His Dad's Son - Part Three


by Mike Ward <Mike_ward_1967@yahoo.co.uk>

Sure enough when Dad and Colin returned Mike was quickly let in on the utter awfulness of his fate. Dad ordered Mike to turn around and face the room. Mike swallowed and trembled but he turned around, his hands properly by his side, ashamed to be required to face his old school-friend in this way. Colin smiled, delighted at the sight of Mike's bare pubic area. It was just as Colin had expected. His boyhood friend was being required to accept all the elements of juvenile treatment. Mike's penis looked pathetically small and immature against his white skin. This was going to be just as good as Mike's Dad had suggested.

The bombshell came quickly. Dad simply told Mike that he had had a brilliant idea that would save everybody a lot of trouble, and would ensure that Mike was going to do well in his resit exams. "Colin here," Dad said, "has demonstrated that he has the maturity and ability to take his responsibilities as a university student seriously. So he is going to have the chance to demonstrate his ability to act as a tutor to help you knuckle down to your studies and work hard."

Mike's mind raced through the meaning of this dreadful sentence. It had to be a joke, and yet it was pretty obvious that every single word of it was meant to be taken very, very, seriously. Colin was the only person in that room who was smiling.

Dad continued, "You will be in Colin's charge until you have completed your exams. You are to obey him, follow his directions, and accept any punishments that he decides to administer. And let's be clear from the start. Colin has my full authority to punish you as he sees fit and that includes use of the cane and anything else he may think of. You will be treated and dressed as the immature, irresponsible, little boy that you have so clearly shown yourself to be". And with that, Dad left the room.

Mike felt himself trembling with both shock and fear. He hardly dared look at Colin. Instead his mind raced through the possible options. Escape? Standing there naked, thrashed and vulnerable, he didn't feel that any attempt at fleeing was likely to be successful. Colin broke the silence.

"Right boy", he said, "we might as well start as we mean to go on. You had better know that I intend to make sure that your father feels fully justified in having placed his trust in me. You are going to pass those exams Mike, even if I have to flail the skin off your backside to make you concentrate on studying. Now stand up straight and look at me." Mike took a moment and then stood to attention. He looked at Colin's face and saw a new authority in the way that Colin was looking at him.

"You are supposed to be all of eighteen years of age," Colin continued. "Eighteen! Just look at you. Well, as far as I'm concerned you are no more than an eight-year-old little boy who needs a tutor in the school holidays so that he can catch up with his classmates. And that's just how you are going to be treated. Now let's go up to your bedroom and sort out a suitable study space where you can get started on cramming."

Colin held out his hand. Mike nearly broke down in tears again as he realised that his old friend was going to lead him by the hand as if he was the most junior of little boys. But there was something comforting in being led up the stairs to his bedroom. Being reduced to the status of young boy was slightly less embarrassing than being an eighteen year-old who had just been told that another boy, only a bit older, was going to be caning your backside for the rest of the summer. By the time they reached the top of the stairs Mike had mentally regressed so that he felt himself to be the little boy that Colin had judged him to be. Having only just got back from university that very afternoon, Mike had not had the opportunity to make much of a mess of his bedroom. But Colin set about a brisk tidying up anyway, packing away Mike's clothes and leaving out only those items of clothing that had been part of Mike's old school uniform. Nothing else, other than a pair of shortie pyjamas that Mike had been given at Christmas when he was sixteen, nothing else was deemed appropriate for Mike's status. The desk was cleared of all junk, leaving a bare utilitarian workspace.

When Colin was satisfied that everything was in order he steered Mike towards the bed. Colin sat down and taking hold of Mike's hair-free penis guided the boy over his lap. Colin's hand moved over Mike's bottom in a way that Mike experienced as deeply comforting. Then, as had been inevitable, Colin started to smack his new charge. Between smacks Colin set out some of the basic rules of the regime that was about to be imposed upon Mike. Study, chores, and exercise were going to be Mike's sole activities. Smack. Mike would do well to accept his role as a submissive and obedient boy. Smack. Any disobedience would result in immediate corporal punishment. Smack. Any failure of attention or failings in studies would likewise result in pain. Smack. Mike chose not to hold back the tears that had begun welling up in his eyes. He felt shamed, ridiculed, humiliated, and extremely sore. Colin continued to place firm resounding smacks up and down Mike thighs and over his bottom.

