Andy Finds Out More


by Biggles <Biggles18@hotmail.com>

Even more slowly than usual on a Thursday evening, James opened the door to his small terraced house, threw his coat onto one of a row of hooks on the wall, and slumped down into his TV chair in the lounge. It had been a long and tiring day, and full of surprises. Apart from the usual customer enquiries and routine problems, one of the managers at the office had called him over and asked if he would mind babysitting his son – a bit of a misnomer as the lad would be almost twelve by now – when he went away for the day on Saturday with his wife. This would not be surprising in the normal run of things, except that he had done it before a few months ago, and the evening had been a bit, well, unusual to say the least!

He slowly rose from his chair and looked out of the window. It was a cold February day in 1992 and already dark, with rain drizzling down and a light wind causing a slight draught which made him shiver. Drawing the curtains, he reached over to the temperature control and turned up the central heating. He had agreed to it, of course. How could he not? Andy's father was rumoured to be up for a directorship soon, and James wanted to get noticed and one day perhaps promoted to a managerial position himself. If he couldn't get invited to dinner with the family, babysitting Andy would have to do. Anyway, he liked the boy, but he was as apprehensive as hell. Last time he had spanked him hard after an accident with a dinner tray, leaving his bottom heavily bruised. James had spent a sleepless night afterwards, as although Andy had said that he accepted the beating and wouldn't tell his parents about it - in fact he almost seemed to want to be spanked - James was unsure about what to expect next day at the office. Nothing had happened though, except that Andy's father had come over to him (causing his stomach to flip over) and tell him how much his son had liked him.

Friday dragged by, and James didn't go down the pub like normal. He didn't really feel like a pint. Would Andy hate him? No. He had told his dad that he liked him. Oh well, the only thing to do was turn up and find out. He dozed off on the sofa, woke up at 3am and dragged himself to bed. He wasn't expected for babysitting duty until ten in the morning, so he set his alarm for eight and fell asleep almost as soon as his head hit the pillow.

Capital Radio's weekend breakfast show, crackling a bit incoherently on James' less than expensive clock radio, woke him with a start. Instead of pressing the snooze button five times, he jumped out of bed immediately, stumbled down the stairs and into the kitchen, made himself toast and coffee, and took it back upstairs to bed. While he ate, he stared at the cupboard in the corner. It did not contain clothes.

James' interest in adult spanking mainly involved him being on the receiving end, but he had built up a fair collection of implements which he kept in the corner cupboard of his bedroom. He finished his toast, spilt some coffee on the duvet, swore loudly, and walked over to it. He opened the door, and looked at the contents. There were two canes on hooks, three different tawses, two wooden and two leather paddles, a martinet, a crop, and a selection of slipper-like things such as gym shoes and, well, slippers of various sizes. Absently thinking that he really should get a birch, he looked at his collection. Surely Andy wouldn't want any of this lot used on him? Anyway, it was Saturday and he wouldn't be in school uniform, not that that necessarily made any difference. No. He closed the door and walked away. Once would have been enough for the boy, especially given the state of his bottom afterwards.

James dressed casually, put on his jacket and found his car keys in a pocket of the suit he had been wearing yesterday. Turning to go, he glanced once more at the corner cupboard. Oh well, why not? Just because I take it doesn't mean I have to use it, he thought, and opening the door he selected the shorter of the two canes. It was not much shorter, though, as James didn't have much use for a junior model, and at 33in long and 10mm thick the flexible rattan could deliver a really good set of welts. He wrapped it in a black bin liner, stuffed it into his sports bag as best he could, and after double-locking the door to his house he walked out to his five year old Fiesta, put the bag in the boot, and drove away.

Seven miles away, Andy was still in bed, thinking about James' visit - as he had been almost constantly since his mum had told him that James would be staying with him while she and his dad visited friends for the day two hundred miles away. His bottom had hurt for hours after the spanking James had given him on his last visit, sitting down had been awkward for several days, and the bruises had taken over two weeks to disappear completely. While he hadn't exactly enjoyed it, he had wanted it then and had thought about it often in the months since that September evening. He was wondering if James would want to do the same again, and he also wondered whether he would go along with it if he did. Maybe. Probably, even, he thought.

He looked at the clock radio – almost 9am. James was due in an hour. He got up, selected a baggy T-shirt from his chest of drawers, retrieved his jeans from the floor, and dressed hurriedly. Bouncing down the stairs, he went after his breakfast.

"I'm starving. What's to eat?"

His mother was at the cooker. "You'll have to make do with eggs on toast today as your father and I are in a bit of a rush. You can always have cereal too. There's loads there." She gestured at the kitchen table. Andy grunted and sat down. Pouring himself a glass of orange juice from the jug, he noticed that his dad had left the morning paper where he had been sitting, and Andy reached over for it and flicked through the pages as he waited.

