Misdemeanors

Misdemeanors

a collection of short stories by plantagenet

Disclaimer: Yes, this story is fiction, and not based on any real-life events (that I know of). It is intended for the use of consenting adults only in jurisdictions where permitted. If you enjoy this story, may I suggest that a good way to show your appreciation is by making a small cash donation to support the continuing existence of the Nifty Archive. There's a donation link on the first screen, it's easy.

Misdemeanors

There are many small infractions of the rules that are committed by the boys at Wilfordton Prep School. Each of these carries its own punishment, and infractions must always be punished, mustn't they?

1. Running in the Hallways

Mr de Montforde, the Deputy headmaster, was also the Master of Discipline. Any pupil at Wilfordton caught in a misdemeanor, or any minor kind of breaking of school rules, is sent to him for discipline. But sometimes a boy does not need to be sent - Mr de Montforde catches the culprit in the very act, which is convenient, for it excuses the boy from having to make up some tedious falsehood in a vain attempt to avoid punishment.

The staccato clatter of leather shoes on linoleum signalled to Mr de Montforde a misdemeanor in progress. A boy was running in the hallway, right outside his office door, no less! He rose from behind his desk and strode to his door, which he flung open just in time to see the miscreant racing past. "Carstairs!" he bellowed, making the boy stop as suddenly as a cartoon coyote.

"Yes, sir?" the boy answered, a tremble already apparent in his high voice.

"Come!" the man demanded, holding his door wide and expecting immediate compliance, which he got. The downcast boy trudged into the Deputy's study, full knowing what awaited him.

"Sir, I-" the boy began, but was halted mid-excuse by a wave of the man's meaty hand.

"Do not compound your offence by offering some feeble explanation, Carstairs. Is the building on fire?"

The boy blinked. "No Sir, but-" Again, the hand stopped him.

"Have enemy military forces invaded the school grounds?"

"Er, no Sir, But I-" the boy managed before the hand rose again.

"In that case, we shall proceed directly to your punishment. You have been in trouble many times in the past, Carstairs; suppose you tell me what that punishment shall be," the man tomented the unlucky boy.

"Er...lines, Sir?" the boy suggested, a glimmer of hope in his voice.

"Lines, boy?" the man thundered. "That may be appropriate for a first offence, but you are far, far from a first-time offender, aren't you, Carstairs?"

The boy dropped his head. "Um...a detention, Sir?" the boy offered, not eagerly.

"Detention?" the man gasped in mock horror. "You are in a boarding school, Carstairs. You are already detained here for 24 hours a day, six-and-a-half days a week, forty weeks of the year! What possible punitive merit could there be in keeping you after class? So that you can avoid rugger practice, no doubt, you lazy scoundrel! No, detention simply will not do! I believe the time has come for...a spanking!"

"Sir, no Sir, not a spanking, Sir!" the boy whined, reflexively putting both hands on his bottom, palms outward.

"Oh yes, a spanking, I think. And to illustrate the magnitude of your offence, Carstairs, I believe I shall administer said spanking upon your bare bottom."

"Sir, not my bu-...er, bare bottom, please Sir!" But the boy's heartfelt plea did not soften Mr de Montforde's resolve one iota. He had decided on a bare-bottom spanking, and that is what he meant to impart.

"Remove those trousers, Carstairs, and be quick about it. In fact, take all of your clothes off. I do not want you to forget this punishment in a hurry. The boy, his face still towards the floor in sadness at his lamentable fate, carried out the requested task. He unzipped and dropped his trousers, then pushed down his briefs. He untied his school tie and pulled it from his collar. He unbuttoned his shirt and let it fall from his shoulders. He finally pulled his undervest over his head, making his longish blond hair fly around before settling back down on his adorably cute head. He stood, trembling, naked, shyly covering his crotch with both hands (even though a single hand would have more than adequately accomplished the task of concealment.)

"Is that any way to treat your clothes, boy? Which your dear mother bought for you out of her own money? Pick them up at once, fold each item, and make a neat pile of them on my desk this instant!" Mr de Montforde insisted, pointing to the substantial piece of furniture on the far side of the room. "Then come back here for your punishment." While the boy set about his task, the man made himself comfortable on the middle cushion of an overstuffed leather three-seater.

Less than a minute had passed before the boy returned to stand nude before the Deputy, face a little flushed, shoulders quaking, hands still hiding his tiny penis and immature balls. "Stand to attention, you slovenly child! Hands by your sides! Shoulders back! Chest out!" the man demanded, forcing the boy to reveal that he had an erection, his two inch stiffie quivering with an unthinking anticipation, his peanut-sized nuggets pulled up tight in his wrinkled sack.

"Now, you shall place yourself face downwards over my thighs, so that I may spank you with the minimum of discomfort - to me!" The boy jumped onto the couch knees first and crawled into position, lying down across the man's lap. He rested his head on his folded arms, his feet almost reaching the armrest at the other end of the couch. The man's hand caressed the smooth bottom which he was about to castigate, making the boy flinch.

"What is it, boy? Are you constitutionally unable to lie still and accept your chastisement like a man?" the Deputy bellowed.

"It...it's your, er, trousers, Sir. They very scratchy on my, uh, penis. It's making me aroused, Sir. Uh, more aroused."

"Well, then, hop off me and do something about it. Show some initiative boy, don't just lie there," the man countered. The boy scrambled off the man's thighs and knelt on the floor at the Deputy's feet, reaching up to undo his belt. The man's trouser zip followed, whereupon the boy pulled the scratchy garment off the Deputy's hips and down his thighs, and over his shoes.

"Do you think my briefs will be scratchy also, Carstairs?" the man demanded.

The boy inspected them closely. "I think they might be, Sir," he answered timidly. A raised eyebrow from the man was all it took for the boy to tug at the waist of the offending underwear, and drag them downwards, so that they soon joined the man's trousers on the floor.

"Now, if you have no further complaints, Carstairs, assume the position!" the man declared. The boy climbed back onto the couch only to find that when he lay down on the man's lap, the Deputy's substantial penis, which had trebled in size and stiffened remarkably for a man his age, was now digging into his lower tummy, making him writhe about while the man's hand still caressed the boy's tender bottom searching for the optimal strike zone.

