End of original BOYABUSE Stories – charges also included an unfinished version of Stand By America.


Driving east across the seemingly endless, flat wheat lands to the big sky's horizon, my mind reflected on my recent fortunes. What had happened was a lot less likely than winning big in a lottery . . .. And I do buy tickets. I'd just inherited some property from a relative I'd forgotten about. It was a small farm near the town of Belle Prairie which lay nestled in a shallow valley some hundred miles ahead. Such was my good fortune when my other ventures had collapsed and I'd been forced to sell most of my possessions to meet my debts. However I have no love for small towns and the cold winters of the plains, I would simply sell my inheritance and return to the urban rat race on the coast.

I'd forgotten about Uncle Jerome, yes, but it's not true to say I don't remember him. I do, and sometimes vividly, even though I knew him only briefly, less than three months. It was perhaps the happiest period of a miserable childhood, the summer when I was twelve. But I never saw or heard of him again until I received notice of my inheritance, over twenty years later. I've thought and wondered a lot about Uncle Jerome lately and memories of that whole traumatic period of my life have flooded my mind. How my father took me with him when my parents separated, and left me at Uncle Jerome's, his bachelor brother, while the custody battle was fought in court out on the west coast.

For a city kid I adapted pretty quick to the strange new rural world, and mainly because for the first time as a kid I was able to make friends with other boys. My uncle kept a couple of horses and there were often other kids around, and learning to ride gave me freedom and power I'd never known before. Forgotten names of boys came back to me, Ted and Allan, a couple of fifteen year olds who took me riding with them, exploring the coulees and the intricate ravines of the badlands south of town. Other times, more of us, mostly younger boys, would go swimming in the little river that meandered through the valley bottom, or shooting gophers with BB guns, or stealing berries and melons from peoples' gardens. And oh, I remember the feeling, the little kid's big man feeling as he and his buddies, you're a 'gang', march through town leaving a trail of petty vandalisms. And Uncle Jerome, although he always seemed very poor, he always had money for movies and treats. And then a long forgotten incident flooded into my mind and I remembered that Uncle Jerome had given me my first and only whipping. In a rush to go out hiking with some boys and I'd left the chicken coop open and they'd got out, and then I'd tried lying about it. My uncle took me into the barn pulled down my pants and belted me good on the bare ass and legs. I didn't cry though almost, and after that the other boys who'd been listening didn't treat me like such a little kid anymore. That night I admired my welts in the mirror. And then near the end of my stay he got me drunk on moonshine one night and we talked and talked. The idyll ended when I was sent back to my mother's custody and a life of turmoil. And Uncle Jerome? Well after my father died a year later, I just never heard of him again, although I was his only living relative.

There wasn't much to the property, Uncle Jerome had sold off most of the land over the years and all that remained was a dilapidated farmhouse and small stable on eighty acres of good black loam. The town seemed smaller than I'd remembered but pretty, with woodlands along the river and its side ravines, and where the turn in the valley seems to form a hill, stood the white and blue buildings of St. Joseph's Academy I came to know so well.

The land I would sell to a neighbouring farmer and the house, which was less than a mile from the town, I figured I'd fix up and sell separately, and by the end of August I'd be back on the coast. But some minor legal problems developed and I could see I was stuck for months. It was then I began to experience the boredom and loneliness of a strange small town, and I started to accept and seek out social contacts I would normally have avoided. Uncle Jerome had few friends and spend his last years as a recluse.

I joined a bridge club and started attending church after lapse of almost twelve years. It was through the church that I met the sisters who ran St. Joseph's Academy, the parochial school that accepted students up to grade eight. And when I volunteered to help rebuild the fire escape which had been condemned by the building inspector, I got to be on very good terms with the mother superior. Some merchants donated most of the materials and it took me and old Pete Simonovic, the cheerful but irreverent maintenance supervisor, four days to complete the new fire escape.

I enjoyed the work as a break from the tedium of town and Pete was good company although arthritis limited the work he could do. Mother Superior was delighted and I seemed to become a favourite of the sisters. These pleasant days usually ended up in Pete's office where we'd have a few swigs of rye from a bottle he kept hidden in his desk and he'd reminisce about the good old days. Several times boys from the school dropped by to visit even though it was summer holidays. Old Pete seemed to have amazing rapport with them, remembering personal details and being entertained by their latest exploits. And he was one of the few people I met who'd known my Uncle Jerome, though not very well, and he was sure that he had once mentioned his nephew, me.

Less than two weeks before the beginning of the Fall Term there was an unseasonal, cool, wet spell and old Pete's arthritis flared up as never before, crippling his hands. He decided then and there to retire rather than wait until the end of the year as he planned. He was going to live with his sister in Arizona where it was dry and warm all year. Mother Superior asked me to fill in until a replacement was found, and I welcomed the opportunity to do something while I waited, and the modest salary it provided. Pete showed me around, explained my duties and gave me a long list of projects to be done.

