Afterburner (M/M)

 

♥ Site recommended story ♥

A repeat of this hot spanking fiction by your host, Rod Cayenne. All the characters are aged 18 or over. Strictly adults only!

“Hello Tim, how much studying have you done tonight?”

“Not so much, Dad.  Hardly any.  Well, next to none.”

“You mean precisely none?”

“Yes, none, sorry Dad.”

“And just remind me how much studying you did over the weekend, please.”

“Err, sorry Dad, that was none too.”

“And just remind me how long it is until your A Level exams.”

“A term, or so, Dad.  I’m sorry, it’s not my fault.  It’s this new video game.  It’s so absorbing.  You play as this really cool character…”

“I don’t want to hear about it!  Of course it’s your fault that you’ve done no studying!  It’s not my fault is it?  It’s not that new game’s fault either.  It’s time you faced up to your own failings and lack of self-discipline.  Now, I told you there would be serious consequences if you didn’t buck your ideas up, didn’t I?”

“Yes, Dad.  But please.  One more chance please.  Please don’t take my console away!”

“That’s not what I had in mind, son.”

“Oh thanks, Dad.  Now can I get on please?”

“No, and don’t be so cocky!  Turn it off.  Right now!  I want your undivided attention for a minute.  I’ve got an appointment with your headmaster, Mr Crudge, first thing in the morning.  I’m not happy about having to discuss your laziness with him.  Not one bit.  I’m a busy man and I will be late in for work.  Fortunately my boss was very understanding when I told him what I was going to do.  In fact a lot of it was his idea.”

Tim wasn’t scared of ‘Thrasher’ Crudge.  The old man had lost his edge ever since corporal punishment had been banned, or maybe even a bit before.  He could give a mean tongue-lashing, but now there was no bite to back it up.

The following day, Tim’s father was ushered in to see Mr. Crudge.  The old headmaster sat listening intently as the boy’s failings were recounted.  It wasn’t an entirely new story.  There seemed to be a malaise of laziness spreading throughout the nation’s youth, and by now it had even infected the offspring of the burghers and citizens of the small market town.  The older man spoke, “I hope you don’t mind, but I feel compelled to speak frankly.  I’m inclined to think a lot of this is your own fault, as the boy’s father.  Did you or did you not buy him this video game console thing?”

“Well yes, I did headmaster, he was most insistent.”

“Hmm, I bet he was.”

“It’s not that simple though.  The kids of today, a lot of them have much more money than you and I did as lads.  He is 18 and he’d have bought himself one if I hadn’t.”

“Yes, I suppose that’s true.  But you must have agreed to him having a television set in his bedroom in the first place.”

“Yes, I did.”

“Most unwise, if I may say so, most unwise.  Now, how can I help?  Have you decided to take away the TV and games console?”

“No, I can’t bring myself to do that.  That would be cruel.  What I was wondering was.  I was thinking, perhaps…”

“Come on man, spit it out!”

“Well I was talking to my boss down the factory.  In the office.”

“Indeed?”

“Well, he was saying that it’s not that long since corporal punishment was abolished.  He’d heard that some headmasters did home visits to get around the new rules.”

“What?  What?  Am I understanding you correctly?  Home visits to carry out punishments that a father could and should do himself?  The very idea!”

“Oh, I see.  You’re not one of those select few then?”

“A self-selecting few I should imagine!  No, no, no!”

“I just thought a short, sharp shock, like I used to get in this very office, would be much kinder in the long run than taking Tim’s stuff away.”

“Wait!  You were thrashed here?  By my predecessor I take it, Mr. Bloom?”

“Yes, Basher Bloom we used to call him.”

“Yes, I’d heard.  Most disrespectful, if I may say so.  Anyway, we’re drifting.  You could give your lad a slippering, you know.  A good hot dozen or so.  Or 18 to match his age.  Yes, that’s what I’d recommend, off the record, of course.”

“Of course.  I could, headmaster, that’s very true.  But you and I both know that the cane is in another league, don’t we?  I think I’ve left it a bit late for a tap or two with the slipper.  I was thinking of an old-fashioned six of the best with the cane.  Like I used to get from old Mr Bloom.  Yes, six of the very best from an experienced disciplinarian.  Something that will make a real impression. So, I’m afraid that I hardly qualify.”

