Dave manning

Paul Tanner's Schooldays

Chapter One

Hi Mike!

I'm writing this in jail – at least, I call it jail, my dad calls it "grounded in my room." He even took all my clothes away, in case I try to escape through the window. So I'm writing this standing naked in front of my desk – standing for a good reason, which would be obvious if you could see my bare arse after dad finished using that damned strap on it. That dreaded tawse is now hanging behind the door, ready for the second dose he's promised me. Unless of course he's bought me an even fiercer implement for my 15th birthday tomorrow!

And – you wouldn't believe it would you – all this just because the two of us got suspended from school for playing with each other's willies! The fact that we were stark naked didn't help. I didn't mention the fact that you find my bare body totally irresistable, (and so's yours for that matter). In any case, it was after our training run, we were lying together in the long grass by the running track, and we only wearing our gym shorts – and as usual when we're together we were both seriously hard, so what were we going to do about it except shed our shorts and relieve each other? That's all we were doing, nothing serious, just wanking each other off. Big deal! And all the time the groundsman was standing unseen nearby, ready to march us off to the Headmaster's study afterwards.

There was a phone message for me from my dad when I slunk home. The Headmaster had phoned his office to tell him of our disgrace. I was to go directly to jail, not to pass go, not to collect £200 but instead to collect the strap, strip for punishment and adopt the position. He would be home to deal with me, as he delicately put it, in due course. Which turned out to be about two hours! You'd have loved to see me bending submissively over the bed end, with your favorite part of my anatomy provocatively presented for serious pain. Maybe if you'd been around I'd have got something other than a beating! Don't tell anyone I said that!

To hear my dad ranting all the time he was whipping me you'd think it was Sodom and Gomorah rolled into one. You know the sort of stuff, disgracing the family, didn't bring me up to be a fruit etc, etc. And it was all the fault of that darned school, no proper training and discipline, never use the cane let alone the birch like when he was a boy. And of course you got your share of the blame – always been a bad influence etc. I expect your dad thinks the same about me! I was in no position to argue, and anyhow I was too busy yelling and begging for mercy. Boy, did I get a licking!!

I expect I deserved it – but, I ask you, can a boy help it if he gets the hots for his best friend? Dad says all that sort of thing can be beaten out of a boy, but he hasn't the time to take the job on himself. I need to be at a boarding school with masters and prefects to take me in hand day and night and give me the regular discipline I need – and he knows just the place. It's called the Boyes Academy for Delinquent Boys and Offending Youths (BADBOYS for short !!) and it's on an island called the Isle of Boyes where they don't have any stupid laws against CP. Apparently the Headmaster, Sir Jay, is a stickler for old-fashioned discipline and has strong views about sexual misbehaviour. And just as important, says dad, I'll be separated from that reprobate Mike.

So I'm to be packed off there, soon as I've served my sentence up here. I'll miss you like crazy, but maybe it's going to be exciting living on an island with lots of other boys like me. Dad's written to the Headmaster already, to see if they can fit me in when the school year starts next week.

Are you gated? If not, why don't you come over while my dad's at work tomorrow – I'll be able to show you the results of my punishment through the open window, and knowing your dad you'll have something very colourful to show me. Ever since we were little we've always done that after spankings haven't we?

My dad's just driven up, any minute now he'll be coming up the stairs. Better get the strap down for him and get in position for another tanning. Here's hoping he'll relent and let me off!

I'll throw this letter down to Jonathan when he passes on his way home from school, so he can drop it off at your place.

Love Paul

Hi Paul!

I knew those rock-climbing lessons we took would stand us in good stead – I was up the drainpipe and into your room like lightning, and hopefully nobody saw. Our dads certainly did a good job on both our backsides.

Thanks for a great afternoon. Hope you enjoyed your birthday treat as much as I did. I thoroughly enjoyed finding another use for a bed other than sleeping and bending over it for the strap! And both in our birthday suits too! Doing it with our mouths in the 69 position, and swallowing the results was a perfect way to avoid leaving any evidence. Can't wait for us to get together, and come together, again!

Trouble is, after that, I'm even more devastated about us being separated. So thanks for the loan of that BADBOYS brochure your dad gave you. Hope he won't want it back in a hurry, because I've put it in an envelope with my dad's name and address typed on it and mailed it to him. He'll wonder who sent it, but he's already muttered about sending me to boarding school, and the BADBOYS fees seem very reasonable.

Wouldn't it be fab if he decides to send me there! Main thing is he doesn't find out you are going there, or that would put the kaibosh on it. As you suspected, he blames your bad influence for my downfall. But our dad's don't know each other, so there's a good chance I might be joining you. I don't care if that headmaster guy canes me twice a day, it'll be worth it to be with you.

Love (and I mean that)

Mike.

Paul's Diary 15th August 1957

Today I embark on an exciting if rather frightening adventure. I have decided to write a diary of my experiences as a BADBOYS inmate.

I looked at my atlas to find out where the Isle of Boyes is, thinking it would be off the coast of England, and found it was actually in the Med! Dad said I wouldn't need to take much in the way of clothes, just shorts and a T shirt for the journey.

He added, grinning broadly, I'd be provided with a school uniform 'such as it is' when I arrived.

He drove me to a harbour where a three-masted schooner was moored. Its name is 'BADBOY'. It belongs to Sir Jay, the Headmaster, and is used to ferry supplies and boys to the island, as well as a training ship for the pupils. It has real sails just like a pirate ship in a story, but also an engine. There were six other boys waiting, and we were herded onto the deck, where the three permanent crewmen, the skipper, the mate, and the bosun, were standing, eager to inspect us. We were ordered to undress, and the men surveyed their new ship hands, which we were to be for the journey. The skipper, a handsome, tough looking, bearded man in his forties, pointed me out to the bosun, who nodded.

"Come here boy!" ordered the skipper, "What's your name, boy?"

"Please Sir, Paul Tanner Sir."

"Well Paul, you are to be our cabin boy! As far as you are concerned, the mate and the bosun here are your slave-masters, and I am god almighty. You owe this privelege to your perfect young body, and the fact that judging from the fresh strap welts, your very desirable backside is used to harsh treament, and will be resilient enough to withstand the bosun's rope's end." Then as an afterthought he added, "Better test it out though, eh bosun?"

