Crammer Pt. 04

Editor's note: this work contains scenes of gay male sexual content.

*

As I regained my senses, I realised what had happened to me. The dozen strokes of a near judicially sized birch had been excruciatingly painful and almost too severe to receive with any degree of stoicism. Yet here I was feeling very happy and contented, with a tremendous sense of accomplishment. At first it would appear strange that being secured by the limbs to pieces of furniture, with the agony of thousands of fire ants having stung you all over your arse, could be anything else but a frightful experience. I'd better explain for newer readers.

My lover and I were parted by a tragic accident a few months ago. We had known each other since we were toddlers together living next door to each other. We were the same age, and Chrissie's father had become rather more absent minded as we approached our twenties. Chrissie had discovered his collection of adult reading material, happily her father didn't realise that we were educating ourselves curtesy of his private library. Chrissie and I practised what we read and we were considering some serious spanking for pleasure. We had already indulged in some very mild sessions, and became aroused. However, both of us were subject to painful corporal punishment from our parents and had suffered very sore bottoms as a result of our misdemeanours during our formative years. These parental beatings weren't at all stimulating in a sexual sense and we had doubts about the authenticity of what we had read. Yes, we knew that most of what was written was fantasy, but within the stories there seemed to be a grain of reality. The mechanics of arousal as written was in accord with what we had confirmed with each other, we had shared some amazing climaxes together. Furthermore, within literature like The Pearl there were countless accounts of spankee's attaining a type of 'nirvana', and now I knew that that had a grain of truth in it as well.

I felt a couple of swift smacks to my bottom, left and right. It was out of the blue, stung, and shook me out of my complacency. Coming back to earth, I realised that I'd better not say anything my temporary mental sojourn.

"Where was I, I feel all strange and my bottom is roasting hot."

"You're just recovering from a severe birching, Danny, and I'm afraid there's a caning to come as well. Your mum had to leave, so we'll proceed. I'll be interested to see if you can stay in position for the cane. If you don't, I'll begin the caning again."

With that, she undid the dog collars and I very slowly and gingerly stood up. For a few moments I tottered before I regained some sort of balance, Miss Prymm moved one of the chairs back to its original position and I didn't need telling that I was to bend over the remaining article of furniture. I had the impression that this ordeal would be a lot worse than the birch and even though Dad had given me dozens of strokes on my bared bottom, I just had this feeling that Miss Prymm could get the maximum effect from whatever instrument she chose to use on me. The 18 with the paddle had been no laughing matter and I was still frightfully sore from the 'junior' birch despite copious amounts of first aid afterwards. I leaned over the back of the chair and forwards so that I could bite the front of the cushion, and apparently, I had got into the correct position first time, Miss Prymm was satisfied with the way that I had presented my bottom. There was a brief interval, and during this I heard a rattle as two hard surfaces collided, and then a couple of low-pitched swishes, to test my mettle perhaps. I didn't flinch, and I still didn't flinch when I felt a hard surface resting against the crown of my backside.

I was hanging on to the front legs of the chair, my knuckles white, when I felt the cane leave my cheeks. I just had time to top up my lungs with air when I heard the atmosphere being cleaved by the instrument. The crack echoed around the room and almost simultaneously a white-hot iron wrapped itself around my derriere. I almost bit through the cushion with the shock, thankful that the stroke hadn't landed on cold flesh. The agony escalated through degrees of excruciating torment, and it was all I could do not to stamp my feet. The stroke was definitely harder than Dad's efforts and it was only because I had been extra-well prepared that I managed to keep in position. There was a delay, presumably Miss Prymm was waiting for me to get the full benefit of the pain. It was on my internalised count of 20 when there was another cleaving of the air and the white-hot brand was repeated. I felt myself tearing up, but I still kept control of the tear ducts, I had the impression that my bottom was writhing with the agony, and I struggled to draw another deep breath. The next stroke was no easier, the breath was blasted from my lungs and only that prevented me from screaming. Desperately, I gasped another quick breath, and the third stroke continued to burn its way into my flesh, just below the first two. My eyes were welling up and I clutched the chair legs in an effort to focus on position. The fourth stroke caused me to cry out, I just couldn't help it, and I was sure that the flesh on my behind had been cut. It was a short cry, but a sign that I was almost losing control. Unconsciously, I had been counting between the strokes, 20 seconds between each one, sure enough, the fifth blazed at the juncture of thigh and undercurve, I almost leapt up, and silently wept into the cushion. Twenty seconds later and the final stroke burnt its way into the same place. Silently weeping, I waited for the command to arise, and she made me wait for a count of sixty before I was bidden to arise.

