Peter the Queer Pt. 01

PART I: BAD BOYS GET PUNISHED

"Close the door behind you," he said. He looked like he could have been a fireman in his younger days. That's because he was large with a big body frame. Perhaps he had been in-shape at one point but now he was a decidedly heavyset man. Because firemen, when they reach a certain age and become fire chiefs and sit behind desks instead of running into burning buildings, well, they tend to let themselves go. And they all have mustaches. And this man, he was a large, overweight man with a mustache. But he never had been a fireman. He had been a teacher. And now he was a principal.

Peter closed the door behind him.

"Sit down," the gray mustached man, Principal Kelly, instructed.

Peter sat down. Earlier in the day, Peter had pummeled two kids senseless in the boy's bathroom. He stuck one of their heads in the toilet and flushed it. Peter was known for being the type not to mess with, partly because of his age, mostly because of his attitude. He was a real badass.

"Do you want to tell me what happened?"

Peter stared at the burly man on the other side of the desk and said nothing. Then he stretched his jeaned legs forward, crossed them, turned his head to the side and rolled his eyes; the type of move a James Dean might pull were he caught up in the same circumstances.

"You don't want to tell me? That's okay. I already know. Nurse Steiner is in the other room bandaging up one of the boys you attacked."

"Had it comin'," Peter mumbled.

"I'm sure he did, I'm sure he did." Mr. Kelly's tone thus far was not what Peter had expected. Not strict. Not stern. Somewhat bemused. Perhaps a bit condescending.

"You do realize that because of your age... those boy's parents have a right to go to the police? I'll bet you hadn't thought of that."

Peter hadn't thought of that.

"Up until today it was just graffiti, talking back to teachers... but now you've got yourself in a real pickle. Oh my, yes you have, Peter. You might be facing assault charges. And that doesn't mean detention, or a light vacation in juvie. No, Peter. Not at your age. At your age, if convicted, that means prison time. And do you know what happens to young, skinny men like you in prison?"

Peter un-stretched his jeaned legs and pulled them back to a regular sitting stance. Principal Kelly had gotten his attention.

"Peter... you're 19-years-old. You should have graduated two years ago. Now you're an adult in a child's world pretending to still be a child. But you've gone too far this time. You've seriously hurt those boys. And there are consequences for this type of destructive behavior."

There was still something off about his voice. There was a lilt to it, and Peter couldn't understand why, unless the old coot was just so happy to finally be able to get rid of him.

"Now... this is the important part, Peter. Peter: the perennial high schooler. I can either call up the boys' parents and let them know that you will be dealt with, sternly. Let them know that there will be serious repercussions for your actions. Assure them that I will personally handle the matter. And maybe, just maybe, that will satisfy them and they won't feel the need to reach out to involve any type of law enforcement agencies.

Or... I can not make that call. And you can end up as prison meat."

He left it at that. He left it floating. He wasn't out and out grinning, but the far edges of his mouth were slightly curled upward. Peter stared forward in bewilderment, knowing full well there was something here that wasn't added up. Mr. Kelly sat, pleasant expression, hands folded and resting on his desk. Peter continued to stare at him. It was almost now as if they were playing a game of chicken... neither one breaking the silence. It was a power play. Finally, Peter gave in.

"I don't understand. You're going to call them and tell them not to call the cops on me? Not to press charges?"

"That's right," said a slightly smug Principal Kelly, taking satisfaction in winning the war of silence.

Peter studied the floor, a moment of reflection, and then looked up. "But why is that? I mean, what are the serious repercussions?"

"Peter... for too long you've strutted through these hallowed halls like you own the place. Like you were some sort of alpha male, top dog. A hoodlum king. This isn't a back alley though Peter, this is a place of education. All of your outrageous posturing and backtalk has caused so many disruptions... I get complaints from teachers about you daily. Quite frankly, your attitude has to change. And I," Kelly smiled, "I happen to be an attitude adjuster."

Peter wondered what he meant.

"You see, in the case of minor infractions like missing homeworks, too many tardy slips, a day or two of playing hooky, writing on bathroom stalls... well, detentions were in order. Notes home to your parents. Conferences with social workers. But this latest outburst... oh my. We're way past all that. This, this calls for something a bit more drastic."

"Like what?"