"Aye-aye Sir!" said the burly bosun, pulling from a copious pocket a length of thick, well-tarred rope with two knots tied in it. I turned and bent over, eager to show my mettle, and the bosun lost no time in subjecting said rear-end to six agonising lashes, each of which left two purple bruises where the knots sank into my tender flesh. I managed not to yell out loud, by biting hard on my lower lip, but my eyes were watering when I stood up, and managed a rueful smile.

"Thanks, master bosun sir!" I said. I was, I admit, trying to impress my new schoolmates with this display of submissive fortitude. I certainly impressed the bosun, who admired a lad who could take the punishment he so much enjoyed inflicting.

The mate too certainly took a shine to me, though more attracted by my body than any personal qualities, of which, according to my father, I have few enough. He soon found a pretext to summon me to his cabin, and seemed eager to detain me there. The skipper, he told me, and the bosun, were both married men, but he himself was not a lady's man. More of a boy's man, he said, puting an arm around my shoulder. Dammit, I was naked, and his attentions brought willie to attention. My willie has a will of its own and always seems eager for action, whatever I think about the matter. I've a feeling it's going to cause me lots of problems with alll the bad boys at BADBOYS!

"Yes Sir," I hastened to tell him, "And I'm a boy's boy, and I'm already spoken for."

I told him about Mike, our feelings for one another, how I could hardly betray him for a shipboard romance, I told him Mike was probably coming out to join me at BADBOYS and finished up blurting out the whole story. Luckily I was summoned by a raucous shout of "BOY!" from the skipper, demanding my services, and the matter went no further, but I was aware of his lustful eyes following me around for the rest of the day. Now it's time for us weary boys to take to our hammocks. They tell me the Bay of Biscay can be pretty rough, so we may have problems staying in them,

Chapter Two
The Cabin Boy

Overnight the engine was started and we got away up the channel on the high tide. We were wakened at first light by the bosun's whistle, followed by his cry of "Show a leg, you lazy young lubbers!" We tumbled out of our hammocks, the image of the rope's end imprinted on everone's mind, not to mention on my backside.

"All hands on deck! Except you, cabin boy!" he added with an evil grin, "You've got unfinished business in the First Mate's cabin, so I'm told."

My heart sank, while my rebellious willie rose abruptly. I feared for my fragile virginity, which willie seemed all too eager to surrender. My observant comrades grinned at my discomfort as they put on their shorts. In the circumstances, there seemed little point in putting on mine "See you later, fellers!" I said, forcing a grin as I headed off naked to meet my fate.

The First Mate was wearing only his undershorts, which bulged ominously as he greeted me. He was a fine figure of a man, bronzed and muscular but with little body hair. In his hand he held a fearsome looking rattan cane, quivering whippily in his hand as if eager for action

"You know what this is, Paul?"

"Yes Sir, a punishment cane sir," I said nervously.

"British Naval Issue," he informed me, "For the correction of midshipmen and junior ratings. My father was issued with it as a naval officer, and always brought it with him when he came home on leave. My mother always had a list., a record of all my misdeeds. You are about to find out why I feared his homecoming. I am going to use it to remind an insolent cabin boy of his duties. When I require a service from you, you have no right to refuse or object in any way. The penalty for doing so is extremely painful! How old are you Paul?"

"Fifteen Sir"

"Then you will receive fifteen strokes – if you would care to drape that stunning young body of yours over the arm of my chair."

As I wrote in my diary yesterday, my willie has a life of its own, and while I was dreading the intense pain that was about to be inflicted on my long-suffering bare backside, willie was getting very excited, stiff as a ramrod. I've got a zany theory – willie's jealous. Whenever I get my gear off, all eyes focus on my backside. I'm not kidding, really butch guy's rave about it, can't wait to put me across their knee and spank it! Nobody ever compliments my willie (except Mike!) which is why willie is so keen for my rear end to get whipped. OK, can you think of a better theory?

The smooth leather of the armchair against my bare flesh only increased willie's arousal. But as ever it was the reverse side of my anatomy which was the centre of attention.

"Hoist yourself up a little higher, Paul!. I wish to concentrate my efforts on the most sensitive area of your delightful buttocks. Are you ready to be caned?"

"Yes Sir!" It was a lie. Nothing could have made me ready for the agony which surged through my body after the cane swished down and lashed resoundingly into the tender flesh where the buttocks meet the thighs. THWACK!!!! OOOW!!! Oh no sir please sir!!"

"You remember what the skipper told you about how a cabin boy should regard an officer?"

"P-please Sir, Y-yes Sir, as a slavemaster Sir!"

THWACK!!! THWACK!! More yelling and anguished pleas for mercy from yours truly.

"And what is the status of a slave's body to his Master?"

"Please Sir, he owns it Sir!"

THWACK!!!! THWACK!!! THWACK!!!

I was blubbering now.

"Precisely boy. A cabin boy does not protest when an officer proposes to use his body for his sexual pleasure. That is what cabin boys are for! "

THWACK!! THWACK!! THWACK!! THWACK!!! "You understand that boy?"

Y-yes sir" I sobbed.

THWACK!!! THWACK!! THWACK!!! THWACK!!!THWACK!!!!

To my immense relief, he put aside the cane, and told me to kneel at his feet.

"Pull down my shorts, Paul!" he ordered.

With some difficulty I eased the elastic waistband over the throbbing protuberance which awaited my attention. Thanks to Mike I knew exactly what was required. I opened wide.

The First Mate well understood the psychology of a boy like me – when he'd mastered me with the cane, he knew I'd be putty in his hands. If he'd wanted to screw me he'd have met with no resistance, but he was satisfied with the oral relief I gave him. I think I'm getting quite good at it, after the practice I've had with Mike! He gave me a big hug, wiped the tears from my cheeks with his discarded shorts, then put me across his knee and applied a soothing lotion to my cane welts. Finally he gently relieved my throbbing willie with his hand, a favour for which willie was duly grateful.

I remembered my manners. "Thankyou Sir. I'll be a good little cabin boy in future Sir!" I said. Then I added, (and I think it was willie speaking!) "I thought you were going to – er – do the other thing sir."

"You mean sodomy? You're only just 15, Paul, come back in a year's time!"

