediately, but Sodforth stopped to argue
with the teacher. "But Sir, I didn't do anything!" he remonstrated with the
man, hurt by the blatantly unfair decision.

"What part of 'not another word' is unintelligible to you, boy?" the
teacher thundered. Realising he had pushed the man too far, Sodforth
hurried out the door to catch up with Peterson, thinking he might cook up
some excuse to avoid the Deputy's punishment. But Peterson was already lost
to view, so Sodforth slowed down his pace to a dawdle, and by the time he
reached his destination was surprised to see Peterson already exiting the
Deputy's room.

"What did you get?" he asked the boy whom he had dobbed in.

"Two on the bum, no biggie," Peterson replied smugly. Encouraged by the
Deputy's leniency, Sodforth knocked on the door and entered the discipline
master's study.

"Ah, Sodforth, so glad you could make it. I was led to believe by Peterson
that you were both sent out of the room at the same time, and yet here you
are, some minutes later," he observed, consulting his pocketwatch. "You
have some explanation, of course?"

"Er, well, Sir...um..." the boy was caught off-guard.

"I don't mean an explanation about why it takes you several minutes to
travel thirty five metres. I assume that to be mere laziness on your
part. No, what I really expect to hear are your reasons for disrupting your
English grammar class with your frequent tale-telling."

"Sir, but...Sir..." Sodforth began. This wasn't turning out how he wanted
at all! It was so unfair! He was only trying to help his teacher by naming
the boy who was disrupting the class behind his back, maybe get in the
teacher's good books, and now he was the one in trouble, not Peterson! And
not just in trouble, but in trouble with the Deputy. He couldn't think
straight. How was he to extricate himself from this mess?

"On a related subject, Sodforth, have you heard the fable of The Boy Who
Cried Wolf? One of Aesop's, I believe. Its message is quite instructive,
especially for boys like you who love telling tales in class. Come here."
The man crooked his finger at the boy, who gingerly stepped over to the
three-seater leather couch on which the man was sitting. "Now, kindly
prostrate yourself over my lap and I will explain to you why it is not a
good policy to tell tales." The boy carefully mounted the couch and
stretched his body over the teacher's lap.

"Apparently, according to the good Master Aesop, there was a little boy who
thought it was most amusing to tell tales to his family about an imaginary
wolf, scaring them that the chickens were under threat." As he spoke, he
lowered the boy's shorts down his thighs. As they were of the elastic-waist
variety, no unzipping was required. They slid smoothly down, and off his
legs.

"Peterson only got two on the bum," Sodforth thought, lying across the
man's lap. "I can stand that."

Mr de Montforde ran his hand over the boy's underwear-clad bottom and down
his long delicate limbs, taking it slowly as his fingertips traced a line
of goosebumps up Sodforth's sensitive inner thighs. "It turns out that the
little boy tried this humorous trick several times, and was delighted with
the inconvenience it caused each time," the Deputy explained as he dragged
the boy's underpants down his thighs and threw them down to join his
shorts.

"It gos to credibility, Sodforth," the man continued as he inserted a
lubrucated finger into the boy's bottom and slowly twisted it around before
beginning a series of withdrawals and re-insertions. "At first, the boy was
believed. He had credibility. But with each successive tale about a wolf
which nobody else ever saw, his stock of credibility diminished." Mr de
Montforde sat the boy up on his meaty thighs, facing away, and unzipped his
own trousers. He then lifted the partly naked boy up, pulled him back a few
inches and lowered him down onto his own thick cock, hitting the boy's hole
with the first attempt. Sodforth gasped as he felt his anus being opened up
and sliding down the pole which was stretching his bottom hole much more
widely than the man's fingers had.

The man began raising and lowering the boy, cupping his hands under
Sodforth's armpits. "So when the chicken were threatened by a real wolf,
the boy's cries were ignored. When the wolf had finished off the chickens,
it looked around and saw...you guessed it! A very naughty boy! A boy who
told tales! Tales that nobody believed anymore!" Sodforth moaned as his
skinny body was repeatedly lifted and dropped, impaling him on Mr de
Montforde's big weapon. Too shocked to cry, the boy let out with a series
of little gasps, 'Oh!', 'Oh!', 'Oh!' each time his bottom was invaded by
the hot thick pole.

