A recent MMSA Stories entry told of a schoolboy in his gym kit waiting to be caned, who developed an embarrassing response to seeing another boy being caned first. Reading this story reminded me of an incident long ago when I was in the scouts .....
In the 1950s the spanking of boys was a very common event, and at 12 years old you could more or less reckon on some kind of whacking just about every day .... either at home, at school, or any of the other places where respect to adults was required. Ritual played its full part in these sessions, usually standing to attention whilst being told off, then adopting set positions for the smacks (applied with varying degrees of severity, and styles, depending on who was administering the punishment), and occasionally time afterwards standing in the corner.
Anyway, our scoutmaster, Captain Brewster, was an old army type who ran the troop single-handed, despite being partially disabled by shrapnel wounds from the war. We numbered about 40 boys, and were based in a large dilapidated wooden hut tucked away at the end of a quiet lane on the edge of town. Most of the boys were juniors aged 11 to 13, but we also had some older boys at 14 and 15, unsurprisingly called seniors. Scout uniform was strictly enforced for everyone, comprising a short sleeved khaki shirt with bright neck scarf in the troops red and yellow colours, short brown trousers, long dark green thick socks held up by garters (with two little flags colour matched to the scarf), and shiny black shoes - no quibbling, and for most boys, no underwear either.
Like at school or home, scout spankings were not carried out at the time of the crime, but stored up for the end of the day. At the close of scout meetings, the Captain would read out any messages, then announce the punishment list "Jenkins and Baxter to stay behind, Wilson to assist" This meant the two named juniors were going to get a punishment, and the named senior would stay behind to help out, presumably because of the Captains disabilities.
My first experience of a scout spanking was probably fairly typical. My name, Carr, was called out along with another junior, Samuals, because we had been fighting – which everyone knew he had started – and Wilson was the attending senior, as usual. I say as usual, because whilst the Captain had tried out every senior at least once, it was more often than not Wilson who was picked to help him.
Within five minutes of the scout meeting being dismissed, us three were all alone in the hut with the Captain - the other boys having instantly dashed off home - a remarkable transformation from the hullabaloo and banging feet of 40 hyperactive boy scouts to complete silence!
So, with some trepidation, Samuals and I were led into the Captains back room. Exactly as previously described to me, there was a small wooden exercise bench next to a wall, and the infamous "stick" resting on top. This wasnt just an ordinary school cane, but a piece of straight smooth branch, about three feet long and half an inch in diameter, slightly bendy, and with a small Y shaped fork at the end where two trigs had been cut off. At the other end, the stick was carefully joined to a leather strap, about an inch wide and a foot long, with the junction between them bound by string in the form of a well-worn handle. By holding this contraption one way round, the Captain had an effective leather tawse, or by holding it the other way round (wrapping the strap around his hand), he had an effective cane. The purpose of the forked end was not immediately obvious.
Anyway, Samuals and I were stood to attention side by side to hear the charges (behaviour unbecoming), then it was explained that I was only going to get a lecture, but Samuals was going to get the full works. As the lighter sentences were carried out first, Samuals was directed to stand facing the corner and wait. The Captain picked up the stick (in the manner to use it as a tawse), and gave Wilson a nod. Wilson took hold of my trouser belt at both sides and pulled up as tight and high as possible. The Captain announced "Left!", and Wilson manoeuvred me towards the bench (maintaining the wedgie) and directed me to put my left foot up. When my shoe had settled flat, the well drilled senior silently repositioned himself behind me, and in a kind of embrace, slid both hands round to slide up the hem of the shorts on my raised leg to maximise the amount of bare skin showing. Then, by applying a gentle pressure, he opened up my leg angle to make the muscles on my thigh as pronounced as possible. Next, the lecture started. This was a torrent of dos and donts about behaviour, with a slash of the leather on my taunt exposed skin to emphasise each point. Naturally I wasnt to lose the position, or burst into tears, but just flinch a little and be thankful at the end. Wilson, however, seemed to be more affected. At each whoosh of the leather, he tensed up, his grip getting progressively tighter. His hands pulled ever higher on the inside of my shorts (ultimately ending up with his fingertips curled around my balls!), his own bare legs pressed into the back of mine (rubbing up and down in time with the lashes), and whatever he had in his front pocket was pushing firmly into the crack of my bum.