"That was just a little reminder. A bedtime spanking of the sort that you'll be getting every evening." And with that Colin insisted that Mike got cleaned up, dressed in his somewhat tight old pyjamas, and then into bed. It was still early evening and light outside. Mike felt very childish to be put to bed so early but he wasn't about to argue. Colin was clearly not to be messed with. His new tutor was hell-bent on taking his role seriously and Mike guessed that the threat of corporal punishment was going to be carried through frequently and painfully. Before leaving Colin had some last messages for his well-spanked pupil. The first was simply a statement that Mike was going to have a reasonably early bedtime every night with lights out by nine o'clock so that Colin could have some time to himself. The second was an unpleasant reminder that little boys who are caught wanking get the cane in the morning. And the third was an indication that plans for the next morning included a shopping trip for some appropriate clothes. Mike drifted off to sleep allowing his mind to dream about some of the many plans that had been so awfully disrupted by his Dad's anger over those silly exam results.

Colin, meanwhile, went home and did some homework and research of his own. He had some notion of the duties of a tutor but he wanted to be sure that he managed to have some fun of his own in this role that had been gifted him that afternoon. The money he would receive from Mike's father would easily cover his expenses for the next academic year if he was as careful as he had been in his first year. But Colin hoped that there would be some other rewards to be had from the situation. He had always liked hanging about with Mike and his other friend, Philip, when they had been at school together. But Colin had never told them that what he liked most was the sight of them wearing shorts even when they had become teenagers. Colin had developed his own fantasy life around what he knew of how Mike was treated at home, his frequent punishments, those gorgeously short little grey school shorts that he used to wear at home when he was sixteen, his shaved pubic area that always looked so prepubescent and childish. Colin allowed himself the pleasure of a long slow and very gentle wank as he thought of all the pleasures that lay ahead through the long summer months. And those pleasures were becoming more clear in his mind as he used his right hand to surf through the internet, revisiting old favourites like MMSA Stories archive, and the manual for dads and Sons, and the great story of Peter put back into shorts, and Polaspank's humiliation of growing up in very tight shorts, before surfing off to visit the Muir Academy at Tawse, and ending the evening with his favourite story of all time, that beautiful set of chapters about life at the Old Rectory. It was a very satisfied young tutor who fell asleep that night dreaming of the pleasures that might be had from ownership of an old-fashioned tawse or a nice heavy prefect's strap. It was going to be a long wonderful summer.

The next day saw Colin up incredibly early and joining Mike and his father for breakfast. Mike was appropriately attired in his old school uniform, his thighs still showing some of the marks from his various punishments of the previous day including a couple of very obvious cane lines. Mike was also appropriately polite and greeted Colin with the respect that was to be expected from a boy in the presence of his personal tutor. Mike was secretly hoping that if he was seen to be accepting his regression to juvenile status his Dad might change his mind and leave Mike to study on his own. But such thoughts were very far from Dad's mind. Instead, Dad was relishing the sight of his teenage son going about the ritual of preparing breakfast while dressed in the only kind of clothing that Dad had ever really considered fitting for boys. A simple traditional school uniform with those distinctive short pants and neatly pulled up kneesocks.

Colin looked at Mike carefully and wondered if it would be possible to get away with taking Mike out on a shopping trip in public dressed that way. Certainly there would be other teenage boys in school uniform in the town as the schools would not break for holidays for another six weeks yet. But no boy over the age of twelve or possibly thirteen would be wearing school shorts and there was no way that Mike would pass for thirteen. But he would easily pass for fifteen. Mike poured tea for his Dad and his tutor. He felt utterly ridiculous in this awful uniform. In particular he had loathed that moment as he was getting dressed when he had had to pull up his kneesocks and fold them over his garters. The garters were old and tight and felt as if they would snap at any moment. But Dad had insisted, and so the garters were worn and the coloured bands of the tops of those socks were neatly folded over. A glance in the long mirror on the landing had been shocking. Mike had not been able to believe that the obedient looking little boy in the mirror was really his own university student self.

