Chapter 242 - part (4) of (4)

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“A stiff gin, Davy,” said his dad, offering him a small glass, “for two stiffies….” he glanced down, and sure enough they were both still supporting straining shafts, “….and who might have become two stiffs, had things turned out differently….” very droll, as he downed it in two swallows, “….Lynda’s out again, and Helen’s humping Low IQ. As we’ve both been VERY bad boys, perhaps we ought to knacker each other’s nuts….with some Knacky Smacky?” He nodded.

 

“Now I’m over eighteen, dad,” he said, “we’re both consenting adults. But since Mum’s left her cane handy, I could do you some Knacky Whacky.” There was a wide smile. “NOW you’re talking, Davy,” he said, “this was always one of my favourite forms of fetish fun….when we were prefects, and with some of my firm friends who were switches.” He collected the cane, and they stood beside each other. “Ohh….” he gasped as his testicles were tweaked, “….ohh,” echoed his paternal parent…..THWACKK “….Oww….AHHH….” SMACKK “….Oww….AHHH,” he gasped as he was knackered and spanked together.

 

Several more minutes of posterior pain passed…..SMACKK “….Oww….AHHH….would you care to do a St Stickshake, Davy?” he asked….WHACKK “….Oww….AHHH….definitely, dad….” he replied, “….you call first.” He set down the cane as his gonads were….well, girded. “One, “….AHH, “….Two, “….AHH, “….Three, “….AHH, “….Four, “….AHH, “….Five, “….AHH, “….Six, “….AHH, “….Seven….” ….AHH,” he gasped, as his philandering father counted. Now it was his turn to say the rhyme, “….No, “….AHH, “….Bad, “….AHH, “….Boys, “….AHH, “….Will, “….AHH, “….Go, “….AHH, “….To, “….AHH, “….Heaven,” ….AHH,” his dastardly dad concluded as they let each other loose.

 

“We might say the fault was more mine, Davy,” he said, “for leading the younger generation astray?” He shrugged. “So shall we say three strokes, dad,” he said, picking up the cane again, “although I was quite capable of doing my own straying….so to speak. Bend over, bad boy….nice and tight.” He duly did so. “Please Sir,” he said, “be HARD with me….as I’m hard with you, Sir.” One of the many standard subbie swishing sentiments, of which there were around a couple of dozen, with various variations. Most likely he used them all on occasion?

 

SWISHHTHWACKKKK

“ONE, thank you, SIR,” he said flatly, and achieving canees’ privilege. It was no mean feat, considering the quantity of cuts his raw rear had recently received from the rattan.

 

SWISHHTHWACKKKK

“Ooo….TWO, thank you, SIR,” he said with a slight gasp.

 

SWISHHTHWACKKKK

“Yeee….THREE, thank you, SIR,” he yelped, “thank you for swishing me, Sir. It really does me proud, to be swished soundly by my suitably strict son….” it was good to be appreciated, if not necessarily for the right reason, “….now I suggest we relieve ourselves with some porn.” He nodded. “Most definitely, dad,” he said, “since no sex means no Caning For Cunt, either.” His philandering father nodded neatly, padded to the bureau, and took out Spread Slit Specials. “I liked the look of the lovely Lady on this month’s page 3, Davy,” he said, placing it open onto the table.

 

“Very choice, dad,” he agreed, “they always do have plenty of pokeable pussy pictures….” they took themselves in hand again, “….we want cunt….UHHH….Ma’am,” he moaned all over again, imagining standing starkers and stroking his shaft. But hell….he’d only just done so for real with two professional prostitutes in a public park, “….we can’t get cunt….Ma’am….UHHH,” George Shagton continued, “I’m a wanker boy….UHHH….cunt….UHHH….cunt….UHHH….MA’AM.” They’d soon both be spunking.

