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By *ickK OP Man
6 days ago
Newcastle |
“A taste of leather” immediately got my undivided attention. Ever since starting at my all boys’ grammar school at the age of 11 I had a compulsive interest in the strap as an instrument of discipline. Coming from a home and primary school where CP was unknown, the big school in the town where the strap was in use pretty much every day came as a shock – something both terrifying and, for reasons I didn’t understand at first, exhilarating. As a bright and well-behaved pupil I didn’t have much experience of the strap; mostly the plimsoll in gym. But I was fascinated by it and by boys’ ability to withstand its awesome power.
Mr Johnstone led me over to the school gym horse and straightaway I remembered the painful strapping I had received on a previous visit. What would it be like this time? And would I be able to maintain any sort of dignity and composure in front of the Colonel?
He brought leather cuffs over to me and made me take in the scent. Putting my hands out, cuffs were attached to my wrists and then, bending down, he attached cuffs to my ankles. All I was wearing was white PE plimsolls and ankle socks. It struck me then and has done ever since that being dressed only in shoes and socks makes you feel more naked than being totally nude. How strange! I was told to haul myself over the horse and the cuffs were secured to the legs. Next a long leather belt was held under my nose to sniff and then tied around my waist and around the horse to keep me securely in place. Finally, Mr Johnstone brought something across to the Colonel. I couldn’t see what but soon found out as he put a pair of leather gloves in front of my face and told me to inhale deeply. The smell of the leather was intoxicating and I could feel my cock, pressed down against the leather of the gym horse, stiffen uncomfortably. Almost on cue, I felt Mr Johnstone’s hand reach between my legs and pull my cock and balls back so they rested down the side of the padded leather. “Already excited, Colonel” he said and the Colonel smiled.
The Colonel put on the gloves and drew and upright chair into place, sitting right in front of my face. He cupped my chin with one hand and lifted my face to look directed into his, placing a leather gloved finger of the other hand into my mouth and pressing my tongue down. “Now,” he said, “we need to see if you can behave yourself, boy. This is going to be a challenge. We don’t want any screaming or embarrassing antics.” The finger was withdrawn from my mouth. “Yes, sir.” The finger was reinserted and the pressure kept up under my chin so my neck was straining back. My breathing became a little laboured and I realized, with a moment of panic, that the long leather belt fastening me to the horse meant that I couldn’t take in a full deep breath. My breaths quickened and could feel my cock stiffening. “The strap if you please, Johnstone” said the Colonel and almost instantly the leather was placed under my nose. I knew what was expected and inhaled long and deep (or as deep as the restriction to my chest allowed) as if I was a connoisseur of a fine wine. Then Mr Johnstone moved the deadly instrument through my line of vision and I could see it was a dark brown, heavy leather tawse with three tails. Oh shit! While my full attention had been captured by the tawse, I now realized that the finger in my mouth was moving around and causing me both to salivate and dribble and my cock to harden. They knew what they were doing. Mr Johnstone went around behind me and pulled my cock away from the leather and released it so it snapped back. It was steel-pipe hard now as only a young man’s cock can be. “He’s ready and excited” said Mr Johnstone. “Proceed” said the Colonel withdrawing the finger from my mouth. Without hesitation the strap crashed down into my buttocks and I jolted forward. The agony arrived nano-seconds later and I screamed out in pain. “Quiet, boy, no hysterics” said the Colonel as he inserted two fingers into my mouth causing me to salivate and dribble. And so went the six strokes I received on this occasion. Each more painful than the previous. A few moments between each taken up with fingers inserted into my mouth and a fountain of saliva. I managed to avoid screaming out but each stroke was met with a stifled groan. I could feel the sweat on my face, on the nape of my neck and causing my hair to mat against my forehead. My back and sides felt cool, in contrast to my backside which was on fire, as the sweat trickled down in the cool morning air.
By the sixth stroke my mind was utterly overwhelmed and my every inch of my body tense and shaking. I felt an ungloved hand on my cock and was rhythmically pumped until my hot spunk spurted in wave after wave onto the floor beneath the gym horse. An ejaculation like I had never experienced before. I was totally spent. I almost don’t remember being released from my bonds and helped to stand up by Mr Johnstone. The Colonel was sitting back in the old leather armchair when I was paraded again before him. He stood and stepped forward deep into my personal space as he had done before. But this time I didn’t recoil or flinch or respond at all. All I could think of was the searing pain in my backside. His hand reached behind my head and our mouths touched. I opened mine to receive his tongue, forcefully thrust into my mouth. His other hand tweaked each of my nipples and raised me up onto my toes as he drew my body forward and pressed it into his. Then the hand slid over my moist ribs and round the back to my buttocks where he slid a finger into the cleft and then, finding my rosebud, thrust his gloved finger inside me. I had surrendered utterly and completely. “Good boy” he said to me; and to Mr Johnstone, “You were right, Johnstone, the boy is a quick learner.” And then it was all over. The Colonel released his grip, withdrawing finger and tongue and sat down. Mr Johnstone gently took me upstairs where I changed and showered. On my way out he handed me an envelope. “For your troubles” he said with an ironic smirk.
On the train home, I was convinced that everyone could see that here was a boy who had been soundly spanked, spunked and owned. Of course, they couldn’t. I opened the enveloped and inside there were three crisp five-pound notes. The Colonel was indeed generous – an amount worth slightly more than £100 today!
And there is a corollary to the story. The following Monday we went back to school after the half-term holiday (most of which had been spent reliving every moment of my encounter with the Colonel) and I had PE. Of course I didn’t have my PE shirt which was in tatters at Mr Johnstone’s. I found a plain white t-shirt but it was spotted straight away by Mr Lane. “That is not uniform kit, Fergusson, as you well know! Off with it.” “But, sir!” “You can do gym stripped to shorts, boy.” Then looking over his shoulder to make sure no one heard but me, “Fancy losing your gym shirt, Fergusson, not like you at all. Or maybe it met a little accident and got ripped off your scrawny body?” A huge rush of embarrassment and fear rushed over me and I could feel my face turn beetroot red. So he did know after all. What had Mr Johnstone told his PE training college mate about me? And did Mr Lane know the Colonel? Then, on the Wednesday, I had cross country and hadn’t yet been able to replace the official PE shirt. As expected, Mr Lane insisted I run through the fields and streets around the school bare chested. The shorts I wore that day were the extra small ones I had worn for the Colonel. And my first purchase with some of the £15 was a new PE shirt.
I continued to visit Mr Johnstone over the next two years about once a month. It was an amazing experience. Then I moved away from home and only saw him in the holidays. Then he moved on to a new teaching job in South Africa and I lost touch. But I owe him so much in introducing me to something which has remained a pleasure and a fascination over a lifetime. And all going back to his noticing a lad exercising one summer morning and guessing what it was all truly about.
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