Colin decided that the shorts were just that bit too tight to allow Mike to pass for an older prep school boy who had had an early growth spurt. So, breakfast over, he went up to Mike's bedroom and sorted out something slightly different. The legs of Mike's navy chinos were quickly cut to mid-thigh length and neatly finished off using a hot iron and hemming webbing. Mike was told to change into ankle socks and the new shorts but required to continue wearing the white short-sleeved shirt and striped school tie that his father had chosen earlier. The effect was wonderfully ambivalent. An older teenage boy who was wearing casual shorts because of the summer heat, or a teenage boy who had strict parents who required him to wear formal shorts. It would be hard to tell and Colin guessed that anyone who saw them in the shops would read whatever they wanted into what they saw.

But first it was time to get Mike started on some revision. Colin took his pupil up to the boy's bedroom and sat him at his desk with orders to get started on the first chapter of a textbook. The orders were simple; two hours concentrated study without moving from the desk, to be followed by a short break and then a quick test. The test would, of course, result in punishment for each question that Mike got wrong, one stroke of the cane on the bare for each. Mike set to work with his stomach churning in fear of the consequences. He guessed that Colin would want to make something of an impression on this first day and that the threatened punishment would be thoroughly unpleasant. It was.

When the two hours were up Colin had looked up from his own book and told Mike to stand to attention. Then Colin took his pupil into the bathroom, stood him at the toilet, and told him to place his hands on top of his head. Mike had obeyed even though he was very puzzled at this sequence of orders. But all became clear within seconds when Colin had reached round, undone the fly on Mike's shorts, drawn Mike's penis out and aimed it at the toilet bowl while whispering into Mike's ear that "little boys like you can't be trusted to use the toilet properly. You'll have to be an extremely good boy for me if you want to earn big boy privileges". Mike would have died of shame if it were not for the fact he already felt so humiliated that yet more degradation didn't seem to make his situation any worse. But there had been something Implied in that whispering that frightened Mike and he wondered what it might mean for it seemed to him that Colin was going to find unexpected ways to pile on the humiliation.

Back in the bedroom the test was quickly run through and failed. Mike hadn't really had a chance. While he felt that he had done well to get over twenty questions right, he hadn't really expected that Colin would have gone through fifty questions at a rapid fire pace. Colin undid Mike's shorts again, this time letting them slip down to Mike's ankles. Mike's white briefs were then pulled down to his thighs before Colin applied a little pressure to Mike's back, indicating that it was time for the boy to bend over and take the twenty-seven strokes that he had earned.

It was the first time that Colin had ever had occasion to hold a punishment cane, let alone use one for its intended purpose. But he didn't let his lack of experience delay him from lifting the cane into the air and landing it soundly across the middle of Mike's bruised bottom. The stroke wasn't quite straight but Colin figured that he would get plenty of experience. He looked at the neat parallel lines left on Mike's bottom from the caning he had received from his father the previous day. Mike's dad was clearly an experienced caner of boys' bottoms. But Colin had the whole summer to develop his own technique. Mike had automatically accepted the stroke with the words, "one Sir, thank you Sir". Colin hadn't been expecting that but he remembered that such a formula featured in many of the punishment rituals that he had read on the internet. He liked that respectful "Sir" and the somewhat strange notion of a boy thanking his disciplinarian for inflicting pain on him. Colin smiled, drew the cane back up into the air and then brought the second cut firmly down onto Mike's bottom. "Two Sir, thank you Sir".

Again this second stroke was not straight and Colin decided that he would concentrate his efforts on trying to achieve some fairly well-placed strokes in this first session with the cane. By the time that Mike got to "sixteen Sir, thank you Sir", Colin felt that he was literally getting into the swing of things. For his part Mike was in real distress. His Dad's canings had been severe but they were always limited to six strokes. Colin had managed to land some very painful strokes but on the whole each stroke had not been as painful as Dad's. But the accumulation of pain built up over so many strokes on top of the fact that he had been well-punished the previous day, meant that Mike was really feeling the pain.

Colin looked down. Mike's bottom was now a throbbing mass of bruised flesh and Colin momentarily wondered if this punishment was turning into something excessive. But he had told Mike that each failed question would result in a stroke of the cane and he meant to see that through. Colin instinctively felt that this first caning would be the most important, the one that would leave Mike with a real sense that punishment would follow failure without mercy or concern for the pupil's feelings.

"Nineteen Sir, thank you Sir".