Then after we'd had a few drinks of rye he retrieved an old school strap from the bottom drawer of his desk. I assumed it was some historical artefact. He took me into the large storeroom off his office, where unused athletic equipment was kept, old tumbling mats, a springboard and a padded gymnastic horse about four feet high. Old Pete strode up and down the room brandishing the strap. "Like I make 'em lean against the horse, their asses out and ...." BAM, BAM, BAM. Clouds of dust arose from the side of the old gym horse as he smacked it. "Not much of a knack to it," BAM "Keep 'em pretty hard," BAM "And keep 'em high so they don't show below their gym shorts." BAM Old Pete laughed, "It's getting so I can hardly hold it in my hand anymore." We returned to his office and another tot. I wasn't quite sure what to make of the demonstration I'd seen and Pete Simonovic was rambling on about how I should get a new saw for the workshop. I worked at my new job with enthusiasm, repainting three classrooms, repairing a number of broken desks and refinishing the ancient oak panelling in Mother Superior's office, which I am sure has earned me a few indulgences, all before registration for classes.

It was only at the beginning of the second week of the term that I abruptly became aware of the full extent of my duties, specifically the disciplining of the older boys in grades six, seven and eight. Why this was not the responsibility of one of the two priests, or lay teachers was never made clear. Anyway I later found out that old Mr. Simonovic had been responsible for strapping the older boys for many years. It certainly did not seem in character with his easy going nature. I did not however have much chance to meditate on my additional duty. Mother Superior and a quite distraught Sister Clara arrived at my office mid Tuesday morning with a sullen husky boy of about fifteen.

Mother Superior apologized for disturbing me so early in the day. I learnt that the boy, Kenneth Spears, had sworn at and assaulted Sister Clara when she'd reprimanded him for neglecting an assignment. But he did show remorse and apparently there were problems at home and the sisters decided to give him another chance rather than expelling him. He was no stranger to the strap and must receive the maximum punishment - 12 strokes. Even in my ignorance this seemed extremely severe and Mother Superior must have picked on my concern for she added, "I can understand that this may be a particularly difficult introduction to your duties, however I can assure you that such harsh punishments are used very sparingly and you have my sympathy, I will wait and escort Master Spears to the infirmary after to be checked by the nurse." There was also the discipline form to be filled in and signed by both myself and the boy, and I was advised to keep my own records as well.

Acting with what I felt was appropriate seriousness I removed the strap from its locked drawer and led Kenneth into the storeroom. Now for the first time I examined closely the instrument of punishment, it was made of black rubberized industrial belting and when I flexed it I realized what a cruel, damaging weapon it could be. And I found myself unexpectedly thrilled at the prospect of putting it to use on the soft flesh of a boy's bottom. Kenneth had the look of a 'tough kid' and seemed only mildly apprehensive. I ordered him to get ready. He removed his jacket, stood by the gym horse and loosened his pants so they fell to the floor. I hesitated, the full awareness of what I was about to do, and an intense excitement, overcoming me. He mistook my delay for impatience and blabbed, "Do I have to drop my underwear too?" I asked him if that wasn't the usual procedure and he responded by pulling them down reluctantly and leant his arms and head against the horse with his ass thrust out. I caught myself staring, almost admiring the soft pale flesh I was about to bruise. My inner excitement continued to build up, I was embarrassingly aroused by the situation. Not wanting to dwell on THAT I began laying the strap across the boy's bare buttocks, my excitement increasing as Kenneth's bottom reddened. He remained stoically passive and I tried to concentrate on my technique - getting the swing of things so to speak. By the eighth stroke his buttocks were getting quite raw and I could see he was struggling to keep himself under control, but he didn't make a sound although I knew his ordeal had become extremely painful and draining. I hesitated again, I was losing my nerve and inner excitement started to wane giving away to a feeling of doubt.

"Only four more, Spears." I called out as much to reassure myself as him.

"I never had more'n eight before .... Sir." I could tell he was sobbing. I believe I let off a bit after that but his breathing became increasingly irregular and he started to bleed. The ugly, angry red and purpling welts on his ass danced before my eyes, gasps and muted whines followed each blow, and we were both very relieved when it was over. I gave him some tissue for his tears and a clean moist rag for his bum.. He thanked me dumbly and when his sobbing had stopped I led him back to my office. Mother Superior appeared satisfied and quietly thanked me before she left with Kenneth.

That evening I picked up a bottle of Seagram's V.O., old Pete's brand, and had a couple of drinks myself before heading over to his place, hoping he hadn't left for Arizona yet. After pleasantries I brought out the rye and we toasted his new life in retirement. Then I brought up the business of having to strap the boys and my experience earlier in the day. Pete laughed at first but he could see I was genuinely concerned. "Well I didn't say much at the time because ... well there's not much you can say about it. I figured the sisters would explain the details and all that. Like you just got to wallop them, that's about all there is to it. I don't make any big deal out of it. And it's best you don't think about it much either. I got started like you. The old priest got sick, died a couple of weeks later, and one day the mother, that would've been Mother Charlotte in those days, she comes to me with two boys who been fighting and I had to lay six on each of them right then and there. And that's how it happened. Now you had a bit of bad luck having to hand out a twelver first time. That's more than most boys can handle even the toughest ones. And you got to expect a bit of blood because the skin gets real tender after a while and cuts easy, I've had a few they had to bandage up. But you only get maybe two or three twelvers a year, only when the mother feels she has to. It's mostly fours and sixes which most boys can take without too much fuss, and the occasional eight which can be hard."

"I only got belted a few times myself as a kid, bawled my head off the first time, but I figure it's a lot better than this 'I won't love you anymore' crap some parents are into. Or this business of not letting them go out or watch TV, that just makes you into a warden. And detentions like they use in public schools, punishing kids with boredom like they didn't get enough of it anyway, that's not right. It's just like getting them ready to do time in the penitentiary. I figure it's better to give them a few smacks. They pay for their mistakes with their hide and it's soon over and done with and things can get back to normal. I'm not saying it always works, but then what does?"

