Archive;'Boyz Brutal Training School #08'{Danny Meyer}( MB, BB, slow, bd, sm, cbt, tort, anal, inc, twink, ws )[]
BOYZ BRUTAL TRAINING SCHOOL - Chapter 8 _______________________________________
by Danny Meyer
Copyright (C) January 14, 2001 by Danny Meyer
Send comments to Danny, at: sittinhome@hotmail.com _______________________________________________________________
WARNING: This entire story is fantasy. It is not a reflection of life. All readers are warned not to attempt to re-enact, or recreate any of these actions or incidents, which are entirely fictitious, and potentially dangerous.
This fantasy was written for gay men and women. Some bisexual men and women may also enjoy it, as well as some straight men and women, who are curious. If you like male to male sex, and torture, read on. This is a fictional story. None of it ever really happened. None of these people are real people. The story is all about sex, and pain, with young adult men, and younger men from age 13 to 22.
All of the action is teen-to-teen, or teen-to-man. In other words, only gay stuff. The cast is 100% male.
If you like, and you're allowed to read this, go for it. If not, please select a different story, and have a good day. No hatred or prejudice here. _____________________________________________________
ALL NAMES USED IN THIS STORY ARE WHOLLY FICTITIOUS, AND BEAR NO CONNECTION WITH, RESEMBLANCE, OR RELATION TO ANY REAL PERSON. ANY SUCH SIMILARITY IS PURELY COINCIDENTAL, AND UNINTENTIONAL. _____________________________________________________
***** CHAPTER 8 ***** ___________________________
Gordon: (NARRATOR) - Owner of the training school
John: About to be hired to work at the school
Jason: An 18 year-old student, facing punishment
Willis: A master, for Jason
Steve: (Stephen), a 15 year-old, current initiate
Brian: Support boy, 14, for Steve, during the initiation
Kevin Kensington, Sr.: A father
{ Kevin, Jr., 14: { { Shawn, 13: { Brothers; sons of Kevin Kensington, Sr.
Thomas: A Master
Dr. Tormadillo Chief physician _____________________________________________________
AT THE END OF CHAPTER SEVEN...
Tears began to roll from his young, fear-filled eyes--tears from the poor lad's overwhelming embarrassment, at not only being naked, publicly, but naked with a full, throbbing hardon. There was no doubt that every one of Kevin's thoughts--indeed, his entire central nervous system--was focused on his rigid, thoughtless, aching penis, which betrayed him so cruelly.
I could feel the wetness in my jock.
"See the effect that demon has on my Kevin, ...making his cock all big like that," Kensington said, apparently to the air itself. Then, swiftly directing a cold stare at Shawn, he shouted, "You'll pay for this with your hide, you little devil!"
Shawn's eyes widened in panic. ___________________________________________
Thank you, Martin, David, Richard, Jim, Nathan, and others who wrote in.
Your email motivated me to write another chapter, and here it is. ___________________________________________
(Chapter 8) - Shawn Kensington's Processing
I took the boys' father into the adjoining equipment room, and told him that no matter what the offense, he must never say anything that would amount to rejection of a son, as he was in danger of doing with Shawn. I told him that discipline has to be reinforced with love, or it will have disastrous results. I failed to mention that it would be very tough love, but this was unnecessary--the man's anger being as intense as it was.
Although I eagerly withheld that fact from the seething father-- who needed no encouragement to punish his younger son--I knew also, that with the proper type of love, boys more easily accept the more painful punishments, although the love would do nothing to diminish the intensity of the pain experienced by the poor lads.
While we genuinely cared for the welfare of our boys, we did use love as a means of intensifying their punishments, as well as giving them some sense of security and sanity. After all, most of our boys were here at the school for a number of years.
I thought about what type of tool would be best for the Kensington boys' father to use on Shawn. The man was angry, so I had to be careful I chose something less damaging, but sufficiently pain-inducing to satisfy the man. A whip was out of the question--it would shred the boy. A cane was equally dangerous, and cutting, in the hands of an angry father, as its cutting power was significant. A paddle would be too mild, and the man would probably pound the poor lad senseless before producing enough satisfactory pain. A strap would be too heavy and punishing. A birch seemed to be the best answer, although, if the father were calm, my choice would have been the cane. A birch would slap nicely, though--stingingly, with less cutting.
I then explained to Mr. Kensington what a birching was, and how to administer it. A birching was one of the most painful and effective of all whippings--although technically, I did not consider a birch a whip. It was also safer than a whip, in inexperienced hands.
Soon, the father had a freshly tied bundle of new birch in his hand--with its distinctive knotty ends that formed the thin, punishing part of the branches--complete with carved, polished handle, at the other end.
