The lesser of two evils
A naughty boy is spanked, then comforted.
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The lesser of two evils
“You can’t do that, it’s illegal!”
“So is stealing a car.”
“I didn’t steal it, I borrowed it.”
“The owner doesn’t see it that way, especially since you damaged it.”
“I’ll pay for the damage.”
“You’ll be lucky not to spend time in a reformatory.”
Mal looked at the man solemnly, glowering with resentment, then he slowly undid the hasp at the waist of his black school trousers, unzipped the fly, and pulled them down, letting them fall to the floor. He was wearing white Y fronts. The area beneath the Y bulged.
“And those,” Principal Vaughn said.
Mal opened his mouth to protest, quickly considered his options again, then slowly pulled his underpants down with his right hand, allowing them to fall on his puddled trousers, keeping his genitals cupped in his right.
Mal shrugged sullenly.
“Boys with small penises are often self conscious,” Vaughn said.
“I haven’t got…” Mal started, stopping mid-sentence. He wasn’t going to justify himself to this man.
He stared at Vaughn, wishing with all his heart, that his Principal would have a stroke or a heart attack or something else terminal, right there on the spot.
“Turn around and lean over with your chest on the desk,” the man instructed.
Mal looked at the desk; mahogany with an inset green leather top. He turned and did as he was told.
“Hands beside your head.”
He obeyed again.
“Move your feet a foot further from the desk.”
Mal was momentarily confused until Principal Vaughn stood behind him and tapped the insides of his feet. He moved them a foot apart.
“Wider, step out of your trousers.”
Vaughn glanced at the boy’s genitals. Nature had not been unkind to him. He had a decent five inch penis – reasonably thick in spite of the fact that it was totally flaccid. It had an equally substantial foreskin – not the pathetic nozzle that a lot of the students had, but a good thick snout of white flesh that a man could really get a hold of.
Mal moved his feet two and a half feet apart, then looked over his shoulder at Principal Vaughn as the man picked up a leather tawse. It was three inches wide and foot long with a split end, but what worried Mal was its thickness, almost as deep as a pencil. It was designed to hurt.
Mal reluctantly turned away.
Vaughn moved close behind Mal’s left side, rested his left hand on the small of Mal’s back to steady him.
The first hit was barely loud enough to hear.
Mal frowned surprised. What was the man’s game? Maybe he was just teeing up. But then why was he counting?
Another gentle stroke.
Perhaps the principal had chosen to be kind to him?
He felt the tawse resting on his bottom gently as Vaughn teed up the next stroke.
What was the man playing at? Was he getting off on this, or maybe he was being merciful, just going through the motions?
Mal’s penis started to thicken. He was unaware of it. The position was distracting, and with his legs wide he wasn’t as sensitive to its state as if it had been confined in his pants and trousers. There was a strange sense of tingling anticipation. Vaughn noticed it with a smile. The boy had quite the fat chubby between his legs and it was not even fully hard yet.
The boy’s cock grew thicker.
Mal became aware of his erection now. It was straining. Pointing down at 45 degrees. He could feel air on the tip of his glans. He hoped that Vaughn couldn’t see. He wanted to turn to hide it better but he feared that would only draw attention to it.
Now all Mal could think about was his straining boner. It wasn’t something he wanted Vaughn to know.
“Are you hard boy? Is that an erection I see?”
“No sir,” Mal said in spite of the obvious evidence to the contrary.
He made to stand up and cover himself but the Principal pushed him hard back onto the desk, a hand in the middle of his back as he moved to the side to get a better look.
“It is. You’re hard as a nail down there. What do you think this is; some kind of game?”
“No sir,” Mal tried to say but Vaughn cut him off, playing his role as an outraged principal well.
“You’re like a dog in heat. The second you get naked you want to fuck something! I can see that I was far too kind. I wanted to spare you, but I think I’d better start again and do it properly this time.”
He drew back his arm.
Snap! The hit rang out like a whip crack as the leather smacked against the dimpled right cheek of Mal’s buttocks. Mal stood up with a gasp, shocked at the pain, his penis bouncing.