 

Then he heard the sound of a car approaching, and stopping on the drive. “Disappear, Davy,” he urged, “it must be your Mother. I’ll head her off here at the pass, so to speak….and confess my crime.” He nodded, and padded quickly upstairs. Then he heard the front door opening. “I’m home, George,” she called out, “is David with you?” There was a brief pause. “He’s gone to bed, Helen,” he replied. “GEORGE,” she shouted, “what the FUCK do you think you’re doing….?” SLAPP “….Oww….” SLAPP “….Oww,” he gasped, “….the moment my back’s turned, and yet again you’re up to no good….” and she hadn’t been?

 

However this cut no ice, as it never did, “….it’ll be the standard six strokes for the Perusal of Pornographic Publications. At least I was able to stop you stroking before you spurted over some slut’s slit. So bend over, bad boy….and then we’ll attend to your Caning For Cunt. Afterwards, you can fuck me on the floor. I’m still on a sexual high, and feeling really randy.” Ouch….as he retreated into his bedroom. Her currency was a nasty nine, so it would be a thorough thirdeen for him….formerly a frightful fifteen.

 

Obviously both his parents would be occupied for quite some time, so he might as well finish himself off before sleeping. He opened his bedside cabinet, and pulled out the copy of CFnm he’d purchased at TanningtowN JunctioN on Departure Day. It had been in the second drawer down, as always the repository for sinful stuff. Then he opened it up at the centre spread, which featured a Clothed Female holding hands on hips in accusatory fashion. At her feet was a cowering middle-aged naked male, sporting a straining shaft and soundly spanked seat. On the floor lay several porn publications. The caption stated how His Wife DOES understand him.

 

Hadn’t this scenario been more or less exactly what he’d so recently achieved in real life? But it had been in a public park, with two professional prostitutes dressed as Trinians Tarts? In one way it was a pity there wasn’t the photographic evidence of his exposure….but it was a small price to pay for freedom. “UHHH….UHHH,” he moaned, whilst wanking worthlessly, “I’m sorry for stroking, Ma’am,” he muttered, “perhaps….UHHH….I should be whipped outside in the garden again….UHHH….where all the neighbours can watch….UHHH….punish me for purchasing and perusing porn….UHHH….beat the naughtiness out of me….UHHH….I beg you….UHHH….YESS….YESS….YESS.”

 

He took a tissue, and mopped up the mess before disposing of the débris in the wastepaper basket. Should he shower? Maybe in the morning, since suddenly he felt terribly tired. In the afterglow of sexual self-satisfaction, he slipped between the sheets. Hopefully he’d have a good night’s sleep, although he wasn’t counting on it. With a little luck, he wouldn’t have to relive the chase from the public pond too often? Indecent images of seated sinful schoolgirls flashed in front of his eyes, followed by several slits from the Slut Circle Session. Slowly, he slept.        

* * * * * *

 

The time was 11.41am on Wednesday morning, and he was sitting at his ease in the lounge. He was reading WANKER! with its exhortation to Feel the shame of taking your favourite magazine to the checkout Lady. The delicious damsels’ disdain and disgust for dicks always worked wonders with a wanked willy. It was the readers’ page, which contained all manner of cries from the heart….and lower down. Inevitably they were from sad souls who had to get themselves off by looking at the lovely Ladies leering at the losers. Any one of the letters could easily have been his….had it not been for St Sticks.

 

Then he heard the telephone ring. “Answer it, someone,” he called out. Several seconds later Lynda emerged, wide-eyed. “It’s the Police, Davy,” she said, “an Inspector Lance Sceptre. His kind compliments, and can he speak to you most urgently.” Oops….as his heart was suddenly in his mouth. “Go upstairs, Lyn,” he said sternly, “and no Eavesdropping on the extension in Mum’s bedroom, either.” She stitched an expression of hurt. “Perish the thought, Sir,” she said, flouncing out of the room.

 

He set down his glass of wine, followed her into the hall, and picked up the handset. Most likely there would already be one person listening in to the conversation, and he could do without anyone else. “David Shagton speaking,” he said heartily, attempting to avoid any tremors in his voice, ones which might imply guilt? “Good morning, Shagger,” he asked, “did you have an entertaining weekend?” Was this a leading question? “So-so, Sir,” he replied, automatically adding the Salutation. “It seems on Sunday evening you were the victim of unwelcome attentions from Flasher Frederique at the Letchhampton Lido,” he said, “I did mention to you about the installation of CCTV on all the area around the public pond, so we saw everything which happened. Your face was very visible.”