"Is that an order Sir?" I sad, grinning.

"No – it's an option. You probably won't be cabin boy then will you?"

On the deck, I joined my shipmates, who were busy hoisting the sails. The ship had got away under power on the previous night's tide, and we now had a fair wind round Cape Finisterre. My fellow Bad Boys had been entertained in their task by the sound of my whipping, and were duly impressed by my cane welts. The bosun sent me to put my shorts on, then up a rope ladder into the rigging, to help unfurl the foresail. After we'd finished we were sent below to prepare breakfast, first for the officers, then for ourselves. As cabin boy I had to serve the officers before eating myself, and feared the other ravenous youngsters would eat the lot before I got a chance. As it turned out one of the younger boys, the very attractive blond, blue-eyed 13-year-old Oliver, had saved my share for me. I asked the very inocent looking Ollie what he'd done to be sent to BADBOYS. It turned out he'd been brought up by his mother, but she'd remarried. His step father wanted to 'make a man of him' but wasn't prepared to do it himself. I think Ollie and I are going to be great friends.

The bosun kept us busy for the rest of the day, swabbing decks and assisting the officers in various ways. Two boys were caught skiving and got the ropes-end, and I have to say I enjoyed not being on the receiving end for once.

August 12th

Today we were making good progress with a fair wind, and there wasn't much for the crew to do. The skipper left the first mate on watch and assembled us boys in his cabin to give us a lecture on life on Boyes Island. At the school there there are three houses, former barrack rooms on three sides of the vast castle courtyard, which is set up as a sportsfield. It seems like games are very important at BADBOYS. The fourth side is where the castle keep is, and houses the schoolrooms and the staff, with the headmaster's study at the top of the tower up a steep stone staircase. Boys have to report there for floggings. The skipper told us lots of stuff, too much to write down here, so i'll just mention the things that got willie excited.

One of which is, we don't get to wear very much, because of the hot climate, just shorts most of the time, which we have to remove for laundering when we enter the dormitory, so in each dorm there are twelve naked boys, one of whom is the dorm captain, a prefect who can beat us whenever he feels like it. And I got the impression that beating was only one of the things the prefects get to do to us!

A 'relaxed sexual regime', as the skipper put it. But there are dozens of rules we have to obey or get beaten, and we're going to have to learn them by heart. Ollie looked very scared about all the beatings and everything and I rashly promised I'd look after him. He looked at me adoringly and confided, "I won't mind the sex bit, provided it's with you Paul."

Yes, Ollie and I are going to be great friends.

Tomorrow morning we sail through the Straits of Gibraltar and arrive at Boyes Island.

Chapter Three
The Housemaster

Author's comment::

Fortunately for this chronicle, both the Headmaster, Sir Jay Harris (affectionately known to his students as "Sir Bossman") and his son Jason kept diaries in the relevant period, and they have kindly allowed excerpts to be included. The named author gratefully acknowledges Sir Jay, his revered cybermaster and trainer, as co-author.

Jason's diary, August 23rd:

This has been one of those eventful days when everything seems to happen, so this is sure to be my longest ever diary entry!

It's always a big day on Boyes Island when the boat arrives with a new consignment of inmates, especially exciting for me, as, at the early age of 23, I have just been appointed Housemaster of Sparta House and Head of Sport for the whole school (nothing to do, I like to think, with my father being the Headmaster! I prefer to believe my early promotion was entirely due to my magnetic personality, my air of command, my sporting prowess and the expertise at administering corporal punishment which I learned at my father's knee, (or should I say across it!)

This morning my father allowed me to look through the application forms of the new boys, and choose two to join my dormitory. It didn't take me long. The physical appearance of his boys plays is important to my father (and to me also), so he requires three full length unclothed photographs, a front view, a rear view and a side view. His rule was clear: fat boys, scrawny boys, those with body hair, or those having any disproportion in their physique need not apply. In view of the hot climate here, for much of the time all of us, including staff, wear only mid-thigh shorts (and nothing at all in the confines of our dormitories!) so our students have to be boys who look better out of their clothes than in them.

All the successful applicants would have been acceptable adornments to my tribe, but two in particular were instant cock-raisers. They met every criterion, and also had pleasant faces suggestive of a compliant disposition, and beautiful, highly spankable backsides. That of the older boy, a fifteen-year-old called Paul, bore distinct signs of a recent sound thrashing. An ability to take punishment is an important asset here, especially in Sparta House. The other boy, a beautiful 13-year-old blue-eyed blond stunner called Oliver, I just can't wait to get into my bed! (not that housemasters are allowed to take boys to bed – but we're none of us perfect) No good at sport it seems, this Oliver, but rest assured, under my training HE WILL BE!! His step father wants us to make a man of him, and I am eager to accept the challenge.

While I was ogling the photographs, a boy arrived to be caned, for having masturbated without permission – an infringement of the rules which required him to be birched. "When you need relief you must inform your prefect or your housemaster, who will take the necessary action," he told the boy sternly. The boy muttered something about needing it all the time, and not wanting to be a nuisance, which of course earned him extra strokes for answering back. While my father was busy applying the birch to his bare arse, I pocketed the photographs, eager to show them to my side-kick and Dormitory Captain Prefect Derek, who has similar taste in boys to myself. I intended to return them to the files after he had seen them, before my father noticed their absence. Unfortunately, while Derek was doing his ogling, word came that the ship had anchored, and we made for the quay to greet the new arrivals. However, as we set off, the boy who had been getting the flogging sprinted up to us, still naked, his face tear-stained and contorted with pain from his well deserved punishment.

"P-please Master Jason Sir, the Headmaster wants to see you back in his study immediately – something about some photographs," he blubbed, rubbing his ravaged behind. I knew I was for the high jump. Yes, I'm a Housemaster, a 200 pound six foot hunk of athletic manhood, but I still get whipped by my father, as do the other staff! "You're never too old," is his dictum. "If it works for the boy it will work for the man." I can't argue with that. The only concession to our seniority is that he lashes our backs instead of our buttocks. I knew that after he'd finished with me I wouldn't be putting a shirt on for several days, my back would be far too sore. And so it proved. I trudged back up the sixty steep stone steps in the tower that led to my father's study, just like every teen-age boy who has earned a flogging. I apologised profusely, stripped naked, and stood facing the wall with my hands planted firmly on my head, to receive a well-earned twenty vicious lashes with the fearsome senior tawse, which resembles the naval cat 'o nine tails, but with fewer thongs.