"Damnation!" the man cried. "What is it now, Carstairs?"

"It's...it's your, ah, penis, Sir: it's digging into my tummy and poking at me, I can't settle." the boy explained, kneeling up even as the man continued caressing his exquisite behind.

"Well then, hold it out of the way, boy! Do I have to think of everything?" Catching on, the boy seized the man's hot prong with both hands, making a drop of pre-cum appear at the eye of his flaming red glans.

"Ooh, Sir, it's...it's leaking!" the boy moaned pitifully.

"Well of course it is, boy! Your hands are squeezing the juices out of it! But those juices had better not find their way onto my leather couch, or there'll be hell to pay, and you'll be the one paying it! Think of something, boy, and be quick about it!" Poor Carstairs watched as the little droplet at the end of Mr de Montforde's big penis grew to become a large droplet, and threatened to roll over the red mountain top, down the shaft, onto his skinny fingers and then onto the leather couch, possibly ruining the lustre of the leather. He had to stop that drop! But how? Seeing no other remedy, he did what he would have done had the man's erection been an ice-cream exposed to the hot sun - he covered it with his lips!

"Ohhh," the man groaned. His right hand was still occupied caressing Carstair's delightful bottom, so his left hand came up and settled on the boy's unruly blond hair, pushing his head down and making the man shudder as the boy's lips slid down his cock. He let the boy's head up, then pushed down again, repeating the operation. The boy quickly got the hang of it, sucking even more deeply as the fingers of the man's right hand grazed the cleft of his bottom and passed right over his tight anus. Mr de Montforde sighed with pleasure as he looked down at the sight of the boy's sweet face; to him, there was nothing more beautiful than the blush on a boy's cheeks as he sucked his first adult cock.

"Ohhh, Carstairs, you naughty boy! I hope you are learning your lesson, not to run in the hallway, uhhh." The man was not sure whether the boy was nodding in agreement, or bobbing his head to impart more of the sensuous feelings of a sublime blow job. "Ohhh, Carstairs, a little more, yesss, uhhh, uh, uh, aaah, now swallow, there's a good chap, ahhh."

The man released the boy's head, the middle finger of his right hand still embedded deeply in the boy's hot moist rectum. Carstairs wiped his hand across his mouth to remove the last traces of the Deputy's semen which seeped out when the man orgasmed. "Have you anything to say for yourself, Carstairs?" the man demanded.

"Yes, Sir, " the boy answered demurely.

"Well, out with it!"

"I think I'll be running in the hallway again tomorrow at the same time, Sir," he said, his sweet face so innocent.

"See that you do!" the man growled, removing his finger so that the boy could dress himself and scamper off to class.

1. Incorrect Sports Uniform

"Explain yourself, Hopgood! Exactly what do you call this...fashion abomination that you are wearing?" Mr de Montforde bellowed at the quivering boy who stood before him in his study, shoeless and bare from the waist up.

The boy looked down at his vibrantly floral swimwear. "They're boardshorts, Sir," he mumbled.

"Really," the Deputy in charge of discipline at Wilfordton Hall replied sarcastically. "Boardshorts, you say," he repeated the terrified boy's answer. "Tell me," he continued, "does today's swimming lesson involve a board of any kind?" He rose from his chair behind his oversize antique desk and walked around behind the dejected boy.

"Sir, no Sir," the boy replied, as obsequiously as he could manage through his fear.

"And are boardshorts the correct uniform for swimming at Wilfordton?"

"Sir, no Sir," the boy replied, his voice laden with defeat. The man did not reply, but continued walking in a large circle around the boy, staring at the offending garment.

"I suppose you have some sort of explanation for this curious breach of school rules?" he eventually said.

"Sir, my togs, I...I...um, lost them. I think," the boy offered. "So I thought these ones would do. I didn't want to miss out on swimming."

"You...lost them," the man mused aloud. "So...you thought those would do," he concluded, mimicking the boy's lame excuse. "No doubt you checked before the lesson with Mr Matthews that your substitute swimwear would be acceptable?" The boy shook his head miserably. "Well then, perhaps you asked another boy if he had a spare pair?" Again, the boy shook his head in the negative.

"Well then, it seems that you should be punished for such a flagrant, ill-considered and eminently avoidable breach of school rules, don't you think?" The boy could only nod his head slightly.

"And so you shall be. But before I administer your punishment, I have good news for you. You will not miss your swimming lesson, or at least not all of it. There is yet another 45 minutes remaining of your swim period, and if I know Mr Matthews, he is still giving his safety talk, and no swimming as such has yet commenced. I happen to have a swimsuit here which complies with the school regulations which I am prepared to lend to you for the next hour." The man returned to the other side of his desk and opened a drawer, pulling out a tiny triangle of material held together by thin straps. He handed it to the boy. "You may wear these for today"

The boy took the proferred garment and held it up before his eyes. "Sir...what...what is this thing?" he asked, as politely as he could.

The man regarded the boy with amusement concealed behind a stern visage. "It is a swimsuit, boy. I believe it is known as a 'g-string'. Now remove that monstrosity you are wearing and put on the suit I gave you, and you can return to the pool."

The boy gaped at the quarter-ounce of material. "But Sir, I can't wear this!" he complained.

"Actually you can, Hopgood. You put a leg through each of the straps, pull them up and behold! You are wearing it!"

"But it's not...I mean..." the boy floundered for a reason not to comply with the Deputy's direction.

"You are wondering whether this garment complies with the school's swimming uniform policy, Hopgood, I take it. I must confess, I wondered about that myself when I confiscated that g-string from another boy. Well, let's see. What are Wilfordton's colours?"

"Claret and gold, Sir," the boy replied without hesitation.

"Correct. And if I am not mistaken, those stretchy straps are claret coloured, and that little pouch is gold, is it not?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Whereas, the item that I ordered you two minutes ago to remove, and which I notice you are still defiantly wearing, is basically white, with blue and green flowers, hibiscus if I am not mistaken, splattered all over it, is it not?"

