The following story is fiction; just a fantasy about a man who wished he hadn't grownup. It contains scenes of both male and female domination, spanking, shaving and humiliation, and gay and teen sex. If such subjects are offensive, uninteresting or if you are a minor (i.e., child) please stop reading now. Click to open the image off-site (NSFW).
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The author would appreciate your comments – pro and con, including constructive criticism, and suggestions.
TGIF! Most definitely TGIF! It was a hot Friday evening ending an even hotter week. I manage a warehouse where most of the workers are twenty-something hunks who just wear cutoffs and work boots in this weather. The owner allows this because he gets more work out of them this way. And I encourage it because I love savoring those rippling muscles under glistening sweaty skin straining against heavy loads.
Friday is payday and I always get an extra non-taxable bonus: each of these hunks must come to my office. One by one each man stands by my desk, while deviously slowly I get his pay envelope out of my desk drawer savoring the beautiful close up view of his basket. Several of them are truly magnificent. Then in order to sign the pay book he must bend over just as if he is deferentially bowing to me. Finally, I get to scrutinize his firm muscular buns tightly covered by worn faded blue denim as he leaves. Friday afternoon from 2 to 4 is indubitably the best time of the week. It is even more fun than bossing them around the rest of the week, making them work very hard because while sitting behind my desk I can let my own manrod expand to its heart's content. In some of my dreams they become my willing sex slaves but, alas, in reality, I know that would never ever happen. Other times they appear as pirates (or bandits) and kidnap me to be impressed as their cabin boy, more accurately their sex slave/toy. Oh, one can dream.
As usual, later that Friday evening I'm in my local bar on my favorite stool hoping that this week Mr. Right will show up. I'm wearing a loose shirt and well worn jeans as my older body can't compete with those young hunks on their terms. My mind is still happily full of the hunks from pay time. Then the Vision, in a well packed T-shirt and leather jeans, appears next to me and starts up a conversation. He is a cocky (pun intended!) young stud who clearly knows what he wants. Happily I realize that this night it is I when causally, and shamelessly, he puts his hand on my crotch forcefully crushing my hard cock to my thigh. "Forgot your undies tonight, boy?" he asks sarcastically with a smirk. I nod while trying to suppress any indication of pain and he continues with: "Haven't you been told that good boys always wear them? Could it be that you are a naughty boy?" After a pregnant pause, "Cat got your tongue, boy?" he asked.
"Er, um, no." I finally stammered.© YLeeCoyote
"No, what, boy?" he snapped back still maintaining his iron grip on my cock and thigh.
"No, Sir." I answered softly.
"Boy, you need training; lots of training. You act like you dropped out of school before you even learnt your manners. I have just the place for you and lessons will start as soon as we get there. Come, boy, NOW!" I was mesmerized and docilely let him propel me with his hand on the back of my neck all the way from the bar to his car. It wasn't until he pulled my seat belt extra tight that I realized why he was so emotionally overwhelming to me. My mind suddenly flashed back to when I was thirteen and spending the first of three summers on my uncle's farm where my older, bigger, stronger, sexy and aggressively dominant Cousin Tim took complete charge of me. He was my mentor and idol and I his willing adoring slave in all ways. The Vision now driving me to his den was exactly like my cousin was back then. I had fallen under his spell the same way and now I realized that I was just as helpless to resist him as I was in resisting Tim, particularly being securely strapped down in his car. I looked at him again and now imagined the pirate captain of my dreams.
"Open the glove compartment, boy." he suddenly commanded. Inside was a propeller beanie. "Put it on, boy."
"Aye, aye, Captain." I said accidentally, still in my fantasy rather than the 'Mr. Gort' he had told me to use. He let it pass and after glancing at me commented that I looked like a 'real cute boy'.
The pirate ship he took us to was an old large house in an sparely populated area and we entered through a side door. I was astounded. It was setup like an old one room school house from a western movie or even, perhaps, a Dickens' novel. As I was looking around, noting all the old stuff there from the 1890 calendar and the dunce cap to the paddles, straps and canes hanging neatly but menacingly on one wall, the clock struck and three guys, identically dressed as school boys, came into the classroom. Two of them handed Mr. Gort some papers and they all sat down. "Good day class." he said.
They responded in unison with "Good day Mr. Gort."
"Class, Simon is joining us today. "Sit down there, boy." he ordered pointing to the empty first row desk as he sat down in the teacher's chair.