The whipping was only half over, and though I say it myself I was bearing it well, when there was a knock on the door. My father paused, and pressed the switch which lit up the "ENTER" sign outside his door. Turning my head, I saw it was a group headed by Derek, with one arm round the shoulder of the boy Paul, and the other round that of Oliver. Four other youngsters followed nervously behind, clearly having heard the repeated sound of the lash across my bare flesh as they approached. It was embarrassing to be receiving a whipping in the presence of these lads, especially the two who were to be my minions.

"Please Sir I've brought the new boys Sir" said Derek, examining with what looked like amusement the livid welts above my shoulder blades. My father welcomed them warmly, then introduced me to Paul and Oliver "My Son Jason, your Housemaster – he is at present being reminded what happens to any member of this school, student or staff, who defies my authority or abuses my trust. Your Housemaster knows both your fathers have asked us to be extremely strict with you. He will demand your total obedience, just as I demand his, and you will attempt to endure his punishments with the same fortitude he is now displaying. You will stand and wait until his punishment is complete before he takes you to your dormitory. Now Jason, where were we?"

"I've had eleven Sir" I said, trying to sound unconcerned, "Another nine to come please Sir!"

And I resumed my position, knowing their respect for me would depend on my power of endurance. I won't pretend I took the rest of the whipping in perfect silence, but I think I took it well enough to impress the youngsters. When it was over I turned and shook my father's hand.

"Thankyou Sir, I deserved that," I said, "I will not repeat my misconduct!"

Derek took the other boys to meet their housemasters, while I took charge of Paul and Ollie. Both of them more than lived up to the promise of their photographs. Ollie was a bit nervous, but Paul was confident in my company – too confident for my liking. When we got to the Sparta dormitory, knowing the rule, they removed their shorts, and Paul proudly showed me the cane welts which decorated the lower part of his cock-provoking buttocks.

"Got those from the First Mate, Sir, while I was cabin boy , Sir!" he informed me , adding cheekily "I took it nearly as well as you did Sir!"

"Paul, I'm sure we are going to get on famously," I told him, "But first you must learn to speak to me only when you are spoken to. If you would care to hand me the senior cane hanging on the wall behind you, I will find out for myself how well you can take punishment."

As Paul walked briskly over to the fetch the cane, I saw he had a very impressive erection, a certain sign that he is unusually receptive to physical punishment, and that he badly wanted to be mastered by me. He bent over almost eagerly. I was determined to give him the hardest thrashing he had ever had. I have a powerful arm, and a good wrist action that makes my tennis services almost unplayable. I told him he would receive twelve very hard strokes. Bravely, he didn't make a peep until the fourth cut, but by the tenth he was in tears

I let him stay down for a while to compose himself. When I ordered him to stand, he thanked me politely for his beating, and I gave him a big hug . My father doesn't approve of that sort of thing, and I love him dearly – but I don't always agree with him. Not that I'd ever dare tell him so.

I had Paul stand next to Ollie with his hands on his head and warned him NOT to touch any part of his body, not his burning arse and definitely not his hard, standing-at-attention penis. Little Ollie, knowing it was his time to prove himself, said in low but pleading voice,

"Sir, please beat me as hard as you did Paul, I know I wont be as brave as he was, but I love him and want to feel what he felt".

Paul then begged me not to beat Ollie as hard. I longed to just hug BOTH of them. BUT I know I cannot. It's not that I fear my fathers displeasure, I think it's that I somehow get a thrill out of being harsh. I told both boys to be quiet, and warned Paul he would get another beating if he opened his mouth again..

I then ordered Ollie to get over my knees. I told him he is too young for the senior cane, and the junior cane had been borrowed by one of the prefects. I just hope my father will be satisfied seeing Ollies well paddled and tawsed rump. I reaced first for the well used hairbrush, Oh how I hated the hairbrush, I almost agree with the Yank who wrote that they should be banned. But on the other hand they are so easy to use on cute rumps like the one before me. I then spanked the lad, until that nice red bruise appeared. This type of bruise is the kind that will last for a few days. Poor little tyke, he is crying so, I had to massage his body quieten him down. Then I picked up the tawse, and told him to try to be very brave as I must give him twelve lashes. I had Paul hold his arms down, as I lashed his rump twelve times. I am sure he could feel my hardness. I would take care of that problem shortly.

I then told both lads it was time for them to report back to the the headmaster, after taking them to the loo to relieve themselves and to wash their faces, BUT NOT TO touch them selves. Ahmed, the local boy who is father's and my orderly, was outside my door. I beckoned him into my chambers and he knelt before me with his mouth open.

This evening, our two new boys met their fellow Spartans in the dormitory before we all went to dinner. It was a very informal affair, as gatherings of naked boys tend to be. I can truthfully say there wasn't a slack penis in the room. For some reason all the boys wanted to have young Ollie in the bed next to them. Derek took a firm hand and decided to make Ollie his personal 'fag', which meant he'll be protected from the unwelcome attentions of other boys, with the exception of Derek himself, of course. He would sleep between Derek and his bosom pal Paul. Needless to say, as his housemaster, I would have first claim to his services, and would be personally responsible for the training and initiation of the new boys.

I have just returned from my late night patrol of the dormitory, and found Ollie's bed empty. He had climbed in with Paul, and the two of them were intimately entwined, and both fast asleep. I decided to leave them to it, and give them a spanking in the morning.

Who says I haven't got a heart!

Chapter Four
Letters between Friends

24th August

Hi Mike!

Well, here I finally am, after an eventful voyage as acting cabin boy on the school's sailing ship, securely lodged in what has to be the most exciting boy's boarding school ever! We are housed in what was once a Moorish castle, dramatically set on a beautiful subtropical island, with a climate which means we can happily roam aound in the absolute minimum of clothes – when we're not in class, just flimsy shorts, and in the dorms, not even those! Imagine it, Mike, twenty naked, sun-tanned boys, every one a stunner (the Headmaster, Sir Bossman, sees to it that no imperfect specimens are admitted). So as you can imagine, my willful willie is having a ball! (OK Smart Arse, two balls, one either side!).

