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Who knows how these things start? Sometimes you can look back on a series of events and you can see that there was a certain inevitability about the end result. At other times nothing seems to make any sense, there really does not seem to have been any logical or even illogical sequence, and you are simply left trying to come to some sort of understanding about how you ended up in this situation.
Kind reader, please excuse my ramblings here. But you see, I really am very puzzled about what has happened in my life over the past few days and I am struggling to find some way of explaining it all to myself. It's Sunday evening and I'm sitting alone here in this bedroom, apparently it's my bedroom now. I'm thinking back over the hours and moments that have passed since Wednesday night and even though I know that I was the one who initiated all this I still can't work out how I ended up in this situation. So I hope that you won't mind if I share my tale with you. Maybe you will be able to make more sense of it than I can, and if you do please let me know. Because I really do want to know how I ended up in this mess.
You see, dear reader, on Wednesday I was an independent adult, twenty-three years old and squeezing every second of pleasure out of every available minute. I was very independent. Which is to say that even though I didn't actually have a job, in fact I was signing on unemployed, I did have enough to get by, and I had my own little bedsit. But most of all, I was single, unattached and flirting like mad with every pretty girl or boy that I came across. My immediate family lived miles away and I really didn't have to give a thought or a damn for anyone else. I was fit and trim, all of five foot eight with a thirty inch waist, exactly the same size as when I left school nearly six years ago. I had been to college, learned the difference between a transistor and a transformer, and had worked for two years in an electrical goods store. It wasn't much of a job and obviously I wasn't going anywhere very fast in terms of career, but it paid the rent and booze and the occasional tab. But I really didn't miss it all that much when five months ago the boss called us all in and announced that three of us were going to have to be let go. As always it was last in, first out, and ever since I've been going round to the Jobcentre every other Thursday and spinning my yarns about all the efforts I had been putting into finding a job. You might say that it wasn't much of a life but it was mine, all mine, and I didn't have to worry about anyone else and I certainly didn't have anyone nagging me and getting on my case all the time. Not much of a life, but I was enjoying it.
So if that was my life on Wednesday, can you explain how I now find myself in this room, dressed in the most ridiculous clothes, and smarting from the severe caning I received this afternoon? And when I say 'ridiculous clothes', I mean that I am wearing something that looks a lot like a traditional schoolboy uniform from years ago, with blazer, striped tie, and yes, grey school shorts and kneesocks. Anyone seeing me would think that I was a teenager in the nineteen-fifties instead of a fun-loving adult in the twenty-first century. And when I say, 'severe caning', I mean that my backside is actually throbbing and still hot after I bent over to receive eighteen strokes of a cane across my bared buttocks. What I still can't get over is not so much the pain, that's bad enough, but the fact that I bent over to receive my punishment. For all my bravado earlier in the day, and despite the fact that I know that I'm an independent adult, I actually submitted and obeyed when I was told to drop my pants and bend over. I must be going mad.
And now you find me in this room, this room that I have been told is to be mine from now on, having been sent up here to reflect on my conduct, my disobedience, and to consider how I will endeavour to be a much more well-behaved little boy from now on. A well-behaved little boy! And the weird thing is the fact that, as you well know, I am actually doing just that. Reflecting on how I ended up in this sorry situation and trying to work out how I might avoid any more meetings with that cane.
Anyway, as far as I can make out, it happened something like this.
It was, as I have said, Wednesday. Now you know Wednesdays, half-way between weekends, these are nothing days. The clubs around here are pretty sad at the best of times and there really isn't anything worth doing midweek. So I was sitting at home surfing the net, picking up stories here and there (actually more here than there), when I keyed in 'gay' and 'contacts' to see if I might find myself a bit of online fun. The result was that within a few seconds I was reading through the ads placed by all these really sad weirdoes on a site for guys who are into spanking each other, and corporal punishment, and weird role play stuff. I doubt that you, kind reader, will ever have come across this kind of stuff, but let me assure you that as I read I was laughing out loud to myself at the sick mentality of these guys. Could you imagine it, 'retired headmaster offers traditional education in realistic schoolroom', 'schoolboy 14 (real age 32) in traditional grey flannel shorts seeks firm disciplinarian for otk and bare-bottom caning'. Believe me I was nearly on the floor with laughter as I read through this stuff.
So naturally I decided to have a bit more of a laugh, I mean these guys were just asking to be set up!
