This short story is an entry in the 2002 Soc.Sexuality.Spanking Summer Short Story Contest and is copyright by the author and commercial use is prohibited without permission. Personal/private copies are permitted only if complete including the copyright notice. The author would appreciate your comments
Category: Child
The following is a what going on here story. It is based on an image of a boy leaning over a music stand in what looks like a classroom that someone sent to me. The boy is wearing short shorts and knee socks. His sweater and shirt have pulled up exposing his back just above his shorts. He looks apprehensive and has long bangs. Unfortunately, I don't know about its copyright so I can not post it. By now it is surly obvious that this story is about school boy discipline.
Alfie -- Version 4
By
Y Lee Coyote <YLeeCoyote@juno.com>
The music class was whooping it up like they were in the Malamute saloon with a jag-time tune rather than the dull sedate piece they had been assigned to practice. They never heard the door open nor the maestro enter. However, the room got deadly silent when he swung the cane in the air. Even before the swosh faded they had all rushed to switch back to the assigned piece but it was too late. Not only was the cat out of the bag but its guts had been squealing loudly from the strings for all the world to hear.
Maestro McGrew rapped on his podium for quiet. He noted how much faster the class responded now that he was using the cane rather than his baton.
"Blah, blah, blah." he ranted telling the lads what terrible hooligans they were. "Blah, blah, blah." All of this ran off them, like water off of a duck's back. "Blah, blah, blah." Everything that is until he said: "Two strokes each."
Alfie Atkins was first. He leaned over the music stand. His face showed the trepidation he felt. Depressingly he knew that being first meant that the full force of McGrew 's anger would crash into his butt untempered by either repetition or fatigue.
But, there was also an advantage of being first. He would be able to watch each of the others get it knowing that he was not going to get it himself. There was a stirring in his crotch as he remembered times past.
The Maestro got into position and then raised the cane.
SWOSH! CRACK!!
It crashed down hard searing Alfie's butt. It seemed like a flash lamp exploded in his head with the intensity of a supernova for all was white glare and then all seemingly dark. Both the past and the future disappeared and only the pain of the instant remained in his consciousness
SWOSH! CRACK!!
Again the white hot iron, the flash and the dark. It was over.
Trying not to show how much pain he was in, Alfie returned to his seat as the Master called the next boy: "Baston".
SWOSH! CRACK!! SWOSH! CRACK!!
Alfie stopped worrying about the pain in his own ass but was concentrating on the risings in his own crotch. And how gratifying it would be to be swinging the cane; like he been hearing for years: better to give than receive.
By the time the master got to Knapp, he had a large tent to hide and as Trude, the last lad, got his two strokes, Alfie almost creamed in his shorts.
Alfie knew that he had better take a towel to bed this night.
The End
© Copyright July 30, 2002
Reviews
Tami <tamishy(at)webtv(dot)net>
This story has a lot of imagery, it's quite strong as well. The writer doesn't hold anything back. He makes no excuses for what this is, it is simply a story of self-indulgence.
Pablo Stubbs <Pablo.Stubbs(at)newsguy(dot)com>
Y. Lee's writing can be a strange mixture of different tones and moods, and that's captured perfectly here. There's the fear of punishment, but also the arousal. There's very plain description, seasoned with perfect imagery - the last sentence of the first paragraph in particular is wonderful. Finally, the dynamic of a group punishment, in which one feels both trepidation but also schadenfreude, is nicely identified.
MollyB <mollyb(at)newsguy(dot)com>
I like this series of possible interpretations of a picture. Each short story also stands on its own.
Owen Williamson <ashthorn(at)maildulf(dot)com>
A completely different story based on the same picture. Complements to the writer for the imagination. Again, not really my thing, but I could easily empathise with the central character.