The boy could not have hung hs head any lower. "Yes, Sir,"

"So explain to me, Hopgood, in nice simple terms that even a Deputy Headmaster can understand, why you have not already removed that floral extravaganza and replaced it with the correctly-coloured item which I gave you?"

The boy's shoulders slumped as his fingers tugged at the ends of the white lace at the front of the boardies. When he had untied the knot, he shimmied his hips to make the bulky nylon garment fall to his ankles, then stepped out of them, now fully naked, and tried to figure out how to wear the g-string, without success. "Sir, I...I can't...I don't..." he begged the man.

The Deputy sighed. "Very well, stand on this chair, Hopgood, and I will show you. I can't bend down to the floor as I used to anymore, and this will make it easier on my poor old back. Up you get," he explained, as he helped the nude boy climb onto the hardbacked seat. The man took the g-string from the boy and touched him on one foot. "Lift," he ordered, and the boy raised one dainty leg. Hopgood found it a little awkward balancing on the chair, especially as the Deputy had pushed his bushy head of hair right into his crotch, giving his small penis little tingly scratches. Hopgood felt, to his horror, his penis begin to stiffen, and could no longer be correctly described as 'small'.

"Other foot," Mr de Montforde indicated, and the boy complied. As he lifted the second foot, it felt to the boy as though the man was actually pushing his head into his hairless crotch more forcefully, making his penis even more stimulated. But that couldn't be right, could it?"

"And now the pouch," the Deputy remarked as he slid the straps up the boy's shapely legs. "Up we go...oh, my, Hopgood, what have we here?" Mr de Montforde gasped in mild amusement as the skimpy triangle reached the boy's penis, which was now a full-grown two and a half inch stiffie. "We seem to have a problem, young man," the Deputy observed, pulling the back strap up into the cleft between the boy's bottom cheeks. "Your penis seems to be unwilling to be covered, Hopgood. If I pull the material up and over your erection, like so, your balls fall out the sides. And if I cup the material around your balls, like so, the head of your penis pops out over the waistband."

"What...what shall I do, Sir?" the boy asked, a pitiful whine in his voice.

"I think I may have a solution. Or would you rather go back to the pool like this?"

"No Sir!" the horrified boy replied. "What...what is your solution?"

"Come over to the couch, and I will endeavour to solve your little problem for you," Mr de Montforde suggested. Without waiting for the boy to descend from the chair, he picked him up and carried him to the leather three-seater. He sat down, still carrying the boy in his arms. "Lay back, Hopgood, and I shall make your penis capable of fitting into this swimsuit for you." The boy complied without hesitating, as any Wilfordton boy would do. Tilting his head upwards to watch what the man was doing, Hopgood was fascinated to see the man pull the g-string down his smooth thighs, past his knees and all the way off his legs.

"How is he going to get that thing to fit me if he takes it- OH!" the boy gasped mentally as he watched the man swallow his stiff penis whole and begin sucking and licking it. The feelings were tremendous! The boy writhed in the man's grasp, trying to keep his penis in the man's mouth yet squirming from the delicious feelings.

Pausing for a moment in his blowjob of the boy's tasty morsel, the man turned his head to the boy's face and explained, matter-of-factly "Of course, Hopgood, I will not always be available to perform this service for you - you should take the initiative and seek out some classmate, one of your best friends perhaps, to do this for you. It may be that you could offer to do the same back to him, to thank him. Only a good friend, mind - don't go asking every single boy in the School, or you will spend so much of your spare time thanking all of them that you will have no time left for anything else." He resumed tonguing and sucking the boy's little shaft and knobhead.

Hopgood was delirious with pleasurable sensations. "Who cares if I don't have time for anything else!" he thought. "This is awesome!" He began to plan in his mind whom he would ask...perhaps Bolton would like to do it, he often gets stiffies in the showers...or maybe Collier, he slept in the next bed and usually wakes up with a stiffie poking through the fly of his pyjama bottoms...Barnstable was another possibility, he thought he saw him playing with his penis under the desk in class the other day. The boy's imagined possible liaisons dissolved as a more urgent feeling took over - Mr de Montforde's efforts were about to reach a thrilling conclusion!

"Oh, Sir! Oh! Aah! Oooh!" the boy moaned as the man's mouth brought him off in a dry but thoroughly satisfying orgasm. Mr de Montforde caressed the soft, smooth body as the boy's breathing slowed down. Hopgood watched as his erection, now slippery with saliva, wilted. "I think it might fit now, Sir," he suggested. The Deputy set the boy on his feet and helped him put the g-string back on, but Hopgood was a quick study and could now do it himself. Tucking his softened penis into the little triangle of material at the front, the boy smiled at the man and said "Thank you, Sir. May I go now?"

"I haven't punished you yet, lad. What do you think might be suitable?"

The boy thought for a moment. "Perhaps when I come back after swimming to return your swimsuit, and collect my boardshorts, one of us may have thought of something, Sir," he answered, fluttering his eyelashes coquettishly.

"Perhaps we shall, Hopgood - perhaps we shall." He reached around the boy's hips to make sure the vertical strap of the g-string was securely seated between the boy's delightful cheeks, and gave him a playful pat on the bottom. "Off you go," he said, and the boy skipped out of the Deputy's room.

1. Homework Not Done

"Ahh, Compton, Compton, Compton," the Deputy muttered, then sighed theatrically. "What am I going to do with you?"

The small boy sitting on the straight back chair in front of the discipline master's desk sucked on his bottom lip. "I don't know, Sir," he whispered. That was, in fact, the literal truth. Compton had heard so many stories about what happened to boys who entered the Deputy's room for disciplinary infractions, that he didn't know what to expect. He had heard that some boys had been made to suck the Deputy's erect penis until it shot its sauce into their mouths, which they were then required to swallow.

Other boys assured him that they were forced to strip naked, and be spanked upon their quivering bottoms by Mr de Montforde's thick, meaty hand. These boys told Compton that they were unable to sit comfortably for days afterwards, and that they all popped boners when they stripped, making their punishment embarrassing as well as painful.