I felt better for having listened to Pete and refilled our glasses. "But it must be very difficult at times." I insisted.

"The worst problem is the crybabies even if they're only getting four. You really have to work on them to take their punishment, and sometimes you can't get them to do it. I mean there's no point in trying to strap a kid who's already screaming his head off. And if you can't do it, it makes problems for the mother superior, and the kid himself when the other boys find out, which they do." I asked Pete what he did about it. "Well," he replied, "I make some boys say out loud, as loud as they can, 'I will take my punishment like a man', especially if it's their first time. I never go into whether they deserve it or not, that's not my business. And I figure it helps sometimes if you get them to call out the strokes as they land. I try to get them to shout 'ONE.' 'TWO' 'THREE.', etcetera. I figure that can help too. They get pretty shook up and red eyed but they can mostly manage four or six. Eight's different and not many could handle a twelver like Kenny, you were lucky it was him. I gave him eight last term with barely a whimper."

They won't resent you if you're straightforward. And don't slacken off even if they are really hurting. They'll respect you more if you give them hard, solid, consistent blows, although there are times you need to use you judgement. They know what a good stroke is like and what it does, and you can bet in most cases they'll show the bruises to their buddies."

I thanked Pete for the advice and left him the rest of the bottle. I had to strap five boys over the next two weeks, all fours and sixes for minor offences. Two sobbed briefly, nothing to be ashamed of, and one howled after the first stroke but settled down. Pete's suggestions seemed to help. I was however still faced with the intense excitement that leapt up in my heart and loins whenever I was to strap a boy. I knew, but did not want to admit that it gave me a powerful sex related thrill and I found myself fascinated by boys generally. Boys and whipping boys began to take over my fantasies. And my fantasies, fed by reality, became more powerful than even the erotic daydreams of my adolescence. It was as if some dam in my psyche had broken and previously repressed ideas flooded my waking mind. I found a great, though secret pleasure in wielding the strap and I looked forward to whipping boys, especially the more attractive first timers. Kenneth who became a regular customer no longer excited me and crybabies left me uncomfortable and depressed. It's an unusual type of relationship. Strapping boys, and experiencing their reactions became for me a way, a very intimate way, of knowing them. And there was one boy, a spirited and beautiful lad, that I dreamt about and most wanted to have and to whip. That was Leo.

Leo was one of about ten boys who often hung around my office or next door workshop after classes. This was partly because I controlled the old sports equipment, soccer balls and tennis racquets that they could use for make up games and informal recreation. Another reason was that my area was one of the few indoor areas where they could escape the watchful eyes of the sisters. Being the boys' disciplinarian did not seem to affect my relationship with them. Pete had mentioned he didn't think it would. In fact the core group of boys was mainly made up of ones I had strapped. As I got on friendly terms with them I became privy to many of their secrets and tales. They knew all about old Pete's bottles of rye and had occasionally taken a few swigs themselves, watering it down after. And they certainly held him great affection, despite, or perhaps even because of the beatings he gave them. Their consensus was that he hit harder than I did. There was in fact a fair amount of macho boasting about some of the strappings they'd had complete with descriptions of splattering blood.

Leo stood out from the rest with his dark, rich chestnut hair that contrasted with his pale, almost translucent skin that flushed pink on his cheeks. But actually it was more the grace and energy of his ceaseless movements, bouncing to the music from my tiny desk radio or more likely simply fooling around as boys do, playfully teasing, challenging and cajoling the others into some roughhouse game or grand elaborate scheme. He was simply so alive, so beautiful that I had difficulty keeping my eyes and attention from him. He was also my prime suspect when any prank was pulled, I once caught him trying to glue shut the drawer I kept the strap locked in. But he wasn't a sneak, he was open about his deeds and sometimes awkwardly candid, especially in the questions he asked. Some would say rude. I'll never forget the time he asked me, fortunately in private, "How come you always get a hardon when you go to strap kids?" I did not, could not answer the question. I was outraged, I could have gladly strangled him, beautiful slender neck and all, but for the awkward truth of the question.

And Leo sought out my attention as fatherless boys are wont. Occasionally when we were alone we would play wrestle, exchange shoulder punches and I would chase him around the workshop until we were both out of breath. And after he'd seem to purr when I'd ruffle his shaggy locks and massage his slender neck. He also tested me. I made a point of prohibiting smoking around my premises although I seldom bothered to check the furnace room which I knew they used for that purpose. Leo however would sometimes light up a cigarette in front of me if no one else was around. I do not approve of fourteen year olds smoking but his defiance had a strange, mixed effect on me. In forced anger I wrestled him to the floor - to make him promise not to smoke around my office. It was then I flashed on the image of strapping his bottom and a spontaneous orgasm flooded my entire body. It was after that I also began thinking about simply touching, gently stroking his ass and letting my fingers explore his naked body. Repressed, successfully repressed up to now, urges made themselves known and began to preoccupy me. And I recalled a time with another boy, many years before, and an incident I'd always tried to dismiss as trivial.