"Simon, take your hat off in class, boy." Blushing, I stashed my Beanie into my desk, while Mr. Gort consulted a grade book and continued with: "Robert, this is the fifth time you haven't had your homework. Bring me the strap, boy, and assume the position for ten." Silently and slowly Robert walked to that wall, got the strap, handled it to Mr. Gort and bent over the desk showing us how spectacularly his cute boy butt filled his tight school boy short shorts. "No, boy, this is the fifth time; drop them." with less reluctance than show (as evidenced by his smirk), slowly Robert straightened up, lowered his shorts and briefs and then resumed the now even more exposed vulnerable position over the desk. The class giggled and Robert blushed at both ends as Mr. Gort prepared to administer the prescribed punishment publicly. WHACK! went the strap and the first red stripe appeared across Robert's bottom. Nine times over, this was repeated until the promised ten strokes were applied and Robert's bottom was uniformly red hot. I cringed at each stroke as if it was my own little behind getting beaten. "Take your seat, boy." ordered Mr. Gort. Robert started to pull up his pants but Mr. Gort ordered him to leave them down because "You will remember better this way." As Robert hobbled back to his hardwood seat and sat down, very gingerly, next to me, I was surprised to see that his crotch was smooth and hairless like that of a little boy although I also saw that he sported a luxurious oozing semi-hard mantool.
School lasted for a couple of hours using archaic school books and was, somehow, exciting. Not only that but I felt like I belonged here. Aaron, one of the other boys, and I each got our hands rapped with a ruler [ouch!] for some infraction or other and I was ignominiously perched on the dunces' stool wearing the tall conical hat for a long time. It was so large that it rested on my nose and ears. I also received a 'detention' for inattention (having been so fascinated by Robert's bare pubes et al.) so that when class was over I was required to remain behind. Robert seemed relieved that he could finally pull up his shorts when he left. After I had carefully and neatly (the messy ones did not count!) written out <I must always pay attention and not talk in class> a hundred times Mr. Gort took me to his study on the main floor.
Mr. Gort explained that he runs a school for adult boys who in one way or another had not fully grownup and still need help, guidance and discipline from mature men as fathers and teachers. A while back an alumni/friend had suggested that I would be a good nominee for the student opening now available. He had me checked out and agreed. He further explained that I should take my time and learn more about the school but for now there was that little matter of the missing briefs.
Until this point we were sitting next to each other on the couch. A few seconds later he was still sitting but, suddenly, I was lying across his lap as befits a naughty boy about to receive a well deserved spanking from a loving father or strict housemaster. Although I hadn't been in this position in many years and I sensed what was about to happen I couldn't move. It was one of my dad's strictest rules: don't resist or try to thwart a spanking in any way. "You know why you're going to be spanked, boy?" he interrogated (just like my dad had many years ago) before he started.
As I responded "Yes, dad, er, Mr. Gort." his hand crashed landed on my butt. Hard. Very hard. After a few smacks he stopped and I sighed with relief. That, however, was very premature for he was just pausing so that he could pull down my jeans and continue more effectively directly on my bare ass. And continue he did; long and painfully hard. I even cried a little as a repentant little boy does (and should). I felt like I was a child again – just a little boy of eleven years.
Then when he stood me up, I again behaved just like dad had required me. With head bowed in deference and respect I said in a little boy voice: "Thank you, Sir; I promise to be a good boy and always wear my underwear as I should."
He pulled me to himself and hugged me long and hard saying: "I hope so, son. I really hope so. But, lad, now strip completely." Of course, I obeyed and he then lead me to the shower room. In less than five minutes with his terribly efficient hair clippers he had removed all my of sparse chest, axillary and pubic hair. Each and every single strand he meticulously mowed down at its base leaving me a completely hairless boy, like Robert was in class. It was strange but also like those summers on the farm when hirsute Tim always taunted me for being a hairless boy while he thrust his hard mancock into me at one end or other. After I showered he took me to bed.
It was wonderful. I was like putty in his hands and I loved every second with him. I hadn't felt so wanted in many years. We cuddled some and he fucked me (with a condom, of course) at both ends just like my cousin Tim had. Finally, for a special treat, he took my hairless little pee-pee in his mouth for the best blow job I ever had.