"Coffee dear?" his mum asked. Andy liked coffee and nodded, so she poured a mug from the jug and handed it to him. "How many eggs would you like?"

"Two please." Andy took a sip. Hot! He continued to read and was in the middle of an article about computer software - his favourite subject - when his eggs on toast were plonked in front of him. "Thanks."

"I've got to rush. I'm not ready at all and we've got to leave in forty five minutes!" His mother said, and hurried from the kitchen and up the stairs of their large detached house. Andy munched away, finishing the article as he did so. Draining the last of his coffee he put the empty plate, mug, and glass on the draining board and went back upstairs to his room. He put the radio on and lay back on his bed, thinking. After twenty minutes or so the doorbell rang. His father answered it, and there was a muffled greeting.

"Andy! James is here!"

He went out to the landing, leaned over the rail and grinned at James. "Hi. I'll be down a bit later."

"Hi yourself! I'll be in the sitting room watching TV if you want me."

Andy returned to his bedroom and was startled by his mother coming up behind him. "We're off now, dear. Be good and we'll be home about midnight. I know you'll probably still be up as it's Saturday, so we'll see you then!" She kissed him and left, adjusting her scarf and coat as she did so. Andy heard her go downstairs, and after a minute or so the front door opened and shut as his parents left for the day.

Andy's usual routine on Saturdays was to go round his best friend Peter's house, or Peter would come to his, and they'd mess around doing whatever. Today, though, Andy had put Peter off saying that he was going to see an aunt – his mother's sister - in the afternoon while his parents were away. He would spend the day with James, and see what happened. He sat on his bed, looked around the room, and thought hard for two or three minutes as dance music played on the radio. James hadn't seen him yet, not properly anyway, and his glance fell on the side of his wardrobe where his school uniform was kept. Taking a deep breath, he walked over to it and opened the door. He certainly wasn't going to wear the whole thing, but James seemed to like it, and he made a swift decision. He took off his fashionable T-shirt and replaced it with a white polo shirt from his prep school's summer uniform. Then he removed his jeans and white crew socks, pulled on ordinary grey kneesocks, again from the summer uniform, and finally slipped on a pair of his grey school shorts. These were almost new – replacements for a pair torn in the playground two weeks ago – a comfortable but still good fit, and quite long, ending two or three inches above the knee. He wore shorts to school all year round even though he was almost twelve years old now, as they were practical and he liked the way they made him look and feel in his uniform, but he never usually wore them at home except for casual ones in the summer. This was not a usual situation, though. After tucking in the polo shirt, he looked in the mirror. Deciding to be a bit more casual, he pushed his socks down almost to his ankles, and put on a blue patterned crew-necked sweater, adjusting everything carefully so that it looked just right. Satisfied, he grabbed his school bag, went out to the landing, walked downstairs and into the sitting room.

James was watching TV and looked up as Andy walked in. He smiled, and his eyes widened in surprise at the lad's appearance. He knew that he went to a prep school with strict uniform regulations, true, but he also knew that his parents doted on him, bought him the latest fashions including hideously expensive trainers, and let him wear what he liked at home. The boy might be up for it after all, he thought.

Andy smiled back at James and they stared at each other for a second. "I'm going to do my French homework." He walked over to the dining table in the far side of the room, sat down, took the necessary text books, folders, and pens out of his bag, and started to work. He was supposed to translate a lengthy passage and answer questions on it, but found it hard to concentrate. Still, he thought, this is real work and has to be done, so I might as well do it properly.

James looked at the boy, who appeared to be working hard. He could clearly see the white lining of Andy's shorts in the gap between his leg and the hem, and he could well understand why the lad liked them. James wore them himself during role-play CP sessions and knew that it just wouldn't be the same for him without them, so maybe the boy felt the same.

After just under an hour, Andy threw down his pen and sat back in his chair. If I don't do it now, I'll chicken out, he thought.

"That was harder work than my last French homework."

James looked at him. "Why?"

"I didn't feel like doing it at all, so I stayed in at break the next day and copied it out of someone else's book. I changed a few things so I didn't get caught." He laughed. "Clever, wasn't it?"

James shook his head. He knew that Andy was a well-behaved lad and that this was unlikely to be true, but after barely a moments hesitation he decided to play along. He turned away for a moment and cleared his head, but when he turned back it was with resolve to see this through.

"I don't think it's clever at all, Andy. It was cheating, and cheating is wrong."

"Only if you don't get away with it!"

"No. It's always wrong. Don't they teach you that at the expensive school you go to?"

"Yes, of course they do."

"And what happens if you cheat and you do get caught?"

"You get sent to the headmaster who gives you double detention and sends a note to your parents."

"What would they do if they knew about it?"