I had to stand to attention, hands behind the head or thumbs in line with the thighs were the two approved positions for the hands. I wanted to clutch my roasted mounds and dance on the spot, despite the lack of dignity that would show, only I didn't want another six scorchers for failing to take my punishment properly. Consequently, I couldn't conceal my tears, and I was disappointed that Miss Prymm could see that I was such a crybaby.

"Put your shorts back on, you are dismissed, tea is at 6pm. I expect you to attend."

The smart of the birch was still excruciating, and the welts from the cane made it even worse. I slowly moved to where I had placed my shorts and made ready to step into them, I happened to be looking at them from the back and noticed what looked like several parallel lines used as a marking or label, curious I thought. My hesitation had another interpretation.

"Anything the matter, young man?"

"I was wondering about these lines at the waistband."

"I'm sure you'll work that out. I thought you were wondering about your caning."

"Well that too, I've had the cane at school many times, it was never this painful. Dad used to give me a dozen on the bare, and it hurt even worse -of course, but never this bad. I suppose you must think me a wimp, six and crying my eyes out."

"But you've never seen a birch before, have you? I thought not. The normal practice is to soak it overnight in order to soften the tines. Your birching was with a freshly cut bunch of 5 tines, with the buds still attached, and hard enough to flay the skin off your backside. I'm amazed that you didn't scream the place down. And a real six of the best on top of that would try even the most hardened spankee. You did well, now crawl upstairs and see to yourself. You've 90 minutes till tea-time, and you'll find something useful in your bedside drawer."

The words were slightly reassuring, ok I wasn't a complete wimp. I struggled to put my shorts back on, and try as I might, I didn't see any signs of amusement on Miss Prymm's face. I slowly made my way to the dormitory, with each shuffle of my feet, the shorts fabric scuffed against my burning bottom. On reaching my goal, I collapsed on my bed, I realised that there were two other occupants of the room, but I took no notice of them. After a minute or two, the call of a cold shower was too much to resist. Despite the pain, I removed the shorts and my socks. My shirt was less than a problem, my upper body muscles didn't hurt at all. I made all speed to the shower, and took full advantage of the cold water. After about 5 minutes, my upper body was freezing and the play of the ultra-cold water on my bottom took away some of smart. One of the lads called from the dormitory,

"Can we help you, mate?"

I grasped a towel from a rail and hurried back to my bed. Opening the bedside drawer I saw a jar, and retrieving it I placed the towel on the bed, and lay on top of it. I wasn't sure of what was in the jar, but Miss Prymm had said that I would find it useful, and it was a cream of some sort. Opening the screw top jar, I gathered a good dollop of the substance and started to massage it into my burning cheeks. I was finding it awkward to maintain a smooth application of what I guessed was some sort of moisturisor.

"Here, let me help," said a nearby voice.

Before I could graciously decline the offer, I felt some movement on the mattress, either side of my lower legs, and a pair of hands moved mine aside, and massaged my bottom. For a split second, I thought of voicing my objections, but the relief I felt a moment later dispelled any feeling of alarm, and I settled down into the mattress. I don't know how long I allowed his hands to stray all over my arse, but eventually I felt stirrings around my groin, and I couldn't allow myself to be aroused in these circumstances. I used to get really hard when Chrissie used a moisturisor on my warmed up arse, but with blokes, no this wouldn't do.

"Thank you for your help," I said with as much dignity as I could muster, "I'm feeling a lot better."

With that I rolled over and brought my legs to hang over the side of the bed. He moved his left leg away as I rolled onto my back and then onto my right side. The massage had been amazingly effective and it wasn't so painful to put my shorts on.

"Hey, don't mention it, I'm Eddie Byrne and my mate's Tommy Colman. That biddy's fierce with a paddle isn't she. We got 12 each and it made us jump."