Still other boys regaled Compton with torrid tales of having their bottoms fingered by Mr de Montforde until they screamed out in sexual climax. Mr de Montforde kissed their mouths roughly during this anal violation, until the poor boys had no avenue of release except to shudder in glorious orgasms in his big strong arms.

Compton was terrified. He had never been in trouble before, not in his four years of schooling. He diligently followed all of the school rules, even the rules that contradicted the other rules. He was that rarest of boys, a model student. Besides which, he was exceptionally good-looking, to the point of being almost feminine in appearance. Clear skin, sparkling eyes, long lashes, slender physique, narrow waist, well-rounded bottom, delicate hands; Compton was the complete package. His classmates were jealous as hell. It was they who had removed Compton's homework assignment from his folder, in an effort to get him into trouble, as he now was.

Compton did the only thing that he thought possible under the circumstances: he burst into tears. Weeping copiously, his upper body heaved as he cried his little heart out. "Oh, Compton, no need to take on so!" the man remonstrated with the bawling child. "I haven't even touched you yet! Come over to the couch," the Deputy suggested. "Usually the crying starts after the punishment, not before. Get a grip on yourself, boy."

Using these and other platitudes to try to calm the poor little fellow, the man picked the boy up from the chair and carried him to the leather three-seater, the site of so many punishments in the past (but Compton didn't know that). Holding the boy in a strong cuddle the man tried to ease the boy's suffering. "There, there, old chap, it isn't as bad as all that. Calm yourself down and we'll talk about what's bothering you."

"I'm...I'm scared, Sir" the boy whimpered.

"Scared of what, Compton?"

"Sir, the...the other boys, Sir, they...they told me about the punishments that you gave them, Sir."

"Hmm, they did, did they? Well, we can't have you being terrified, now, can we? A punishment should not make you terrified - it should just make you follow the rules next time. So tell me: what is the one thing that they told you that frightens you the most?"

The boy had to think for a minute. The he replied "Having to take off all my clothes in front of you, Sir, I suppose," he answered cautiously.

"Is that all?" the man replied, hugging the boy more closely. "You take your clothes off every day, when you take a shower, and when you change into your pyjamas to go to bed! You take your clothes off for your physical examination with the doctor every year! What's such a big deal, Compton?"

"Mother told me I shouldn't, Sir" the boy replied primly.

"Really? But didn't your mother also tell you to obey your teachers?" he countered. A look of consternation crossed the boy's face; here was yet another example of contradictory school rules. What to do, what to do...

"I suppose...if you think I should...I mean, you are the Deputy Headmaster and all..."

"And the Master of Discipline, don't forget that. Besides, it doesn't hurt you to take your clothes off, does it? It's not painful, is it?" the man murmured into the boy's ear. His whisperings soon had an effect. The boy sat up and stood on the floor, his back to the man, his fingers moving over his buttons. His school uniform fell away from his body item by item, until only a pair of briefs separated Compton from total nudity.

"You...won't laugh at me, will you Sir?" he peeped over his shoulder as his graceful fingers lingered near the waist of his last garment.

"Laugh at you? Of course not, Compton. In fact, to show you how reasonable and normal it is to get undressed, I'll do it too. Look, I'm taking all my clothes off right now, the shirt, the trousers, the undervest, the boxers, the- Good Lord, Compton! Is that... real?"

"You promised you wouldn't laugh, Sir!" the adorable boy pouted. Having slipped his underwear over his delicious bottom and down his thighs and off his feet, the boy had turned around to face the man, revealing a substantial, if hairless, organ of generaion. Mr de Montforde took a few seconds to gather his wits at the sight.

"I did not laugh, Compton, I expressed disbelief! Completely different thing. Come here, boy, and let me inspect that marvel of biology." The naked boy walked over to the Deputy, his seven inch dong slapping against his thighs with each step he took.

"It's...it's deformed, isn't it, Sir," the boy whimpered.

"It's beautiful, is what it is, Compton. It is a miracle of nature. A perfect specimen, an ideal which can only be admired and envied by all men. May I...touch it?"

The boy looked down at his outsized cock, hanging below a bald pubic area, over a scrotum not much bigger than a walnut. "I...guess so, Sir, but usually that only makes it worse."

"By 'worse', do you mean 'bigger', Compton?" The dejected boy nodded. "Good Lord, Compton, how big does it get?" the astonished Deputy asked.

"Some...some of the other boys...at night...pull my pyjamas down sometimes, and play with it until it gets stiff so they can measure it, Sir. Or that's what they said they wanted to do.They said it was nine and a half inches. Then they touched it some more. A few of them rubbed their own penises on it."

Mr de Montforde forwned. "Why on earth would they do that, Compton?"

"I think it was because of something I told them, Sir. I...didn't mean to...but a boy asked me about my Dad, and I said he didn't live at home any more, so the boy said 'why not?' and I explained how he used to get into the bath with me, and rub his big penis all over mine, until the day that Mother walked in and saw us. I told the boy that my penis got big by Daddy rubbing his onto it. I'm such a freak!"

"No, my boy, no freak. You are a wonder! Just let me verify what those naughty boys found out. I'll stroke it for you very gently. How much cum do you make?"

"How much what, Sir?" the puzzled boy replied as the man stroked his hefty organ.

"Jizz, boy. Semen. You must know, surely? How much spooge does this marvellous weapon squirt out when you have your orgasm?"

"I...I...don't know what you mean, Sir. What's spooge? And what's an orgasm?"

"Oh dear, Compton,it appears we have so much to talk about! Let me just keep stroking your lovely penis and we'll chat about the first thing that comes up, eh? The Deputy caressed the boy's massive organ for what he thought was ample time to produce an orgasm, but all the boy did was sigh and moan. When he arched his hips off the deputy's lap, but produced no cum, the man was convinced.

"Compton, I feel that I may have misjudged you, my boy. You are clearly every bit as innocent as you profess yourself to be, and I now fully believe your story about your disappearing homework. Up you get and dress yourself, and remember, you can always come back and see me if you need to have that beautiful penis...attended to."

The boy sighed as he climbed off the deputy's lap, and dressed himself, carefully tucking his prodigious weapon inside his boxer shorts. "Thank you, Sir, for your understanding. I will remember your advice."