Vaughn gave him a second then said, “Back down. Eleven more to go.”
Mal forced himself to bend again and Vaughn struck him a second time, this time on the left cheek. This time Mal managed to resist standing up, but he grimaced silently against the pain. Vaughn hit him again, just below the location of the first strike.
“He’s deliberately hitting every part of me to make it hurt more,” Mal thought. “Spiteful cunt.”
The fourth blow hit just below the second one on Mal’s left cheek, instantly turning a deep crimson. The first two impact sites were darkening to purple.
Mal was stunned by how much a spanking hurt. He was no tough guy – just a normal 17 year old student. He’d never been spanked at home, nor been in a fight, but he had enough teen self respect to try to tough it out.
Then the fifth blow landed, right between the first and third, overlapping both. The pain was unreal. Mal screwed his eyes up, and looked down at the desk. Tears ran down his nose and his mouth screwed up, but he refused to give the man the satisfaction of audible crying.
Principal Vaughn looked at the teardrops falling to the green leather desk top. He knew that Mal would cry. He’d never encountered a student he couldn’t break. He hit the boy again between the second and fourth strokes. Mal’s stomach was tensed and he was shuddering as he resisted the urge to cry audibly.
Vaughn drew his arm back and relaxed his bicep. Mal heard the tawse make an evil whistle as it swished through the air, twice as fast as the previous strokes. It managed to land across both cheeks striking both of the two most recent strokes.
He whined like a kicked dog, no longer able to man up against the pain. He snivelled pitifully, knowing he still had five more strokes to come.
Vaughn pressed down on the boy’s back now, and his arm flew down. The dual tips of the tawse flew between Mal’s thighs, clipped his right testicle, and smashed into his left, sending it bouncing away in his scrotum. The boy yelped and tried to jerk upright, but Vaughn kept him pressed forwards.
“My nuts, my nuts, you hit my nuts!” Mal howled, squirming beneath Vaughn’s weight.
“Oh sorry, did I?” Vaughn said innocently, grinning. “Stop squirming. It was just a little tap at most.”
He pressed down on the boy’s back, pressing the kid’s chest into the desk, and let loose again. The sharp crack accompanied the seventh stroke, lower than the others, starting a fresh stripe set.
Whipping a boy was a work or art. Placing each stroke perfectly. Positioning them in parallel with good overall coverage to ensure that the recipient would not be able to sit. Layering them to ensure that the welts were not too far apart.
Vaughn struck again, lower now, more on the top of the boy’s legs than on the cheeks of his bottom.
The ninth stroke landed right on the boy’s nuts again. Angled for greater contact.
“Ahh fuck, my nuts!” Mal screamed.
Vaughn allowed him to rise a foot from the desk before slamming him back down, demonstrating his total dominance.
“Will you damned well stop wriggling!” Vaughn said, feigning anger. “We’ll never be done at this rate.”
“But you hit my fucking nuts again!” Mal protested.
“Yes, and I don’t expect that sort of profanity in this office. That’ll cost you four more.”
The second Mal had agreed to be whipped rather than involving the police, he was always going to receive more than a dozen strokes. It was just a matter of how many more.
Using all his strength Vaughn struck him twice more in rapid succession as though irritated. He was using the force and tempo like a language, communicating his feigned annoyance via the boy’s bottom and legs.
The first strokes were starting to bleed now.
The skill in using the tawse was to angle your hand ever so slightly. Hitting with the leather paddle perfectly parallel to the target spread the force evenly, but by twisting the wrist ever so slightly, the edge of the thick leather hit first.
Just as a good tracker can tell the weight distribution of a walking animal and the nature of its gait by the pressure distribution, a good master of the art of spanking could recognise the subtle nuances in grip, pressure, and wrist angulation from the consistency and hotspots of an ass stripe.
Vaughn was a master. Each stroke consisted of a narrow purple ridge, below which rested a livid crimson patch as wide as the rest of the tawse. The purple ridges were oozing blood.
Some intermediate masters twisted their wrist at the start of the stroke, but Vaughn knew better. That slightly contracted the muscles of the forearm, reducing relaxation and ultimately the speed of delivery. Vaughn preferred to twist his wrist right at the end, the motion adding a flick that significantly increased the speed.