And talking of smarting arses, our state of undress is very convenient for our dorm captain Prefect Derek, whose favorite occupation is spanking boys' bare behinds with a hair brush. That's a pleasure I still have in store, but I can personally vouch for my hunky young housemaster Jason Harris's skill with the cane, having earned twelve of the best at our first meeting, (for impertinence, as usual!) It seems he's the Headmaster's son, and believe it or not, at 23, he still gets whippings from his dad! You gotta believe it, I saw it happen. He was in the HM's study when our dorm prefect Derek brought us new boys up to be introduced. It's an awesome place, atop the castle keep, you have to climb dozens of stone steps to get to it, and the room is huge, you have to walk across about an acre of carpet to reach the desk, and there beside it is the whipping bench, with canes and birchrods hanging on the wall behind. And there was Jason, standing naked with his hands on his head getting one hell of a lashing across his back. You should have seen the welts!! And he took it with hardly a murmur. That guy's got guts, and we all respected him for the way he took it. Maybe that was the idea! He sure can dole it out as well as he takes it – he had me yelling after four and shedding tears by the time he finished.

You always said I'm a CP junkie, needing a regular fix with my dad's trusty strap to keep me on the rails, and I admit there have been occasions when, feeling strap-starved, and spurred on by willful willie, I've played up to my dad to earn myself a tanning. And I've known you do the same – we all have disciplinary needs that have to be satisfied. Right now I have the opposite problem – I reckon I'm suffering from an overdose! In addition to those two strappings from my dad, my brief career as a cabin boy included six with the rope's end from the bosun and fifteen with a naval issue ratan cane from the Mate, for my reluctance to provide sexual services. (Don't worry, I've still got my virginity, he settled for a blow job – my practise with you came in very useful!) And last night, as I shall relate, I earned myself another caning.

But a piece of advice – if and when you get aboard that schooner, and they assemble you on deck and tell you to strip off for inspection, try not to look like the incredibly attractive sex pot I know you are, or you too might get selected as cabin boy! But maybe you'd be happy in that role. I was, until I discovered that a cabin boy is so called because the officers take him to their cabins when they're feeling horny!

In spite of all the rival attractions, our relationship means everything to me – so hurry up and get your arse over here, it might take some of the pressure off mine! I confess to having struck up one special friendship – a rather timid but incredibly dishy 13 year old called Ollie, who seems to have fallen for me in a big way. Last night I dreamt about you as I lay on my side without bedcovers, letting the cool night air soothe my freshly caned rear. I dreamt you were in bed with me, enjoying a very intimate clinch, and when I woke up it was true! Only it wasn't you, it was young Ollie, who sleeps in the next bed and was feeling lonely. Unfortunately our liaison was observed by the Housemaster, and we now have an appointment in the Headmaster's study. There's an unwritten rule in this dorm – never get into bed with another boy until Jason's done his late night patrol! Unfortunately Ollie hadn't cottoned on to that! ( The dorm prefect Derek is usually engaged in unspecified duties in the Housemaster's bedroom, and who are we to question the nocturnal activities of our elders and betters? When the cat's away, the mice can play, and to hell with the dire consequences if we get caught!)

So it looks like I'm going to get my first experience of the dreaded birch! If my backside hadn't been so damned sore already I might have shared willie's interest in having it challenged by a new implement, but as it is I'm none too keen. Naturally, being a gentleman, I shall take the blame. I don't think Ollie's beautiful, tender young bottom is ripe for a birching yet! Unlike us two, he hasn't been strap trained by a strict father.

In case you're feeling jealous about young Ollie, I have to tell you that one-to-one relationships are not in keeping with the spirit of Sparta House. We model ourselves on the ancient Spartans, who apparently believed not only in the manly virtues of corporal punishment but also general sharing of sexual favours. Ollie regards me as the big brother he never had, there to comfort and protect him, but happy for me to have free access to his delightful body. I have no designs on it, though willie of course has other ideas.

Naturally I'm going to use all my wiles to get you to join me in the Spartans, so at least then I'll get my fair share of you. The other houses are called Romans and Trojans, and there is also a penal wing for boys sent here by the courts for correction. They are known as the Vandals, mostly really tough characters.

All of us, staff and students, meet in the banquetting hall every evening for dinner, looking very smart in our full uniform, shorts t-shirts and sandals, different colours for different houses, ours is a fetching shade of pale blue. We have an Italian chef, and all the ingredients are grown on the island, so the food's brilliant.

Here's hoping your dad hasn't changed his mind about sending you here. With that delectable body which I worship, you'll have no problem gaining admission. So with any luck you'll be part of the cargo when the Good Ship Boyes next docks here, and your best pal will be waiting to welcome you. Willie seems keen for me to organise a three-in-a-bed orgy with us and young Ollie, but I shall try, as always, to resist willie's wiles.

Your loving friend Paul.

Mikes reply:

1st September

Hi Paul!

Hope the birching wasn't too bad – but I know your very desirable backside is also very resilient.

I too am suffering from an overdose of CP! And I'm not really a CP junkie like you – oh yes, I often played up to get a hiding, but only because your dad was so much stricter than mine, and just about every week you'd slip your pants down to show me a really impressive set of strap welts and all too often I'd have nothing to show you.

So I'd deliberately get myself punished so as to even things up. Yes, lover boy, I did it all to impress you! Aren't you flattered? My current inability to sit down is also due to my feelings for you, my desperate desire to be with you again.

It was like this. My dad went to see the Head, told him I'd been properly punished for my sins, that it had been you who'd misled me, and now you'd left the school there'd be no problems. So – disaster! All was forgiven, I was taken back, on probation. The only way to get out to join you on Boyes Island was to disgrace myself again, and I conceived a cunning plan, which worked like a dream, but at great expense to the comfort of my rear end! That young groundsman who'd been enjoying watching us at it, and who led us off to the Head's study, was obviously impressed with my equipment. He started propositioning me. He'd wander into the changing rooms and offer to relieve my ever-stiff willie. So I decided to take him up on his offer, arranged to meet him behind the bike sheds. One of the prefects got an anonymous tip off, so I finished up in the headmaster's study again. He was furious, gave me one hell of a thrashing with the senior cane, and expelled me. Resulting, predictably, in a damn good hiding from my dad, followed by the joyous words, "That does it, boy! You're off to that BADBOYS place on the next boat!" I made a good show of pretending to be heart broken.

