Perverts 'R' Us

Francis Gets Abused - Part 2

By Francissy ( M/b )

There are some things that happened last week that I can scarcely remember, but all those years ago, when I was ten, on that Friday afternoon, I can remember almost every detail; the deafening silence in his kitchen, the warm sun on my bare flesh, the pounding of my heart. It was in the June and I was on my way home from school. I was in the usual uniform: jacket with embroidered badge, tie (badly knotted), grey shirt, grey shorts (too tight, - times were hard and you had to wear clothes until you grew out of them), grey socks (down around your ankles) and dusty, scuffed black shoes. I had a satchel over my shoulder.

I had no idea that I was girlish or effeminate, or that I was attractive to certain types of men, I had no idea that a "willy" was a penis, nor that they came in different shapes and sizes. I was an innocent, so far. All that would change the next year, when just before my eleventh birthday we moved down south and I had to go to a new school. But then we were in Cheshire and I hadn't a care in the world.

My way home took me down a path behind a row of houses. A high brick wall protected their back gardens. Over one of these walls overhung the branches of an apple tree. They weren't eating apples - they were big, green cooking apples. The week before I had climbed onto a dustbin and reached up and grabbed a bagful of the heavy apples. Now there weren't any apples in reach, but I could see them hanging heavy on the branches on the other side of the wall.

I shinned up on the dustbin and pulled myself onto the top of the brick wall. The garden beneath was full of fallen apples, many of them half eaten by worms or birds. There was a tin bucket in the garden and I had an idea. There was no sign of life in the old house. I climbed back down into the lane and then around into the street to the front of the houses. I crept up the path of the house, rang the doorbell, then ran and hid. No-one answered the door. I did it again and still no-one answered the door.

Emboldened, I went back to the rear alley and clambered back on top of the wall. I climbed into the branches of the tree and then dropped to the ground. I scampered across the walled garden and grabbed the bucket, and then I began filling it with juicy apples. To this day I am sure that I heard a noise of some kind, but a second later, and before I could react, strong arms grabbed me from behind and I was held in a fierce and vice-like grip.

Forgotten were my satchel and the bucket. It was a silent struggle, I don't think I screamed or called out. I tried with my hands to loosen the hands that dragged me across the grass and I lost my footing. Then I was bundled into the house and the door slammed shut behind me. I was in a back kitchen. I was shaking with fear and my captor with anger. He was a middle-aged man, his hair unkempt and his complexion blotchy. He was in shirt-sleeves and looked very scary. I was leaning against the kitchen table, trying to get my breath back. My throat was bone dry.

"You little thief! What have you got to say for yourself?" he demanded. What could I say? I just hung my head in shame.

I remember the silence that followed. It was electric, broken only by our breathing. He was looking at me; there was anger in his eyes, and excitement.

"I know what school you go to. I shall report you to the Headmaster. Tell your parents an' all. Maybe go the police."

Anyone of his threats was sufficient to scare me, all three were overwhelming.

I begged him not to. I think I just kept saying "Please, no".

"If I told the Headmaster you'd get the cane."

But it was the threat of telling my parents or the police that really worried me.

"Right" he said "you turn around and lean over the table."

I wanted to ask "why" but I didn't dare. I did as he said.

"Now I'm going to give you a spanking myself, or do I report you?" he said.

"Please don't report me!" I sobbed.

Then he came and stood close up behind me, and then around came his big, hairy hands and he began messing with the buttons on my shorts. I couldn't believe it. He was going to pull my shorts down! There was plainly a misunderstanding here, at school they didn't pull your shorts down, what was he thinking? But I was powerless. He began tugging the shorts down. But my shorts were so tight that as pulled them down they began to pull my underpants down with them as well! I knew that as soon as he saw what was happening, as soon as he saw the naked flesh of my bottom that he would stop. I closed my eyes and clenched my fists and gritted my teeth. But he didn't stop pulling until my shorts and pants were around my ankles and I was naked from the waist down.

"Do you have 'six of the best' at school?" he asked, and without waiting for an answer, said "because I'm going to give you twelve, but not all at once", and before I could reply, his hand hit my bottom. My whole body shook. His hands were the size of table tennis bats. He smacked me six times and when he'd finished I was left whimpering and rubbing my sore cheeks with my hands.