"Like what? Like a good old fashioned spanking, Peter. Like the kind your father should have been giving you all along." Peter had no father. At least, not one he had ever known. "You need to be put over someone's knee and spanked like the petulant child you are."

"No way. You can't be serious."

"For the past several years you've insulted us... your educators. Your teachers, your guidance counselors, your principals, the nurses here, Ms. May, my secretary... you've given us all lip. You've gone out of your way to be defiant. To be snide and rude and crude. But now the tide has turned. You're past your prime Peter. You've been retained twice, and we're at the midway point of this school year and your grades are still just as low as they've ever been. At this rate you will never receive a high school diploma unless I pull the strings to make it so. And if you don't get a high school diploma, never mind not going to college... you can say goodbye to ever holding down a decent job in any capacity anywhere in town. Which means no money, no family. Which means a shopping cart full of your belongings and wearing piss stained pants while you waste away on the side of the road begging for pennies and hot dog buns. Basically, the quality of the entire rest of your life lies in my hands, Peter. Let that sink in."

Peter let it sink in. He imagined himself shuffling around the neighborhood, the town derelict, the Hoodie of the next generation. Hoodie was the obese homeless man who hung down at the train station. Peter had spent many an afternoon throwing empty soda cans at Hoodie, laughing as Hoodie mumbled loudly and incoherently in response to the torment.

"So what's it going to be, Peter? Possible prison sentence followed by a wasted, aimless life? Or one final shot at making something of yourself? A or B? Spanking or no spanking?"

A moment passed. Principal Kelly finally had him right where he wanted him. Peter's head lowered. "The spanking, sir," he mumbled.

"Speak up, boy. And you look me in the eye when you speak to me."

Peter looked up. "The spanking, Sir."

Principal Kelly moved for the first time since Peter stepped in. He pushed back in his chair, creating a wealth of space between his knees and his desk.

"Come here to me."

Peter walked around to the other side of the desk. And stood in front of his principal, the man who had been his principal ever since he was five years old. Mr. Kelly undid Peter's belt buckle. He unzipped Peter's pants. Peter stood somewhat frozen. Mr. Kelly slid the denim jeans down past Peter's bottom, down over Peter's legs and let them drop around the teen's ankles. He then did the same to Peter's boxer briefs, revealing Peter's round, lily-white backside. Baby plump. Peter simultaneously felt shame and a cool breeze.

Principal Kelly took pleasure in not physically forcing anything upon Peter... but in giving him choices. Choices that soon turned to orders. And he reveled in Peter having to follow them.

"Now... over my knees," he instructed calmly.

Peter took a deep breath and then bent down, slowly and quietly, still having a hard time believing that this was actually happening to him. It all seemed so surreal. Like it was happening in slow motion. Principal Kelly stared down at the perfectly positioned buttocks now in his lap and grinned. A blank canvas. He had waited for this moment... to teach this punk boy a lesson, this boy who had been the thorn in the side of every teacher of the school for much, much too long. He was going to teach this boy. Going to mold him. He was going to make a fine, fine student of him, and then some. He raised his hand high in the air, and then, he brought it down with an forceful surge of momentum.

Peter felt the warm slap on his bottom. His eyes widened. It was the first spank he had ever gotten. And then... the rest followed. One after the other. Big fat smacks from the big, flat strong hand of his superior elder. SMACK. Three seconds. SMACK. Three seconds. SMACK three seconds. Just enough time in between each smack for Peter to really grasp what was happening. He was able to vote, able to go to war and die for his country, able to purchase cigars an pornography, able to rent his own apartment, able to hold a job, able to get married if he should want... but instead, he was still in school... and he was lying over his principal's lap with his pants and undies down around his ankles getting spanked for being a bad boy. He started to tear up.

Principal Kelly heard Peter's first sniffle. "You go ahead and cry if you have to. Cry like a little boy," SMACK, "Because this is what you need for you to understand your situation, Peter." Peter did start to cry. It wasn't the pain, although the heavy swats did sting... it was the realization of what he was doing with his life... absolutely nothing. And then he felt his penis getting hard.

SMACK. "Oh wow, now what do I feel here, Peter? Something getting hard pressing up against my leg?" SMACK. "Maybe I should tell your mother about what happened to your penis when I punished you?" Peter's face turned very red as the tears continued to stream down his cheeks... redness from crying mixed with the redness of embarrassment... his face now the same color that his backside had slowly been turning.