So I picked on one of the older ads; "firm but sane mature gentleman wishes to adopt a boy, real age eighteen to twenty-five, for long-term commitment and educational development". Let's face it, this guy was perfect for a bit of online teasing, and it would be both safe and a good laugh. Just what I needed.
I signed in to the anonymous email account that I use for occasional fun sessions like this and sent this weirdo a message that was guaranteed to tempt him into correspondence: "Bad mannered boy (real age 23) needs caring adult to take responsibility for his upbringing. Slim thirty inch waist, 5'8" tall, I am unemployed and available for long-term commitment as requested". I was in a complete fit of giggles as I sent the send button and figured that there might be a reply in a few days time. With that I surfed back to the search engine and decided to do some more research by looking up some gay spanking stories. Well, blow me! There was a whole universe dedicated to this stuff and I found myself downloading loads of stuff and hardly noticing the time go by. Nearly an hour must have passed � it's just as well that I decided to fork out for unlimited surftime � when I got an alert to say that I had a new mail message; a reply already!
"Boy", it said, "you clearly need the sort of secure and disciplined environment that I can provide. If you are interested go immediately to my room at Yahoo chat in the adult fetishes area, 'Firm parental discipline'. I shall interview you there."
Smiling to myself I opened up Yahoo Messenger and went off in search of his room. We chatted back and forth, all kinds of daft stuff about my background, and I was beginning to enjoy our little conversation. It seemed pretty obvious to me that this guy was a sad and lonely weirdo, but it was all innocent enough and I was still getting a laugh out of the fact that he seemed so serious about our exchange. So when he suggested that we meet the next day, it would have meant a train ride to another city for me, I simply agreed to his suggested arrangements and then we both logged off. It must be pretty obvious to you that I had absolutely no intention of meeting this guy and I went to bed giggling to myself at the thought of this old geezer standing around in a railway station and waiting for a bloke who never showed up. All in all, a pretty good laugh I thought.
Next day, Thursday, was a signing on day for me so off I went first thing to the Jobcentre. Well, I don't know if it was something in the air, her time of the month, or what, but the girl who checked my details gave me a really thorough grilling about my efforts to find myself another job. She wanted all kinds of details about how many letters I had written, how often I visited the Jobcentre to check the vacancies, how many interviews I had had in the past few months. I thought I was doing a pretty good job with the story I was telling her but the end result was awful. I was put on weekly signing and assigned to a special adviser who would be checking up on my every move and on my attempts to get work. The new programme would start on Monday, unless, I wanted to sign off and stop getting benefits.
I left that place in a very lousy mood. It was just typical. Just as life is beginning to be a bit of fun someone always gets on your case and messes it all up. I kicked my way along the pavements and scowled at everyone who crossed my path. This was going to really screw up my life. I came to a standstill outside the railway station and looked up at the clock. It would be good, I thought to myself, to be able to get away from this shit-hole city and seek adventures and fun somewhere else. But I had nowhere to go. At least that was what I was telling myself as I read the timetable and imagined myself escaping.
Then suddenly I found myself laughing. I had reached the list of trains to YYYYYY, the town where the weirdo I had been chatting with last night had said he would collect me and check me out as a candidate for his 'long-term commitment programme'. Well well, I giggled, why don't I just hop on one of these trains see what kind of sick old guy fantasises about caning and spanking other guys. So that, dear reader, was how I ended up getting off a train and walking up, as arranged and actually on time, to a very tall, grey-haired man in a dark suit, who smiled at me and said, 'welcome boy, I was sure that you would turn up. Follow me, and do try to walk smartly.'
Within an hour I was getting out of his car and looking at his house for the first time. It was no mansion but it was standing in its own large garden; and it was very secluded with nothing but farms and countryside around. I could see that it was the sort of house where the right kind of guys could have some hell-raising parties, but the conversation in the car hadn't suggested that this guy, Mister Royston Greyling as he had introduced himself, was the kind of guy who threw my kind of party. All the same, I was feeling quite relaxed even if I hadn't meant to let things get so far as ending up at his house. But for some reason he seemed to simply expect me to do as he said and I, for some even more strange reason, simply followed.
We went into the kitchen, he put on the kettle and then he turned and faced me. "Well boy, we might as well start as we intend to proceed. You will need to remove those appalling clothes immediately".