Mr de Montforde unloaded in the boy's bottom with a guttural groan, making
the boy squeal. Both man and boy panted to get their breaths back, with
Sodforth still impaled on the Deputy's prong. "Well now, Sodforth, have you
anything to say for yourself?" the discipline master asked sternly.

"Er...Peterson got two, and I only got one!" the boy complained.

"Very well," Mr de Montforde replied. "Over you go!" He turned himself and
the boy around so that Sodforth was now facing the back of the couch, the
man behind him, his dick still embedded in the tight bottom. "And here's
your seconds!"

5. Tardiness

Wilfordton Prep School, in a similar manner to many boarding schools,
accepted a sprinkling of students from the local town as day-boys. These
lads participated in all the 9-to-3.30 activities of the boarders,
including taking lunch in the refectory. Like the boarders, they were
expected to be punctual to school. This was an area where the boarders had
an advantage, as they had housemasters to hurry them along every
morning. The day-boys only had their parents to perform this chore.

As a result, to encourage punctuality, (and to police its absence), on some
mornings, Mr de Montforde liked to take up a position at the school gates,
nothing ostentatious, but in his own careful way making a note of which
students arrived together, what they were gossiping about when they thought
he was out of earshot, whether they looked like they'd had a wash that
morning, the cleanliness or otherwise of their uniforms, just the usual
things that teachers notice. As the time for classes neared, there was a
rush of students who tried to beat the bell. After that, there came the
Tardies.

It wasn't a good idea to get on Mr de Montforde's Tardy List. He maintained
the List in his head. He could recite on any given day, upon request, the
names of all boys who had been late once in the Term. It was not a long
list. Even shorter was the list of boys who had arrived late twice in the
same term. The list that no boy wanted to feature on was the list of
three-peaters. Which was unfortunate for Goldworthy, who was dawdling along
the path to School that very morning when Mr de Montforde had taken up his
post of surveillance.

"Goldworthy!" he bellowed as the boy passed between the heavy sandstone
gateposts. The boy shrieked and dropped his school bag, looking wildly
around to find the source of his surname. His eyes fell on Mr de Montforde,
and his knees began to tremble. This was the third time he had been late
this term.

"What time of day do you call this, boy?" Mr de Montforde thundered,
ostentatiously consulting his own pocket watch.

The unfortunate boy thought that the deputy's watch must not be working,
otherwise why would he ask for the time? Clearly, his grammar lessons had
never included the topic of 'rhetorical questions',else he would have known
that it was a question not meant to be answered. "Er, it's twenty past
nine, Sir," the boy replied, stooping to pick up his bagand hoping that his
knees would continue to support him.

"Indeed! And remind me, if you would, what time do lessons commence here at
Wilfordton?"

"Er, nine o'clock, Sir, but-"

Like so many boys before him, he was prevented from offering some feeble
lie as explanation by the deputy's hand, held aloft, palm facing the
miscreant. "Do not pollute my ears with some falsehood, boy, I am not
interested. If you truly believe, in your heart of hearts, that your excuse
is sufficient to mitigate or even vitiate your much-deserved punishment,
you may offer it now. However, if I am not satisfied as to your excuse's
merit, your punishment will be doubled." As the reader will note, Mr de
Montforde delighted in extending his students' vocabularies.

"Er..." the boy began, but decided that no excuse would be good enough. He
had heard that other boys who came habitually late to school were taken to
the Deputy's office and given a sound thrashing, and he figured that said
thrashing might last long enough to make him miss first-period Mathematics,
for which he had not even begun the set homework. Goldworthy stopped
speaking and hung his head.

"A wise decision, boy," Mr de Montforde remarked. "Come!" he exclaimed, and
the boy fell into line behind the Deputy and trudged along to the school
buildings.