The handle was especially designed for a birch bundle--it had a large, hollow cylinder at one end, to accept the cut ends of the tied bundle of birch branches, then it tapered to a size appropriate for holding in the hand--all carved from a single piece of premium mahogany. The tied, cut ends of the birch were gripped tightly in the cylindrical portion with an adjustable metal grasping ring.
Kevin Kensington Sr. grinned as he took a few practice swings at nothing in particular, and noticed the harsh whipping sound the birch made, as the branches flew through the air.
"Leave the birch here, we'll come back for it later," I said. "It's best if your sons don't see it until the last possible moment."
I said this, knowing that the sight of the birch would be a distraction, to the two brothers, and take the focus away, somewhat, from the humiliation of the undressing and questioning of Shawn.
"How severely should I do it sir?" The father asked.
"However you wish to do it," I replied.
"Very well then. No mercy for the little pervert," the father intoned, coldly.
The anger in the man's voice, and his well-muscled arms gave me a shudder, and I was almost beginning to feel sorry for Shawn.
I had been thinking about this situation of one son versus the other, ever since the father had implied that Shawn had forced Kevin into sexual activity. In my mind, that was impossible. The two brothers had to be in it, together.
Over the years, my general experience with boys had taught me that about 50% of brothers engage in sex at one time or other, and about a third of those are sexually active with each other for an extended period of time. The actions of Shawn and Kevin, at age 13 and 14--with their hormones out of control--could hardly be considered incest, from my point of view, although there have been cases where brothers remain lovers of some kind, well into adulthood.
I had seen a few cases where one brother force sex upon the other, but it has always been the older boy taking advantage of the younger one. I had to go with my gut feeling that this was not the case, and the two boys had simply become sexual with each other. At any rate, brothers were, customarily, a great deal of fun to train and watch, and pit against each other.
Also, Kevin did not strike me as the dominant type. In any case, it would be outrageous to punish only the younger boy, for acts in which Kevin was equally participating.
It was hard for me to swallow the father's claim that he believed Shawn was the total instigator. My sense of incredulity and injustice, as well as my desire to have two boys punished, rather than one, prompted me to pause, and question Mr. Kensington.
"Mr. Kensington, before we go back to your sons, I must say, is it possible that you may not have the full picture of what has occurred, between Kevin and Shawn?"
"I know there's more to it, Mr. Wells. I don't want to go into that. And whatever you discover on your own, keep to yourself. I don't want to know the details."
"Then, sir, you must punish Kevin as well," I said, hoping the father's words meant that he realized that the two boys were equally sexually involved, and just couldn't face the facts, nor did he seem to want to hurt the older boy, Kevin, whom the man obviously prized. "It just wouldn't be--"
"Look," the senior Kensington cut me off, somewhat distressed, "I'll leave Kevin to you. I have other reasons for punishing the little one. Now, let's get on with it, Mr. Wells."
My having voiced the truth of the situation, somewhat, I was relieved, and had to accept the fact that the father could not face punishing Kevin, himself. Nevertheless this would be a one-sided affair until I could get rid of the man and deal with the boys, myself.
I could not help wondering why the father held Kevin in such high esteem, while almost loathing the younger, Shawn. I could understand the father deferring to one son, more than another, but what had Shawn done, I asked myself, to invoke such wrath on the part of his father?
"In any case, Mr. Kensington, we must complete the disrobing of the boys, before continuing. As we discussed, I will have Kevin undress Shawn--unless you've changed your mind about our plan for undressing him."
"That will do," the man said, roughly--obviously uncomfortable. "It should have been Shawn that you embarrassed," Kensington added, as if uttering it to himself, more than to me.
It was true that Shawn, the younger boy, had been spared embarrassment at the beginning of this process, but Shawn would soon be shamed well enough, in his undressing--and later, as the receptor of the vigorous hiding from the dreaded birch.
We exited the equipment room, and headed toward the two boys in the punishment area.
I took a moment to explain a few things to John, including the fact that the punishment area had a privacy curtain that could be pulled around it, but that there was obviously no need for it now.
Kevin still appeared to be quite fearful. He was charming with his rose-colored boyish blush. His penis had finally softened-- to the boy's great relief, I was certain. But, of course, it was Shawn who was to be the object of my attention, now.
I wanted an excuse to have more contact with Shawn, before proceeding, and decided to put the boy's shirt back on him. This would allow me to have some much-desired skin contact with this little beauty, and a chance to intimidate him with my practiced stares--as well as prolong Shawn's disrobing process.
Everyone, including the brotherly pair, was totally baffled as I slid the shirt over Shawn's perfect, 13 year-old form, and buttoned it patiently. The little lad cooperated beautifully, moving his arms, gracefully into position, as required. No one said a word, but John looked as if he were quite full of questions.
I stepped back to admire Shawn, who actually looked very appealing with his shirt on. It was time to begin in earnest.
"Shawn!!" my voice exploded, "I understand you've been a bad boy."