1. Telling Tales

"Sir, Jamie Peterson was pulling faces behind your back!" Walter Sodforth primly declared when the teacher finished writing on the chalkboard and turned to face his students.

"Sir, I wasn't" an indignant Peterson shouted. The teacher glared at the boy and turned back to the board to continue the sentence. The class was supposed to be studying grammar, and the sentence was divided into subject, verb and predicate, with the teacher taking the trouble to underline each part of speech in differently coloured chalk.

"Sir, Peterson's making a gesture with his fingers behind your back!" Sodforth called out, not even waiting for the teacher to turn around this time. He was a patient man, like most teachers, but this was wearing him down on a Friday afternoon.

"Sir, I didn't!" Peterson protested.

"I've had quite enough, boys. Both of you take yourselves to the Deputy's office immediately, and not another word!" the man stated firmly.

Peterson started trudging off immediately, but Sodforth stopped to argue with the teacher. "But Sir, I didn't do anything!" he remonstrated with the man, hurt by the blatantly unfair decision.

"What part of 'not another word' is unintelligible to you, boy?" the teacher thundered. Realising he had pushed the man too far, Sodforth hurried out the door to catch up with Peterson, thinking he might cook up some excuse to avoid the Deputy's punishment. But Peterson was already lost to view, so Sodforth slowed down his pace to a dawdle, and by the time he reached his destination was surprised to see Peterson already exiting the Deputy's room.

"What did you get?" he asked the boy whom he had dobbed in.

"Two on the bum, no biggie," Peterson replied smugly. Encouraged by the Deputy's leniency, Sodforth knocked on the door and entered the discipline master's study.

"Ah, Sodforth, so glad you could make it. I was led to believe by Peterson that you were both sent out of the room at the same time, and yet here you are, some minutes later," he observed, consulting his pocketwatch. "You have some explanation, of course?"

"Er, well, Sir...um..." the boy was caught off-guard.

"I don't mean an explanation about why it takes you several minutes to travel thirty five metres. I assume that to be mere laziness on your part. No, what I really expect to hear are your reasons for disrupting your English grammar class with your frequent tale-telling."

"Sir, but...Sir..." Sodforth began. This wasn't turning out how he wanted at all! It was so unfair! He was only trying to help his teacher by naming the boy who was disrupting the class behind his back, maybe get in the teacher's good books, and now he was the one in trouble, not Peterson! And not just in trouble, but in trouble with the Deputy. He couldn't think straight. How was he to extricate himself from this mess?

"On a related subject, Sodforth, have you heard the fable of The Boy Who Cried Wolf? One of Aesop's, I believe. Its message is quite instructive, especially for boys like you who love telling tales in class. Come here." The man crooked his finger at the boy, who gingerly stepped over to the three-seater leather couch on which the man was sitting. "Now, kindly prostrate yourself over my lap and I will explain to you why it is not a good policy to tell tales." The boy carefully mounted the couch and stretched his body over the teacher's lap.

"Apparently, according to the good Master Aesop, there was a little boy who thought it was most amusing to tell tales to his family about an imaginary wolf, scaring them that the chickens were under threat." As he spoke, he lowered the boy's shorts down his thighs. As they were of the elastic-waist variety, no unzipping was required. They slid smoothly down, and off his legs.

"Peterson only got two on the bum," Sodforth thought, lying across the man's lap. "I can stand that."

Mr de Montforde ran his hand over the boy's underwear-clad bottom and down his long delicate limbs, taking it slowly as his fingertips traced a line of goosebumps up Sodforth's sensitive inner thighs. "It turns out that the little boy tried this humorous trick several times, and was delighted with the inconvenience it caused each time," the Deputy explained as he dragged the boy's underpants down his thighs and threw them down to join his shorts.

"It gos to credibility, Sodforth," the man continued as he inserted a lubrucated finger into the boy's bottom and slowly twisted it around before beginning a series of withdrawals and re-insertions. "At first, the boy was believed. He had credibility. But with each successive tale about a wolf which nobody else ever saw, his stock of credibility diminished." Mr de Montforde sat the boy up on his meaty thighs, facing away, and unzipped his own trousers. He then lifted the partly naked boy up, pulled him back a few inches and lowered him down onto his own thick cock, hitting the boy's hole with the first attempt. Sodforth gasped as he felt his anus being opened up and sliding down the pole which was stretching his bottom hole much more widely than the man's fingers had.

The man began raising and lowering the boy, cupping his hands under Sodforth's armpits. "So when the chicken were threatened by a real wolf, the boy's cries were ignored. When the wolf had finished off the chickens, it looked around and saw...you guessed it! A very naughty boy! A boy who told tales! Tales that nobody believed anymore!" Sodforth moaned as his skinny body was repeatedly lifted and dropped, impaling him on Mr de Montforde's big weapon. Too shocked to cry, the boy let out with a series of little gasps, 'Oh!', 'Oh!', 'Oh!' each time his bottom was invaded by the hot thick pole.

Mr de Montforde unloaded in the boy's bottom with a guttural groan, making the boy squeal. Both man and boy panted to get their breaths back, with Sodforth still impaled on the Deputy's prong. "Well now, Sodforth, have you anything to say for yourself?" the discipline master asked sternly.

"Er...Peterson got two, and I only got one!" the boy complained.

"Very well," Mr de Montforde replied. "Over you go!" He turned himself and the boy around so that Sodforth was now facing the back of the couch, the man behind him, his dick still embedded in the tight bottom. "And here's your seconds!"

1. Tardiness

Wilfordton Prep School, in a similar manner to many boarding schools, accepted a sprinkling of students from the local town as day-boys. These lads participated in all the 9-to-3.30 activities of the boarders, including taking lunch in the refectory. Like the boarders, they were expected to be punctual to school. This was an area where the boarders had an advantage, as they had housemasters to hurry them along every morning. The day-boys only had their parents to perform this chore.