SMACK.

The smacks continued as Peter squirmed. Principal Kelly would squeeze and hold him tight with his other arm... hold him tightly in position. Principal Kelly could feel the boy's little hard cock rubbing into his lap as he fruitlessly squirmed and tried to escape.

SMACK, SMACK, SMACK, SMACK, SMACK, SMACK, SMACK, SMACK.

He began picking up the pace, spanking faster, harder... Stopping only every so often as to give the weeping brat a small breather. During those "breathers," no words were spoken. The lad lay quivering over his knee, weeping, and Kelly's hand rested on his warm right butt cheek until he was ready to smack that naughty ass again.

And he did. He spanked it nice and hard, his beefy flat hand crashing down on the boy's smooth plump butt over and over again, the loud spanks echoing throughout the room, harder and harder. 10-minutes went by, this time, no breathers. Continuous spanking, and with each passing minute, the force behind the spanks increased... harder, and harder, and harder, until Peter's ass was red hot and glowing, leaving Peter unsure of just how much more he could even take.

And then, the spanking abruptly stopped.

Finally. He's finished, thought Peter, who was breathing heavily.

Principal Kelly calmly reached over the top of the teen's back and picked up the phone receiver from atop his desk. He hit one button on the phone's keypad and raised the receiver to his ear/mouth. A quick moment passed.

"Ms. May? Yes. Will you please bring me my paddle?"

Peter's face trembled with disbelief.

"Thank you." Kelly hung up the phone. He placed his hand back to rest on Peter's hot cheek. He patted it ever so slightly and lightly as they waited in silence... like the tender tapping of a baseball player's hand on his teammate's bum meant to congratulate him on a successful bunt.

The door opened and Peter was mortified, slumped over his Principal's lap, his bare bottom exposed, now a deep shade of red. For some reason his cock hardened even further, which further embarrassed him, which further hardened the cock, which further embarrassed him. A vicious cycle.

Ms. May, Mr. Kelly's secretary, entered the room. A woman of 65-years of age, wearing a bun, wrinkled face... she had worked at the school for a forever and had also known Peter since he was five. And they had had their share of run-ins. Peter had mouthed off to her plenty of times while he sat and waited outside of Kelly's office.

She sashayed over to her boss, slowly, her hips swaying and the clip-clop of her high heels the only sound in the room. In her hands was the thick oak paddle. She presented it to Principal Kelly. He took it from her. "Thank you, Ms. May." Peter tried not to look, tried to keep his head down, his face glued to the floor, but it was almost outside of his control. As he heard the clip-clopping of the heels leaving the room, he glanced up ever so quickly. His eyes immediately made contact with hers. She had been staring right at him, her neck twisted backwards as she walked towards the door... a thick lipstick-ed smirk on her face. Peter's head shot back down in embarrassment. She closed the door behind her.

WHACK!

No warning. Peter's head jerked back up, his eyelids clenched tight, and his face twisted in surprised agony. He let out a loud, pained yelp.

He heard a chuckle from the other side of the door... Ms. May.

WHACK, WHACK!

Peter never thought he would be wishing for his principal's hand to be slapping his butt, but now, as the sting of the thick paddle came crashing down against his tenderized cheeks, he began to beg for it.

"Please, please, please use the hand."

WHACK, WHACK, WHACK.

Tears again, harder than before, streaming down his beat red face. This time, not embarrassed tears, but tears born of a deep physical pain.

WHACK, WHACK, WHACK, WHACK, WHACK!

The boy cried out again. He was no longer to shy to speak out. The paddle had cured him of that. "No! Pleaaasee, no, Sir! Please no, I'll be good, I'll be good, I'll be good, please stop!" But the principal didn't stop. The principal just paddled harder. He paddled until he bruised the round, cushy flesh of the boy's bottom, until he tore into it, and until the wiggling, squirming boy was drenched in sweat and nearly screaming, "please sir, please sir, please!"

"Are you a bad boy?" asked his principal, WHACK, WHACK!

"YES! Yes, I'm a bad boy!"

"A naughty little boy?" WHACK, WHACK.

"Yes! Yes, I'm a naughty little boy."

"Are you going to stop fighting?" WHACK.

"Yes."