I intoned this ominously, in spit of the fact that it was somewhat a lie--in the sense that both boys had been, most likely, equally enthusiastic about the activity that had precipitated this state of affairs and that singling out this young beauty--as the sole instigator--was unjust.
I took comfort in the fact that, after the senior Kensington departed, it would be Kevin's turn to be punished.
Like his brother, Shawn nearly jumped out of his skin, at my sudden, forceful greeting, causing me several pleasant bodily sensations, as I watched the boy go slowly, torturously, to the raw edges of nervous tension and trepidation.
The poor lad could not have looked cuter, as he began to blush, involuntarily--reacting to my booming vocalization of his name, and the implied accusation against him.
Shawn's blush was a combination of the attention suddenly focused on him, his acute awareness that he was not alone in his sexual ardor, and a realization that he was about to undergo unjust and painful punishment, at the hands of his angry father--an experience that would be totally new to the frightened boy.
Shawn's subtle, angry glances at Kevin, told me that he knew how unfair this was, to be singled out, in this manner.
"Yes sir."
"You admit to being bad, then?"
The boy paused. He knew he had to keep up the lie, to avoid further angering his father. Except for the toughest of ruffians, most boys became quite uncomfortable when lying, especially under these circumstances. Shawn's color deepened, and he gritted his teeth.
"Yes sir."
His entire response, and the look of his body posture, was one of understated, suppressed anger--moderated significantly by his self-conscious uneasiness.
Shawn's voice had an enrapturing meek quality, similar to that of his brother Kevin, but his response lacked the hesitation of his older brother. There was fear enough, however--in his thin, boyish tone--to bring a certain satisfaction, for my efforts at startling him.
Not wanting to start a family commotion, or cause the lad to elaborate upon the lie, and knowing there would be time for confessions, later, I aborted my plan to ask Shawn just what it was that he had done, to cause him to proclaim himself a bad boy.
"It's time to get you undressed, boy."
"Yes sir," Shawn uttered, more meekly than before. I was surprised to see the boys trembling hand move upward to his shirt button.
"I did not say you should start to undress, Shawn!"
Another blush rose and colored the lad's face, as Shawn realized that antagonizing anyone, at this point, could intensify his punishment. Nevertheless, his speech became careless.
"I didn't know, sir," the boy blurted out, defiantly.
"Is that all you have to say for yourself, having done something you were not asked to do?"
There came a mammoth pause. Shawn knew he was in a bad way, now. The poor little lad blushed more profusely. His eyes pleaded, and darted, tensely, from person to person--like a child in a school play, waiting for the prompter to whisper his forgotten line. Fear set in, as his eyes widened, but finally the penny dropped.
"Oh... uhmm ... sorry, sir," the boy muttered, carelessly.
"LOUDER, boy! And stand up straight."
Now it was time for action, and I gripped my small paddle--which perpetually hung from my belt--and looked over at the father, who nodded, perceptibly. I was very good at attacking a boy's buttocks so quickly, that he wouldn't see it coming.
"WHACK!!!"
"Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!"
Shawn's little-boy voice--loudly proclaiming his pain and surprise, so appropriately--vibrated, erotically through my aroused body structures. The single stroke of the paddle produced an immediate red rectangle across the white buttocks and a sharp look of pained surprise on the boy's little face.
Shawn got the message.
"I'm very sorry sir!" the lad said, looking and sounding only slightly sorry, but very military--controlled, somehow. His eyes were on the verge of glaring, angrily at me, but he held back, I could tell. I was thinking to myself, 'This kid has balls.'
Shawn would obviously be more fun to train than his meeker, older brother--although we had ways of emboldening a boy, such as Kevin, at the start of training, only to knock that out of him, later.
Boldness was something a boy should display only when commanded to do so, which was a fun, little game, in itself. But training wasn't as effective, or as much fun, if a boy had no 'rebel' in him, to begin with. I whispered to John, later, "That's how we teach them character and self-control."
"Whatever you say, Gordon," was John's mirthful response.
The senior Kensington's face had slowly reddened with anger, at his younger son's insolent behavior, and he spoke out.
"You just added to your punishment boy," the father shouted. "Pay attention and show some respect, or you'll have no hide left, by the time I'm done with you."
Shawn shook, in fear. I had a feeling Shawn wouldn't have much hide left, regardless of what happened now.
As much as I disliked the man's disapproval of his younger son, he couldn't have said this at a better time. It was the perfect thing to hasten the breakdown of Shawn's resistance. A tear formed in one of the boy's eyes. It was the precise moment for me to continue, and I turned my attention, momentarily, to Shawn's brother.
"Kevin, undress your brother--shirt first," I said, nearly shouting at the older brother, who was by no means at ease, himself. The bigger lad jumped, and his face curled in horror.