I felt tempted to remind him that I'd seen him crying his eyes out, and as for jumping...

"She did a number on you, mate," Eddie continued, "I can see a vicious caning right on your sit-spots, but it looks like she skinned your arse."

"The birch," I replied, "I've never been birched before, it was a shock."

"Know what you mean," joined in Tommy, "we got the cane across our underpants, but it was always bare-arsed for the birch. I suppose our masters liked to compare our charms, some of them were definitely wired that way."

"Anyway, sorry if you felt I was being a bit forward mate," continued Eddie, "but you looked like you were really struggling. Back at boarding school we had to look after each other. It's normal for another bloke to help out with the cream, honestly, I'm not after your arse."

"Well not yet!" smirked Tommy, "you know when there's no fit female company around, what can you do at our age? You know what they say, 'any portal in a storm'."

"Just as long as it's not mine," I retorted.

"Fair's fair," he replied, "you'll want to get your end away sometime not too soon. You can't beat a good tight arsehole, even if it is a fella's."

The banter swung to and fro, from arse fucking to caning and birches, and various other activities such as smuggling cigs and booze into dormitories. I learnt that they had been close mates for years at a boarding school, completely straight, but they buggered each other from time to time. They hadn't worked hard to achieve anything, and their parents, feeling despair, had decided to send them to a crammer.

A soft sounding bell rung in the distance, and apparently it was the signal that tea-time was nigh and we traipsed downstairs. Well, they did, although the burning in my cheeks had abated somewhat, I was still a little sore, yet it wasn't unpleasant. The seam of my shorts rode up between my cheeks and the material lightly chafed my flesh, I followed them as they made their way to the dining room. I couldn't help noticing how their shorts rode up in the same manner as mine, and I had to concede to myself that they had shapely backsides. Tommy had suggested that I might want bugger one of them, and I feared that perhaps I wouldn't mind burying my cock up a male arse after all. I was beginning to develop an erection by the time I had shuffled to the table and thankfully I was able to conceal my embarrassing condition.

When we entered the dining room there were two other people there, dressed as maids. They looked the same age as we were, but they seemed reluctant to talk to us, they just led us to what must have been pre-arranged places, and we sat down, rather gingerly in my case. One of the lasses noticed this and almost smiled at me. She leant over my shoulder in order to adjust the position of a teaspoon, and it was a very minor adjustment, just an excuse to whisper to me.

"When the adults come in, make sure you stand up, nod if you understand."

I nodded, realising that I was seated opposite the doorway. She quickly moved away, and I took care to remember her, 'any portal in a storm'. Perhaps, if I got the chance, she'd be a good screw. The simple blouse and black skirt hid the details, but there was a hint of tits and a shapely bottom. My two companions were seated opposite me with their backs to the doorway. Before I could whisper a warning to them, Miss Prymm and her lieutenants entered the room and I shot bolt upright. She looked directly at me.

"Be seated Bold," and turning to my confidant, she ordered, "Richards, you know where the 10mm tawse is kept. As for you, Colman, and Byrne, stand up. Evidently, standards have dropped at Winchester. Move your chairs out from the table boys. Three feet from the table should be alright and move them about 5 feet apart. A'h, Richards, thank you, hand the instrument to Miss Bullivant. Hypatia, dear, would you do the honours."

The tawse was thicker than the canes that I had seen before, two inches wide and almost two foot long, it looked extremely unpleasant. Mrs. Harman seated herself next to Miss Prymm and they watched the proceedings. I remembered that I'd heard that, The Bull, as she was nicknamed, punishing someone earlier, and it had sounded like a condign punishment. Looking at her, she had a formidable aspect. The white blouse did little to conceal muscular shoulders and the black skirt hinted at well-trimmed legs and an athletic body. Eddie and Tommy stood in front of her, like rabbits caught in headlights and then the ogre spoke.

"Remove your shorts at once."

I started to fantasise that perhaps I was to disrobe and she would castigate my sorry arse. Thankfully, I was behind the dining table, my turgidity was concealed, and knowing that evidence of an accident would be impossible to hide, I relied on my potential erection being thwarted by tucking my tackle between my legs. I achieved this surreptitiously, whilst everyone else was distracted by my fellow pupils taking off their shorts.