It was during the summer I spent with Uncle Jerome and a bunch of us boys were hiking along the river when we came upon this perfect swimming hole, deep and clear, cut off from the main channel by a gravel bar. Ted and most of the other boys who were wearing cut offs or trunks anyway were soon splashing and swimming. The boys were not into skinny dipping. Only the other younger boy, Wally and me had long pants, and I stripped to my bright blue Jockey shorts and plunged in. Wally however had no underwear beneath his jeans and protested that it wasn't fair he couldn't go swimming. He said I should give him my shorts because he was older and had hairs. I objected but Ted and the other boys made me do it. I was the only one naked and I can remember feeling it wasn't fair. I hardly ever got to see boys with hair and I really wanted to see. I felt cheated and said Wally should at least pull the top down to show me his hairs. Ted said OK but Wally wouldn't and then Ted said Wally should pay me for wearing my underwear, I wanted twenty five cents, but he didn't have any money. Then Ted said Wally should be punished for taking my underwear and that I could give him two smacks with a belt on the bum. Wally said he didn't care. I figured I should have been allowed to do it on his bare ass but I wasn't. I smacked him anyway but I got this hardon and they all teased me and started play grabbing at it. And then they all started grabbing each other, they almost all had hardons but I didn't get to see anything although I felt most of them, and mine wasn't the smallest. Because we were all bad boys Ted said everybody should get two smacks on the bum and we all gave everybody else two smacks but I put my jeans back on first. And after that day it seemed that whenever we were together we'd get hardons and grab each other for a while, but we only smacked bums once when a new boy came along with us. And then just before I had to leave I got to see everybody's. Allan took us to this special place by the river where little kids weren't allowed and we had to swear an oath that we'd never tell anybody where it was. We sat in a circle under a big tree. Allan called it a circle jerk and said you should only do it when you can see the moon in the sky. Everybody pulled out their peckers, you weren't supposed to look but we all did, even Allan, and we had a jack off race. I was still shooting blanks, they didn't count and I got too tickly after a while. I remember I like grabbing hardons better although I thought it was neat to see jism come out. I wanted hair real bad so I could come.

And then one day right after classes Leo arrived looking somewhat sheepish and took the chair in front of my desk. It was perhaps a minute before I noticed he had a discipline form rolled up in his hand. The sisters no longer bothered to accompany boys sent over for minor offences unless they expected problems. I took the form and read it. Leo was to receive six strokes for being found with cigarettes. It was his second offence. Leo did not seem very concerned although he'd never had the strap before. He just stood there grinning and trying to appear embarrassed. That intense sexual excitement rapidly built up in me and seemed ready to threaten my whole composure, and I could see that he seemed to share my excitement. Desperately I tried to engage in trivia, asking about his butterfly collection. They were "moths" he corrected and after a minute he looked up at me and asked impatiently, "Aren't you going to give me the strap?"

"Yes, of course," I replied looking into his pert face and seemingly eager eyes.

"Well let's go .... And don't worry, I'll be brave." I tried to affect a businesslike manner to compensate for the surging lust in my heart and the swelling in my groin which I unobtrusively tried to tuck under. I took the strap out of its drawer and briskly ushered Leo into the storeroom. As he stood by the horse I saw him fidgeting and shaking with excitement, I could tell it wasn't fear. I ordered him to lower his pants, I wanted to get the strapping over with quickly as the excitement was becoming too much. He suddenly appeared embarrassed as he obeyed and I noticed he had an immense hardon which he was trying to hide with his hands. I told him not to worry about it, it would soon go away I said and I made him take his position by the horse.

Leo still looked embarrassed and blurted, "It's just that I never had the strap before, not even a real spanking." I was trying to allay his feelings when he noticed my own hardon which I hadn't successfully concealed. His expression changed to one of curiosity and slowly a sort of knowing smile crossed his face and he ran a finger along his own rigid member. I pretended to ignore him and began to flex the strap. The late afternoon sun slanting in the small window highlighted the fine fuzz on his thrust out buttocks and thighs, tempting me to reach out and tenderly, sinfully caress what duty demanded I raise angry red welts upon. I tried not to savour the thrill as I wound up and slammed him with a blow that rocked his whole body but excitement engulfed me. Leo's slender reddening ass maintained its proud posture as I belted away. By the last blow he was whimpering silently and softness had returned to his body. He'd had a heavy Six and would not be disappointed with the bruises. He looked up at me, tears flowing quietly and an expression more of joy than pain. And when he saw my tears he hugged me tightly around my chest and I took his head in my hands and kissed him on the neck. Overwhelmed by a feeling of love for Leo I picked him up, careful of his sore bottom, and hugged him while we both cried. "I told you not to worry, didn't I?" I told him he'd taken his strapping bravely and that I hadn't been gentle with him. He smiled proudly and I kissed him again.

Back in my office, the form filled in and signed by both, we fell into animated conversation about nothing in particular as if to deny what had just happened and the strange bond that had been formed. Then he retrieved a cigarette from one of his stashes and lit it up in front of me. He said he really needed it. I couldn't help but admire his audacity in repeating the offence I'd just whipped him for, although he knew I wouldn't do anything. I joked that he really must like having his ass warmed. He looked at me for a moment, smiled, rubbed his bottom and made an expression of mock pain.

The strapping had been a kind of initiation - it made him more one of the boys. And while I saw more of Leo after that day, we were seldom alone, his coterie of followers had increased. On the rare occasions that we were, we talked, there are many things they don't teach in school he was curious about. I made a point of being as honest and candid as I could. I would allow myself to hug him briefly, which he liked, but which subjected me to the torment stirred up in my loins.