But I was even more anxious to pull my pants up. As I reached down he grabbed hold of my shoulder and twisted me around to face him. I had to grab hold of the table to keep my balance and was unable to cover my privates. There was a long moment as he stared at my exposed willy. And in that moment I experienced a subliminal flash, as if somewhere in the back of my mind a curtain had briefly opened, allowing in a flash of light, and then closed just as quickly. And in that flash I remembered posing while a man photographed my nude body on the beach at Pwllhelli, and now I was being posed again, and I realized that this was not about crime and punishment; it was about a strong, fully clothed male dominating a weak, impotent and naked boy. It wasn't about my transgression and his justice; it was about desire - his desire for me. But before I could grasp the concept, I was struggling to pull up my pants and shorts to cover my burning bottom and little willy.

"You wait right there!" he ordered, and then strode out into the sunlit garden. He returned, holding my satchel and the bucket of apples. He set the bucket down. Then he opened the satchel and pulled out one of my school exercise books. He read my name off the cover.

"Now Francis" he continued, "I know your name and I know which school you go to. You'll come back here next Friday same time for the rest of your punishment. If you don't come I'll be straight round to police and school to report you. Do you understand?"

I finished stuffing my shirt-tails back into my shorts and mumbled "Yes sir" and held out my hand for my satchel.

"Here lad" he said, "you'd better take these" and he handed me the bucket of apples as well!

He opened the front door for me and I fled, determined never to return.

I can't remember what turmoil I went through the rest of the week, but I imagine it was similar to the feelings I had when I knew I had a dentist's appointment - praying the dentist would die in a crash, hoping the surgery would catch fire, hoping someone would declare World War III; but in the end the day dawns and you bow to the inevitable.

I hesitated at the gate of his front door path. Maybe he wasn't home. Maybe he'd forgotten. Maybe I was forgiven.

Halfway up the path and the front door swung open. I stepped into the gloomy hallway. Nothing was said. What do you say to a man who is about to strip you and assault you? "Nice to see you again?"

He shut the front door and led me through to his back kitchen. I dropped my satchel to the floor. I stared at the floor. Silence.

Like a lamb to the slaughter.

"Give me your jacket," he said. I wondered why, but slipped it off and handed it to him.

"And your shirt and tie." He threw the jacket onto a sideboard. I was scared. Why did he want me bare-chested? Was he going to spank my top half?

"Now Francis" he said softly, staring at my narrow chest, "bend over the table and undo your shorts"

I stepped up to the table and suffered the indignity of having to undo my own buttons, assisting in my own abasement.

The man came up behind me, and those hard hands took hold of my waistband and I trembled as he forced them and my pants down.

"Lift up your foot!" he growled and grasped my ankle and pulled my feet from the shorts. I was naked.

He tossed my shorts and pants onto the sideboard with my jacket and shirt. There was a pregnant pause. I knew I was blushing. I glanced down at myself - those hairless plump thighs and shriveled little genitals. I prayed for the ordeal to be over.

I gripped the edge of the table with my hands.

Smack! My buttocks shook. And then five more.

I yelped with each smack. Then I rubbed my burning cheeks.

I turned around to face him, careful to cover my privates from his view with my hands. He was breathing heavily, he was excited. I waited for him to give me back my clothes.

"Just one more thing and you can be gone" he promised.

"What's that?" I asked nervously.

"I want you to go and clear up all the apples in my garden, and you can take as many as you can carry home with you."

"Alright," I replied. I certainly wasn't going to say 'thank you'!

"Well go on then!" he shouted. I just stood there, my hands covering my willy, looking from him, to the back door, to my clothes on the sideboard, back to him. My mouth must have been open. He wanted me to run around his walled garden in the nude! Somewhere in the back of my mind, that curtain twitched again and a shaft of light escaped. I still had my shoes and socks on. How long could it take? I ran to the back door, opened it with one hand, keeping myself covered with the other, then I was out and running. I had to use both hands to gather the apples into my arms. I looked around for somewhere to dump my armful. As I looked around in despair, aware that my privates were on display, the man came through the back door into the garden, and locked the door behind him. He had a large sack in his hand. I had to run to him to drop the apples into the sack.

Then I had to repeat the process. And all the time he was watching my body move; the shake of my bottom, the swing of my little dick. I stopped running. Now he had seen me, what was the point of hiding? What was the point of running? I took my time dropping the apples into the sack. I let him look all he wanted. I felt a sense of power, the knowledge that my body could affect this grown man in some way gave me a strange tingle, like the tingle that I got when I pinched or squeezed the end of my willy. I felt it stiffen. When I had picked up all the apples I stood quietly by the back door until he unlocked it and let me back inside.

I dressed quickly and in silence.

As I left, he patted my bottom and said I was always welcome to come back, anytime, and help him in the garden.

Contact Francissy at supersunray@sapo.pt