When the lecture was over, Wilson let go and quickly sat down on the bench, crossing his arms in his lap. The Captain told me to "run on home, while Samuals was seen to".
I heard latter from Samuals that he not only got both his legs whipped (I imagine this entailed another bit of silent chorography on behalf of Wilson and Samuals shorts), but that he also got Part Three, which is where the senior sits down on the bench, the junior lays face down across his lap and along the bench, and the Captain canes the upturned bum with his special stick.
Now because the bench was fairly low, and the senior had to sit "properly" (with his shoes flat to the floor and his back against the wall), his knees would naturally stick up, resulting in the junior being pretty much cradled in his lap - a position eased somewhat by the senior opening his legs. Then, to prevent the younger boy moving, the senior wrapped one arm around the culprits knees, and rested his other forearm on the boys back to restrain him, whilst holding on and pulling up the lads trouser belt at the back to make the fabric as tight as possible over the target. Once in place, both boys were reasonably comfortable – which was more or less essential, as the old Captain would take his time!
OK, thats the background, but there are a couple more things you should know before reading about the incident Im going to relate. The first is that we could never guess who was going to be called in for a spanking – it didnt always seem to relate to behaviour, with boys like Jenkins (a bright, tall and athletic lad who was rarely naughty) being a regular attendee, and others like Farrington (an irritating, podgy and smelly kid who frequently messed about) hardly ever getting called. Also, no matter what trouble or not had occurred during the scout meeting, there was always at least one boy to be spanked, and hardly ever more than two. The second point is that the punishment you got at scouts was not measured out like at school, you just accepted however many strokes the Captain felt like at the time – not generally a problem because the Captains power was restricted by his injuries so they didnt hurt too much! The slashes with the leather strap made an impressive thwacking noise on impact and left vivid red marks, but the sting was bearable, and the redness usually subsided before you got home. Similarly, even though we had no underpants on, and our trousers were only thin cotton, the Captains strokes of the cane were nowhere near as bad as those we got at school – so even if you got 20 whacks, whilst you would certainly have a warmed up bum (and probably a few red lines on the back of your legs where he missed), you could still just about sit down afterwards.
So, now the special day.
A new senior had just started – Wilkinson - with a pleasant smile, fair hair, and a sporting disposition, no doubt gained by having such long muscular legs! He excelled at our rough and tumble ball game (Dodger), and was hence an immediate favourite who everyone wanted on their team. Unfortunately, my own attempt at kicking him an absurdly long ball went desperately wrong and crashed into the head table, resulting in a broken glass trophy that the troop had won about a million years before I joined. The Captain was cross.
As expected, at the close of play, the punishment list was just me – although I was surprised that the senior was not Wilson, but the new Wilkinson.
The Captain told me stand outside his room whilst he explained to the new senior what the procedure was to be – then summoned me in. The charge was malicious damage, punishable by the full works. Wilkinson looked more apprehensive than me. The Captain said "Left", and the new senior timidly approached me and reached out with near trembling hands to pull up my belt. His breathing was uneven as he helped my left foot onto the bench, and his hands felt clammy as they made contact with my thigh when he pulled up the hem. As the first whistle of leather landed with a resounding slap on my bare leg Wilkinson gave a little yelp, which became sighs and quiet intakes of breath as each lashing arrived.
After the first part of the lecture had finished, the Captain called for a stand down, and it was then that I saw Wilkinson had an enormous tent in his shorts! He was obviously trying to ignore it, but moved with a very awkward shuffle as he followed out the next instruction to put me "Right". This time his hands were sweaty as they rode up my shorts, and I could feel his stiffness prod into me - which was a weird feeling, knowing that someone had become excited at witnessing my spanking.
When the second stand down was called, I had another look at Wilkinsons shorts. He had developed a small dark wet patch on the top of his tent, with shiny little blobs glistening on the surface of the cotton – and I could also make out that he was circumcised the same as myself! I think the Captain had noticed too, because he said something like "very interesting" and decided to lock the door to save Wilkinson from further embarrassment should anyone turn up.