“Well, yes, you’re right. The cane is not that easy to master. There is a certain technique to it.  You’d find it difficult to start with, it’s true.  It’s a dying skill, of course.  Sadly.  I’m not convinced that abolition represents progress.  Anyway, it just so happens that I do still have some canes here.  I couldn’t bring myself to throw them away.  Would you like to see them?”

“Err, yes please.  I’ve never seen one close up.  Though I certainly remember the sting!”

“Yes, I’m sure.  Not easily forgotten, eh?  Now, take a look at these fine specimens,” said the headmaster as he produced four dusty canes from out of nowhere.

Tim’s father surveyed the canes before him, “Actually, they look a bit old to me. And lifeless.  Are you sure they’d still be up any good? Are they up to the job?”

“Most definitely I’m sure! Is that a challenge? All right, you’re on! Your lad’s going to confirm that they’re up to it!”

The conspiracy was on!  A date was fixed. A time was fixed. Teenager Tim was transfixed.  He uttered that most stupid of questions, “Is that a cane?”

Crudge smiled at him, “Yes it’s a cane, my lad.  I like to think of it as my very own Afterburner.  Or a kind of Beat ‘Em Up!”

Tim groaned inwardly at the headmaster’s puns, but couldn’t take his eyes off the rattan cane.  He’d never, ever seen one before.  It looked old and wicked, just like the headmaster.  He gazed at the crook-handled cane in the old mans hand.  His eyes misted over.

“Look at me when I’m talking to you!” said Crudge as he flexed the cane menacingly, “Too much playing and not enough working.  Disgraceful! Now, the Boss will take you to the next level.  Bend over this chair for me.”

So it was that Tim obeyed ‘Thrasher’ Crudge.  The atmosphere was electric as the lad bent over the dining chair.  The old man wasted no time, whipping down a first stroke that caught the teen by surprise.  A second stroke followed, causing Tim to yelp with pain and alarm.  A third stroke landed with a resounding thwack.  By now a wildfire seemed to be burning beneath Tim’s trousers and underpants.  “No more, please! Dad! Help!” the teenager cried out, losing all dignity, and started to rise from the chair.

“Get back down! Right now! Don’t you dare move again,” chided the headmaster.

“Sorry son, this is long overdue. Now, do as Mr Crudge says and take your medicine like a man!” Father chipped in.

Crudge resolved to get the thrashing over quickly to avoid further outbursts.  He hadn’t told the lad that it would be six strokes, but he lashed the final three down rapidly.  Tim could bear it no more, standing up and shouting, “Bloody Hell!”

The headmaster frowned, and used his cane to point at the teenager, saying,  “Well, that’s a surprise!  I do believe you’ve earned a bonus round.  I told you to stay down, and you disobeyed me, didn’t you?  And swearing as well.  Tut, tut.  Two strokes extra!”

By now Tim’s father was wondering if he’d made a mistake in inviting the headmaster over.  Eight strokes was a bit excessive, he began to think. As his son bent over, father could only imagine the pain he must be in.   His mind flashed back to canings he’d received all those years ago. The pain, the weals, the ridges, the bruising, the teasing of his classmates and the shame.  And yes, the tears.

Father was brought back to the present with a loud awakening.  It was the crack of the seventh stroke of the cane, which caused his son to yell out furiously.  Savouring the moment, Crudge lined the whippy old cane up for a final excruciating stroke. It had been a long time, he thought.  Too long.  Landing the stroke right on target, it cracked loudly against the lad’s fleshy arse. Tim gasped and sobbed but at last it was over.  He was instructed to rise, and then to his surprise and that of his father, he shook Mr Crudge’s hand firmly, as if he was sincerely grateful for the lesson imparted.

It was to be the first, but not last time that Mr Crudge was invited over to discipline Tim.  And in the end, the old headmaster got a taste for making such home visits.  Tim’s father was given a substantial pay rise by his boss. And Tim?  Well, he got in to a very good University, quite easily.

 

 

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D I S C L A I M E R

All characters appearing in this story are over 18 and are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

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Story © MMXVII by Rod Cayenne

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