"Oh God..." Kevin gasped, involuntarily, his penis swinging, enticingly, from the slight heave of his chest.
Now, there were two boyish, blushing faces to admire, as well as their naked bodies. The brothers looked at each other with discouraged glances that told me they seemed to feel they had been found out, somehow--although they truly had no way of knowing this.
"Speak up, Kevin," I bellowed.
"Yes SIR!"
As Kevin reached for his brother's shirt button, he blocked our view, completely. I repositioned the mortified lads so we could have a clear, frontal view of them. 'The embarrassment has barely begun,' I thought to myself.
The older lad's trembling hands had a terrible time manipulating his brother's shirt buttons, but we all watched, as Kevin went about the task.
"Keep facing FRONT, boys!" I said, as menacingly as possible, having found it difficult to maintain my typical sternness--enchanted as I was by the good-looking, brotherly duo. New boys usually had this effect on me, but I soon overcame it.
The brothers faced front again, as instructed, and Kevin dutifully removed Shawn's shirt. Then, Kevin seemed to be frozen in a stupor--completely motionless. Shawn's appetizing chest was now bare, and the next step in undressing the boy seemed obvious enough.
Instead of criticizing Kevin, I decided to take a different approach.
Shawn's hour had come, and he was obviously upset, but looked quite adorable in what I could only describe as 'little-boy shorts.' An unduly prominent, tell-tale bulge gave me some additional inspiration.
"Shawn, do you have underwear on, under your shorts?" I queried, loudly, to make the question as disconcerting as possible.
The lad blushed, charmingly enough, and I could see we had worn down some of his resistance. Shawn looked more terrified, more hesitant.
"Umm, well... not really, sir," Shawn said. I could see a slight tremble in his lips, as he answered me.
"I suppose we'll get to see for ourselves, now won't we, boy?"
"Oh... uhhh... yes sir," the lad replied stammeringly, with his blush ever increasing now. It was exciting to realize that only one garment remained to be taken off little Shawn--a fact that, no doubt, did not escape the boy's own notice.
"Kevin, stand next to your brother and unbutton his shorts. Unzip them, but hold on to them so they don't slide down," I said.
The cute 14 year-old gulped, blushed, and began to pant so sensually. I felt a new stream of precum in my jock.
"Yes, sir."
Kevin's shaking hands reached out to his brother's fly, and he clumsily unbuttoned it. Finding the tab of the zipper proved to be more difficult, as it was apparently wedged in place, but Kevin finally gripped it, and began to slide it down.
Almost predictably, as Kevin worked at this last set of tasks that would ultimately reveal his brother's nakedness, the older boy's penis began to become erect.
This time, the father merely blushed, at the sight of Kevin's arousal, rather than pummeling Shawn with more defamatory character assaults. Since the man was apparently refraining from blasting Shawn with further dishonor, I presumed that my little talk had had some effect on the brute, but wondered how the man had managed to refrain from striking out at his sons, all these years--angry and ready to strike out as he seemed to be, now.
Kevin was mortified that his adolescent prick had a mind of its own--cruelly revealing his sexual feelings, again--and was beside himself trying to hide his ample organ from his father's view, and obviously trying to figure out how to prevent it from growing any further.
Kensington senior seemed not to react, further, to Kevin's sexual arousal.
"Go ahead, Kevin, pull his shorts down, now--slowly."
I thought, the slower the better--the more time for Kevin's erection--and Shawn's embarrassment, to develop.
Shawn, now shaking with fear, was stripped naked. His penis fell into view, and it matched his older brother's, in size, surprisingly, but it was well ahead of the older boy's in the state of its erection. It was a glorious, thumping, thick penis- -not quite adult-sized, but quite large, for a 13 year-old.
Shawn's cock stood up proudly, completely hard. He too, blushed, under his father's gaze, but did not try to cover himself with his hands, as his older brother had done. Instead, he glared at the man.
"Shameless!" yelled the father.
I gazed intently at Shawn's enticing erection. Staring me in the face was the biggest difference between the two brothers. Shawn was uncircumcised.
I was very surprised, at this mismatch, between the two boys. Normally brothers were treated the same as far as circumcision goes--either both were cut, or both uncut. Now, I mentally listed the differences between the two boys. Kevin was dressed better than Shawn, has shoes, whereas his little brother did not, and Kevin carried his fathers full name. This mismatch in the application of circumcision to one boy and not the other had to be, not a cause, but another clue to the father's vastly different treatment of his two sons. There was no time to pursue that thought, now.
Shawn's foreskin looked charming--performing its protective role- -partially covering a good portion of the curvaceous tip of the alluring organ.
All eyes were on Shawn, and various parts of him.