Colin knew that with that stroke of the cane he had managed to get aim and force and wrist-action to work together and produce the perfect result. Mike's back had arched involuntarily and he had let out a agonised sob when the impact of the stroke had registered on his brain. Colin took his time, and eyed up the naked flesh just beneath Mike's buttocks. Those stories on MMSA Stories had often referred to the additional pain that could be inflicted on a boy if the cane was delivered across the top of the thighs, and that was where Colin intended to concentrate his efforts for the last eight strokes.

It was perfect. Mike's scream must have been heard on the other side of the city. Colin was delighted. Mike had recovered quickly enough to offer his ritual appreciation of the discipline that was being inflicted upon him. "Twenty Sir, thank you Sir", was sobbed out as the boy composed himself for the next stroke. Mike knew that something dreadful had just happened, that his old school-friend, now his new tutor, had somehow discovered the art of the perfect caning. This was going to be a long miserable summer.

The twentieth stroke had been absolutely perfect and Colin was delighted with himself. But something else had changed. Colin felt an incredible rush of power and adrenaline sweep through him and he became aware of the fact that his penis was now hardened and pulsating against his pants. The next three strokes were placed in perfect parallel lines one beneath the other. Mike's upper thighs were now showing a beautiful set of lines, the marks of a well-caned boy. Colin was becoming more and more aroused with each stroke and decided to enhance the effect of the last four strokes by ordering Mike to undress completely and spread his legs far apart. Mike had moved slowly but deliberately as he undressed and placed his completely naked body back into position. "Twenty-four Sir, thank you Sir".

Twenty-four had been awful for Mike. Colin had returned to the top of Mike's thighs and this stroke had landed neatly and exactly along a previous one. Colin had been thrilled by stroke number twenty-four. He hadn't been sure that he would be able to get the cane to return to that position with such exactitude, but it had happened. Colin felt that he had graduated from apprentice to master, and that stroke was his masterwork.

Twenty-five, and twenty-six followed with awesome perfection, each one landing perfectly over a previous stroke. Colin steadied himself for the final stroke. He had read enough caning stories to know that the last stroke was often ritualised into the most terrible stroke of all, the diagonal that completes the five-bar gate. Well, this had turned into something of a twenty-six bar gate, but that was no reason for not aiming a diagonal over those beautiful strokes on Mike's upper thighs. Colin took aim. The stroke landed. It was a very nice diagonal indeed. Colin felt that it could have been a bit better, that it wasn't quite perfect, but he was thoroughly satisfied with his morning's work.

Mike was thoroughly thrashed and in dreadful agony. But he had been well-trained by his Dad over all those years and he thanked his tutor properly for having disciplined him and helped him learn how to be a much better boy and a more attentive pupil. Colin accepted Mike's ritual gratitude and then told his old school-friend to resume the position, but this time to spread his legs even further. Ritual gratitude was one thing but Colin intended having his own satisfaction. Mike bent over again, spread his legs far apart, and trembled with fear that Colin was about to cane him again. But the cane remained to one side. Instead, Colin reached round Mike's waist and holding his pupil in position forced his penis deep inside Mike's anus.

It would not be true to say that Mike found the experience at all pleasant. In fact it was painful and he felt as if he was being torn apart. There had been no lubrication, no warning, no gentle easing of that raging _c_o_c_k_ past Mike's sphincter muscle. But Colin was not particularly concerned about Mike's feelings at this moment. Colin thrust himself in and _f_u_c_k_ed Mike without any concern for his pupil's pain. When the final moment of ejaculation Colin was in his own paradise. Mike felt his tutor's cum pulsing into his bowels, and then, as both of them relaxed and there was a moment of stillness, Mike felt an orgasmic wave race through his body and he was convulsed by his first anal orgasm. Colin withdrew quite gently, and smacked Mike on the bottom. "Let that be a lesson to you boy", he said. "You can expect to be thanking me like that many more times over the next few months". Mike caught his breath, stood up and turned to his new master. Pupil and tutor looked each other in the eyes, leaned towards each other kissed deeply and with a tenderness that was amazing given the brutality of the previous hour.

Colin smiled. "We better get you cleaned up boy. We've got to get into town and buy you your new uniform for the summer."


More stories by Mike Ward