There was an eerie quiet in the corridors, as all of the other boys were
now ensconced within their classrooms, undertaking their lessons. The only
sounds that could be heard were two sets of footfalls, one heavier, the
other llighter.  When the mismatched pair reached his office, Mr de
Montforde unlocked the door and stood aside to admit the hapless
Goldworthy.

The boy expected to be disciplined immediately, and had prepared himself to
turn on the tears to soften the heart of the Deputy Headmaster, if such a
thing were possible. He had heard rumours from other boys that a punishment
from Mr de Montforde can sometimes be lessened or even overlooked entirely
if a boy showed genuine remorse for his actions, such remorse to be
evidenced by copious weeping. It came as a surprise to Goldworthy that the
Deputy simply invited him to sit alongside him on a rather comfortable
looking three-seater leather couch. He complied.

"Now, Goldworthy. How are things at home?" the Deputy began, even going to
the extent of smiling at the boy.

Was this the same man who yelled at me at the school gates, the boy
wondered. "Er, okay, Sir, I guess," he replied, cautiously.

"I understand you recently acquired a new baby sister: how is that going
for you? Sleepless nights?" Mr de Montforde continued, turning on the
charm.

"Er...some, Sir, I guess," the boy answered, wondering where this was
leading and how the Deputy knew about his family.

"It's not easy, is it, accommodating a new arrival into the family home,
especially when you have to share your room with her," the man consoled the
boy. "It means more chores for you, I guess?"

The boy nodded. He briefly thought this might be his chance to make up some
excuse about being late for school, while the Deputy was all sympathetic,
but he couldn't think of any reason why having a baby sister would make him
late. Except...

"Er, that's why I'm late, Sir, I, uh, had to feed the baby!" Goldworthy
said in a sudden inspiration.

"Of course you did, Goldworthy, I understand only too well the demands a
small child can place on a young family. Did you give your sister a bath as
well?"

"Uh, yes Sir, a bath," the boy agreed eagerly.

"Powder her little bottom and put on her clothes, too, no doubt?"

"Oh, yes Sir," the boy nodded.

"All these things take time, don't they Goldworthy, especially with a
newborn. It's no wonder you were late!"

"Yes, Sir!" the boy agreed, nodding vigorously, thinking that he had dodged
a bullet.

"All of which makes me wonder why your mother would have sent me a text
this morning to warn me that you would be early to school today, as you had
spent the weekend with your uncle, who lives only two streets from the
school, on account of her spending the last few days in hospital with your
little newborn sister!" the Deputy scowled. The benign, sympathetic Deputy
had disappeared in an instant, to be replaced by the malevolent,
coldhearted Deputy. Goldworthy's knees began to tremble again.

"So, Goldworthy, nothing to say? No more lies? I think that since you are
already on my couch, you might save us both time by laying across my lap so
that I can give your bottom the thrashing it so richly deserves. Better
yet, perhaps you should stand up, take down your trousers, and stand over
there so that you can lean on my desk while I swat your bare bottom with my
hardest cane!"

Horrified both both of these prospects, Goldworthy turned on the tears
immediately, and it was no pretense. He threw himself on the Deputy's lap,
blubbering freely, his high-pitched wails punctuated only by deep gasps for
air. While laying on the man's thighs he felt something that reminded him
of a similar situation withhis uncle over the weekend (only without the
crying). He squeezed, to check his initial impression. It was true! the
deputy had an erection! A big one, too, judging by the feel of it. The
girth of the deputy's hardening penis gave Goldworthy an idea.

"Sir, is there anything I can do to show how sorry I am for being late?
Anything at all? Please, Sir?" the boy whimpered, still maintaining a firm
grip on the man's cock through his trousers.

"What did you have in mind?" Mr de Montforde replied, raising his eyebrows
at the weepy face in his lap.

"Well, when I, stayed with my uncle over the weekend, he liked it when
I...did stuff...with him, Sir," the boy explained.

The man frowned. "Hmm," he eventually murmured. "I have to take into
account the blatant falsehoods that you spun me, as well as your tardiness,
young man. In such a case as yours, I would expect that whatever you did,
by way of reparation for your offences, would be sincere and would indicate
to me your deep, deep remorse."