I must have been in some sort of trance. Either I was tired, or still upset about the Jobcentre, or this Mister Greyling had some sort of commanding presence, but my shirt was off and my hands were undoing my cargoes before I realised that I was standing in a stranger's home, stripping off my clothes. I knew that this was weird and that if I had any sense I would stop now and get the hell out of there but some unknown force seemed to be controlling my actions. Despite my misgivings and reluctance it was only a few moments before I was standing naked in front of Mister Greyling with my hands carefully arranged over my dick and balls.
"Hands by your side boy". I stood to attention before him as his eyes inspected every part of my body. "Not bad, not bad at all", he said. "I think we may well be able to do something with you despite your initial appearance. Do you take milk in your tea?"
Not long afterwards he led me upstairs to the bathroom. I was feeling really nervous now but I still didn't seem to be able to simply say that I had had enough of this and wanted to go. Instead I waited patiently while he ran a bath, and when it was ready I simply got in and sat down in it as he instructed. My mind was doing loop the loops at this stage. I've had fun times with lots of guys before but never anything like this, and certainly never with any guy who was old enough to be my father. And with that very thought, 'old enough to be my father', I burst into tears, and Mister Greyling started to sponge my body and scrub me clean. It was as if all the struggles of adulthood had come to mind at once and this grey-haired man was washing them all away.
I didn't even object when he washed my pubic area or when he told me to turn around so that he could make sure that my bottom was cleaned out thoroughly. I felt his fingers soaping my backside and then gently pulling my cheeks apart and soaping my crack and around my anus. I really wasn't all that surprised either when I felt one of his fingers press at my hole and then slide in. It just seemed as if I really was only a little boy who had to accept the ministrations of his adult carer. There didn't seem to be a rational adult thought left in my brain even when I felt his finger slide out of my bottom only to be replaced by something harder. What the hell is this, I thought, but I still didn't turn around to object. But within a few seconds I knew what it was. I had never had an enema, or even seen one before, but it was pretty obvious that my guts were filling up with fluids being introduced through the object in my hole. "There, there, boy", he said, "just let this clean you out inside and you will feel like a whole new boy again, and Daddy will look after you for ever." I was in tears again as he led me out of the bath and sat me down on a toilet. Every emotion in me was simply pouring out through my eyes, just as every motion in me was being passed into the toilet bowl. Ah yes, sweet reader, my mind was totally shrivelled and reduced to trite poetic metaphor. This man had conquered me.
He told me to take a shower, dry off, and then follow him along the corridor. We were in a bedroom and he laid some newspaper on the floor and told me to stand on it. Within a few seconds he was reminding me to be a very good boy as he brandished an electric hair trimmer in the air. Every last fibre of my being was screaming at my brain to try and jumpstart it into some sort of rational activity. Let's face it, it really didn't need a genius to work out what this guy was going to do with this trimmer. But still I stood to attention and remained still as he removed the hair under my arms and around my pubic area. Then he changed cutters and worked his way down my legs, over my chest, and around my bottom. The hairs simply fell away onto the newspaper and all that I was able to do was to let go of a few sobs as I saw my adulthood float down to the floor, and my boyhood reemerge.
Another change of blades and now he was giving me a short back and sides haircut. He hadn't asked my permission for any of this, he didn't need to. I didn't understand it then, and I still don't understand it now, but I simply submitted to his treatment of me even though I knew that he was destroying me. He took me back into the bathroom and administered my first all-over wet shave before ordering me into the shower to remove any stray hairs. He left a towel for me with the instructions to come back downstairs as soon as I was finished so that he could start my training. I took my time in the shower. My hands seemed to be amazed at the smoothness of my body and I kept cupping my testicles and weighing them, stunned at how light they now felt.
Something in my memory registered the fact that none of this was supposed to have happened. Afterall, the only reason I had contacted this guy was to have a laugh at his expense. Some laugh. I towelled off and went back down the stairs. My heart was thumping madly. I guess I knew full well what was about to happen; and still I seemed powerless to resist. I knew I didn't want any of this to be happening, but somehow I seemed to feel that I needed it, that I would really feel better and somehow improved if I went through with it.
Once again I was standing naked before Mister Greyling. This time he was sitting down in an armchair in his study. This room was amazing; books seemed to cover every inch of wall. The whole room breathed reading and education, and serious study. I was told to approach, to stand by his side, to bend across his lap, to reach over and touch the floor, to relax. All of these things I did.