"Now then, boys, bend over your chair and hold onto the back legs, failure to receive your punishment properly, will have severe consequences."

The chairs had hard seats and plain wooden arms; those arms provided some support for the shoulders as they grasped the chair legs. The Bull stood at Eddie's left-hand side and raising the tawse over her shoulder brought it smartly downwards with a considerable amount of her weight behind it. I noticed a significant amount of wrist work from her as well. The result was a terrific report the echoed around the room, and Eddie screeched in anguish. The two tails separated and painted their signature red band across his bottom and he nearly jumped upright. Miss Bullivant shifted position so that she was diagonally placed to Eddie's torso and unleashed another terrible stroke, Eddie shrieked once more. The tip of the tawse tails marked the inner thighs and almost hit Eddie's scrotum; the remainder of the leather painted the familiar red band on his bottom. Now Miss Bullivant moved so that she was in line with Eddie's torso, and sent another shockingly severe stroke along Eddie's left cheek. Once again, the tails bit into the underside of his bum where the thighs meet the backside. Eddie was in real trouble, the resulting marks on his left cheek were very swollen and his bottom was writhing with the pain. Miss Bullivant continued on her tour around Eddie's backside until six strokes had been administered, and then she repeated the performance. Eddie was crying uncontrollably by the time a full dozen strokes had been inflicted, and then it was time for Tommy to show his mettle.

He fared no better, while Eddie was still bent over and snivelling, Tommy was doing his best to maintain his position and dignity, but he found it impossible. It seemed the horrendous shock that it each stroke produced overwhelmed him, and I wondered if it was possible to receive this level of punishment with any level of stoicism at all. I stared in wonder at each stroke and it wasn't hard to imagine that it could have been me having to endure this beating. The lad's backsides were fairly firm, and not at all flabby, but they still jiggled from the blows, and as they writhed in agony, it aroused me. Despite the stimulus I still managed to keep my cock trapped in my shorts, and it hurt. I had this fear that if I let a full erection develop, I would cum inside my shorts, they would be soiled, of course, and Mrs. Harman would have cause to report me for a flogging. The two lads in front of me had only forgotten to stand up, and they were really going through it. It then occurred to me that the staff of this institution had made sure that I was not to be punished this evening, and yet they had wanted some entertainment. I had to admit that I had been entertained. I had to concede that they played the game very well indeed, they couldn't know what Chrissie and I had learnt from her dad's 'literature'. After the second batch of 12 strokes had been administered, my fellow pupils were ordered to put their shorts back on, sit at the table, and consume the evening meal. They didn't find it easy and continually fidgeted on the hard chairs.

My mind was awash with several possibilities as I tackled the cheese and biscuits, my main thought was, was this place actually a crammer or was it an adult school. I didn't want to reveal what little sophistry I had about such things and I didn't have any clear evidence, yet. When the meal was finished, we were given leave to retire for the night with the advice that lights out was at 10pm.

As soon as we three pupils were out of the door, my companions clutched their bottoms and rubbed their burning arses furiously, they were fairly vocal.

"Fuck me, Tommy, that tawse is evil."

"You're not kidding, we're going to need your help, Danny. My arse is so sore it needs cream and Eddie needs it just as badly."

I followed them upstairs, enjoying the view of their wriggling bottoms and their futile attempts to ease the smart of that very effective tawse. My erection was now free to develop, and now it didn't matter if they knew I was aroused. By the time we reached the door, my cock was on a northward heading. They assumed that I was going to help them out, they were right. Despite the pain that they must have been experiencing, they pushed their shorts down and climbed out of them. Moments later they had the pots of moisturisor handy and Tommy straggled Eddie's legs and handed me his pot of cream. Opening Eddie's pot, he generously spread the balm all over Eddie's bottom. In front of me was Tommy's backside and before, I did the honours, I thought it best take off my shorts. As I was massaging Tommy's arse, I was surprised that I was so fully aroused and the worst of it was, that my purple helmet was just inches away from his arsehole. I felt the ridges and welts left by the tawse as I smoothed the cream over his bottom, and he was responding to the soothing effect that I was producing. All the while, I was absolutely rampant and there was some pre-cum appearing on the end of my tool. Luckily the lads had made sure that the bedclothing was covered by a large towel.