"They would be very upset, tell me off, and stop my pocket money for a couple of weeks or something."

"Andy, you have to learn that cheating is wrong. It's very important, and I think I should tell them."

"Please don't, James!"

"I'm afraid I must. You have to be taught a lesson."

There was a couple of moments pause. "Can't you punish me yourself?"

James looked at the boy, who was shifting around in his chair and looking genuinely nervous. "I can, but it will be a severe punishment for serious misbehaviour. You know what I am talking about, after my last visit. If you are prepared to accept punishment from me, it will hurt very much and you must do exactly as I tell you until it is over. Do you understand?"

Andy stood up. "Yes James."

"First of all, pull your socks up properly." James pointed to the wall. "Right. Stand over there and face the wall with your hands on your head." Andy did so. "I have to get something out of my car. Stay there and don't move!"

Shaking a bit, James went out to his car, took his keys out, dropped them, picked them up again, and fumbled with the boot lock. Eventually he managed to get it open and grabbed his sports bag. Calm down, he thought. Striding back into the house, he took the cane out of its hiding place in the bin liner and with a deep breath walked purposefully into the lounge.

Andy was still facing the wall as he had been told. "Put your hands down and turn around."

Andy did so and gasped as he saw the cane. He had never seen one before and had wondered what it would feel like, but hadn't thought for a moment that he would be caned himself today. James must own one and decided to bring it with him! He had been expecting the hairbrush again, and to be honest the thought of the cane frightened him, but he was caught up in this now and determined to go ahead.

James looked severely at him. "Go over to the dining table and bring two of the chairs over here." Andy obeyed, and stumbled back with both at once, placing them in front of James, who gestured to the empty space in the middle of the large sitting room. "Put them there, back to back, so that the seats face outwards."

When the boy had complied, James stepped up to them and adjusted them slightly so the positioning was just right. "I am going to give you twelve strokes of the cane. After each one I want you to count the stroke, and say 'Sir' – 'One Sir', 'Two Sir', and so on. If you jump up or forget to count after any of them, that one will not count and you'll get it again. Do you understand?"

"Yes James."

"Say 'Yes Sir!'"

"Yes Sir!"

"Right. Stand against this chair." He gestured to the one nearest him and Andy did so. "Take your shorts and underpants down, kneel on the seat, bend over the back, and put your head on the seat of the second chair, holding on tightly to the bar underneath it.

Bare bottom! Andy didn't know if he would be able to take it, but with shaking hands he undid the clasps at the waist of his shorts and let them drop to his ankles. He pushed his underpants down after them, and crawled rather clumsily onto the seat of the chair. Wriggling forward so that his thighs were against the back of it, he tucked the bottom of his polo shirt into his sweater to keep it out of the way, earning a grunt of appreciation from James, and bent forward. Shifting slightly so that he would be able to stay in position, he touched the seat of the chair in front with his head, and pushing his bottom up a bit, held on to the crossbar beneath for all he was worth. He knew he was about to be soundly thrashed, and felt very much the naughty schoolboy.

James did a couple of practice swings, and then, touching the boy's bottom with the cane, got himself into the best position to administer the punishment. He drew the cane back over his shoulder and, twisting his body to add force to the stroke, brought it down hard into the centre of Andy's bottom with a loud crack.

Andy felt the stroke land and gasped, but a split second later it felt like a red hot iron had been placed across his backside as it exploded in pain.

"OWWW" Just in time he remembered. "One Sir". The words came out fast and low, and he had to force himself to stay still, tears starting from his eyes.

Leaving about ten seconds between each stroke, James placed the next four evenly over Andy's bottom, starting at the top and ending just above his legs. Each was delivered as hard as the first, with James putting his whole body into it as he brought the cane down, raising long welts which started bright red and quickly turned dark, bruising the surrounding area. Andy was howling and twisting, raising his head and shouting in pain as each stroke landed, tears streaming down his face. He stayed in position, though, and remembered to count, sobbing out the words as best he could.

James looked at the boy's bottom, and aimed carefully at the point where it met the top of the legs. He raised the cane above his head and whipped it down as hard as he could. There was a resounding whack as it landed, and Andy screamed in pain as first a long white line and then an angry welt appeared in this tender area. Eyes and nose both streaming, he forgot about counting and grabbed his bottom, kneeling upright on the chair. James waited for about thirty seconds. "Get back into position, boy! That last stroke doesn't count. Your punishment is not over until I say so!"

Slowly and tearfully, Andy bent back over the chair and held on to the bar. James waited for him to compose himself a bit, then brought the cane down an inch above the last stroke, biting into an area that was already going purple with bruising. Andy wailed, his back arching as his face contorted in agony and a dark welt appeared where the cane had landed. "Six Sir!" he cried, just in time, his voice cracking.