Then it started as I knew it would. It had never happened to me before so I had no real experience to compare it with but somehow my body seemed to know what was expected as I received my first bare-bottom spanking.
There's no two ways about it. This guy was very very thorough. Smack! Smack! His hand came down again and again on my cheeks. I have no idea how long I was there but it seemed like forever. I felt the heat building up inside me, then the pain, then an unrelenting throbbing. It felt as if my bottom had developed its own pulse and it was pulsing, pulsing, in response to the relentless spanking. My mind, which hadn't been working anyway so far that day, simply went blank. There was nothing in the universe except my body draped over his, his hand spanking my bottom. On and on it went, blow after blow, smack after smack. Smack! Just as I thought that I was surely about to pass out with the pain, he paused, just for a second or two. And then he started again, but this time lower down along my thighs. The agony was incredible. The agony was unbearable. The agony was exquisite and I was in total ecstasy. None of this made any sense, but I knew that I had surrendered everything to this man. Deep down inside me I knew that, for the first time in my life and despite the pain, I was truly happy. For the first time in my life I knew that I had found my proper place.
And that place was over the knees of this man who had shaved away my manhood, invaded and washed out my body, and who was now spanking me just above the back of my knees. I was begging him to stop, to spare me. I was promising him that I would behave, that I would obey, that I would be a good boy. Then, just as I knew that I really could take no more punishment, I screamed out, "please Daddy, please don't spank me any more Daddy".
And on the word "Daddy", he stopped, and whispered to me, "there, there, there's a good boy". He took me by my hand and led me up the stairs again, but this time he showed me into a smaller bedroom at the back of the house. He placed his hand on my bottom and caressed me, turned me round and kissed me on my lips, and said, "this is your room now son. Go to bed, I'll wake you in the morning".
I slept fitfully and was already awake when he came in wearing a dressing-gown and smiled at me and said, "rise and shine son. Turn over and let's inspect that bottom of yours."
I turned over and felt his hands running all over my bottom and thighs. Then he pushed my legs apart and I felt him get up on my bed. My heart was in my mouth as I waited, anticipating what was to come. I wasn't wrong. His body descended on mine and I felt him guide his penis towards my awaiting anus. I took some deep breaths in expectation and then I felt him enter me and fill me. It was an amazing experience. Despite the pain of the spanking that did not seem to have faded overnight, I simply felt relaxed as he tenderly took me and fucked me. "Now boy", he whispered, "everything that you are is mine". He kissed the back of my neck, withdrew his cock_ from my hole, and walked over to the door.
"Your clothes are laid out on the chair here. Get dressed quickly, breakfast is in ten minutes".
There were some clothes laid out on the bedroom chair but they were not clothes that I would ever have called mine. I had never worn anything like these. My old school didn't even have a dress-code let alone a traditional uniform like this. But somehow, strange and all as they were, the clothes felt just right after all that I had been through. I pulled on the underpants first, plain white cotton briefs. Then a matching vest, followed by a grey shirt. I sat down then and pulled on the socks. Long grey kneesocks with two dark green stripes at the tops. I had never had socks like these before in my life but I instinctively knew that they should be pulled up properly and folded over at the top. Then I stood up, took a very deep breath, and reached for the trousers. I knew that they would be short but as I pulled them on I was still startled to realise that they were in fact, very short. But they fitted well around my waist and I knew that there really was no point in complaining.
I didn't know how things were going to be worked out with my other life but I knew that these shorts were part of my very being now. Mister Greyling hadn't said anything about how long he intended to keep me around but I guessed that it would probably be some time before I would be allowed to wear long trousers again. For now, as I looked in the mirror, all that I could see was a smart, well disciplined boy. A boy in a traditional short-trousered school uniform which I was now completing with a blue and green striped tie.
That was Friday. Now it is Sunday evening. I've grown used to wearing shorts, doing the chores that I'm given, being spanked across my new Daddy's knees. Each morning is the same. He comes into my bedroom, tells me to turn over, and then he tenderly fucks me. Each day has chores, exercise periods, study sessions, and frequent spankings. I've grown used to it all and I know now, because we've talked about it, that I won't be going back to my adult life for at least a year. It felt good to know that I would be looked after and given a second chance at growing up. Then there was this afternoon.