One Saturday he came to see me at work ostensibly to help me install the storm windows which I had scheduled for a weekend so as to not disturb classes. I enjoyed his cheerful company and while he didn't work all that hard a second person really speeded things up. After finishing early and warming up in my office he seemed in no hurry to leave, he said his mother worked until after six, so I invited him over to my place for a coffee before I drove him home. I knew it was not strictly a proper thing to do, entertaining a student, but he had been very helpful, and I'd been feeling lonely recently. And since I'd strapped him I'd felt starved for some exchange of affection, even the most platonic kind. I immediately realized that my better judgement had not prevailed.

Leo was the first guest I'd had since remodelling the house. I showed him the work I'd done and he was particularly impressed with the bathroom with its generous tiled shower. He said the apartment he and his mother had was a dump and they had to share an old fashioned bathroom with two other families. And I gathered from some of his other remarks that he didn't have much of a home life, period.

I put on the coffee and Leo with the instinct of a growing boy checked my refrigerator. It looked like Mother Hubbard had got there first and I was about to apologise when I remembered that there was a frozen apple strudel in the freezer. This I popped in the oven and I told him it would take a while. He asked if in the meantime he could try my shower. I gave him a big blue bath towel and he happily set off. I believe I even heard a few notes from his breaking voice as he showered away.

Ten minutes later he was back, the towel wrapped snugly around him, explaining that his clothes, which he'd left on the floor, had got damp. After hanging them over a radiator to dry we

playfully skirmished in the living room with Leo ending up cradled in my lap. Having that lovely animated creature so close was almost more than I could take. I wanted him. My desire was overwhelming but it was a desire with the sexual details still undefined.

I just wanted him desperately. My heart fluttered, like a silly teenagers I suppose, as I caressed his still damp hair and ran my fingers down his neck and shoulders and felt his entire body respond with subtle writhings. He made no attempt to conceal his hardon beneath the towel. I did want to fondle him there but hesitated, it's a hard taboo to break, even though I knew he would have welcomed it. He must have known I was hard too. I'm still not sure if I would have kept my hands off him if the oven bell hadn't loudly signalled that the strudel was ready.

I had, I thought, retreated from the brink, saved myself from some ignoble sin. Had I been more devout I would have offered a personal 'te deum' to the Almighty. Yet despite my concern over the nature of my passion for Leo I rejoiced in its intensity, it was reassuring, humanly reassuring to discover that I had such an immense capacity for love. I wanted to scream from mountaintops what I could confess to no one.

As it was I avoided and ignored Leo, often cruelly refusing to extend even basic social graces, and busying myself in the inane interests of other boys as a defence against his presence. However Leo continued to hang around and took no offence at my rudeness. One day he caught me alone after I'd just finished a minor strapping for which, as usual, I had cleared my premises of other boys. They like to eavesdrop, a practice I don't encourage. Leo, cute and candid as ever, wanted to know why guys got hardons when a kid got strapped, he assured me a lot of boys did and let me see that his own was still rigid from my recent labours, as was my own too. I could neither deny nor explain. He then asked me if he could watch me give boys the strap sometime - he would hide in the storeroom.

"Absolutely not", I made up a lecture about privacy and dignity. Two days later after I'd given two ten year olds a rather routine four strokes each for fighting, I found out that Leo had been watching. I wasn't able to confront him immediately as one of the sisters was waiting in my office. He said he was "Sorry" but hardly looked it as I angrily reprimanded him. When I had calmed he asked, "You liked giving it to Eddy more than Steve, didn't you? I could tell." Once again I was stuck for an answer and there was too much truth in his question for me to react with indignation. "Like Steve's sort of a nerd and a bit of a crybaby." I didn't want to admit how right Leo was. I'd had to lead Steven through his punishment while Eddy, whom I didn't spare, was a delight with his proud stoicism. "And I know you really like giving me the strap".

Leo seemed pleased that I did. In my bewilderment that I could not confess I hugged him tightly to me. He responded affectionately then looked up thoughtfully, "You know? I'd like to strap a boy sometime, maybe one a bit younger than me." I told him to not even want to and hugged him, a kindred spirit again.

Although I realized it was a very questionable thing to do I allowed Leo to spy on a couple of strappings I gave over the next few weeks. Leo loved it and it increased my excitement to know he was watching. One was a close buddy Allan, a team-mate and somewhat more muscular clone of himself, and also a prankster. Leo was so wildly excited I worried about him keeping quiet.. And my own intense excitement made it difficult to maintain my official composure. Allan took his rather heavy six strokes admirably. Afterwards, examining his flaming red buttocks he tried to joke, "I guess I need some bumburn lotion." Leo was very impressed, and still hyper-excited when he found me alone after school. I think he missed his bus. He babbled about Allan and what a great strapping I gave him and then shaking he begged me to give him a couple of smacks at least. "Please, so I can really feel it." I wanted to, I wanted desperately to belt his bottom and more. "Please." he fondled himself outrageously with both hands. Part of me calls the rest "a fool" for refusing the offer.

After a strained and agonizing week, for which I have only myself to blame, his mother invited me for Sunday dinner. It was obviously Leo's idea. Leo's home was as bad as he had said. his mother had wasted her obvious intelligence on vanities, and had no understanding of her child. Perhaps this, was what he wanted to show me. Anyway later I allowed my emotions to surface, breaking, though, in a moist eyed hugging scene, where I confessed an affection for him. But I dared not invite him to my place again despite his suggestions and hints. "But why not?" and I couldn't tell him. I got angry and he took offence.

