Date: Tue, 23 Oct 2001 18:34:07 -0700 (PDT)
From: Dadsboy <raisedweals@yahoo.com>
Subject: Seat of learning (Gay authoritarian, M/t spank, T/b anal rubbing

I grew up in the 1930s and 40s, a time when boys
expected to be kept in order with corporal
punishment. It was just a part of everyday life,
like having to take a bath EVERY Saturday night!
Boys boasted about the terrible hidings they got
from their dads. We swam naked in the water hole
and out of the dozen or so boys, there was
always one with a few faded bruises on his
bottom, courtesy of his Dad. Slippers,
hairbrushes and belts were the implements most
often used in the correction of 10 year old boys.

Hidings fascinated me because I was the only boy
I knew who had NEVER been spanked. My father
died from tuberculosis when I was little and my
mother had never so much as laid a finger on me.

It must have been a struggle for my mother to
bring me up on her own. There was little in the
way of government assistance in those days.
People in the community were very kind and
offered practical help which was gratefully
accepted.

Then Mum took sick. She was in a hospital where I
wasn't allowed to visit her. I now know she'd had
a breakdown but I wasn't told that at the time.
Once again the community rallied around and,
instead of being sent away to a boys' home in the
city, I stayed with neighbours. I called them
Uncle Pat and Auntie Eileen although we weren't
related. He was the town's only policeman. They
had three sons, and I shared a bedroom with
Michael who was in my class at school.

The family were very welcoming to a rather sad
and bewildered little boy. Auntie Eileen fed me
up with delicious food. The older boys Peter and
Herbie let me play with their Meccano set and
even a much-prized Hornby train.

The boys were kept in line with a police-issue
belt wielded by their father. Hidings were
carried out in the privacy of the miscreant's
bedroom. The sounds were clearly audible in the
kitchen. Uncle Pat soon returned and the punished
boy some time afterwards. I was more fascinated
than ever by the ritual which was accepted by the
whole family.

In those days every house had a 'front room'
which was kept polished and dusted for visitors.
Families never used it, preferring the warmth of
the kitchen with it's hot stove. One wet Saturday
afternoon Michael and I were playing in the front
room and I knocked an ornament off the
mantelpiece. It shattered on the hearth. Auntie
Eileen heard the noise and rushed in.

"Go to your room and wait for your father", she
told Michael.

He trudged off down the hall passage. I
followed Auntie Eileen into the kitchen and saw
her say something to Uncle Pat. He sighed and put
down his paper. He left the kitchen. A few
minutes later the sounds of a hiding were heard.
I felt very bad that my friend Michael was being
punished for something I had done. At the same
time very relieved it was not MY bottom on the
receiving end of that belt.

The chastiser and the chastised eventually
returned and life got back to normal. If I had
been born with a conscience it wasn't working
yet. At afternoon tea time we were all sitting
around the kitchen table eating freshly baked
scones with homemade strawberry jam. Peter
arrived back from Scouts and said to me with a
grin: "You can still sit down then Steve? Dad
must be losing his touch". He had seen me break
the ornament through the open door while he was
rushing off to Scouts.

Uncle Pat looked very serious. "I think we'd
better have a little talk, Steve" he said. We
walked in silence to the bedroom I shared with
Michael.

Alone in that room with my uncle I realised for
the first time how big he was. He towered over
me. His voice was sad as he explained how wrong
I had been not to own up. Instead, Michael had
taken the blame and been punished for it.

"Steve, while you are here that means you are
part of my family. Auntie Eileen and I love you
as if you were our own son".

I nodded my head.

"And being part of this family means we expect
you to love us in return. Is that understood?"

"Yes, Uncle Pat".

"Earlier, right here in this room, I punished
Michael for something he did not do. It seems
only fair that the boy who really broke that
ornament should pay the same penalty".

Auntie Eileen's scones had been light as a
feather but now felt like lead weights in my
stomach. My uncle sat on a bed and beckoned me to
him. He unbuttoned my braces at the front and
gently turned me around. He undid the back
buttons and pulled my pants down.