Vaughn pulled his arm back and hit with almost all his force, leaving an instant cut mark across the boy’s legs.
Mal yelped like a kicked dog, but Vaughn held the boy down with muscles developed from decades of rugby.
Mal struck the boy again. Another to the balls. The testicles were tricky, tucked in between the legs. They were a harder target. This shot was designed to hit the boy only on the right ball. When hitting the nuts, you had to adjust the stroke. You wanted the force delivered evenly so that the orbs would be bruised without the risk of slicing one and causing damage that would require hospitalisation. This shot was perfect. The last inch of the tawse wrapped around the scrotum, hitting the ball with a dull thud.
Mal jumped in shock and this time he actually did manage to squirm free. He jumped away from the Principal holding himself between the legs. He looked at the man with a shocked expression, as though the man’s “accident” was a betrayal of some sacred agreement between them.
Mal hopped around, in too much pain to know what to do.
“My nuts, my nuts!” he protested. Tears streaming down his face.
Vaughn looked on with a dispassionate expression but inside he was laughing. It entertained him tremendously to see a tough boy reduced to tears.
“Are you done?” he asked in a gravelly voice he’d stolen from Clint Eastwood.
“But sir my nuts. You keep hitting my nuts!”
Vaughn was not interested in the boy’s protest. He had studied the psychology of control for years and he enjoyed wielding it.
“Are you DONE!?” he said in a voice that brooked no opposition.
Mal looked at him pitifully, like a man walking to the hangman’s noose. He was trembling. He gave the tiniest of nods knowing that he was going to receive no sympathy, nor any quarter from this man. He huffed through his nose, a pitiful whimper that momentarily puffed his cheeks.
Vaughn indicated the desk, and Mal timidly approached again using the smallest of baby-steps. He leaned over the desk, and Vaughn held him down again.
The tawse whooshed through the air. That stroke alone would guarantee that Mal could not sit for two weeks. Another whoosh. Now even if Mal reclined with his knees up to shift his weight he would not be able to sit comfortably.
Thud. The right testicle. This time the Principle was ready. As Mal squirmed, he slid his hand up the boy’s back, holding him by the neck, grinding the side of the boy’s face into the desk, giving the boy less leverage to escape. It also gave Vaughn reason to adjust his stroke. The tawse swished with sonic boom speed between the cheeks of the boy’s bottom, curling back between the rebellious teenager’s legs and hitting the punk square on both nuts. The two orbs jumped, slapping against the base of his cock, before falling back into place.
Mal screamed as though they had been torn off, and it would have been less painful for him if they had been.
He squirmed and wriggled as though his life depended upon it, whining and groaning like a dying animal.
In between the boy’s plaintive cries, Vaughn heard the sound he was looking for. The splashing of liquid on the wooden floorboards as Mal lost control of his bladder and urine tumbled, unbidden from his bladder. The ultimate in humiliation.
“My nuts, my nuts, my nuts!” Mal screamed in between pained breaths.
“I hit them again?” Vaughn asked.
“Yeees, you diiid,” Mal replied, wailing now like a small child.
Vaughn took his hand off the boy’s neck.
“Oh I’m sorry,” Vaughn said, feigning genuine concern. “Come here.”
Mal turned, his mind infantilised and made irrational by the pain. His expression was desolate, tears streaming unabashedly down his cheeks, all traces of rebellion evacuated by the man’s absolute dominance over him.
Vaughn sat in a chair, and opened his arms to welcome the boy, and Mal, like a chimp that has provoked a violent response from the dominant male, shuffled ingratiatingly forwards to receive Principal Vaughn’s forgiveness and comfort.
Vaughn encircled the boy in his arms.
“There there, it’s all over now,” he cooed.
Mal’s hands were cupping his balls, which were too pained to actually touch. He rested his head on the Principal’s shoulder, crying pitifully.
“I’m sorry sir, I’m so sorry. I won’t ever do it again,” he said through snivelling tears, his tone taking on the hoarse, broken pitch of a voice just breaking with puberty.