So all is well. I must get this into the post or I'll be with you before it is! Can't wait to see you again. Just hope you manage to fix it for me to be in your dorm. Perhaps if you offer your much sought after sexual favours to that randy young housemaster it might do the trick!

Your best friend and hopefully frequent future bedmate
Mike

Chapter Five
Luco's Dungeon

"I have always believed that the decline in the behavior and attitude of modern youths, and their lack of respect for their elders and betters, stem directly from the sad decline in the use of traditional methods of discipline, so I was delighted to be invited to become Headmaster of this school on Boyes Island, one of the few places in the so-called civilised world where there are no restrictions on the use of corporal punishment.

Two maxims have guided my career in education: the biblical imperative «He who spares the rod spoils the child», and my own observation, that a boy's bottom is clearly designed by nature to be spanked. I have never known a boy to resent a well deserved beating, even though I am not renowned for my leniency. They accept that they are being appropriately punished, that it is for their own good, and that the more it hurts, the more good it does. Indeed, I have always insisted that they remove their clothing and present their buttocks for chastisement without demur, whether or not they agree that their punishment is well deserved; neither are they allowed to make excuses for their offence. I also insist that they thank me politely for their beating when it is over.

Such is the demand from parents to place their sons here that I am able to be very selective in my admissions. I accept only boys who are healthy, fit and of pleasing appearance, not just facially but also in physique, since the climate on this island means they wear only the minimum of clothing. In our brochure we make it quite clear that my staff and I specialise in coping with adolescents with a tendency to sexual deviancy, and that we take a very serious view of sexual misbehaviour between boys. Boys caught in bed together are personally birched in my study. At the same time, we are aware of the powerful libido of adolescent boys, so our housemasters and dormitory prefects are happy to give priapic relief when requested to so by the pupil, so that there is no excuse for the punishable offence of self abuse – not that I ever listen to excuses!

Because I consider myself something of a pioneer in the movement to restore traditional methods of discipline in the education of wayward youths, I hope that these diaries will act as an incentive for others to emulate my example, and have therefore instructed my scribe and minion Dave Manning to incorporate relevant parts of them in the story of my favorite pupil Paul Tanner, which I have commanded him to write."

This is the Headmaster's diary entry for the day following the arrival of the new boys:

Last night Jason called in to wish me goodnight before retiring. The welts I had inflicted on his back still looked angry, so I applied some of my special lotion to enable him to sleep more comfortably. I really am too soft with that young man! He informed me that he had just caught the two new boys asleep in bed together. He said they looked 'really cute', not a manly way to describe two boys defying one of my rules. He said "I'll give them a good spanking in the morning." I sternly reminded him of the rule for dealing with this offence.

"You must send them to my study for the birch, at morning break – or let's make it afternoon break, it will be good to make them wait for their flogging."

He said to go easy on them, they hadn't had chance to learn the rules yet, and they hadn't been up to anything. I was tempted to reach for the lash again – but I just chided him for having the presumption to advise me how I should punish the miscreants. Then I dismissed him.

"Better get off to bed, son," I said, "Derek will be getting impatient!"

He had the good grace to blush. Those two really do take a serious view of sexual misbehaviour – they're at it every night!

When the two new boys arrived at the appointed hour, there was a marked difference in their demeanour as they walked the long walk to my desk, on which I had placed the dreaded birch-rod. Paul was in full control of himself, as one would expect of a boy who has been accustomed to receiving corporal punishment, but young Ollie, was clinging fearfully to his arm, with tears already welling in his eyes. Cute he certainly is, but he needs to be hardened, and he will be! I am not a cruel man, but I must admit I get get pleasure from the sight of a boy quaking with fear at the prospect of a beating

"Please Sir, we've come to be birched Sir," Paul said, and, without waiting to be ordered, pulled down his shorts. Ollie followed suit.

"Shirts too, please, boys," I instructed, "I always punish boys naked."

They both have very attractive young bodies, even more fetching than their photographs.

"I was entirely to blame, sir," said Paul manfully, but Ollie said, no, it was all his fault, he'd climbed into Paul's bed while he was asleep . . .

"Silence!" I commanded. "Miscreants in this study speak only when spoken to! And I will listen to any excuses and explanations only after you have been flogged! You have both broken a school rule together and you will share the punishment. Now Paul, you will crouch down and allow Oliver to climb up on your back."

Ollie climbed almost eagerly into the required position, with his thighs under Pauls arms and his wrists firmly in Paul's grip. I ordered Paul to stand up and lean forward. I was now confronted with two of the most delightful pairs of buttocks I have ever seen, one above the other, in prime position for birching.

"Because you are both new to the school and may not have been fully conversant with the rules, I will let you off with the minimum birching of six strokes. Which, since you are sharing the punishment, will mean three each!"

I could sense their relief, but my mercy did not extend to the severity of the strokes. Three were sufficient to bring squeals and floods of tears from young Ollie, and muffled yelps from the much tougher Paul. Afterwards, Paul, while carressing his assaulted cheeks with one hand, held out the other to me. We shook hands and he thanked me for his beating. What a well-brought-up boy he is! Ollie, through his sobs, followed his example. I then informed them that their ordeal was not yet over.

"I have heard two contradictory claims as to who was to blame, and I do not easily forgive boys who lie to me. I am taking you down to the dungeon to meet Luciano, or Luco as we call him. Luco comes from Sicily, and you know what Sicily is famous for, don't you?"

"The Mafia?" offered Paul.

"Yes, boy, Luco calls it Cosa Nostra. And Luco, who is now the much-feared housemaster of the Vandals, was sent here by a Sicilian Court when he was already, at 14, a hardened young mafioso, so he knows all about extracting the truth from offenders!"

Both boys were quaking now, as I ushered them, hand-in-hand, and still naked, down the long spiral stainway from my office, past the ground floor and down to the subterranean level where, among other things, our kitchens are situated. I led them into a large, gloomy store-room lit by a single light-bulb, where Luco was waiting, clad only in his black Vandal shorts. Luco has a somewhat sinister appearance, which did nothing to quell the boys' fears. His eyes lit up lustfully when he saw Ollie.