"Kneel on the bed, son" he said.

I stepped out of my britches and climbed up onto
the bed. Uncle Pat carefully peeled down my
underpants so just my bottom was exposed.

"Now, lie flat". I did as I was told.

"Keep your legs together. Good boy. How old are
you?"

"10", I said.

"Then you'll get ten licks with the belt".

I heard him undo the clasp and the leather
slithering through the loops of his trousers. He
folded the heavy belt, raised it high and cracked
it down onto my quivering mounds. A broad river
of fiery pain scorched my rump. Tears sprang to
my eyes. I managed not to yell but "Ugh!" sprang
from my lips.

I lost all sense of time. It was being measured
simply by the rise and fall of that belt.

THUD!

"Ugh!"

After the eighth lick had landed, not one inch of
my buttocks had not felt the leather. Those plump
little mounds reacted to the belt like a pair of
'shock-absorbers'. It was the safest site yet
there were enough nerve-endings to supply
salutory hurt.

My uncle was panting with the exertion, "Only two
to go".

THUD!

"Ugh!"

THUD!!

"UGH!!"

The hiding was over. Through my tears I saw in
the mirror my uncle thread the leather belt back
through his trouser loops.

"Kneel on the bed. That's it".

My underpants were gently pulled back up over my
burning backside.

"Now your pants".

I climbed into my britches and Uncle Pat buttoned
me up. He wiped my eyes with his handkerchief.

"That's my brave boy. Come back into the kitchen
when you're ready" he said, ruffling my hair. He
left the door open.

My tears turned to hiccups. The throbbing in my
bottom subsided into a warm, glowing sensation. I
walked along the corridor and into the kitchen.
It was as if the hiding had never happened. No
one referred to it again.

In these more enlightened times some people might
regard the hiding I got as abuse. That, it most
certainly was not. Not to teach a boy right from
wrong is neglect and, in my book, almost as bad
as abuse. I was very lucky to have the security
of being accepted - and loved - by a wonderfully
big-hearted family.

One weekend my adopted family attended a wedding
in another village. I was not invited so on the
Friday night Uncle Pat dropped me off at a
private boys' school in our town. The headmaster
and his wife were friends.

"See you Sunday night, Steve" said Uncle Pat.
I promised to be good.

Dr Scoullar was a tall gentleman with a black
moustache. His wife was a tiny little lady, who
always wore an anxious expression. I was shown to
my bedroom in their living quarters.

Saturday started uneventfully. It was term
holidays so I was the only boy in the school.
About 4 o'clock I got restless and went outside
into the small garden. There was a gate, and
having the natural curiosity of any 10 year old
boy I wanted to know what was on the other side.
I went through the gate and found myself in the
school grounds.

I tried the door of the imposing stone building
but it was locked. I continued to explore and
soon found a window which had not been locked. It
only took a moment to push it open and clamber
inside.

I wandered from empty classroom to classroom. It
reminded me of my own school. I went into the
boys' lavatory, sat on a toilet and did Number
Twos. I wiped myself and flushed the cistern.

I ventured out into the corridor again. Deciding
I'd seen enough of the school I turned and made
my way back to the apartment.

Dr Scoullar was snoozing on a sofa while his wife
worked at her tapestry. She looked at me and
smiled.

"There you are!"

I shuffled my feet.

There was a knock on the door.

"Wonder who that could be?" Mrs Scoullar went
into the passage and came back a couple of
minutes later with a rather frightened looking
teenage boy.

"Hall! What on earth do you think you are playing
at?" Dr Scoullar, awakened from his nap, seemed
most put out.

"Please, Sir, I came to town for the A & P Show
and missed the bus back".

"Humph. Does your father know you are here?"

"No, Sir".

The headmaster sighed and went into the passage.
I could hear him talking on the phone. Mrs
Scoullar looked at the boy.

"It's alright. You can stay here tonight and
catch the first bus in the morning. The doctor
will ring your father. You'll have to share with
young Steve but don't expect you will mind that".