 

Exactly as he’d feared. “Yes, Sir,” he replied, suddenly very hot under the collar, “although I wouldn’t wish to make any complaint.” Maybe he might be all right, after all? “Which is your prerogative,” he said, “so I shall just ask you a couple of formal Questions. First of all, do you still have the filthy photos you were seen taking of your assailant?” Oh, dear. “No, Sir,” he replied. “Did you dispose of the evidence?” he probed. “No, Sir,” he repeated, “at the risk of implicating myself somewhat, it wasn’t my camera.” There was a long pause. “I guessed as much,” he said, “the same sordid saga for the second Sunday in a row. Last week’s escapade was with another so-called adult schoolboy, although again one whose identity was already known to me. After all, I’ve hit his hiney often enough at the Class Caning Club.”

 

Guilty as charged, it seemed. “I was slightly surprised there didn’t seem to be any Police presence on Sunday, Sir.” he ventured, “if you’ll forgive the impertinence. I’ve noticed in the past how it seems to be one rule for the wretches and none at all for the nubiles.” There was a slight sniff. “I’m afraid you’re right, Shagger,” he said heavily, “my Officers seemed much more interested in some CCTV voyeurism than catching the criminal concerned. I’m sorry to say it was exactly the same situation on the previous Sunday…..” so she’d definitely been lucky twice in a row, “….however turning to Monday evening’s illicit activities….” Oops, “….when we really thought we had both Flasher Fred and Panty Pervert Pete cornered….” which they very nearly HAD been, “….at least we officially now know they’re not the same person.....” a brilliant deduction, “….except they were able to hot-foot it to the woods and make good their escapes….” he cringed quietly, “….have you ever met Peter Purvis?”

 

A question easily answered, and totally truthfully. “No, Sir,” he said sincerely….but not with the whole truth. “I’m sorry to say my enquiries appear to have been hindered at every turn,” he continued, “PC Dunn was left in charge, whilst the three other Officers attempted apprehension.  In case you’re interested, it  was PC Arnold Stitcher….” he interrupted, “….who suffers from stitches, Sir?” he suggested, “….which sounds about right, Shagger. Although Arnie was actually known at St Judes School as Stitcher The Snitcher, owing to his tendency to Shop his peers.

 

Your second assailant was PC Cyril Weedon….alas called Wee’d On at St Dudes for many years, despite him being a Dominant dolt. I believe most bad boys were very careful not to speak his nickname anywhere within his hearing, lest their nuts be knackered. Obviously, he had to put up with it from the guilty girls….not having gonads to grab and grind. The third Officer, who comforted your Happy Hookers, was PC Leonard Jukes….not for nothing at the nick known as Jokes. I’m afraid most of his humour is rather rude, although occasionally quite witty. I’m really becoming quite concerned about his physical fitness, and maybe he might have to be put onto an improvement programme….but I digress.

 

When they all eventually returned to the station, apparently there’d been a problem with the AudioVisual Record on the CCTV system.  Unaccountably, the entire incident had been wiped…..” excellent, so thanks James, “….as Panty Pervert Pete probably saw from the Pavilion, they interviewed Leopard-skin Lucy and Mad Madam Min at the scene of the crime. Both the innocent young Ladies….I use the phrase advisedly….” with good reason, “….claimed he walked with a limp, talked with a lisp, and bore a tattoo with the legend of I Love Lucy….” the same as his Jewel had once stated, “….following which, Wee’d On thought he might have seen their two suspects boarding a taxi at the Pavilion.  There was another possible witness, one Miss Evie Sutton…..” Oh, dear, “….who later claimed she’d been talking on the phone all the time, and hadn’t seen anything out of the ordinary….” phew, “….although she did seem very enthusiastic about attending the Police station.