Mister Greyling called me into his study. He had my school copy-book in front of him on his desk. He was flexing a cane in his hands. Apparently my academic work needs to be improved a lot. Apparently Mister Greyling expects to be able to send me to a real school within a month. Apparently I am to be the only boy at that school who is made to wear short trousers. Apparently very high standards will be expected of me.
So to encourage me in working hard at my studies he told me to bend over and touch my toes. He reached round from behind me, undid my shorts, and pulled them down around my knees along with my briefs. And then he caned me.
It was, he told me, only a junior cane. But it still sang out and whistled through the air each time he raised it and brought it down on my bottom. Basically he thrashed me. He made me count each stroke, and thank him for punishing me. He insisted that I ask him politely for the next stroke each time. "Please Sir, will you be so kind as to thrash me again Sir". I submitted but after the eighteen strokes I was in bitter, bitter agony. The pain was simply unbelievable. Then he told me to go to my room, and reflect on my past conduct, and consider how I might take serious steps to become a much better boy in the future.
And that, dear reader, is where you found me. A twenty-three year old reduced to a most traditional boyhood. A teenager again but this time in short grey shorts and school attire. A well-thrashed boy. And reader, dear reader, I really need your help. Because for the life of me, I really cannot begin to understand how I ended up in this situation. Can you help explain it? I hope so, because I suspect that I have many more canings awaiting me if I don't sort this out soon.
Sunday night passed in a slightly feverish haze. Basically I found it difficult to sleep with the rather strange throbbing sensation in my bottom. It was if Mister Greyling was standing by my bedside and repeating his thorough caning of my bared backside over and over again through the whole long night. The really weird thing was that I still couldn't work out whether or not I thought that this was a pleasant sensation or a decidedly unpleasant one. Whatever, I was a very well-caned twenty-three year old teenage boy. More than once I found myself thinking over my new guardian's words when he had said that I needed to sharpen up my school-work if I was to be ready to go to a real school within a few weeks.
There was no way that that could be possible, was there? I know that 5'8" doesn't make me a very tall guy, and that my 30" waist is doesn't make me the fattest guy around, but I could hardly pass for a genuine teenager. There again, there was the image of myself in the bathroom mirror after I had been shaved. I didn't exactly look like a man either. Anyway, if he really meant it there would still be the problem of forcing me to wear shorts to school. He had said that I would be the only boy at this school in shorts but it seemed to me more likely that no school would allow that nowadays, so he wasn't going to get his way. I passed into some sort of slumber on that reassuring thought.
Monday morning was similar to Sunday morning, and Saturday morning and Friday morning. Mister Greyling entered my bedroom, woke me up, turned me over on my stomach, and fucked me. Then he gave me ten minutes to get washed, dressed, and downstairs. Even so it was still a bit odd to pull on the grey knee socks and turn them over to reveal the two dark green stripes at the tops. It was even odder to be wearing these very short grey school shorts. But that's the way he wants me dressed, and anyway, I don't know where my other clothes are. I wouldn't put it past my guardian to have dumped them in the bin by now.
I went downstairs and sat at the table across from Mister Greyling and we ate breakfast. Living on my own as I had been doing for the past few years I'm not really used to conversation first thing in the morning. I'm certainly not used to the sort of one-sided discussion that my guardian had with me. Basically he outlined his plans for the day and they included a very simple statement that we were going to wind up my affairs in the world.
Did I have a bank account? That would be closed. Where was my jobseeker's book? We would fill in the form at the back and post it off to say that I would no longer be needing to draw benefit. What arrangements did I have with my landlord? We would move my stuff out today and dump it.
Dump my stuff! I totally flipped at that. There was no way that he could be seriously suggesting that he could simply get me to pack all of my belongings and just dump them. Well, actually that was exactly what he was saying. And he went on to say that if this was going to be my attitude then he would have to alter it immediately.
My heart sank. I could guess what his idea of altering my attitude meant. He told me to get up and join him in the study for a short and very sharp lesson. This time I really let him have it. I actually let fly with my fists and feet and screamed all sorts of stuff at him about his perverted life. Maybe he thought it was amusing to take guys and turn their lives inside out, make them wear stupid little-boy clothes, and cane them, but it was sick. Sick, sick, sick.
Then, having had my say, I looked him in the eye, daring him to respond. And he did.
"Don't you ever speak to me like that again boy. Don't you ever use language like that, ever again, boy. Don't you ever forget that I am now your guardian and that you will obey me no matter what I tell you to do. Now bend over and grab your ankles".