At first, I thought the boy had no pubic hair at all. Then, I saw a small, thin, maddeningly sensual patch of peach fuzz just above Shawn's penis. Still, at a distance, he appeared to be completely hairless. His blush deepened now--as it began to sink in to the uneasy lad, that all of us were watching his erect, pubescent dick waving about, as he shifted his weight, nervously, from foot to foot. It was incredibly arousing.
By this time, Kevin also had a complete erection, and a constant blush. Both boys displayed a drop of precum, at the tip of their stunning, hard penises. I glanced over at John, and needless to say, we were both pleased at the present turn of events.
"I see you've started to get some hair there, Shawn, don't you?" I asked, realizing that with the obvious attention bestowed on the boy's penis, there was no need to explain where "there" actually was. Of course, the translucent patch of new growth--incredibly short, thin, sparse, and pale--could hardly be called, "hair."
Young boys are always so proud of their pubic hair, regardless of how little they have, so it was not entirely surprising that, despite the poor lad's shame and discomfort, a small smile of pride washed over Shawn's face, momentarily. Nevertheless, he began to fidget, self-consciously, and--in defiance of his discomfiture at the attention his penis was receiving--more than once, his hand traveled to his beckoning and very excited cock-- probably unconsciously wanting to give it a few solid, satisfying strokes--but stopping just in time, as he realized the self- implicating and humiliating results of such a move.
Still, it was enchanting to see the boy's trembling hand reach for his penis and retract, quickly--his hand quaking more markedly for the experience and frustration, which was quite apparent on Shawn's cherubic face. Each time the boy's hand made its aborted journey to his erection, the poor lad's face deepened in color, and Shawn stood--half ashamed, half defeated--and looked at us fearfully, expecting the worst, and probably wishing he could be anywhere but here--standing naked with his penis hard as it could be--with four adults and his brother watching his proud organ and his extreme distress.
Nevertheless, it was charmingly amusing to see Shawn's eyes dart down, quickly, to steal a proud glance at his nicely sized penis. Most boys had a sense of pride and fascination with their sex organs, and such pride tended to overrule various inhibitions, at this young age, even if it added to their embarrassment.
"Yes sir," Shawn said, with a touch of enhanced self- esteem.
I had almost forgotten my question, having been so busy taking in the arousing sights before me. 'Oh yes, that proud look--his pubic fuzz,' I reminded myself. I knew my next question, instinctively.
"You must jack off a lot, Shawn, to have hair there already--or do you just do it once or twice a day?"
Of course, the frequency of masturbation had nothing to do with the hormones that produced pubic hair--in fact it was the other way around--but to a relatively innocent 13 year-old, this statement, aimed at humiliating a boy, usually made sense to him.
The boy's knees began to weaken, at my overly intimate query, and they bent, slightly, as the boy turned one of the darkest shades of red I have even seen on a young lad. Tears began to stream, silently down Shawn's childlike face.
"Uhhhhh ihhhh .... sir I ..... oh God.... just once or twice, sir."
"Well, we will see about that, boy!" I said, threateningly.
The poor boy gulped, in pathetic fear at the mere thought of someone preventing him from experiencing his consummate bodily pleasure.
"Uhh! Y-y-yes sir."
The father's smile told me he interpreted this as my intention to prohibit all of Shawn's attempted sexual activity in the future-- a misunderstanding I was more than happy to ignore.
The poor lad had nothing to fear, in that department. Not only would Shawn be given many opportunities to ejaculate his seed for us, but I relished the thought his wanting me help him do so--of privately and personally stroking this little stud's cock, with his naked body seated on mine, bringing him repeatedly to the edge of climax, but cutting off the stimulation in a timely manner, preventing him from spilling his anxious, young seed--a thought that would be common to the minds of many masters, once they got a look at this boy. I wondered how long it would take, in that process, before the lad would either lose control and shoot his bodily fluid all over himself, or scream for release.
Shawn seemed to be toughening, somewhat, to the fact that his dick was sticking out, for all to see. I had to do something about that. I decided to have a little more fun with him, before witnessing the inevitable thrashing of the boy's flawless flesh. Being uncut, Shawn provided just the element I needed.
"I can't see your dick very well, boy. Do something about it!"
"W-what sir?" Shawn uttered, as his sudden stutter and ever-darkening complexion betrayed the fact that he had understood.
"Don't ever say, "What," boy--but never mind, for now. Look straight down boy. What do you see?"
The trembling lad reluctantly pivoted his head downward, and painfully lowered his eyes, to gaze directly upon his erection.
"I see... I see... my um... sex thing, sir"
"You mean your PENIS, Shawn?" I said, overemphasizing the word, to the boy's utter dismay and discomfort.
If Shawn was embarrassed before, he was totally mortified by this. You could see his little chest give a big heave, as he suppressed a sob.
"Yes sir."
"Say it, Shawn!"
"I see my... p-penis, sir."