The next four strokes followed the earlier top to bottom pattern, with James placing them between the earlier welts, ten seconds apart. They were as severe as the first ones, and Andy screamed as they landed, writhing in agony as dark red and purple welts sprang up where the cane landed, all over his now swollen bottom. "Ten Sir" he yelled as the tenth one struck.

There were two more to go. Raising the cane high over his shoulder, he aimed at the precise spot in the centre of the boy's bottom where the first stroke had landed, and brought it down as hard as he could. His aim was perfect and the cane landed exactly on top of the first welt, causing it to rise into a hard dark ridge almost immediately. Feeling as though his bottom was being cut in two, Andy involuntarily jerked upwards, his head tilted back, and screamed in a high-pitched howl which quickly faded as he sobbed out "Eleven Sir".

Once Andy had got back into position, James shifted slightly forward and took aim. The last stroke would be a diagonal one across all the others, and he wanted it to land precisely where he aimed it. Swinging the cane high, he whacked it down and it bit deep with a loud and slightly wet smacking sound, raising a hard ridge where it crossed earlier welts. It met the long ridge made on the last stroke at a point just below the centre of Andy's right cheek, and broke the skin causing a little blood to seep from the cut. Andy did not scream at this stroke, but moaned high and long, abandoning himself to the pain. "Twelve Sir" he finally cried, and collapsed over the chair backs, his head twisted on the seat and hands dangling on the floor.

Andy's bottom was deep purple, and quickly going black all over. A mass of raised welts criss-crossed both cheeks, with the one at the top of his legs looking particularly angry, and a thin line of blood had started to trickle from the cut made by the final diagonal stroke. James hoped he had not gone too far, but was rather afraid he had.

After a couple of minutes, Andy levered himself up slowly and knelt upright, shaking slightly and supporting himself with one hand. "Is it over sir?" he said quietly, sniffing.

"Yes, boy. You may go."

Andy slid off the chair and stepped out of his shorts and underpants. He bent over slowly to pick them up, but cried out as the skin stretched on his bottom, so knelt down carefully and picked them up that way. He limped out the door and climbed the stairs gingerly to his room. Once there, he threw himself onto his bed on his stomach, and sobbed for a full ten minutes.

After the crying had subsided, Andy was aware of a burning and deep throbbing in his bottom, but the sharp pain had mostly gone. He got up, making sure that his backside did not touch anything, stumbled to the bathroom, and surveyed the damage in the full-length mirror on the wall. He couldn't believe the mess the beating had made. There was even a patch of blood smeared on his right cheek, although it seemed to have dried up now. He moved to the sink and filled it with lukewarm water, took a facecloth, soaked it thoroughly, and wiped it carefully across his bottom to cool it, making sure he cleaned up the blood completely.

Moving awkwardly but now without much of a limp, he returned to his bedroom. His bottom felt stiff and very, very sore, and he knew that it would be at least a week before the marks really started to fade much, and a lot longer than that before they were gone. He was certain that he would be able to prevent his parents or friends from seeing them, but was unsure about sitting down and decided to try this out. Moving to his desk, he slowly lowered himself onto his large, comfortable chair. "OW!" he said as his backside made contact and he felt a surge of pain, but he was able to continue and sit properly. Yes, it hurt, and he would have to wriggle a lot, but it was possible and it made him remember his thrashing. This was not unpleasant, in a way he did not yet fully understand.

Andy put a CD in his stereo and looked at the clock. It was lunchtime and he was starving. He threw off his sweater and polo shirt, and put the T-shirt he had been wearing earlier back on. He selected a pair of loose-fitting jogging pants from his wardrobe and was able to put these on over his swollen bottom without too much trouble. Now for the hard part, he thought, grabbed his new Nike trainers, and with much grunting and swearing he finally managed to put them on. He looked in the mirror, and approved of his real weekend look.

James was on the sofa in the sitting room staring into space. He had heard Andy sobbing upstairs and was now certain he had overdone it, and was really worried. He liked Andy a lot and had only done what he thought the boy wanted, but should not have gone so far. It was like a game to James, in fact adult spanking was a game to him, but Andy was not an adult and he should have stopped far earlier. Surely Andy would hate him now?

There was a noise on the stairs and a muffled thud. Andy walked into the sitting room, properly if a bit gingerly, and sat down slowly in the chair opposite, wincing slightly. James immediately noticed the change in dress to casual weekend wear.

"Wow. My bottom looks amazing. Like rump steak. Hurts!" He grinned. "That was fantastic. Thanks."

James' mouth dropped open. He did not believe he was hearing this, and found his own eyes getting moist in relief. His mouth was dry and he swallowed. "What do you want to do now?" he asked, his face splitting into a huge smile.

"Well, put that back in your car," Andy gestured at the cane that James had dropped on the floor, "and let's go out for pizza!"


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