 

We checked with Post Office Telephones, who are recording all calls made from the Pavilion public phone box for us....” as Pillar The Filler had said, “….and were able to confirm one had been placed to the offices of Central Despatch. However owing to an equipment fault at the exchange, the actual conversation had been lost….” thus many thanks to Filly, too, “….so alas the hard evidence is all gone. I’ve since spoken to the driver who took the fare, one Wok Peace….” he cringed quietly, “….whereupon I was treated all over again to the same sorry saga of limps, lisps and tattoos. He assured me how your….I do beg your pardon, their destination was The Bare Pit, where he reckoned they had a hideout….” good thinking, “….however, there the trail went cold. As all the witnesses have collectively conspired to cover up the crime, you’re both off the hook. It also goes for the Happy Hookers, who I have every reason to believe were completely complicit. The leopard-skin motif naughty knickers were a bit of a giveaway….” fair comment, “….and although I don’t believe in coincidences, it’s not proof. However I must most cordially urge you not to repeat the exercise again, at least not round here….” he paused, after this homily, “….would you care to comment….unofficially. I promise anything you say will stay between the two of us, and go no further.” Apart perhaps from the Intercept Operator?

 

He took a deep breath at another lucky escape from the clutches of the local law. “Flasher Fred….err….I mean my philandering father,” he said, “was always one to warn me about the thin dividing line between role-play and reality. I accept and apologise for it becoming almost invisible of late. But for what it’s worth, it was actually the lovely Ladies’ idea of a reward….for the romantic candle-lit dinner they’d just enjoyed. There wasn’t even any sex involved….paid or otherwise….” he had another thought, “….however I’ve a suggestion for you regarding Flasher Frederique. Perhaps you might care to interview Veronica Bickington again, of № 67 SIDE STREET, again. I….err….happened to be speaking to her on Monday morning. I mentioned about Panty Pervert Pete’s private peccadilloes at LET’S BE ’AVIN’ YOU. She said she shares similar filthy fantasies….ones which involve being beaten about a bit, and slung into the cells. She really rather relishes rape….albeit obviously only of the consensual kind, the same as our mutual friend Julia Peterson. Maybe there might be some mileage in something similar for Icky Bicky….and afterwards you might find Flasher Frederique’s no longer such a sex-pest and public pervert?”

 

There was a sudden suspicious Clickk, and he suspected the line was definitely still being tapped. “Thank you, Shagger,” he said, “I’ve also had PC Dunn interview her on a couple of occasions, however he’s always reported back about her being whiter-than-white.” Hardly surprising in the circumstances. “It’s not for me to officially Shop him, Sir,” he said, “however shall we say his professional competence may have been coloured, if not compromised, by her cute cunt. However, she has a hold over him, being well aware of how he’s one of Fifi’s residual calling customers. As you know, Antonia’s vitriolic vanilla….the same as your ex-Wife, Sir. We all have our crosses to bear, one way or another….” he wouldn’t worry with any mentions of the sordid sex session on Monday morning. Then it had been his philandering father who’d borne the cross, so to speak, and Done who’d….well, done the discipline, “….we DID have an interesting chat with Miss Evie Sutton. She’s asked either or both of us to visit her at home.  Apparently, she’s an easy slut in urgent need of amorous attention. However, she also mentioned enjoying the idea of an interrogation and session in the cells, so I think you’ve yet another volunteer. She certainly seemed terribly taken with PCs Weedon, Jukes and Stitcher….pokeable Policemen, as she called them.”

 

Hopefully this would help? “Thank you, Shagger,” he said, “this may well flush out Flasher Frederique. James and I will address our naughty needs, and a sinful subbie slut will be spanked, swished and screwed senseless under carefully controlled conditions. I don’t suppose by any chance you happen to have Miss Sutton’s phone number? I can call her, to ascertain whether she too might care to attend one Sunday evening?” What was it? “It’s 36941, Sir,” he replied, “and № 23 EXPRESS WAY.”