"Good boy. You see Shawn, I think it's a nice penis, but I can't see it all, boy! Don't you think you have a nice penis, Shawn?"
"I... I guess so," Shawn said, hesitantly--so acutely embarrassed, now, was the trembling youth. I knew the boy was too terrified to figure out was I was getting at, so I had to spell it out, for him.
"You say you have a nice penis, Shawn. Your foreskin is covering part of it, boy. Pull your foreskin back over the tip, so we can it. We want to see the tip of your penis. That's very important, especially when a penis is so hard, like yours is, Shawn. We want to see how nice your penis is--ALL of it!"
Clearly the boy was broken, now, as his pain-filled, clouded eyes looked upward, sorrowfully, at us, and he sobbed, heavily, as his unsteady hand grasped his erect organ, and pulled back the fleshly, protective sheath, uncovering a perfectly exquisite head--the powerful looking tip very red in color, now, from his prolonged erection. As the tight skin journeyed backward over the crown of the corona, the boy's body seemed to pulse, and his little legs gave a jolt.
Tears, from the defeated boy's intense crying, dripped down onto Shawn's delicious erection, contributing a powerful sensuality to what was probably the most erotic moment in my career.
"Yes! Very good boy. Very good! We can all see your penis CLEARLY now--ALL of it. You're right, Shawn, it is a nice one.
"Yuhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!"
The boy gave a gigantic cry of total misery, and sobbed uncontrollably, at this final indignity and exposure. His pride had been thoroughly crushed. His most private part--hungrily and uncontrollably erect--had been the object of intense gazing, and he had been seen publicly touching it. I wondered if the pleasure he must have felt, as the rich flesh of his foreskin slipped back to uncover the slick glans, was sufficient to ameliorate any of the boy's unsettling torment.
The father smiled, maliciously, but blushed and shifted uneasily- -obviously uncomfortable with so much attention being paid to his son's sex organ. I felt this display of Kensington's embarrassment was a bit of a victory on my part--getting the man to have a more reasonable attitude, toward his younger boy. I knew that this was insufficient to assuage his virulent anger, however.
"Prepare for your punishment, boy--as best you can," I said.
Nodding to the father, and turning toward the equipment room, I began to head in that direction. Kensington followed, instantly, knowing it was time to retrieve the birch, and flog the poor boy.
"Now I understand better, why you train them naked," the father said excitedly--his gleeful smile telling me he approved, wholeheartedly. "You destroyed him, back there."
So much for the man's compassion, I thought.
I smiled, and nodded, in response to the father's vicarious sense of victory. I needed to have this over, and get the man out of here. He was cramping my style, so to speak.
In the relative privacy of the equipment, room, I again cautioned the senior Kensington to avoid harsh disapproval of his younger son, especially in light of the fact that, as soon as he left, the boys would be without his presence, and would need a little security. I did not press for a response. It's impossible to train a boy, long term, without his having some sense of mental balance.
The temptation to inquire about the man's motives for treating Shawn so harshly was too much.
"Mr. Kensington, I noticed that Shawn was not circumcised, while Kevin is. Normally there are no problems with that, but I was wondering if Shawn--"
"I don't care to discuss that, Mr. Wells. Dammit! Circumcise him if you want. I'll sign the papers. Hell, yes, cut the little one--make the two of them match, maybe that will get the little bastard to behave. Make it hurt, while you're at it. That should teach him a lesson."
I did not reply. I began to honestly feel that this man's sons were truly better off at my school then at the hands of their father. It was surprising to recall that the man had never spanked his sons, but it seemed likely that he would have started to do so, soon, on his own. Such out-of-control anger could end up seriously injuring his sons. I was happier than ever to have his two striking boys at my school.
The man grabbed the birch, enthusiastically, and he took a few more practice swings.
"This will hurt--right, Mr. Wells?"
"It will hurt him very badly, Mr. Kensington, I assure you."
With that, the man smiled, but I saw through it, to the anger in his face.
"I can do it as hard as I want, then?"
I wanted to say, 'no,' for the sheer power of Kensington's anger, and having seen parents, in the past, go too far with the first beating of their son--but I had to maintain my professional image, or lose credibility with this man. Besides it was HIS son. Of course, I was the ultimate authority in this establishment, and could call a halt at any time.
"Yes," was all I managed to say, as I eyed the instrument of pain that would soon be slapping, angrily his son's buttocks. I was sure, now, that a birching was the right thing, because while producing savage, stinging pain, a birch cut far less than most other means of flogging a boy.
A birch is a beautiful branch, but, in the form of an instrument of punishment--with its long strands and intimidating multiple tips--it was a frightening and imposing sight. The man held it proudly, by its handle. It would be an interesting hiding, to be sure.
We walked quickly back to the punishment area, where the two naked brothers were doing their best to stand at attention-- trying desperately to overcome their natural instinct to bend forward, to hide their proud-looking erections from our view.