My mind was a total mess. I stared at him in silence. I really could not believe that this guy was so incapable of taking no for an answer. I had told him to fuck off and that I was not going to play along with his little game any more. I had reminded him that I was not his little boy. That I was in fact an adult and twenty-three years old. He had had his fun, and now it was over.
I stared at him in amazement at his perverted stupidity. He stared back at me. We stood there in his study in total silence for what seemed like a long, long time. It was a long, long time. Something like twenty minutes went by. I didn't want to turn my back on this mad old lunatic until I was certain that he knew that his weekend's fun was over. I wasn't entirely certain that he wouldn't try to do something daft and attack me. I was pretty certain that I could overpower the old guy if it came to a straight fight but I wanted to keep my eyes on him all the same. I stared at him. And he stared at me.
As the minutes passed I realised that my breathing was quite heavy. I was also aware of the incredible anger in his eyes. This guy was absolutely furious. Then he let his eyes drop slowly from mine and he looked down my body. I felt his glare as he took in the grey school shirt that I was wearing. I felt his glare on my crotch as he inspected the tight grey school shorts that I was wearing. I felt his glare run down over my bare knees to the tops of the long grey kneesocks that I had pulled up so very properly. His eyes returned to mine and he stared into me again.
I was almost panting with the tension. I just knew that something really dreadful was going to happen within the next few seconds. It was one of those moments in life when you just know that everything is about to go seriously wrong. And sure enough, a few seconds later, everything, absolutely everything went very seriously wrong.
Mister Grayson stared right into my eyes, picked up his cane and flexed it so that I could see its terrifying flexibility. I thought to myself that now was my last chance. I would have to attack first before he let fly. I tensed my body ready to really give him a thorough bruising. He stood across from me, and then he very quietly and calmly said, 'I told you some time ago now boy to bend over and grab your ankles. I am going to cane you and I do not expect to have to repeat myself. So assume the position now boy'.
I took a deep breath, looked back at him, and bent over.
My hands reached for my ankles. I was aware of Mister Greyling moving around behind me. His hands reached round my waist and undid the fastening and zip on my shorts. He pulled them down to my knees, stopping just above my school socks. Then his fingers reached into the elastic waist of my white briefs. Within a second they too were down around my knees. He stepped back and raised his arm.
The cane came crashing down through the air and landed right across my bottom with an incredibly powerful delivery. There was a slight moment between the terrifying noise of the impact and the onset of the truly awful pain. My hands broke away from my ankles for just a fraction of a second in an involuntary reaction. Then back they went and I gripped more tightly to counteract the pain that was now raging through my whole body. I shivered. 'One, Sir'.
I could almost feel the cane rise up into the air behind me again. I imagined the tip of it pointing towards the corner of the ceiling where it met the top of the bookcase. There was a long pause and then I heard the cutting of the air as the cane accelerated towards my bottom again. 'Two, Sir'.
There are sound barriers, and speed of light barriers, and pain barriers. That morning my new guardian introduced me to each of these in turn. The sound of the cane parting the air in the room and giving off that terrifying whoosh noise. The speed of light as the cane disappeared into my naked skin and the rebounded out again. The speed of the reflex action as my hands strained against my ankles. The strength of my reflexes as the cane progressed and I became numbed with agonising pain. The total loss of control as my back arched up in reaction to the impact of that vicious cane as it ripped into me. 'Eighteen, Sir'.
'Nineteen, Sir'. 'Twenty, Sir'. 'Twenty-one, Sir'. 'Twenty-two, Sir'. 'Twenty-three, Sir'.
Mister Grayson moved round in front of me and placed the cane on his desk. It was over, and I had survived. I slowly pulled myself up and stood to attention. I could feel my backside quivering, the muscles in spasm and taking on a life of their own. The pain was absolutely dreadful, far worse than anything I had ever experienced before in my life. I thanked my guardian for having disciplined me so firmly.
He looked into my eyes again. 'Now boy, I think that will help you to think before you ever dare to disobey me again. You insisted that you are a twenty-three year old adult. Well, that was a stroke for each year of your self-proclaimed age. I am sure that you can already appreciate the benefits of being a fifteen year old again'.
I sobbed out an almost whispered, 'Yes, Sir'.
'What age are you boy?'
'Fifteen, Sir'.