 

Then there was a loud CLICKK. “Excuse me for butting in….Sir,” said Pillar the Filler, “I’m on the Intercept Desk. I’m afraid it was entirely my fault for the failures of the other evening. Perhaps I too should be interrogated, taken to task, tush tanned and twat treated terribly. Just name the day, Sir.” There was a short silence. “Do you know your line’s being tapped, Shagger?” he asked, “although it isn’t the Police who’ve requested it.” No….whistle it to me. “Yes, Sir,” he said instead, “Filly’s been on the case for months. It’s been her brief to help stamp out sex-pest telephone calls. We’ve….err….since met to discuss the matter, and much else. I’m sure you’ll find her to be a wilful, witty and willing wanton wicked wench. Unlike Icky Bicky, she’s a sixdy-sixdy switch….so can always apply a Caning For Cunt.”

 

There were two sniggers. “Nice to know, Shagger,” he said, “Jewel’s also been down here for such a session….” something else he hadn’t known, “….we’re always happy to have various vivacious vixens as volunteers for vapulation….” a good grandiloquism, meaning flogging or flogged, “….before you go, how did you get on with your A-Levels?” This at least wasn’t such a sensitive subject. “I achieved an A and two Bs,” he replied, “so Panty Pervert Pete will be out of your hair to Lancashire in September, Sir. But there’s still the holidays, and I’ll be pleased to take up your previous offer of a second session in the cells sometime, Sir. Also, we may well meet again at the Central Letchhampton Adult School Sessions, of which we’re both members….in addition to Stephen Hinks.”

 

There was a girlish giggle. “Ooh….Inspector Sceptre….SIR,” she said, “I haven’t heard about this Club. Perhaps you might tell all….and how to join. You’ll understand we telephone operators live somewhat sheltered and secluded lives.” So she’d said once before, “We’re finished, Shagger,” he said, “although I’d like to continue my other conversation. Have a nice day.” He replaced the receiver….with reluctance.

 

“Excellently well handled, Sir,” said his father from the kitchen, “even though obviously I only heard half the conversation. However you certainly seemed to have everything under control. Frederick and Peter Purvis will definitely have to lie low for the foreseeable future.” He nodded, before returning to the lounge. It had been another narrow escape, and his heart was still thumping. He sat down, sipped his glass of wine, and picked up WANKER! again. Yes….things were far simpler in the realms of fantasy. He smiled inwardly as his mind moved forward.

 

In two days’ time he’d be travelling up to London, for further fun and fucking frolics. At least in On-Stage Stooge everyone was attending on a voluntary basis. Panty Pervert Pete and Wanker Boy Will would be able to play with penis and spurt their shafts in front of an absolutely appreciative audience. It was erotic exposure and exhibitionism on a grand scale, just as he enjoyed it most….and wholly legal. Mentally he prepared himself for an exacting afternoon of….well, much the same. However, he’d a night of naughty nooky booked with the ravishing redhead Ginger Rogers for today, and fuckable Fleur Phelps for Thursday. Following his Friday and Saturday morning sojourns in the capital, there’d be an unspecified time of trials and tribulations taken in the Pennance Reformatory.

 

Further floozies would follow, all awaiting confirmation, which would bring him to a week of woes at Summer School, with his wedding at the end of it all. As for his honeymoon, it would start with a Working Week at Bindery House. His beautiful bride would be there, and he’d be able to….well, Start-As-You-Mean-To-Go-On with suitable slave service. She’d certainly show him some Superiority, take him down and put him properly in his place. Afterwards, they’d be travelling all around the British Isles. When they returned home, it would be time to think about preparing for Lancashire, and finding a Flat. With a ménage-à-cinq, he’d have four floozies to fuck, before any local lasses were….well, laid.

 

He raised his glass to Sir Digby Vaillance. “Bottoms Up,” he said to the empty air. It would certainly be so for him, since part of the deal was a spanking and stick session once a month with the Chancellor at The Tell-tale Tit. His tame Tarts too would be screwed and swished similarly. Still….it was a small price to pay, Anyway, he enjoyed such submission sessions with the noble knight. Life there should be good, especially with the power of patronage to help oil the wheels….if not weals. “Definitely Bottoms up,” he repeated wryly, draining his glass. A light lunch, quite possibly with the Nude Waitress wear by his sinful Sister, should only be a few minutes away.

To be continued……