"Are you going to stop talking back to your teachers?" WHACK, WHACK, WHACK!

"YES!! Yes, yes, I'm going to stop fighting and I'm going to stop talking back to all of my teachers, I promise. I'll do anything you want from now on, anything. I'll be a good boy, a very good boy and I'll never be bad again, I promise, I promise, I promise," he managed to yelp through heavy tears.

Principal Kelly places the oak paddle down on the desk with a thud, and Peter's body finally relaxed in a near collapse. All of his energy disappeared and he was now left a crying lump of flesh slumped over his masculine principal's knee. Principal Kelly sat there and let the boy cry for several minutes. The two longtime adversaries now closer than ever. Peter had a strange urge to suck his own thumb as he had when he was but a boy.

When Peter's cries had finally dissipated into mere little sniffles, his principal spoke to him yet again. "And now I want you to stand up, you little crying boy," said Principal Kelly sternly, with authority. Peter stood. It was the first time he had sounded legitimately mad during this whole ordeal. Almost as if he was disgusted with the sad display of a creature before him. "Look at you. You used to be so tough. Look at you now. Crying your eyes out and begging me. Standing there with your pants around your ankles and a bright red backside. What do you have to say for yourself?"

Peter rubbed his stinging, hot cheeks slightly.

"I'm sorry," he said. And he may have actually meant it.

"I'll bet you are."

The two stared into each other's eyes, Peter's swollen, red and tearing, Kelly's stern, cold and unforgiving.

"Peter the Queer," said Principal Kelly.

"Wh-what?"

Hearing that was a shock, and just his being shocked was a shock in it of itself for Peter had thought he was beyond the point of ever being shocked again. Those words slapped him hard in the face. Could he possibly have heard him correctly? That phrase... those words in that order... he hadn't heard that since-

"Peter the Queer. Isn't that what they used to call you?"

It was.

And it all came flooding back. The bigger boys circling him in the playground, chanting it. The giggling girls whispering it into his ear from the desks behind him. All the times he would find it written in black sharpie marker on his notebooks or locker. Peter the Queer.

He didn't think Principal Kelly would have remembered that. He didn't think anyone would have. So much time had gone by since he had been Peter the Queer. And he had reinvented himself. He remembered the day, much like when a young Bruce Wayne declared, "from this day forward I will pledge my life to crime-fighting, I will be... BATMAN," the day where he had said, "that's it. I'm done being picked on, done being called a sissy. From this day forward, I will never be called Peter the Queer again!" Lightning strike.

The following day, instead of pleading, "stop it, stop it," to the other boys as they circled around him in the schoolyard chanting that dreadful moniker, he mauled one of them and bit off a part of his nose. A few more instances like that, and the boys finally stopped calling him it. He even slapped a girl once who didn't get the memo that Peter the Queer was dead. Slapped her right across her stupid cunt face as soon as the last syllable had left her mouth. She never said it again either. A few years later, in 5th grade, he took up smoking. By seventh grade he was a leather-jacket wearing smartass who had been left back once. Being left back was the best thing that had ever happened to him. Most kids never want to repeat a grade, but now he was the oldest. He was top dog. All the kids who had ever called him... that name... were gone from his classes. He could forge a 100 percent new identity for himself. By the time he hit the high school grades, he had been left back once more and he was a completely different person than he had been all those years ago. At least he thought he was.

"Are you, Peter?"

Peter was stunned and didn't know what the question meant.

"Am I- am I... what?"

"Are you a queer?"

His face turned a crimson red. He couldn't believe that his principal remembered. And now, couldn't believe that his principal was using it against him.

"Peter, I'm married. I have a wife and kids of my own. I'm a real man, there's no doubt about that. You'll never find me getting an erection while another man spanks me. Because I would never let another man do to me what I just did to you. We're different people, you and I. I'm a successful principal in charge of a school and a loving, responsible family man. You on the other hand, you're a little snot-nosed punk who had to be taught to respect. And I can tell by your hard little penis staring me in the face that even though I hurt you, you liked it... you liked being controlled... and being half naked around another man. So, I'm going to give you another choice.

We're going to continue to have these spanking sessions until I make sure you get on the right track. No discussion there. Now here comes the choice part. Whether I use just my hand, or the paddle," just hearing the word paddle made Peter wince, "is entirely up to you."