The boy had to take a moment to process the Deputy's big words, but he got
the gist of them. He unzipped the Deputy's trousers and fished around
inside for the object of his interest. Goldworthy had enjoyed playing with
his uncle's dick on the weekend, in the bathtub, in bed, even on the sofa
while watching TV, and was confident that he could impart the same level of
pleasure to the Deputy as he had done to his uncle. Pulling Mr de
Montforde's cock out through the opening, the boy began to stroke it up and
down, but remembered the emphasis the man gave to the word 'deep', and
opened his mouth, settling his lips on the thick cock and taking it as
deeply as he could. His uncle enjoyed it, so Goldworthy figured the Deputy
would too.

"Aaah, yes, boy, I am beginning to come...uh...come across to your side of
the argument," the Deputy groaned as Goldworthy's lips slid up and down his
dick. He reached down and patted the boy's bottom, then grasped one cheek
as Goldworthy's tongue twirled his knobhead. The boy wriggled his bottom,
encouraging the man's explorations. His hand ran along the crevice between
the boy's bottom cheeks, in sync with the boy's lapping. With his spare
hand the boy delved further into the man's trousers and found his big
balls. His uncle had enjoyed it when he gripped his balls, so he tried it
on Mr de Montforde.enjoyed. It worked.

"Aaagh, yes, boy, uhh, well done, now swallow it all down, good boy."
Goldworthy complied with the Deputy's moaned directions, savouring the
taste of semen which he had first enjoyed only 48 hours earlier with his
uncle. He carefully replaced the deputy's now wilting penis and rezipped
the man's trousers.

"Will you be coming on time tomorrow, Goldworthy?" the man asked with a
broad smile.

"Only if you're coming with me, Sir," the cheeky boy replied as he skipped
out of the office.

6. Passing Notes In Class

"Of all the naughty boys I have had the unhappy fate to deal with in this
office, you two are the last boys I would have expected! In your five years
here at Wilfordton you have never given any of your teachers cause to doubt
your good natures for even a second! And now this! Mr Radleigh was utterly
shocked! He has sent me a text giving a brief outline of your misdemeanor,
but I want to give you the opportunity, here and now, to explain your
actions, which have so outraged your Art teacher. He says you were passing
notes to one another during your Art lesson! What have you to say for
yourselves, boys?" Mr deMortforde was in full flight as he berated the two
quavering lads before him.

"Sir, it...it was all my fault," one of the boys spoke up. His long auburn
hair shook as he trembled.

Unexpectedly, the other boy quickly interrupted. "No it wasn't, Crissy, I
gave you the first note, remember?" Turning back to the Deputy headmaster,
the brunette declared,"Punish me, Sir, it was all down to me. Crissy is not
to blame."

Mr de Montforde had to search his memory banks to recover the first names
of these two boys. He had always thought of them simply as Pensforth and
Davies. Now, what were they called...ahh, that was it: Crispin Pensforth;
and... Richard? No, that wasn't it...Robin, yes, Robin was Davies' given
name. He shuddered inwardly. He did not approve of boys referring to each
other by their given names. It was a slippery slope; one day a boy calls
another by his given name (which only his mother should be using when
addressing him), the next thing you know, they are sneaking off together
for a mutual wank in the bathrooms.

"No Sir, it wasn't Robby, it was me. I mean, it was I," Pensforth
contradicted his co-accused. Mr de Montforde winced inside to hear the
diminutive forename. Both of the boys were infected with this accursed
familiarity.

Mr de Montforde paced up and down in front of the boys, wondering whether
there would be any more pieces of self-incrimination. The boys shared long
meaningful glnces with each other. The Deputy decided it was time for
answers.

"So, where is this note?" he enquired lightly, not wanting to scare the
boys too badly. Pensforth dug his hand into his uniform serge short
trousers and pulled out a crumpled piece of notepaper, reluctantly handing
it to the Deputy. he unfolded the note and stared at it for a full ten
seconds. "What do these symbols mean? Is it some kind of code you boys are
using? I can see an eye, a heart, and what is this thing supposed to be, a
cloud with legs?"