“I know you are,” the man said, hugging the boy.
He dropped his right hand to the boy’s bottom, cupping the boy’s cheeks. It was the beautiful roundness of these cheeks, hardened and shaped by years of football that had first attracted Vaughn to the boy.
He ran his fingers lightly over the welts, and Mal winced as the man’s fingertips touched the scourged and abraded skin.
“I think the skin is broken,” Vaughn said redundantly. “We’ll have to get some liniment on that to sooth it.”
Mal sniffled pathetically, reduced to communicating his misery with nothing but wounded puppy whimpers.
“Are you balls still hurting?” Vaughn asked, knowing that they would be sore for weeks.
Mal didn’t have words. Instead, his tearful whimpering took on a more strident tone.
“Move back and let me have a look.”
Principal Vaughn released the boy and Mal moved back a few small, tottering steps, no longer concerned about modesty or acting macho.
The boy’s penis was a shrivelled little slug now, thicker but no longer than that of a first year boy in junior high. Pain had caused it to retreat protectively into his body.
But it was his balls that particularly interested Principal Vaughn. They had reacted in the opposite way. Although they were pulled up tighter in the boy’s scrotum, they had already doubled their former size, and both were darkening. Mal had the normal tan genital colouring of a boy well on his way through puberty, but his scrotum was now a dark purple colour.
Vaughn reached down and cupped them in his palm.
“Oh dear, I do seem to have missed my mark somewhat,” he said.
He lightly palpated the left testicle and Mal flinched with a sharp intake of breath, bending instinctively at the waist in an effort to protect his testicle. Vaughn continued squeezing the nut, as though examining it, and Mal writhed like a child in need of the lavatory.
“Come on, it can’t be THAT bad,” Vaughn chided, knowing that the boy was likely in considerable pain. “If you’re man enough to do what you did, I’m sure that you can stand still whilst I examine you for a few moments.”
Mal straightened, his ego skilfully manipulated, and waited while the Principal continued groping him.
Principal Vaughn released the boy’s left testicle and gave his attention to the left. It was tucked higher than the right but was even more bruised. Like its twin, it was very swollen; soft and puffy with fluid. Vaughn squeezed it gently, running his fingers along its bloated length as though inspecting it carefully.
When he’d concluded his “examination” Vaughn took a testicle between the index finger and thumb of each hand and squeezed them right in the middle, thumbs resting diagonally across each egg. He gradually increased the pressure, pretending not to notice how much Mal was squirming.
The boy’s inner thighs started trembling, fluttering as an autonomic reflex to the pain. He tried to be brave, to be worthy of the macho reputation that Principal Vaughn had given him to live up to, but he couldn’t suppress his body’s reactions, nor suppress the choked sound that was coming from his mouth.
He was whining again, the volume increasing in direct proportion with the pressure. He was afraid to beg for mercy, but the pitch of his whimpers was intended to convey his dismay and his need for relief.
“Yes, they do seem to be quite bruised. I really must be more careful. Hopefully I’ll never see you in this office again. Let’s get some ointment on your bottom.”
Principal Vaughn walked to a filing cabinet covered with a faux mahogany veneer and opened the bottom drawer. He took out a first aid kit and returned to his chair.
“Hmmm, which would be the best?”
He took out a tube of antiseptic and showed it to Mal.
“Well this would be the best for hygiene, but it’ll hurt like a total sonuvabitch, if you’ll excuse my language.”
Mal took a tiny step backwards, tears running down both sides of his nose, a forlorn expression on his face. He gave the tiniest shake of his head, looking at the tube as though it was acid.
Vaughn took out a pot.
“Or I could use this. It will be much more soothing.”
Mal looked at it.
“I think this would be better don’t you?”
Mal made a small nod as he stood pathetically, waiting to see if his immediate future held pain or comfort.
“Okay, come here then,” Principal Vaughn said, unscrewing the lid off the pot.
Mal shuffled close, facing the man as though hoping to receive a hug. Vaughn grinned. This feeble dependence; the child-like need for reassurance was a sure sign that the boy’s rebellious spirit had been tamed and broken. Like a magnificent stallion, he was now ready for riding.