I had been right during those long moments of anticipation and out-staring each other. Something really awful had been about to happen. Something really awful happened. My old life had been caned out of me. The old me was dead and buried. It was no lie. I really was only fifteen years old again, there could be no going back now.
A few days passed by in a general haze of study sessions, exercise, household chores, canings, and form-filling. My new self-appointed guardian had me sign a pile of stuff which meant that by the end of the week my old life had been consigned to the dustbin. Everything about my adult life as a fun-loving 23 year old had been erased with the closure of my bank account, formalised change of address, and then he even required me to sign a contract by which I agreed to bind myself to him. He would be my legal guardian for the next three years until I reached the age of eighteen again. His presence, my subservient status, the clothes he made me wear, and the constant threat of the cane, all conspired to hold me in total obedience as he reshaped my life and turned me back into a fifteen year old teenage boy.
And what a strange teenage boy, for there could hardly be another fifteen year old in the country who was being subjected to the kind of lifestyle and rules that I was now subject to. I certainly had never seen any boy over the age of twelve in the sort of clothes that I was being made to wear, a very traditional school uniform. The shorts were bad enough, short grey school shorts with white lining, but the items that really made me feel the effects of my newfound status were the socks. Each morning as I pulled them up to my knees and turned the dark green stripes over the garters that would keep them uncomfortably smart for the rest of the day, I felt the total humiliation of what had happened to me. And then there were the canings. No fault was too slight to be overlooked. No imperfection in my assigned schoolwork, or in my daily chores, would fail to bring swift retribution. No moment of slight hesitancy before I obeyed some order or other was too short to be ignored. The days passed and I was a well-thrashed, very obedient, traditional schoolboy. Life was bearable but only because I really couldn't imagine any escape from this very bizarre situation. It was bearable, but only just. And then it got much worse.
The bombshell came on the Friday morning. I had been with Mister Greyling for a whole week now, but that was a whole life-time ago and it was already difficult to remember a time when I had been able to sit comfortably and without pain. He looked at me over breakfast and made the simple announcement, 'I can see that you need a good haircut boy, we'll go into town this morning and see to it. And while we are at it we can visit the headmaster at your new school and see that arrangements are in place for you to start as soon as possible'.
Not for one moment did I even dream that I would be allowed to wear a less conspicuous outfit but I could well imagine the shame of being made to accept some awful schoolboy haircut. And then the threat of school. School had been awful enough when I was a normal growing teenager, but I really couldn't begin to imagine how awful it would be to be made to go back again. I had been so relieved to escape at sixteen and hadn't stayed on a day longer than was legally required, and now I was going to have to go through it all again. Only this time it would be for at least three years that stretched ahead as a never ending series of humiliations.
I didn't expect to be allowed to wear ordinary clothes today as we went into town, and I fully expected that my Guardian would carry out his threat to send me to school in shorts all year round until I left. My only hope was that the school authorities would take one look at me and refuse to accept me into their school. Anyway, I thought, as I washed the breakfast dishes, there would be birth certificates and other documents that the school would want to see. I allowed myself a little glimmer of hope as I was led out to the car. Mister Greyling was smart, but even he couldn't get everything he wished for. This headmaster would be bound to see through my guardian's perverted little scheme.
The trip to the barbershop was as embarrassing as I had feared. Mister Greyling parked on the street and I had to step out and present myself to the public eye for the first time since I had been forced back into being fifteen again. Nearly everyone we passed did a double-take as they registered the fact that they really were seeing a tall teenage boy in very short traditional grey school shorts and smartly pulled up kneesocks. I just followed my guardian and hoped that I could avoid catching anybody's eye. Of course there was no such luck. As we approached the door of the barber's we were greeted by an elderly man who was clearly some sort of friend of Mister Greyling's. I was introduced simply as 'the new boy, he's beginning to learn his place'. I had to shake hands with the friend who held on to my hand and asked me directly if Mister Greyling was looking after me properly and giving me lots of good old-fashioned bare-bottom canings. I felt my face go a deep red from the shame as I politely replied in the affirmative. I felt even more humiliated when Mister Greyling suggested that the friend should visit on Sunday and assist in my training. I felt my bare knees tremble slightly as I registered the fact that Mister Greyling really intended to expose me to every possible humiliation in my new status.