It was soon after that I had my most difficult disciplinary case ever - Ricky, a frail, pale, red haired lad of twelve. While he normally avoided my premises and I'd never met him, like everybody else I knew about him. His father was a prominent, tough minded businessman who'd made it big in oil and later real estate becoming extremely wealthy. And he had attended St. Joseph's Academy as a child and was now not only one of its directors but its principal benefactor. The new gymnasium was one of his contributions and he provided funds for generous scholarships for needy students including Leo. And he had publicly stated that the school had helped to make him the man he was today. No doubt he hoped it would make a man out of his son too.

Mother Superior and Sister Ann had to practically drag the terrified and sobbing Ricky into my office. St. Joseph's best known sissy had just been caught cheating on a math examination, an offence that could easily result in expulsion. In fact it was his second cheating offence that term. How he had avoided at least a heavy strapping the first time was not explained although I assume it was some special dispensation due to his father's importance. The boy was shaking uncontrollably and Mother Superior, who I knew was not a cruel or vindictive woman, could understand my apparent reluctance to proceed. She explained that under the circumstances Ricky would have to receive eight strokes and that this was already a compromise. Otherwise they would have no choice but to expel him. This, for reasons she felt I could understand, she was very reluctant to do. It would certainly be a great disappointment to his macho minded father, who ironically had frustrated the abolition of corporal punishment at the school.

I look across my office at the skinny child cowering in the corner, watching me apprehensively. I could see no way that he would be able to take his punishment. The first blow would leave him hysterical. Even lightening the blows considerably wouldn't make that much difference as fear, not the amount of pain, was Ricky's problem. How to overcome his fear? And eight strokes is a lot for a small boy and I knew how each additional stroke wore down the grit of even the toughest kids.

Nevertheless I agreed to do my best. The sisters waited in my office while I took the trembling youngster into the storage room. As soon as the door was closed he burst into tears and pleaded, "Can't we just pretend? You make a noise and I'll pretend to cry. I'll do anything, PLEASE!" I declined firmly and removed his arms from around my knees. I ordered him to stand up and act like a man. He stood there fidgeting, unconsciously playing with himself. I tried to explain simply what would happen, that it would be painful but it wouldn't injure him. I told him to take his pants right off, I didn't want him peeing them, and to step over to the horse, I had to repeat the orders firmly before he slowly obeyed. Finally he stood there shaking, terror in his eyes and clutching his shrivelled penis with both hands. I didn't know what to do. I had heard that occasionally boys were restrained but the idea of tying down this child and whipping his tiny, ill padded, goosepimpled buttocks was not for me. I made an attempt. I sternly ordered Ricky to repeat, "I will be brave and take my punishment like a man." he had difficulty and I made him repeat it several times as loud as he could. I then ordered him to lean over the horse and I wound up for the first blow. He looked around, saw me, shrieked, and slumped grovelling to the floor begging not to be hit.

Frustrated, I told him to wait and I went back into my office to talk to the Mother Superior. Leo had come in the meantime presumably to see me but I ignored him. I explained to the sisters the impossibility of punishing Ricky with any dignity and how it might even be traumatic for him. Mother Superior saw my point but appeared very reluctant to concede, claiming that Ricky's expulsion could cost the school dearly. She then stepped outside to confer with Sister Ann privately.

Leo seemed to know what was going on and came up to me excitedly. "You giving little Ricky the strap?" I explained I probably wouldn't. "You mean because he's such a big sissy, eh? Well I think you should really lay into him. The little wimp needs smartening up, like all the other kids tease him." I tried to explain that things weren't that simple and that different people have different tolerances. Leo was not impressed with my arguments, "He's just scared of everything. I bet if he knew it wasn't all that bad, if someone just showed him, he wouldn't be such a sissy."

I told Leo I'd tried but it didn't work. "Maybe if some kid tried?" Leo interjected. I looked at Leo and saw some wisdom in his words and eager face. I asked him if he thought he could and he replied, "I could try, I know him a bit."

Mother Superior returned, "well, if we have to expel him, we will. You're positive there's no way you can get him to take his punishment?" I paused, "Mother," I began, "perhaps if there was another boy present who could calm him down and give him some confidence and support, he might be able to manage it" After a brief discussion I agreed to try it. I sent Leo ahead into the storeroom to give him a few minutes alone with Ricky before I followed. The sisters waited in my office.

I found the two boys in a huddle by the horse. Leo had an arm around the younger boy's shoulders and was earnestly explaining something. Ricky appeared calm but perplexed. "Sir!" Leo looked at me, "How about you give me one first so he can see its not all that bad." It was a very irregular suggestion, not one that the school would approve of, however it did offer some hope. Leo's eyes brightened when I agreed. He quickly pulled off his pants, his hard rod a bobbing and bouncing, bringing amazement to Ricky's eyes. Momentarily at least the red haired boy's fear subsided as he stared, his own tiny member stirring semihard. Leo took his position by the horse, getting Ricky to stand close beside him and holding his hand. Leo thrust his ass out, grinned at me and said, "Make it a good one Sir." I did, and Leo full of bravado claimed his point with Ricky making him feel the rising welt on his buttocks. Ricky, perhaps temporarily fearing shame more than pain nervously leant against the horse. Leo snuggled in beside him, arm around the lad's slender shoulders and whispered encouragingly in his ear, "You can do it." I held back a bit but the stroke was loud and stinging across his pale narrow backside. Ricky flinched and let out a squeal but kept his position as Leo hugged him tightly. I didn't delay the next two blows but by then the youngster was losing control of himself. His whole body shook as he sobbed. Leo pulled him closer and stroked his head and neck until he gradually settled down a bit. The fourth blow was more than Ricky could handle, pee spurted from his penis, he shrieked loudly, broke free and cried hysterically, "My bum! My bum!" Leo tried to soothe him but Ricky wouldn't let him near. There seemed no way Ricky would consent to complete his punishment.