Vaughn put cream on his fingers and hugged the boy to him with the other hand. Reaching behind, he gently smeared the cream on the boy’s bottom for 15 seconds. In addition to the salve, it was laced with sodium pentothal. Contrary to popular fiction, the drug would not force Mal to tell the truth, but it would lower his inhibitions.
“I don’t think this is going to work. I need to see what I’m doing.”
Mal turned 180 degrees.
“No, that’s still too awkward. Come here and lay on my lap.”
Under normal circumstances the command would have set off a million alarm bells in Mal’s brain, but now all he wanted was to please the man, and to keep things safe and calm.
He turned and laid over Principal Vaughn’s parted knees, putting his hands on the floor for support.
Vaughn scooped up more cream and salved the vicious welts on the boy’s bottom and legs. At first, he just smeared it generally. He cooed sympathetically to the boy.
“Ooh they’re quite unpleasant. You’re going to be sore for a week or so I imagine.”
Mal listened, simply relieved not to be hurt any more.
“I don’t imagine you’ll be able to sit down for quite a while. Tell you what,” Vaughn offered, gently rubbing the salve onto the boy’s beautifully curved bottom, “I can give you a pass from phys ed, and give you special duties for the next week. How’d that be?”
“Yes please sir,” Mal said, his voice pitiful and squeaky.
Vaughn transferred more of the cream to his finger tips and softly started to smear it into the individual stripes.
“Alright. I’m sure I can arrange something,” he said, humble bragging his total authority at the school.
He moved his knees closer together until the boy’s genitals were touching his dark grey linen pant leg, and continued carefully salving each individual stripe.
By the time he reached the seventh raised stripe, he could feel the boy’s cock hard, pressing against his leg. It never ceased to amaze him how, even with nuts aching to high heaven, just a couple of minutes of sensual attention was enough to get a boy excited.
He continued smearing, acting as though he hadn’t notice the erection pressing against his leg.
“I don’t enjoy spanking boys,” he lied, adjusting his knee so that it would brush more firmly against the boy’s erection. “But I think that a firm spanking is preferable to getting the police involved and you possibly going to prison and ruining your entire future, don’t you agree?”
“Yes sir,” Mal said, willing to agree to anything just to keep things safe between them.
He was starting to experience the classic symptoms of Stockholm Syndrome – an undeserved closeness to his attacker in response to the appearance of kindness. The cool cream was easing the pain considerably, and he was feeling gratitude to Mr Vaughn for his “kindness”.
Vaughn continued smearing the cool cream on the raised weals that he had caused, feeling the boy’s erection brushing his knee through the thin material of his summer suit trousers. There was wetness there now and Vaughn was certain that it wasn’t the residue of the boy’s earlier loss of bladder control.
He smeared cream along the last of the purple stripes on Mal’s upper thighs.
“Stand up and I’ll put some on your testicles. That should help considerably.”
Mal stood, unaware of his erection. He looked down at himself, surprised by his jouncing penis. His stomach tightened with fear. Would this provoke more anger?
“Hmmm, you appear to be rather excited Malcolm.”
“I’m very sorry sir,” Mal said timidly. “It just happened.”
“Oh that’s alright. It’s perfectly natural,” Vaughn said with magnanimity that was in stark contrast to his earlier reaction. It was all just a game to him. A way of manipulating the boy, deconstructing Malcolm’s masculinity and ego so that the boy would be unable to resist his desires. “I know that boys your age get hard at the drop of a hat.”
Vaughn scooped a large dollop of cream from the pot in his right hand, and with his left he turned Mal so that the boy stood facing to the right in profile to him.
Wordlessly, he reached beneath Mal’s bulging scrotum. The boy hunched forwards instinctively to protect himself. Vaughn pushed the boy’s bottom to straighten him back up.
“It’s okay, I won’t hurt you,” he reassured.
Mal cautiously straightened.