I smiled at the youth and he put out his hand.

"Cedric Hall".

"Steve Palmer". We shook hands. His grip was firm
and I judged him to be about 15 years old.

Mrs Scoullar gave us a splendid meal. Afterwards,
Cedric and I helped with the dishes. Later she
found a spare pair of pyjamas for her unexpected
guest.

"Goodnight", I said to my hosts.

"'Night" echoed Cedric.

"Get into your pyjamas, boy" the headmaster said
to his stray pupil. "I'll be there directly".

We went into the bedroom with its double bed.
Silently we stripped. In the mirror I could see
Cedric had a fine, young body. 'Would mine ever
get to be that big?' I wondered, looking at his
thick penis with its bush of black hair. Cedric
was shaking.

"What's the matter?"

Cedric pulled up his pyjama pants and said
miserably: "He's going to thrash me for all the
trouble I caused".

Sure enough there was a knock on the door and a
very grim looking Doctor came into the room, a
three foot length of whippy rattan in his hand.

"Stephen. I'd be grateful if you'd wait in the
passage while I deal with this wretched boy".

Outside the closed door I heard the headmaster
say: "Unbutton and bend! Over the bed, boy!"
There was a short silence and then the thud! of
cane whacking boy-flesh. Silently I counted six
strokes and flinched at every one of them.

Dr Scoullar came out of the bedroom.

"Goodnight, Stephen".

I went into the room. Cedric was curled up on the
bed, sobbing. His poor bottom was layered with
five raised, purplish weals. The sixth had cut a
cruel diagonal path through the forest of painful
welts. I got a wet flannel from the wash stand
and gently placed it on his swollen mounds.
"Thanks, Stevie" he whispered. "You're a good
kid". After a bit Cedric stopped crying and wiped
his face. "You ever been caned?"

"No, but I am only 10".

"I've been getting it since I was 7. Hurts like
nothing else while he's doing it". Cedric looked
at me. "You can touch my stripes if you want".

I reached out my hand and gently felt the hot,
puffy ridges on the youth's tender buttocks.
After a while he reached out and pulled my pyjama
pants down.

"It's ok," he said reassuringly, "I just wanted
to have a look at your bum".

His big hands cupped each small cheek. "Wow!" he
said admiringly. "It's so beautiful".

I giggled. Nobody had said that about my bum
before. The caressing hands were withdrawn.

"Guess we'd better go to sleep. It's too hot to
wear pyjamas", he said, and stripped naked. I
took mine off as well. We lay on the bed with
just a sheet over us and eventually I drifted off
to sleep.

Some time later I awoke to see Cedric standing
beside the bed. He was holding a potty in one
hand, half-filling it with a steady stream of
urine. He gave a little fart as he finished. Then
he got back into bed. I was wide awake and needed
to pee. I felt a bit embarassed knowing the youth
would be watching me so I put the pot on the
floor and squatted on it while I did my business.

When I got back into bed I lay on my side and
Cedric nestled into me. There was an
uncompromising hardness pressing between the
cheeks of my bottom. I started to protest but the
youth shushed me.

"I won't hurt you, Stevie. I just need to spunk,
that's all".

Slowly Cedric started moving, his thick rod
pressed hard inside my crease. His hot breath was
on my neck and then he gave a little sigh. I felt
wetness, the rod softened and was withdrawn.

"Thanks, Stevie". He held me close to him and I
drifted off to sleep, immensely comforted by the
warmth of his big body.

The next morning he was out of bed before I was
awake.

"Time to get up, sleepyhead!"

I looked at my new friend. His penis stuck
straight out from its nest of black hairs. He saw
me looking at it and laughed.

"It's always like that in the morning". Suddenly
I understood what had happened during the night.

"Does it want to spunk again?"

He took that as an invitation. I lay face down on
the bed while Cedric ploughed my tight crease
with his big tool. Then I felt the wetness. After
a bit he got the flannel from the wash-stand and
gently mopped up his seed from my bottom.

We got dressed but not before I admired his firm,
taut buttocks. The flesh was now all the colours
of the rainbow.