Again Leo volunteered to take a stroke to encourage Ricky, he even sounded eager. When he yanked his pants down his rigid little hardon slapped against his belly and he grinned at me gleefully wiggling his pink banded bum. He hugged the perplexed Ricky, stroking his tiny neck until he seemed to forget about his own tender buttocks glowing redder than his hair. Then with Ricky staring in wide eyed fascination I gave Leo another good one. "That was a Wowser!" Leo loudly exclaimed, trying to impress the stunned and bewildered Ricky. He briefly assumed a heroic pose, waving his hardon, and got the younger boy to snuggle in beside him at the horse again. I'd hoped that Ricky was resigned to his punishment but the next blow had him shrieking and struggling. Leo held him firmly, "You can do it. You can do it." he shouted in Ricky's ear. I wasted no time delivering the sixth blow to the poor child's tormented behind. It left him screaming and writhing in real agony, the pain, the pain itself far more intense than the fear.

"That's it," I said, "It's over, no more, OK?" Leo immediately caught on - six plus two equals eight - that's what the sisters would have heard. Leo grabbed the screaming youngster excitedly, "You did it!' YOU DID IT!" he effused. Gradually Ricky's crying subsided as he realized his ordeal was over, and that he had made it through. I'm sure he had no idea he'd only taken six strokes, it didn't matter anyway. He stood there shaking with sobs, eyes blinking rapidly, and mouth wide open as he gingerly felt his sore and swollen ass. Leo helped him dress and hugged him buddy style. Ricky's tears still flowed freely down his freckled cheek but now he attempted a smile. I returned the snuffling but inwardly proud boy to the grateful sisters. They were profuse in their thanks. As soon as the sisters left Leo smiled at me smugly, "I did pretty good eh?" I told him I was grateful and thanked him generously without letting on how important his help may have been for the whole school. I didn't want it going to his head. I did remark to Leo that I hoped Ricky didn't spread stories about him waving his hardon around. "I don't think so," Leo replied, "but I'll talk to him .... And how come you didn't get one on at all?" I didn't feel like explaining strapping Ricky had been an ordeal for me too and I hope I never have to deal with a frightened, crying, hysterical boy again. "I guess Ricky wasn't much fun to whip, eh?" Leo continued after a pause.

"Not as much fun as you." I commented half seriously. Leo smiled as if he had received a compliment. Then I added half jokingly, "But you seemed to have a good time."

Leo thought a moment and said, "I figure he'd be OK if he wasn't a sissy." I nodded agreement. "Maybe he won't be anymore." I told him that could happen and when I thought about it I could see that Ricky had overcome some of his fears. The most difficult and unpleasant strapping I'd given was perhaps the only one I could feel any pride in. Leo remained pensive for a while then he asked, "A lot of people say the strap is bad, like they should get rid of it, What do you think?" I repeated old Pete's arguments about what would you use instead and Leo said they made sense. And then very directly, looking me in the eye, "Do you really like giving guys the strap?" I might joke about it but I wasn't ready for that particular question. "Well sometimes," I began, "but I don't like to hurt people. Only when it's like a test, a challenge to the boy, and he has to be able to take it. I wouldn't beat a boy blindly, take it beyond his endurance, that would be sick. If they really break down and cry that ah.... spoils it. It's sort of like a relationship you have to guide the boy through sometimes,... And you get to know a lot about them". I felt I'd said too much.

Leo didn't make it clear if he understood but he said, "Well I'm glad I got the strap at least once. Like you see other kids get it and you wonder. It hurts, but then after, with your friends it's sort of good." I told him I was glad I'd strapped him. He broke into a smile, rubbed his crotch and we both laughed. When I tidied up the storeroom Leo followed me in and we hugged affectionately for a minute, passion whelming up in my heart and groin. Boys wanting to borrow some hockey equipment interrupted us once again after our brief embrace I was disturbed and fearful about my intense longing for Leo. It was difficult, and hypocritical, as once more I ignored his obvious hint to visit my place.

Ricky was soon a regular around my office and workshop after classes. He had an enormous crush on Leo, following him everywhere and being a bit of an embarrassment to him. While Leo often tried to get rid of him he also invited him along on jaunts into town and showed him big brother affection, and sometimes I suspected little bit more.