As a result, to encourage punctuality, (and to police its absence), on some mornings, Mr de Montforde liked to take up a position at the school gates, nothing ostentatious, but in his own careful way making a note of which students arrived together, what they were gossiping about when they thought he was out of earshot, whether they looked like they'd had a wash that morning, the cleanliness or otherwise of their uniforms, just the usual things that teachers notice. As the time for classes neared, there was a rush of students who tried to beat the bell. After that, there came the Tardies.

It wasn't a good idea to get on Mr de Montforde's Tardy List. He maintained the List in his head. He could recite on any given day, upon request, the names of all boys who had been late once in the Term. It was not a long list. Even shorter was the list of boys who had arrived late twice in the same term. The list that no boy wanted to feature on was the list of three-peaters. Which was unfortunate for Goldworthy, who was dawdling along the path to School that very morning when Mr de Montforde had taken up his post of surveillance.

"Goldworthy!" he bellowed as the boy passed between the heavy sandstone gateposts. The boy shrieked and dropped his school bag, looking wildly around to find the source of his surname. His eyes fell on Mr de Montforde, and his knees began to tremble. This was the third time he had been late this term.

"What time of day do you call this, boy?" Mr de Montforde thundered, ostentatiously consulting his own pocket watch.

The unfortunate boy thought that the deputy's watch must not be working, otherwise why would he ask for the time? Clearly, his grammar lessons had never included the topic of 'rhetorical questions',else he would have known that it was a question not meant to be answered. "Er, it's twenty past nine, Sir," the boy replied, stooping to pick up his bagand hoping that his knees would continue to support him.

"Indeed! And remind me, if you would, what time do lessons commence here at Wilfordton?"

"Er, nine o'clock, Sir, but-"

Like so many boys before him, he was prevented from offering some feeble lie as explanation by the deputy's hand, held aloft, palm facing the miscreant. "Do not pollute my ears with some falsehood, boy, I am not interested. If you truly believe, in your heart of hearts, that your excuse is sufficient to mitigate or even vitiate your much-deserved punishment, you may offer it now. However, if I am not satisfied as to your excuse's merit, your punishment will be doubled." As the reader will note, Mr de Montforde delighted in extending his students' vocabularies.

"Er..." the boy began, but decided that no excuse would be good enough. He had heard that other boys who came habitually late to school were taken to the Deputy's office and given a sound thrashing, and he figured that said thrashing might last long enough to make him miss first-period Mathematics, for which he had not even begun the set homework. Goldworthy stopped speaking and hung his head.

"A wise decision, boy," Mr de Montforde remarked. "Come!" he exclaimed, and the boy fell into line behind the Deputy and trudged along to the school buildings.

There was an eerie quiet in the corridors, as all of the other boys were now ensconced within their classrooms, undertaking their lessons. The only sounds that could be heard were two sets of footfalls, one heavier, the other llighter. When the mismatched pair reached his office, Mr de Montforde unlocked the door and stood aside to admit the hapless Goldworthy.

The boy expected to be disciplined immediately, and had prepared himself to turn on the tears to soften the heart of the Deputy Headmaster, if such a thing were possible. He had heard rumours from other boys that a punishment from Mr de Montforde can sometimes be lessened or even overlooked entirely if a boy showed genuine remorse for his actions, such remorse to be evidenced by copious weeping. It came as a surprise to Goldworthy that the Deputy simply invited him to sit alongside him on a rather comfortable looking three-seater leather couch. He complied.

"Now, Goldworthy. How are things at home?" the Deputy began, even going to the extent of smiling at the boy.

Was this the same man who yelled at me at the school gates, the boy wondered. "Er, okay, Sir, I guess," he replied, cautiously.

"I understand you recently acquired a new baby sister: how is that going for you? Sleepless nights?" Mr de Montforde continued, turning on the charm.

"Er...some, Sir, I guess," the boy answered, wondering where this was leading and how the Deputy knew about his family.

"It's not easy, is it, accommodating a new arrival into the family home, especially when you have to share your room with her," the man consoled the boy. "It means more chores for you, I guess?"

The boy nodded. He briefly thought this might be his chance to make up some excuse about being late for school, while the Deputy was all sympathetic, but he couldn't think of any reason why having a baby sister would make him late. Except...

"Er, that's why I'm late, Sir, I, uh, had to feed the baby!" Goldworthy said in a sudden inspiration.

"Of course you did, Goldworthy, I understand only too well the demands a small child can place on a young family. Did you give your sister a bath as well?"

"Uh, yes Sir, a bath," the boy agreed eagerly.

"Powder her little bottom and put on her clothes, too, no doubt?"

"Oh, yes Sir," the boy nodded.

"All these things take time, don't they Goldworthy, especially with a newborn. It's no wonder you were late!"

"Yes, Sir!" the boy agreed, nodding vigorously, thinking that he had dodged a bullet.

"All of which makes me wonder why your mother would have sent me a text this morning to warn me that you would be early to school today, as you had spent the weekend with your uncle, who lives only two streets from the school, on account of her spending the last few days in hospital with your little newborn sister!" the Deputy scowled. The benign, sympathetic Deputy had disappeared in an instant, to be replaced by the malevolent, coldhearted Deputy. Goldworthy's knees began to tremble again.

"So, Goldworthy, nothing to say? No more lies? I think that since you are already on my couch, you might save us both time by laying across my lap so that I can give your bottom the thrashing it so richly deserves. Better yet, perhaps you should stand up, take down your trousers, and stand over there so that you can lean on my desk while I swat your bare bottom with my hardest cane!"

Horrified both both of these prospects, Goldworthy turned on the tears immediately, and it was no pretense. He threw himself on the Deputy's lap, blubbering freely, his high-pitched wails punctuated only by deep gasps for air. While laying on the man's thighs he felt something that reminded him of a similar situation withhis uncle over the weekend (only without the crying). He squeezed, to check his initial impression. It was true! the deputy had an erection! A big one, too, judging by the feel of it. The girth of the deputy's hardening penis gave Goldworthy an idea.

"Sir, is there anything I can do to show how sorry I am for being late? Anything at all? Please, Sir?" the boy whimpered, still maintaining a firm grip on the man's cock through his trousers.