"It's supposed to be a sheep, Sir, a ewe. It says 'eye heart ewe'," Davies
explained, a little more defiantly than Mr de Montforde would have
preferred.

"Ahh, of course, 'I love you', I should have guessed. "Do you, er, both
share this sentiment?" The two boys turned to each other, and after another
lingering gaze into each other's eyes, nodded their agreement. "Very well,"
the Deputy stated, before considering his next move. Of course it had to
happen eventually - ever since laws had been changed to permit adults to
form liaisons with those of their own gender, even to marry and adopt, it
was inevitable that such fancies of the heart should trickle down to
children. Monkey see, monkey do, after all (which probably sounds a lot
classier in Latin, Mr de Montforde thought). So now, he had two
ten-year-old lovebirds passing billets-doux in Art class, when they should
have been engaged in more wholesome pursuits such as admiring paintings of
naked goddesses, statues of well-muscled nude athletes and frescoes of
scantily-clad cupids. He decided to test this juvenile amour.

"Come, boys, come and sit over here with me and we'll have a little talk."
The Deputy led the boys over to his leather three-seater couch and sat on
an end cushion, allowing the boys to sit together, with Crispin in the
middle of the three. "Now, boys, you are not in any serious trouble, I can
tell that the note you showed me was not meant to disrupt the class nor
offend Mr Radleigh. In fact, I would like to help you. School can be a
difficult place for two boys who love each other, as I am sure you already
know. I suppose I really just want to be sure that you boys are, well,
safe. Tell me, when you get a bit of time to be together without any
interruptions, and some privacy, what do you do?"

Another glance between the boys ensued - they seemed to have the mental
connection many lovers do, that each knows what the other is thinking, or
how they will respond in a given situation. "We...hold hands, Sir," Davies
replied.

Mr de Montforde beamed at the couple sharing his couch. "You hold hands?
That is excellent, boys. Show me how you do it." Davies gave an uncertain
smile, worried a little about why his teacher would ask him to do this, but
complied nonetheless, taking his friend's hand in his and letting it rest
in his lap.

"Just like this, Sir," he said innocently.

"Well, that's very good, boys. Nothing wrong with two boys holding hands. I
remember a visit to France I made during a sabbatical a few years back,
where it was not unusual to see the local boys walking in the street, or on
the beach, holding hands. Very nice. What else do you do together?"

"Uh, well Sir, sometimes I give Robby a kiss," Pensforth conceded.

"Wonderful," Mr de Montforde enthused. "Show me how you do that, if you
would." Pensforth leaned in to Davies' face and gave him a little peck on
the cheek. Davies blushed and smiled.

"That is perfectly sweet, boys! Would you allow me to show you another way
for two boys to kiss each other?" he asked, with such an earnest in his
voice that the boys could not refuse. "Kneel up for me, Pensforth, uh, I
mean Crissy, so that our faces are level. That's the way! Now watch
closely, er, Robbie." When the auburn-haired boy had scrambled to his knees
the man wrapped his arms around him, should and waist, and pulled him
closer. "When you kiss, try it with your lips on Crissy's, like this, " he
instructed Davies. Pensforth's eyes opened widely in surprise when he felt
the Deputy's lips mash his, but they fluttered shut when the Deputy's
tongue invaded his mouth and began licking and sucking on his own smaller
tongue. At the same time, one of the man's hands massaged the boy's bony
shoulders while the other drifted below his waist to caress his bottom,
rubbing back and forth from one cheek to the other.

After a minute of passionate snogging, Mr de Montforde gently broke the
kiss. He had the feeling that Pensforth wanted to continue, but it was only
fair to give Davies an opportunity. "Would you like to try now, Davies, er,
Robby?" he asked, making the younger of the two boys practically push the
older out of the way.

"Yes, please, Sir," the little fellow chirped. Edging his small body
between his friend's and the Deputy's, Davies knelt in position and
presented his lips to the man. Pensforth watched in awe as his best friend
enthusiastically accepted the man's oral affections, even when his big
fingers pulled the boy's shirt out of its tuck and his large hand ran up
underneath to caress the boy's bare back. Davies writhed in ecstasy as Mr
de Montforde's hands roamed from his back around to his chest, and Crissy
was a little put out that he hadn't received the same treatment.