Much as I appreciated, respected and loved Leo my personal relationship with him remained unsatisfactory. I was not prepared to face myself as a boy lover, a pederast who got his jollies from smacking boy's bottoms. Leo, I tried to believe, was some anomaly that I must protect myself from, as from some evil spirit that sought to possess me, or siren that wanted to lure me to my death. And I must protect him from me, whose pursuit of, threatens to corrupt him, to defile his innocent boyhood. I believed all those things. I was never very specific about the dangers, I didn't need to be, they stirred up almost overwhelming feelings of guilt and passion within me. I felt I knew what I must do, or not do with Leo. Or at least I knew what I wanted to do but shouldn't. Nor could I ignore him, neither my mind nor circumstance would cooperate. His mere presence excited me and, if allowed the chance, aroused me. My mind if not my hands had fondled every part of his perfect body and I liked to think that my memory had videotaped every one of his poses and expressions. Sometimes I would ask myself why I didn't just simply molest him, take him home and devour him in whatever ways he'd let me.

While my love and respect for Leo continued to grow so did my fears and guilt. My behaviour towards him became erratic, running hot and cold. This reached a climax one Friday shortly before the end of the fall term. A brief affectionate interlude at noon hour had ended with me once again refusing to allow him to visit me on the weekend. I even managed to work up a certain indignation at his suggestion. He left my workshop disappointed, and perhaps justifiably angry. He was back soon after classes in the custody of Mother Superior. He had been caught smoking again and had been obscenely impertinent with one of the sisters. "Twelve strokes of the strap ....or expulsion."

I was dumfounded, I felt as if I were the guilty one myself. I looked at Leo but he avoided my eyes. Mother Superior pointed out that the sister was very upset and that Leo had shown no remorse. She would of course wait and accompany Leo to the infirmary to be checked by the nurse after. I was helpless.

As soon as I had closed the storeroom door I demanded an explanation from Leo but he simply took his position by the horse and pulled down his pants. There was no rigid excited hardon this time. "Do it," he said as if an order. I hesitated. "Do it," he repeated, "Have your fun." Reluctantly I began, holding back on my strokes. After three he looked around at me and with more than a touch of sarcasm said, "You think I'm some little Ricky. Do it right. Make it a good one....SIR." About eight was his limit with any dignity. I just pushed on through to the full twelve trying to ignore his writhing, the muted screams and the blood that was beginning to splatter from cuts where the strap had landed again and again. I had to steady him for the last blow. He wouldn't let me near him after and I let him cry himself out for a while before I returned him to the Mother Superior. And then I had a good cry myself trying to keep busy with meaningless tasks.

With the approach of exams and the bitterly cold weather the school was practically deserted by four o'clock. Half an hour later with darkness setting in I was closing up my office when Leo appeared. "Can I get a ride, Sir? I missed the last bus." I couldn't say no. He climbed in beside me and we rode in silence. I was going to drop him off at home although I knew his mother wouldn't be home until well after nine as she worked late on Fridays. But then I looked at the sad faced boy, normally so cheerful and full of life, and from some combination of pity, guilt and perhaps desire I invited him back to my house for dinner. Leo's face immediately brightened although he verbally hedged his acceptance. I picked up a couple chicken TV dinners and some ice cream. Leo helped me tidy up my place, I hadn't had any guests in ages, and we played a couple of games of backgammon which he was just learning. It was soon like the events of the afternoon had never happened and Leo was back to his usual lively animated self. Towards six I put the dinners in the oven to heat and Leo asked if he could borrow the shower. I lit the fireplace and after his shower Leo sprawled himself out belly down of the towel in font of it. Huge, swollen purplish blotches across his slender buttocks marred his exquisite form.

I knelt beside him, "They don't look very good." I said

"Yeah," Leo replied, "And they're still pretty sore.... Sir." "I bet," I couldn't think of anything to say and I began gently stroking his neck and down his back to the crack of his ass carefully avoiding his bruises.

"Do you still like me?" Leo asked.

"Of course. I should ask you that question.... I think I like you too much. That's my problem." He looked up at me realizing I was serious. His eyes smiled and he placed a hand in mine. I kissed the back of his neck and around one ear and down between his shoulder blades.

"You didn't get a hardon this time, I could tell."

"Neither did you." I replied.

"I guess it wasn't much fun."

"No. It wasn't any fun at all. And twelve is far too many .... Why did you make me do it?"

"I'm sorry .... and sore." Leo intended the pun belatedly.

"I'm sorry too .... But not sore ... Except at you." I punned back.

He smiled broadly and I eased myself down beside him, snuggled an arm around his shoulder and combed his still damp hair with my fingers. He wriggled himself closer to me and I began kissing his neck and ear again. he seemed to purr and slowly rolled over on his back, his springy little hardon bobbing above his belly. He casually pulled his foreskin all the way down and invited me with his eyes to caress him. I gladly obliged.

Leo was a frequent and welcome guest at my house after that. I had finally accepted myself as is and my love for him. Our relations at school became smooth and formal. And I established a relationship of sorts with his mother as a cover. And Ricky's father dropped his objections to abolishing the strap and its use was gradually phased out. I gave only five minor strappings during the spring term, one was Ricky again. When he bashfully pulled down his shorts I noticed marks from a fairly recent spanking. I looked at him questioningly. "Oh them?… Well you see, me and Leo have been practising. I got up to twelve with thin belt that's almost as thick as your strap." This time it was a pleasure as he called out the strokes in his clear unbroken voice.

The strap had perhaps served its purpose and while I'm not sure that abolishing it was a wise policy I was personally glad to be relieved of the responsibility for administering it. I do however miss the peculiar pleasure of wielding it on boy's bottoms sometimes. I keep the old strap as a fond memento, an historical artefact, and Leo and I use it sparingly in our games from time to time.