"What did you have in mind?" Mr de Montforde replied, raising his eyebrows at the weepy face in his lap.

"Well, when I, stayed with my uncle over the weekend, he liked it when I...did stuff...with him, Sir," the boy explained.

The man frowned. "Hmm," he eventually murmured. "I have to take into account the blatant falsehoods that you spun me, as well as your tardiness, young man. In such a case as yours, I would expect that whatever you did, by way of reparation for your offences, would be sincere and would indicate to me your deep, deep remorse."

The boy had to take a moment to process the Deputy's big words, but he got the gist of them. He unzipped the Deputy's trousers and fished around inside for the object of his interest. Goldworthy had enjoyed playing with his uncle's dick on the weekend, in the bathtub, in bed, even on the sofa while watching TV, and was confident that he could impart the same level of pleasure to the Deputy as he had done to his uncle. Pulling Mr de Montforde's cock out through the opening, the boy began to stroke it up and down, but remembered the emphasis the man gave to the word 'deep', and opened his mouth, settling his lips on the thick cock and taking it as deeply as he could. His uncle enjoyed it, so Goldworthy figured the Deputy would too.

"Aaah, yes, boy, I am beginning to come...uh...come across to your side of the argument," the Deputy groaned as Goldworthy's lips slid up and down his dick. He reached down and patted the boy's bottom, then grasped one cheek as Goldworthy's tongue twirled his knobhead. The boy wriggled his bottom, encouraging the man's explorations. His hand ran along the crevice between the boy's bottom cheeks, in sync with the boy's lapping. With his spare hand the boy delved further into the man's trousers and found his big balls. His uncle had enjoyed it when he gripped his balls, so he tried it on Mr de Montforde.enjoyed. It worked.

"Aaagh, yes, boy, uhh, well done, now swallow it all down, good boy." Goldworthy complied with the Deputy's moaned directions, savouring the taste of semen which he had first enjoyed only 48 hours earlier with his uncle. He carefully replaced the deputy's now wilting penis and rezipped the man's trousers.

"Will you be coming on time tomorrow, Goldworthy?" the man asked with a broad smile.

"Only if you're coming with me, Sir," the cheeky boy replied as he skipped out of the office.

1. Passing Notes In Class

"Of all the naughty boys I have had the unhappy fate to deal with in this office, you two are the last boys I would have expected! In your five years here at Wilfordton you have never given any of your teachers cause to doubt your good natures for even a second! And now this! Mr Radleigh was utterly shocked! He has sent me a text giving a brief outline of your misdemeanor, but I want to give you the opportunity, here and now, to explain your actions, which have so outraged your Art teacher. He says you were passing notes to one another during your Art lesson! What have you to say for yourselves, boys?" Mr deMortforde was in full flight as he berated the two quavering lads before him.

"Sir, it...it was all my fault," one of the boys spoke up. His long auburn hair shook as he trembled.

Unexpectedly, the other boy quickly interrupted. "No it wasn't, Crissy, I gave you the first note, remember?" Turning back to the Deputy headmaster, the brunette declared,"Punish me, Sir, it was all down to me. Crissy is not to blame."

Mr de Montforde had to search his memory banks to recover the first names of these two boys. He had always thought of them simply as Pensforth and Davies. Now, what were they called...ahh, that was it: Crispin Pensforth; and... Richard? No, that wasn't it...Robin, yes, Robin was Davies' given name. He shuddered inwardly. He did not approve of boys referring to each other by their given names. It was a slippery slope; one day a boy calls another by his given name (which only his mother should be using when addressing him), the next thing you know, they are sneaking off together for a mutual wank in the bathrooms.

"No Sir, it wasn't Robby, it was me. I mean, it was I," Pensforth contradicted his co-accused. Mr de Montforde winced inside to hear the diminutive forename. Both of the boys were infected with this accursed familiarity.

Mr de Montforde paced up and down in front of the boys, wondering whether there would be any more pieces of self-incrimination. The boys shared long meaningful glnces with each other. The Deputy decided it was time for answers.

"So, where is this note?" he enquired lightly, not wanting to scare the boys too badly. Pensforth dug his hand into his uniform serge short trousers and pulled out a crumpled piece of notepaper, reluctantly handing it to the Deputy. he unfolded the note and stared at it for a full ten seconds. "What do these symbols mean? Is it some kind of code you boys are using? I can see an eye, a heart, and what is this thing supposed to be, a cloud with legs?"

"It's supposed to be a sheep, Sir, a ewe. It says 'eye heart ewe'," Davies explained, a little more defiantly than Mr de Montforde would have preferred.

"Ahh, of course, 'I love you', I should have guessed. "Do you, er, both share this sentiment?" The two boys turned to each other, and after another lingering gaze into each other's eyes, nodded their agreement. "Very well," the Deputy stated, before considering his next move. Of course it had to happen eventually - ever since laws had been changed to permit adults to form liaisons with those of their own gender, even to marry and adopt, it was inevitable that such fancies of the heart should trickle down to children. Monkey see, monkey do, after all (which probably sounds a lot classier in Latin, Mr de Montforde thought). So now, he had two ten-year-old lovebirds passing billets-doux in Art class, when they should have been engaged in more wholesome pursuits such as admiring paintings of naked goddesses, statues of well-muscled nude athletes and frescoes of scantily-clad cupids. He decided to test this juvenile amour.

"Come, boys, come and sit over here with me and we'll have a little talk." The Deputy led the boys over to his leather three-seater couch and sat on an end cushion, allowing the boys to sit together, with Crispin in the middle of the three. "Now, boys, you are not in any serious trouble, I can tell that the note you showed me was not meant to disrupt the class nor offend Mr Radleigh. In fact, I would like to help you. School can be a difficult place for two boys who love each other, as I am sure you already know. I suppose I really just want to be sure that you boys are, well, safe. Tell me, when you get a bit of time to be together without any interruptions, and some privacy, what do you do?"

Another glance between the boys ensued - they seemed to have the mental connection many lovers do, that each knows what the other is thinking, or how they will respond in a given situation. "We...hold hands, Sir," Davies replied.