"Bellissimo!" he exclaimed, stepping forward and carressing Ollie's blushing cheek, "If there's one thing I like more than good Sicilian food, it's a nice, slim, fair-haired, blue eyed English boy! He is just the boy I need!"

Ollie tightened his grip on Paul's hand, obviously fearing for his virginity.

"Don't worry Ollie," Paul muttered audibly in his ear, "There's only one way he'll have you, and that's over my dead body!"

Luco grinned and said, "That could be arranged – the headmaster has told you? I am mafioso!"

It was time for me to reveal my carefully planned surprise.

"No need to worry, Ollie," I said, chuckling, "What Luco needs is a boy who is small and slender, for a special job he has in mind. I forgot to tell you, by the way, Luco is also our chef. And Sicilians are famous for something else, apart from the Mafia. If you would oblige, Luco."

Luco walked over to the ice box in the corner, and produced a large covered bowl.

"They make the world's best ice cream!" I revealed, "I thought it might help to loosen your tongues if you were offered some of his delicious tutti-frutti!"

Spoons were provided, and the boys tucked in enthusiastically. Just occasionally, I show the softer side of my nature.

After they had finished, I allowed them to hug me to express their thanks, then told them we still had to deal with the little matter of which of them had lied to me about the bed-sharing incident.

"The headmaster has told me," said Luco, looking into Ollie's eyes, "And I think I know what happened. I can see that you adore Paul, Ollie, that you regard him as your big brother?"

Ollie nodded.

"And there you were, away from home, in a dormitory full of tough, naked, horny lads who you were sure had designs on your body. And there was the one safe haven, in Paul's bed, where you knew you would be protected. I know, because the same thing happened to me on my first night in the Vandal dorm. Only it was my real big brother's arms I went to, he also being mafioso, who had been sent here with me. But, being mafiosi, we didn't get caught."

Ollie nodded again, then looked at me imploringly and said, "Please, headmaster sir, don't birch Paul again, he was only trying to protect me by taking the blame. He's my brave hero."

"Very well Ollie," I said.

To tell the truth, I greatly admired Paul's behaviour, but on the other hand it would be against my principles to allow his offence to go unpunished, not to mention the fact that it was impossible to be in the presence of this boy's incrediby spankable bare behind without having an overwhelming urge to spank it! Maybe I should have made them put on their shorts, but Luco was keen for me to bring them down naked, to make them feel more vulnerable, in keeping with my playful ruse to intimidate them. I sometimes wonder whether Luco was a suitable choice as a housemaster, but he is excellent at controlling those tough young Vandals, partly because they respect his criminal credentials

I said to Luco, "Do you have that little wooden paddle to hand, the one you use for making pasta and spanking kitchen boys?"

I ordered Paul to lie across my knee. His member was as hard as a rock as he draped himself submissively across my bare thighs. So, I admit, was mine. When Luco returned from the kitchen with the paddle, I told him to take Ollie to show him the object of his project, and that we would join him as soon I had satisfied Paul's disciplinary needs.

I only spank one way, and that is very hard. Paul responded admirably, no yelling or pleading, just the occasional "Oo! Ow!! Thankyou sir!" and "Sorry Sir!" when the pain was intense enough to make him squirm. His father had clearly trained him well. By the time I finished, his perfect young bottom was so red I could scarcely see the livid marks left by the birch. As he got to his feet and rubbed his well-spanked rear, his organ was still erect.

He saw me looking at it and said, with a slightly embarrassed grin, "My willie sir, it's got a life of its own, often goes like this when I get spanked!"

I said I understood exactly how he felt, hoping that he hadn't noticed my own arousal, which my shorts struggled to conceal.

Then he remembered his manners and said, "Thankyou for spanking me sir, I promise I won't ever lie to you again sir!"

I told him sternly, "I hope that was a solemn promise, because, having tasted the birch, you will know what is in store for you do. And it'll be a lot more than three strokes, you can be sure of that!"

"Yes Sir!" he said firmly, "It's a solemn promise, Sir!"

I gave him a big hug, told him how proud I was of him, a dding, "Another boy from your locality will shortly be joining us, and I have high hopes that he will be another fine lad like you. He was at the same school as you, perhaps you know him – Michael Meredith?"

"Yes Sir!" he responded, "I know him very well. He's a much finer lad than me!" He gulped then looked up at me pleadingly and said, "I don't suppose, sir, there's any chance he could be made a Spartan like me?"

"That has already been arranged," I told him, "Your housemaster requested it as soon as he saw Michael's photographs. And in view of what has happened, I think it best if young Ollie's bed is not quite so close to yours. I have suggested to Jason that he interpose Michael's bed between the two of you!"

Paul look very pleased, and again thanked me profusely. I told him another piece of news.

"By the way Paul, your Dormitory Prefect Derek is also very impressed with you, and wishes to make you his personal 'fag'. I think, in view of your proven ability to take spankings, it will be the ideal job for you!"

"I'm very flattered Sir!" he said, adding with a rueful grin, "Maybe if I'm very obedient, I won't get too many spankings."

I am getting to really like this boy! I put my arm round his smooth young shoulders, and led him through to the kitchens to join Luco and Ollie. I told him how Luco and his boys had moved an ancient, very heavy oak cupboard and found behind it the entrance to a narrow tunnel, in which the roof had fallen, so that it could only be negotiated via a very slim and lithe boy.

Luco was standing in front of the tunnel entrance, and we heard a loud shriek from within. Shortly afterwards a terrified Ollie scrambled out of the tunnel, soiled and dishevelled, dropped his torch, and flung himself into Paul's arms.

"Oh Paul! he panted, almost sobbing with fear. "I got part way along the tunnel, and shone my torch, and there was a big chamber in front of me, and there, shackled to the wall – a skeleton!! It was gruesome!"

I told Paul to take him back to the dormitory, calm him down, and clean him up. And I was feeling hungry after all my exertions, so I sent Luco post haste back to his kitchen to prepare our evening meal.