We got into the barber's and had to sit on the waiting bench as there were three men ahead of us and only one barber. I stared down at my shoes, knowing full well without even looking, that the other men were running their eyes over my old fashioned school unifom. When I glanced around I could see that one of them had arranged himself so as to be able to stare at my thighs. It didn't take much imagination to have a mental picture of what he was seeing. My smooth legs running from the top of the kneesocks up to the hem of my shorts. I guessed that he could probably glimpse a bit of the white lining and the thought vaguely excited me.
I looked up and caught the barber's eye as he glanced at me through the mirror. He winked as if to say, 'looking forward to dealing with you, boy'. I really wished and prayed that the floor would open up and swallow me. Nobody in the shop seemed to be paying attention to anything else other than my bare legs; it felt horrible. Even worse was the fact that as each customer got his haircut they simply returned to sitting on the bench as if they had nothing better to do than to stare at me and, I presumed, fantasize about giving me a jolly good seeing to.
At last it was my turn. I was dreading the results as Mister Greyling gave his instructions for a traditional short back and sides, but I hoped that soon enough this part of my ordeal would be over and we would escape this place. The barber dropped the chair to its lowest point and then placed the plank across the arms that would have been used for much smaller boys. I had to sit on the plank and then felt the chair being raised until my feet left the ground. There I was, perched like a child with my feet swinging in the air. I felt as if I was being regressed to being an eight-year old never mind fifteen. And then I watched in silence, almost in tears, as the barber ran his clippers through my hair and reduced it to a cropped schoolboy cut. It looked awful, but it also had the strange effect of making me look even younger. Minute by minute my old self was being totally destroyed. My guardian had taken full control of my life. The haircut was over and then the barber did something that seemed really weird. Instead of brushing me off me walked over to the door, slipped the latch, turned the sign round to closed, and then dropped the blinds. 'Time for lunch, gentlemen', he announced to Mister Greyling and the other customers. My stomach tightened with fear as I realised that this was unlikely to be pleasant for me. I was right again.
I was told to stand up and to stand in front of each man in turn as they ran their hands up and down my bare thighs and even up under my shorts. Then Mister Greyling ordered me to ask the oldest customer if he would be so kind as to pull my shorts down and give me a spanking. Within seconds I was lying across this man's lap and he started to spank my bared bottom until I was in tears. And the tears came very soon because even just his hand was enough to reawaken the pain of my previous thrashings. Smack, spank, smack. He just kept on and on for what seemed like an incredible age.
Then I was stood up again and ordered to parade myself before each of the men again. This time their groping hands had unimpeded access to my throbbing bottom and each of them was very careful to comment on the heat that was radiating from me. Two of them also made sure that they enjoyed a little fondle of my genitals, shorn of hair by Mister Greyling last week, and looking like the undeveloped genitals of a very little boy. I was past humiliation and was in a trance of shame by the time the second of these men remarked that he thought he could feel a little stubble beginning to grow around my balls. No time was lost before I was being lathered up and the barber had produced a straight razor and was carefully ensuring that it would be quite some time before anything like pubic hair began to appear on my body.
Then it was almost over except for one last task. The barber had yet to be paid for his ministrations. I was ordered to my knees so that I could show my gratitude in the time-honoured fashion. I was almost sick when I saw the penis that I was being expected to swallow. The barber was far from being a young man, in fact I would have guessed that he was well past retirement age, and his wizzened and rather wrinkly penis was not the most attractive that I had ever seen. But it was obvious that I had no choice and I worked hard at it until I felt the familiar tingle of spunk on my tongue. The barber's orgasm was hardly overpowering but it was enough to send much of his load down my throat and as I was allowed to stand up again and pull up my shorts and smarten myself up, I knew that I would have the taste of barber in my mouth for the rest of the afternoon. The thought was disgusting but even that was compounded by my guardian's next words when he announced that I would be coming in every fortnight on Friday afternoons after school and that he hoped that the other customers would continue to assist him in disciplining and training his wayward son. As we left the shop and walked back towards the car I simply knew that I would never be able to escape from this awful nightmare. I was well and truly trapped and my life for the next few years was clearly going to be miserable and awful.
A few minutes later and Mister Greyling had turned the car off the road and up a tree lined avenue towards a gothic looking school building. There were teenage boys out training on rugby pitches and the whole place stank of discipline and tradition. I gulped. So this was going to be the scene of my continuing humiliation. Protest was pointless. I knew that whatever happened, I would simply do as I was told.
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Mike Ward 1999 & 2004
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