He explained that it was time to go upstairs with the other boys to my own bunk. I was to share a room (but not a bed) with Robert, now the junior head boy, who would explain what to do in the morning concluding with the warning that failure to obey all of Robert's instructions would result in a paddling. When he tucked naked me into bed I asked about pj's. "Ah", he laughed, "We don't use anything like that here; except, of course, for diapers. Are you a little baby that needs a diaper?" He didn't even wait for an answer before leaving. This happy boy, caressing his once again smooth pubes, was soon fast asleep in a bunk bed and dreaming little boy dreams.
The sun was up when I was awakened by Robert sitting astride me, pining my arms to my sides and with his hairless crotch in my face. "Still like what you see, Simon? You couldn't take your eyes off it in class." I could feel my eyes grow even as I nodded my agreement and licked my lips while his hard cock seemed to grow bigger and harder. I tried to raise my head to reach his great wand, seemingly floating in space before my eyes, but he pushed me back down saying: "Not just yet, kid."
"Please, please." I hungrily entreated. When he leaned back the changed angle made it appeared to grow even larger as he reached for the condom he had prepared. I watched anxiously as he rolled it on and then leaned forward to shove his hard tool deep into my anxiously waiting open mouth. Horny, he all too quickly came.
Just then a bell clanged loudly. He jumped off and said: "We must hurry and prepare for breakfast." The bathroom had twin sinks so we washed, combed, brushed and even crossed our yellow swords together. Robert's locker had his T-shirt, briefs, short shorts, socks and sneakers from the last evening but mine was bare. The bell, compellingly, rang again. "We must go for breakfast immediately; lateness is NOT tolerated and is severely punished. Matron will surely get you a uniform afterwards." Robert said authoritatively and literally dragged me into the hall where we met our classmates from yesterday. They both slapped my bare butt and helped Robert drag naked me to the dining room. I didn't even get a chance to grab a towel to wrap about me.
Mr. Gort was sitting at the head of the table. "Good morning boys" he said and we replied as we sat down. As you can imagine, I was very embarrassed being naked, particularly being the only naked one, but nobody else seemed to care. A large woman in a neat, sharp, white uniform began to serve breakfast. "Please get Simon, our new boy, a uniform after breakfast Mrs. Swenson." said Mr. Gort.
She replied: "Of course, Mr. Gort. I would have yesterday but I didn't know the lad's size." The other boys giggled at this. I guess it had happened before.
During breakfast my attention was captured by the two meter high picture on the wall. It was really interesting and certainly all present could surely identify with it. This Madonna and Child* is quite unique for Jesus' halo has fallen to the floor and now his butt, just like that of any naughty boy over his mother's knee, is turning red as she spanks him. Gosh, if that kid can get spanked!
Mr. Gort and the dressed boys went to play outside while I had to wait for Mrs. Swenson to get me clothes. I had expected and hoped that she would bring them and leave but this was not the case. "I've seen lots of hairless naked boys before and you're just the same." she declared when I showed myself to be to shy to go with her by trying to hide myself first behind the tablecloth and then even a napkin. After she threatened "to lead the baby by its little wee-wee and put him in a diaper", I was so intimidated that I followed her compliantly and quietly. Exposed, I was lead to the wardrobe room where she proceeded to measure each and every part of me. "Just for future reference, lad" she said writing each statistic down on a chart. But I did not like how she bumped my balls to measure my inseam. Nor how she handled my shorn (and now very public) privates measuring them in every way almost like I was an old table at a garage sale and with less interest. At long last she opened the storage closet and took out a uniform for me and my own sneakers. Matron then literally dressed me in it, explaining that she wanted to be sure that it fit just right as she gratuitously cupped both my crotch and buttocks. Even in its tightness it was a great improvement. With a pat on my ass, she sent me to join the others at play.
We played ball for awhile and were joined by four other boys, two of whom were brought by their dads. It was easy to distinguish the boys as they were in uniform from the dads who weren't. When it got too hot, Mr. Gort took us to the pool for a swim. We boys went BA as we did not have (or need) swim suits; the grownups, of course, wore trunks. It seemed like high school being naked with a pack of other boys, all with their hairless pee-pees dangling in the breeze, and the coaches in shorts.
While we were swimming, a woman came with her boy who was in the school uniform. He was instructed to join us in the pool and he enthusiastically stripped. Because I thought that he was so cute, I was watching him closely. Then I was startled! He was NOT a boy but a tomboy – a girl! who barely looked twenty. Since she was so flat chested it was her hairless pussy, instead of a pee-pee, that made her look different. But she was tough, very tough, muscular and in our roughhousing games in the pool managed to dunk every one of us. Robert warned me about treating Terry as girl: "He's one great wrestler and he'll get your balls in grip that you will never ever, ever forget, Simon."