"Another go, Crissy?" the man enquired as he broke his kiss with the
panting Davies.

"Ooh, yes, please, Sir," Pensforth replied, tugging at his own shirt to
make sure the man knew what to do.

"Take it off if you want, Crissy. No-one will disturb us in here, and it is
a little warm, isn't it, for the time of year?" Mr de Montforde suggested
casually. Pensforth didn't need any more encouragement as he whipped his
school shirt over his head without pausing to unbutton it, squirming his
way in between the other two to get his share of making out. The Deputy
took the boy in his arms and resumed smooching the cherry lips. Robbie
stared at his friend, and wondered at the noises he was making as the
Deputy's hands caressed his bare back and shoulders. He added his own gasp
when he saw the Deputy's hands venture below his friend's beltline to
stroke and squeeze Crissy's bottom.

One of the Deputy's hands left its task to reach over and tug at Robbie's
shirt. The boy was not stupid - he whipped it off right away, ready for his
next turn. Mr de Montforde's hand was not finished: a finger hooked into
the waistband of Robbie's shorts and gave two brief tugs. The boy
understood immediately - the next time he had his turn, it would be without
his shorts. He unzipped and eased the shorts down his thighs. It only took
him a moment of contemplation to strip off his undies as well. Watching him
over Crissy's shoulder, Mr de Montforde reflected that it often was the
good little boys who ironically turned out to be sexual tornadoes, quickly
shedding their inhibitions once their confidence was gained.

"Do you want Robbie to have another turn?" the Deputy asked the boy
writhing in his embrace. Too turned on to speak, Crissy simply nodded
(reluctantly) and fell back to the couch. Robbie crawled up into his place,
more than eager to feel those big hands all over his now naked body. Crissy
gaped at the scene only inches in front of him - his best friend trying to
swallow the Deputy's tongue as the man's hands seemed to be everywhere on
his little body.

Mr de Montforde broke the kiss, but kept one hand on Robbie's warm
bottom. "Can you boys help me out of these clothes?" he asked. "It really
is rather warm," he added. Gone was any pretense of teaching the boys about
affection: they were a pair of sexual wolves, ravenous for
stimulation. Crissy yanked the man's tie off, then attacked his shirt
buttons, while Robbie tore at the man's zipper and belt. Realising he was
overdressed, Crissy tore off his own shorts and undies. Under the weight of
the two voracious boys, Mr de Montforde slowly toppled over on the couch,
one of the boys working his mouth and nipples, the other caressing his
cock.

Just before his orgasm started to rise, the man called a brief
pause. "Crissy, run over to my desk and get the tube of cream from my top
drawer, please?" the man directed. "There's a good boy. Now, as you are the
older, you get to go first. Put some of the cream on my cock, and a little
on your bottom hole, oh, well done, lad. Now, very carefully, sit astride
me and lower yourself down on my shaft. Robbie, you swing your leg over my
head and I'll suck on your delightful llittle penis. While I'm doing that,
you lie on my tummy and suck Crissy's penis, that's the way".

Following the Deputy's precise instructions, the three became a writhing,
bouncing, slurping, copulating machine. Mr de Montforde was confident that
the two boys would have figured out several comfortable yet stimulating
sexual positions for themselves, but it may have taken months (or at least,
weeks). This way, the two boys could enjoy the pleasures of each others'
bodies so much sooner than might otherwise may have been. Whatever the
case, Mr de Montforde was delighted to be able to help the young lovers
find sexual fulfilment.

After releasing his load deep up inside Pensforth's bottom, he extricated
himself from the two boys and rearranged their wriggling forms into a
passable sixty-nine. Retreating back behind his desk to his chair, he
allowed himself the pleasure of a pipe of tobacco, taking care to open the
window first lest the two boys be affected by his secondhand smoke. Puffing
away happily, he watched Pensforth and Davies devouring each other's
stiffies and stroking each other's bottoms. "Enjoy, lads," he murmured.

End