The boys' eyes widened in pure terror, as they saw the hideous- looking instrument of punishment in their father's hands. Their mouths dropped open, considerably, and they reached, spontaneously for each other, as if trying to protect one another with their half embraces. The boys' faces paled to a ghostly white.
I nodded to Thomas, who now prepared the naked younger boy, face down, and Thomas bent him over a small, padded table, to which Shawn's upper body was securely strapped. His arms were stretched forward, and chained in an outstretched position. The striking lad's beautiful butt, back, and legs were exposed for all of us to see. Even from the back, he was an impressive- looking 13 year-old.
Thomas spread the boy's legs a satisfactory distance apart, further exposing the vulnerable, smooth flesh, and placed the restraint bar a foot or so above the boy's calves--allowing considerable room for movement, but preventing his limbs from folding back far enough to interfere with the punishment. The fearful quivering of Shawn's young body was positively captivating.
Now came the part I liked best. Thomas placed a thick, hard pillow under the boy's abdomen, which not only raised Shawn's buttocks higher--making them a more tempting, easy target, but this raising up of the lad's hips more thoroughly exposed his tight scrotum. The boy's stiffened penis, however, was almost completely hidden, as it pressed insistently against his abdomen.
It was obvious the boy was trembling from head to toe, but I could also see that Shawn was trying to brace himself against whatever was to come. He clenched his fists and teeth, and closed his eyes, tightly--much like Jason did, during his ordeal. But, alas, the diminutive boy would be no match, for the ferocious birch.
My erection ached at the sight of this innocent beauty--tensed and helpless--his little heart beating almost audibly, his body sweating and squirming in fear against his bonds, and his father standing, menacingly, over the perfect flesh, with birch bundle in hand.
I was hoping the man would speak a few words to the frightened little lad first, but he swung the tormenting birch brutally, and tore into the boy's unprotected, pure white buttocks. The boy grunted, tremulously, in his high pitched voice--as only pre- adolescents can--and a crimson blush immediately filled his young face, and began to spread, downward.
It only took a second blow to start the boy kicking his legs and screaming, loudly, in pain. Shawn emitted an anguished, prolonged cry, followed by a pathetic plea.
"Yeeahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh! Please! NO!! AHH! Naaaaaaaaaaawwwwwwwwwwwwwww!!!"
As the awful, punishing power of the birch made itself known, audibly and visibly, to the tender buttocks of the sumptuous, blonde lad, his agonizing screams escalated. Birches are very loud when they strike, and the sound of, "Whip! Splat! Smack!" was frighteningly painful to behold--particularly as Shawn's body convulsed, wildly, with each stroke of the cruel weapon.
Shawn kicked his legs more profoundly, further indicating the torture the cruel birch was impressing upon his young flesh-- unaccustomed as it was to even a mild spanking.
All control was lost--with Shawn now in excruciating pain--as his father continued with powerfully-delivered, steady streams of barbarous, gruesome blows to the poor boy.
With aching agony already flashing unbearably though his little body, young Shawn was reduced to phenomenal shrieks of howling, and flailing his limbs about, as a stream of tears ran down his angelic face.
The father lowered his aim, now, and began to strike out at the even more tender thighs and calves of the boy.
Impossibly, Shawn's kicks and pitiful screams of agony became more profound, and more heart rending, as the awful birching continued, and the father appeared to be attempting to embed the birch into the tortured boy's thin, hairless, flapping legs.
The father took great care to ensure that Shawn's delicate inner thighs also became well coated with ominous red welts, which greatly intensified the boy's blood-curdling complaints.
Shawn's steady roar of youthful, energetic screams of pain burst into powerful blasts of anguished shouts. The strength of the boy's vocalizations was such that I wondered if the windows, or the plaster on the walls could withstand such a potent, sonic blast, let alone the unfortunate lad's sensitive flesh.
"Yaaaaaaaaaaaarrrrrrhhhhhhhhhh, PLEASE, NO, STOP-- AWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWwwwwwwwwwwwwww!!"
Scores of unforgiving, barbarian blows drove the boy to renewed screaming, sobbing fits of amplified agony, and his pitiful cries for mercy went unheeded by his cruel, paternal parent.
"Whhhhaaaaaaaaaaaaaooooooooooooooooooooooooo!!! Nahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!!"
I suppose it could have been mere chance, or bad aim on the part of the father, but one of his powerful strokes landed directly between the young lad's inner thighs, wrapped around and upward, and sent the tips of the birch smashing, fiercely into the boy's unprotected, vulnerable scrotum and penis, with a high pitched whipping, slapping sound that could only be perceived as a searing blast of incredible, stinging, smashing pain that coursed through the poor lad's privates. This was immediately followed by a fantastic, surging, agonized wail of horror--a high pitched eerie scream--as if it came from the depths of the bowels of Shawn's helpless, throbbing body.
"YAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!
The pathetic lad cried, shriekingly, in excruciating anguish--his little voice booming out in unspeakable pain, then trailing off, in that tormented, strangled sound of overwhelming suffering and helplessness. Shawn's body throbbed, endlessly, and his legs kicked about with incredible speed and urgency.
Quickly, the father moved his attention to the boy's exposed, tender back, fiendishly propelling the tough whip-ends of the wicked tendrils mercilessly into Shawn's ribs, and causing him to issue forth a fresh lament of compounded, horrified screams and shrieks, while his little legs whipped about with renewed urgency.
It was as if Shawn's thrashing limbs were not only betraying the overwhelming torture he was experiencing, but were pleading, desperately, for the hideous punishment to cease.
But the hellish rhythm of, "Whip, whip, slap, smack" continued, unabated.
Shawn was now a dismal sight--howling and wailing at an unbearable volume, in heart-rending tones. His welt-striped body was squirming in agony, and his little chest heaving, desperately, for air. His thinly-muscled arms stretched their chains, tightly. Every muscle and tendon in his legs, arms and neck was visibly protruding, and the ever-reddening, dark blush in his neck and face told the story of his painful ordeal, as did the gruesome striped flesh. As the stinging slapping of the birch continued to pound him, the unfortunate boy's face remained contorted in the picture of excruciating pain. His little body twisted, grotesquely under the mammoth, biting blows of the brutal birch. The poor lad screamed, relentlessly, and his face was drenched with his tears. We all stood, in awe of the sight and sounds of him, and particularly the great mass of redness that had developed.
Finally, the man stopped--presumably because the screaming boy had not a white spot left on him, it seemed.
At the master's bidding, the father had Kevin remove Shawn's restraints, and help stand him up. The younger brother was unable to stand of his own power, and Kevin--tearful and trembling, himself--held Shawn up, and turned him to face his tormentors. Shawn's shaken and beaten body was a pitiful and erotic sight.
As Kevin turned him to face us, I could see that Shawn's erection had partially survived the thrashing, and eventually the boy's deep blush grew deeper, as all eyes gazed, once again, upon the thirteen-year-old's penis--astounded that the young boy's dick was still proudly pointing almost upward, with all six of its pulsing, aroused inches--though having drooped somewhat under the torture of the humiliating ordeal.
John and I had drifted slightly behind the others, and he questioned me, quietly.
"What the hell was in that candy those boys ate?"
"In the candy? Why, nothing, John. Why do you ask?" I said--attempting, unsuccessfully to control a smile in my facial expression.
"No kid could keep a hardon through all that beating. Besides, you're a bad liar, Gordon."
Actually, I had thought myself a good liar, when the occasion called for it, but I was hardly about to argue the point with John. At any rate, I found a sort of satisfaction that John's question betrayed his interest in the youth's sexual anatomy.
All eyes were on the boy's swollen cock, now, and our stares caused Shawn--now trembling more violently than ever, incredibly weak, and trying to wipe his tear-drenched face--to look down and inspect his almost forgotten, prized organ. Shawn's face confirmed his utter humiliation and fear at being exposed, publicly, in a sexually excited state after such a beating, and of the sudden realization that his father's anger might now be compounded.
The boy's eyes widened with intensified horror, and more blush began to cover Shawn's face and body, as the lad made a terrifying discovery. His eyes focused beyond the little group formed by his father, brother, me, John, and Thomas. Unbeknownst to his sons, and previously approved by the father, the boys from other families had been brought in and quietly assembled, to form an additional audience, for the proceedings. This was obviously too much for the tortured little lad.
Shawn's boyish chest pounded, visibly, at this horrendous discovery, and his heart went almost faint with the ultimate embarrassment and shame--a natural reaction of the innocent boy to the combination of his public erection, his father's gaze, and the additional onlookers.
"Please, NO!" the pathetic boy pleaded while still staring, in disbelief, at his erection--as if to say his penis did this by itself, and not of his own volition--and as if he could speak to his dick, and get it to respond to his will. My own excited organ throbbed in the confines if its jock.
"You've learned NOTHING," the father shouted at his tortured, younger son.
Strange, I had thought Shawn had had his first lesson in erotic torture--albeit an agonizingly painful one--but then, it was too early to tell.
"I believe we are done, gentlemen," I said.
In an act of finality to ensure closure, I pulled the curtain around the boys, and gave them some privacy, knowing that our video cameras would record everything they did, for John and me to review later. I had my suspicions as to what the two lads might do.
"It's just as well," the man declared. "I'll be needing to leave soon, for an appointment."
-- Danny Meyer, January 14, 2001 sittinhome@hotmail.com
END OF CHAPTER 8 (please read below) -------------------------------------------------------------
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