Lunch we had on the back lawn. Since it was so hot, we boys were kept au naturel as little kids often are. Naked kids and dressed adults (of both sexes) seemed to be the norm here. Like much here, it was strange to me but, of course, as just a boy my opinion was never requested.
Rambunctiously running about, Terry bumped into one of the dads and knocked a coffee cup out of his hand. When he barked: "STOP, Terry." all became quite quiet – instantly. Without even an additional word he seized Terry by her arm, walked over to a bench, sat down, put her over his knee and spanked her bare butt very hard. One could see the red hand prints on her ass checks quickly spread into a solid field of crimson red and then a darker red. The color flowed just like the black plague's propagation across Europe is shown in history film animations. Terry's face showed that it really hurt, but he bit his lip to keep from crying out. When the dad stopped and let him up, Terry apologized and replaced his cup. He was much subdued from then on. This was an additional demonstration that discipline was both strict and swift at this school.
At 1500 Matron appeared and declared that it was Rest Period. We boys were taken to a shady area where Matron announced: "Particularly for the new boy's benefit I will remind you: Rest Period is exactly that! No talking! No moving! Period! Now lie down and rest one hour, boys." We had barely taken our places when Aaron said: "I really have to pee real bad, Matron." Matron, put down her knitting, got up, walked over to him and said in an exasperated tone: "Aaron, surly you know the rules by now, boy." Then using the roll of athletic tape she took from her pocket, Matron sealed his month, taped his wrists together behind his back and his ankles together, finally, leaving him lying on his back on the grass. After I saw this happen I did not even dare to blink! From where I was lying, I was able to see Aaron and he was having a hard time; apparently he really had to pee and he was not comfortable. Eventually, however, he lost control and leaked (both metaphorically and literally) over himself and the grass. Matron ridiculed him by sneeringly calling him "Pants Wetter" and telling the rest of us: "I'll have to put a rubber sheet on the baby's bed." (I heard later that she also put him in a diaper that night.)
After the rest period, we had another swim, showers and got dressed. Mr. Gort then took me away from the others. He asked me if I had had a good time. "Yes, Sir, very good." I earnestly replied.
"That's good, boy," he said "but I have to take you home now and pickup another candidate. Unfortunately we don't have enough room for you tonight. Come lad." By this time we were in front of the house and he said: "Get the bag with your clothes from the porch, boy." then we continued to his car.
On the way home I'm proud to say that I did remember my manners and thanked him for the extraordinarily good time I had and told him that I hoped to be enrolled as a regular student. "Simon, we want you to think about our Boys' School very carefully. In the bag are instructions which you are to follow precisely. It is sort of a home study course to guide you to decide your future."
As soon as I got inside my apartment I looked inside the bag for the instructions. I found a computer diskette and directions to load it. When I got it loaded, it announced itself as:
*** BOYS' SCHOOL ***
and displayed a 'start' button which I clicked on instantly. I am Mentor. Answer all questions as honestly as you can at all times was the response and I proceeded to take the first quiz which asked lots of questions about me and the day at the school. The questions covered both experiences and feelings. Then after checking that I was still in the school's outfit, it directed me to stand in front of my full length mirror for half an hour, until the bell rang. Do you like looking like a boy? was the question on the screen when I returned. My reply of 'very much' was followed by Glad hear that, boy. Go have dinner. and specified a coffee shop.
After a quick meal in the coffee shop (where I got some strange looks) I hurried back. Its first question was What did you wear for dinner, Simon? Obviously, I think that I passed the first test. After more questions, I was told: Simon: All instructions on this screen are to be obeyed as if you heard them directly from Mr. Gort. Understood, boy? When I had acknowledged, I was instructed to go to bed (with all the usual details that moms give their boys). Also, no TV or books so that I would think about being a boy at the school. For the second night in a row I had wonderful dreams about boyhood.
* Max Ernst: The Virgin spanking the Infant Jesus before three witnesses: A.B., P.E. and the artist, 1926. Return to story.
© Copyright A.I.L., September 10, 1997
The URL for this page is: https://yleecoyote.asslr.org/BoysSchool.html
Last updated: September 15, 2023