Ours is a very ancient castle, and there are many stories about violent and cruel happenings here over its thousand year history. There are said to be subterranean dungeons and torture chambers which areno longer accessible. It sounds as though Luco and Ollie have made a very exciting discovery!

Chapter Six – A Prefect's Fag

Paul's Diary, August 26th

One thing you can say about BADBOYS, life here is never boring! We don't get time to sit down, a good thing, because the strict discipline makes it very difficult!. Yesterday I got a modest birching and one heck of a spanking from the Headmaster, none less, who went on to inform me that I was to be the personal 'fag' to our revered dorm prefect Derek Spode, whose nickname, 'Spanker Spode' refers to his favourite pastime. It seems my famously spankable backside has caught his attention, and is destined to be the frequent target for the hefty wooden clothes brush which is invariably grasped in his right hand, except when he's eating his dinner or wanking one or other of us off – one of his duties being to deflate our rampant adolescent willies on request.

Each morning, when the wake-up bell rings, we all have to leap out of bed and line up on the parade ground outside, where our dormitory prefect puts us through a routine of strenuous exercises, culminating in a run round the track which circuits the perimeter of the vast courtyard, followed by a plunge into the icy waters of the full-size swimming pool in the centre. This morning when I emerged from the water, Derek, hairbrush in hand, called me over.

"I gather that you acted as cabin boy on the way over. Being my fag is very similar. In public you will address me as 'Master Derek Sir'. In private you will simply call me 'Master', I shall address you simply as 'fag'. You have good legs, fag, and from your performance on the track, I can see you are a good sprinter. Whenever I call out 'Fag!' you will sprint to me as fast as your legs can carry you! I shall summon you whenever I need some minor service, perhaps just to wipe my arse. Sometimes I may summon you simply because I wish to have the pleasure of spanking you. I require only one thing of you, fag – absolute, unquestioning obedience. You're probably wondering what's in it for you?"

"Oh no Master, it never occured to me!" I lied. But he told me none the less.

"For one thing, an attractive boy like you is going to be preyed upon by bigger, older boys who lust after your body. As your fagmaster, I shall protect you from their unwelcome attentions. For another thing, a fagmaster is entitled to take full responsibility for disciplining his fag. I am aware of your desire to share your bed with other boys. As you have reason to know, parents expect the headmaster to inflict severe punishment for such activity, whereas I am prepared to take a more lenient view. I take it you would prefer a spanking with my hairbrush to a birching from the Headmaster?"

"I don't know Master, I've never had a spanking with your hairbrush! I said cheekily. Me and my big mouth!!

"We'll soon remedy that, fag!" was his inevitable response. He took me by the scruff of the neck and marched me back to his quarters next to the dormitory – a small, bare room where he was about to spank the small bare behind of a small, bare boy.

He sat on the bed and invited me to drape my body over his very sexy thighs. Needless to say, willie was getting very excited, throbbing against his bare flesh. Boy, does that hairbrush sting!! Twelve resounding spanks on each cheek and I was blubbing. The pain was so intense, even my hyperactive willie began to flag. Not for long though, when I decided that a spanking, however painful, was a small price to pay for regular romps with Mike. This thought made willie really rampant again, and I ventured to request my Master to supply the required relief. He pulled down his smart prefect's shorts, to reveal that he needed it as badly as I did. Mutual relief ensued – it was almost like the old times with Mike! Afterwards, we went off for breakfast together.

As if that wasn't enough, we got our first introduction to our teacher, Flogger Fletcher, who's going to put us new boys through our induction course, as soon as the next contingent , including my soul-mate and heart-throb Mike (Hurray!!), disembark from the Good Ship Badboys. Flogger's a dry old stick, a real old-fashioned schoolmaster, who told us that apart from a blackboard and chalk, he uses just two teaching aids – a very whippy crook-handled cane, and a birch rod – which, if it's anything like the Headmaster's, will make mincemeat of the toughest rump steak. After the taste Ollie and I had yesterday, me and him are gonna be very attentive students!

Over lunch, I told Ollie about being Derek's fag. He looked concerned and said,

"Do you think I'll have to be someone's fag, Pauly? There's only one person I'd like to fag for, and that's you!" I was very touched. I just laughed and told him you had to be a prefect to have a fag, but in the unlikely event I ever got to be one, he'd be my first choice warning him jokingly, I'd probably spank him every day!

"Pauly, you can spank me any time you like!" he replied, like he really meant it. Willie was standing to attention again. I've always been on the receiving end, but the prospect of spanking Ollie's beautiful bare behind was strangely appealing.

"For now, Ollie, you'll just have to settle for me being your big brother," I told him,

"But just remember, boys often get spanked by their big brothers!"

Ollie has made himself quite a hero in the dorm, finding that dungeon or whatever with a real live skeleton chained up there, or should I say dead one. Truth be told, he was scared as shit about going back in there this afternoon, but I gave him a big brotherly hug, told him he'd never live it down if he chickened out, and he said he'd do it just for me. I love that boy like he really was my little brother! I accompanied him down to Luco's dungeon, where quite a crowd had assembled. Ollie was ushered through to the tunnel entrance, and with obvious trepidatiom, crawled on his hands and knees into it. When, ten minutes later, he re-emerged, he was both awestruck and excited, telling us he'd found all sorts of instruments for punishment and torture in there, and another chained skeleton! Seems it really is the long lost mediaeval torture chamber. The Headmaster was really excited too – he's ordered the tunnel to be widened so the rest of us can get in, including himself. We're just hoping it won't give him any ideas!

(I had to break off writing this diary at this point due to a loud cry of 'Fag!' which I hurried to answer. I hadn't heard him first time, as Ollie was gabbling in my ear about his discoveries. So I got, "Are you deaf, fag?? Take this message to Rome House, then report straight back to me for a tanning!" Another dozen on each cheek – I hate that damned hairbrush! Ollie said it was all his fault, he deserved a spanking, so I put him across my knee and spanked him soundly with my hand

I really enjoyed it – and somehow I think Ollie did too!)

Right now he's sitting on his bed looking very happy. He's got a hard on, and so, as usual, have I. He just asked me if it was OK for him to come into my bed tonight.

I said "Yup! we're about to reap the benefits of being Derek's fag!"

And tomorrow, Mike arrives!! My love-life is getting very complicated.

The End