Breakfast with the Scoullars was a cheerful
affair. The headmaster seemed keen to put the
events of the night behind him. Cedric was
respectful and very polite.

The telephone rang and Dr Scoullar went into the
passage. He returned a few minutes later to
announce there had been a change of plans. Mr
Hall was driving into town and would pick his son
up around 7.00pm. I was thrilled at the prospect
of spending another day with my new friend.

We went to church. As I squirmed on the
uncomfortable wooden pew I thought how much worse
it must be for Cedric with his sore bottom. Yet,
the youth sat still, his back was ram-rod
straight.

Afterwards, we stood outside in the warm sunshine
while the parishioners talked to Dr and Mrs
Scoullar. Then back to the apartment for lunch.
Our hosts had a long-standing engagement so
Cedric was left in charge. We had the place to
ourselves for the afternoon.

"Can we go over to the school?" I asked him.

"If you want".

We made our way over to the imposing building and
climbed in the unsecured window. I made a beeline
for the toilets.

"Have to do Number Twos".

"Me too", said my friend.

We sat in adjoining cubicles and made satisfying
splashes. A rustle of paper and then chains were
pulled. We emerged and washed our hands before
going out into the corridor.

"Come and see where I will be sleeping next
term". Cedric took me into that depressing
dormitory. There was a partition with a single
bed behind it.

"I'm to be dormitory monitor".

He reached under the bed and retrieved a junior
cane.

"Heaven help any boy who doesn't get up in the
morning or talks after 'Lights Out'. He grinned
cheerfully at me while swishing the stick through
the air.

"Uncle Pat gives me hidings with his belt", I
volunteered. "On the bare bum".

"Good for him, Stevie". He caned a pillow on the
bed, hard.

"Cedric, what does the cane feel like?"

He looked at me. "It stings. I'll give you one
whack if you want".

I shucked off my shorts and underpants and knelt
on the bed, my bare behind sticking up in the
air. The cane touched my mounds. It was no more
than a tap and did nothing more than tickle.

"That didn't hurt a bit", I told him.

Cedric's big hand rubbed my bottom.

"The last thing I want is to hurt you".

"Please, Cedric. Just one hard whack".

The youth sighed and his hand stopped caressing
my orbs.

"Very well".

The stick landed against its small target with
such force I toppled over. Agonising pain flooded
my buttocks and I yelled. Cedric held me in his
arms until the worst of it had passed. Then he
rubbed the fiery welt with his hands, like a
teacher trying to erase a rude word left on a
blackboard.

"I'm sorry, Stevie".

"It's ok", I whispered. "Now I know what to
expect when I go to high school".

I clambered off the bed and got dressed. Cedric
was very red in the face. The pain in my buttocks
had plateaued into a most unpleasant throbbing
sensation.

"You took six from Dr Scoullar and never made a
sound".

"He made me cry, though". The youth ruffled my
hair affectionately. "You're one tough, little
kid".

We made our way back to the apartment. When the
Scoullars returned we were standing at the dining
room table playing 'Snap'. Sitting was now
uncomfortable for both of us.

Shortly afterwards Mr Hall arrived to pick up his
son. He apologised for all the trouble Cedric had
caused.

"Believe me, I'll be taking it out on his hide as
soon as I get him home". My friend flinched.

"Really, there is no need", said Dr Scoullar. "I
gave the boy a beating last night".

"No disrespect, but I have a carriage whip which
will be far more effective at correcting a
runaway than a few strokes of the cane". Poor
Cedric.

They said their goodbyes and left. Shortly
afterwards my adopted family arrived. I tumbled
into the back seat of the Morris, wincing as my
sore backside made contact with the hot leather.
Cedric had thoughtfully placed his stripe on my
sit spot. I'd be feeling it for a good few days.

My weekend with the Scoullars had been far more
eventful than I could have ever imagined but it
felt grand to be going home again.

(This is a work of fiction. Comments welcome.
Flames ignored. Raisedweals@yahoo.com)