Mr de Montforde beamed at the couple sharing his couch. "You hold hands? That is excellent, boys. Show me how you do it." Davies gave an uncertain smile, worried a little about why his teacher would ask him to do this, but complied nonetheless, taking his friend's hand in his and letting it rest in his lap.

"Just like this, Sir," he said innocently.

"Well, that's very good, boys. Nothing wrong with two boys holding hands. I remember a visit to France I made during a sabbatical a few years back, where it was not unusual to see the local boys walking in the street, or on the beach, holding hands. Very nice. What else do you do together?"

"Uh, well Sir, sometimes I give Robby a kiss," Pensforth conceded.

"Wonderful," Mr de Montforde enthused. "Show me how you do that, if you would." Pensforth leaned in to Davies' face and gave him a little peck on the cheek. Davies blushed and smiled.

"That is perfectly sweet, boys! Would you allow me to show you another way for two boys to kiss each other?" he asked, with such an earnest in his voice that the boys could not refuse. "Kneel up for me, Pensforth, uh, I mean Crissy, so that our faces are level. That's the way! Now watch closely, er, Robbie." When the auburn-haired boy had scrambled to his knees the man wrapped his arms around him, should and waist, and pulled him closer. "When you kiss, try it with your lips on Crissy's, like this, " he instructed Davies. Pensforth's eyes opened widely in surprise when he felt the Deputy's lips mash his, but they fluttered shut when the Deputy's tongue invaded his mouth and began licking and sucking on his own smaller tongue. At the same time, one of the man's hands massaged the boy's bony shoulders while the other drifted below his waist to caress his bottom, rubbing back and forth from one cheek to the other.

After a minute of passionate snogging, Mr de Montforde gently broke the kiss. He had the feeling that Pensforth wanted to continue, but it was only fair to give Davies an opportunity. "Would you like to try now, Davies, er, Robby?" he asked, making the younger of the two boys practically push the older out of the way.

"Yes, please, Sir," the little fellow chirped. Edging his small body between his friend's and the Deputy's, Davies knelt in position and presented his lips to the man. Pensforth watched in awe as his best friend enthusiastically accepted the man's oral affections, even when his big fingers pulled the boy's shirt out of its tuck and his large hand ran up underneath to caress the boy's bare back. Davies writhed in ecstasy as Mr de Montforde's hands roamed from his back around to his chest, and Crissy was a little put out that he hadn't received the same treatment.

"Another go, Crissy?" the man enquired as he broke his kiss with the panting Davies.

"Ooh, yes, please, Sir," Pensforth replied, tugging at his own shirt to make sure the man knew what to do.

"Take it off if you want, Crissy. No-one will disturb us in here, and it is a little warm, isn't it, for the time of year?" Mr de Montforde suggested casually. Pensforth didn't need any more encouragement as he whipped his school shirt over his head without pausing to unbutton it, squirming his way in between the other two to get his share of making out. The Deputy took the boy in his arms and resumed smooching the cherry lips. Robbie stared at his friend, and wondered at the noises he was making as the Deputy's hands caressed his bare back and shoulders. He added his own gasp when he saw the Deputy's hands venture below his friend's beltline to stroke and squeeze Crissy's bottom.

One of the Deputy's hands left its task to reach over and tug at Robbie's shirt. The boy was not stupid - he whipped it off right away, ready for his next turn. Mr de Montforde's hand was not finished: a finger hooked into the waistband of Robbie's shorts and gave two brief tugs. The boy understood immediately - the next time he had his turn, it would be without his shorts. He unzipped and eased the shorts down his thighs. It only took him a moment of contemplation to strip off his undies as well. Watching him over Crissy's shoulder, Mr de Montforde reflected that it often was the good little boys who ironically turned out to be sexual tornadoes, quickly shedding their inhibitions once their confidence was gained.

"Do you want Robbie to have another turn?" the Deputy asked the boy writhing in his embrace. Too turned on to speak, Crissy simply nodded (reluctantly) and fell back to the couch. Robbie crawled up into his place, more than eager to feel those big hands all over his now naked body. Crissy gaped at the scene only inches in front of him - his best friend trying to swallow the Deputy's tongue as the man's hands seemed to be everywhere on his little body.

Mr de Montforde broke the kiss, but kept one hand on Robbie's warm bottom. "Can you boys help me out of these clothes?" he asked. "It really is rather warm," he added. Gone was any pretense of teaching the boys about affection: they were a pair of sexual wolves, ravenous for stimulation. Crissy yanked the man's tie off, then attacked his shirt buttons, while Robbie tore at the man's zipper and belt. Realising he was overdressed, Crissy tore off his own shorts and undies. Under the weight of the two voracious boys, Mr de Montforde slowly toppled over on the couch, one of the boys working his mouth and nipples, the other caressing his cock.

Just before his orgasm started to rise, the man called a brief pause. "Crissy, run over to my desk and get the tube of cream from my top drawer, please?" the man directed. "There's a good boy. Now, as you are the older, you get to go first. Put some of the cream on my cock, and a little on your bottom hole, oh, well done, lad. Now, very carefully, sit astride me and lower yourself down on my shaft. Robbie, you swing your leg over my head and I'll suck on your delightful llittle penis. While I'm doing that, you lie on my tummy and suck Crissy's penis, that's the way".

Following the Deputy's precise instructions, the three became a writhing, bouncing, slurping, copulating machine. Mr de Montforde was confident that the two boys would have figured out several comfortable yet stimulating sexual positions for themselves, but it may have taken months (or at least, weeks). This way, the two boys could enjoy the pleasures of each others' bodies so much sooner than might otherwise may have been. Whatever the case, Mr de Montforde was delighted to be able to help the young lovers find sexual fulfilment.

After releasing his load deep up inside Pensforth's bottom, he extricated himself from the two boys and rearranged their wriggling forms into a passable sixty-nine. Retreating back behind his desk to his chair, he allowed himself the pleasure of a pipe of tobacco, taking care to open the window first lest the two boys be affected by his secondhand smoke. Puffing away happily, he watched Pensforth and Davies devouring each other's stiffies and stroking each other's bottoms. "Enjoy, lads," he murmured.

End