This was going to be my first Part Three, and I was feeling a bit apprehensive about continuing with Wilkinson in this predicament. But nonetheless, he dutifully sat on the bench, feet together, back against the wall, the erection pointing upwards in a fold of his shorts. I climbed on top and by sliding down his tummy forced his difficulty horizontally below me, rather than have it jutting into me. He gave a big sigh, and wriggled forwards on the bench a bit to help me settle. The Captain had brought over a chair to sit close by, facing us, and suggested it might help if Wilkinson parted his knees. When he did, I slid down a bit more and felt the hot stiffness straining. Wilkinson winced and closed his eyes.
I couldnt see from my position, but Wilkinson was emitting all sorts of oohs and arrhs, as the Captain made several adjustments to the seniors posture by tapping directions on his legs, knees and feet with the stick, until he was finally satisfied with every aspect. By now, only the edge of Wilkinsons bum was still on the bench, his knees were wide apart, his long thighs jutting out, and it felt to me that the erection was now pointing down the tunnel of his shorts, which was probably staring directly up at the poor old Captain!
A whistle in the air, and the first stroke of the stick landed on my tight bum with a room filling THWACK – I flinched, and Wilkinson aaaarred. The stick remained firmly pushed down for a few seconds, and was then dragged off slowly with pressure still applied. I felt the forked end travel across one bum cheek, slow down as it traced across my crack, then out and across the other cheek, then plop off to make a little slapping noise as it landed on Wilkinsons bare thigh below. Then some silence, a bit of breathing by the Captain, and a sudden little squeal and jerk from Wilkinson. I raised my head up to have a look, and saw that the hooked end of the stick had accidentally got caught up on the edge of Wilkinsons shorts. As the Captain waggled to free the stick, the fabric slipped further up the seniors open thigh, slightly easing the restraint and allowing the purple head of his embarrassment to rise up into view, just tucked up under the hem. Strands of clear fluid oozing from its centre sparkled in the evening light and looked like the beginnings of a spider web at the entrance to his shorts!
The Captain noticed I was looking. "Keep your head down, Carr" he demanded
The second THWACK, and another drag of the forked end across my bum, and another slap down to the exposed thigh below. A brief pause, and Wilkinson yelps again and humps up with his hips. I couldnt see what was happening now, but I could feel the erection twitching beneath me, and with a stronger and pulsing urge as the stick was being rested between my lashings. Wilkinson was gasping a bit, his temperature was rising, and his hand on my knees was even more sweaty as he gripped even tighter
From the corner of my eye, I saw the implement being raised high for the next stroke, and I noticed that the forked ends were beginning to sparkle too.
Another THWACK. And a longer pause. I hear the rustling of the stick as it moves around, out of my sight, but obviously affecting the seniors posture in some way because he is jerking and wriggling like crazy – giving me another big hump (restrained by my weight on top) as the instrument is withdrawn and readied for another slash at my behind.
Wilkinson went into all sorts of huffing and tremors during the next pause. The stick stayed out view for probably a minute or so (which was good news for my now stinging bum), whilst the upward pressure from the erection beneath me took on a new more rhythmic style, pushing up, relaxing slightly, pushing up. When Wilkinson strained his feet on to tiptoes, the Captain quickly brought the stick up high again, strands of silver dangling from the forked end, and then began a series of short sharp strokes on my tender bottom until Wilkinson sighed and lowered his feet.
After a few more taps on my bum, the stick plopped off and disappeared once more.
This time Wilkinson went berserk! The upward pressure was more sustained, he gave a series of sharp intakes of breath, then a raucous roar, before going into a spasm. Slamming his legs shut, then open, then shut again, I tumbled off just as Wilkinson squirted long lines of white stuff down his stretched bare thigh, some of it dripping down to make little beads on the dusty floor. The hem of his shorts was a huge sticky mess of wet, with tangled bits of the creamy stuff gluing the cloth to his skin, and below that, a pearly lake was slowly forming inside a fold in the bottom of his shorts, as the shiny red end of his semi concealed erection pulsed out the last few drops.
He looked shattered, spent and bewildered, but the Captain, who usually gets annoyed when we make a mess, didnt seem to mind at all. In fact, he was kind enough to offer Wilkinson his own handkerchief to wipe up.
"Good lad" he said "I think you and Wilson will make a great pair together next week"