Vaughn cupped the boy’s swollen nuts in his cream-covered palm, careful now not to do anything to make the boy’s erection retreat. With a touch as light as though he had a butterfly in his hand, he smeared the cream over the boy’s scrotum. He knew that it would do nothing to ease the deep bruising on Mal’s testicles, but at least the coolness would feel pleasant on the boy’s skin.
The boy’s thick foreskin was wet and shining. It was not the thin wateriness of urine, but the sticky, shiny wetness of pre-cum.
“Hmmm, that’s quite a swelling,” Vaughn said. “I think we’d better do something about that.”
He turned the boy towards him and ran his palm along the length of the boy’s cock. Mal stood unresisting, and allowed it, thinking initially that it was part of the “treatment”.
Vaughn drew his palm slowly back down the boy’s cock, drawing most of the skin with it. It made a slurping noise. The half-exposed head was smothered in pre-cum. Vaughn was delighted. You just never knew which boys would be make pre-cum or how much, but this boy was drenched in it. Horny little bastard!
The surface of Mal’s glans was shiny with a layer of natural lube that was thicker than the skin of his foreskin so you could barely tell where one ended and the other began. It was slowly dribbling down the back of the head, forming a drooling streamer.
Vaughn reached deep between the boy’s leg, ever so lightly jiggling the boy’s balls with his finger tips.
He drew his palm up the boy’s cock once more. It did not appear to have grown any longer than its five inch flaccid length, but it was probably the thickest cock that Vaughn had ever seen. It looked incongruous on such a skinny kid.
As Vaughn drew his palm towards the root of the boy’s cock a second time, he unskinned the kid’s glans fully. The skin pinged back behind its rim and the head emerged like a creature escaping a shell that was too small for it. The glans was immense, far wider than the erect shaft it topped, and deep purple, bloated with blood.
“That’s an impressive penis for a boy your age.”
Mal looked down at himself but said nothing.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen one quite so thick. I bet you get a lot of compliments?”
It was Vaughn’s way of probing into the boy’s sex life.
Mal was looking at his penis as though through Vaughn’s eyes now. He’d always been uncomfortable with its lack of length. It had never occurred to him that its girth might matter. He shrugged, unwilling to reveal that the only people who had seen it hard were his jerk off buddies at summer camp the past six years.
Vaughn took the boy’s cock in his fist now, holding it low on the shaft so that he could enjoy watching the huge, shiny glans. He started pumping slowly, and the pre-cum made as much noise as a lubed cock in a Fleshlight – the boy was dripping with it!
He continued pumping and Mal watched. The bizarre way that he had gotten into this situation had breached his mind’s usual defences, and rather than being disgusted by what was happening to him, all he felt was a mixture of curiosity and increasing arousal.
Vaughn loosened his grip so that his hand could slide freely over the skin of the boy’s penis without dragging the skin too much, then he increased the length of his stroke. His fingers slipped over the boy’s slimy glans, and to his satisfaction, Mal took a sharp intake of breath and arched his back, surprised at the sensitivity of his helmet.
Vaughn continued pumping fast and light, drawing small trembling groans from Mal’s vocal chords. He smiled, knowing that this time it was not pain that was prompting the sounds. The boy started thrusting his pelvis forwards, trying to increase the pace and the friction. Vaughn released him entirely, and the boy humped the air four or five times before he realised it wasn’t helping. Then he looked down at his Principal, wondering why the man had stopped, and never occurring to him to wonder why he had started in the first place.
Vaughn looked up at the boy’s face. He was eager; desperate to continue.
Vaughn leaned forwards. He would blow the kid for a few minutes then finish with a lightning fast jack off forcing the kid to blow his wad. He just hoped that the kid hadn’t jacked off this morning.
Vaughn extended his tongue and licked the back of that enormous glans. He could feel both hemispheres of the purple monster sliding along his tongue as he teased the boy’s fraenulum. He licked again, harder, then extended his tongue for a third stroke. His tongue touched Mal’s cock and then suddenly the kid was blasting him in the face with a fountain of hot cum. It went up his nose, in his eyes, even in his hair. The second he realised the boy was already coming, he gripped the kid’s cock and started pumping furiously, licking fast and hard as he did so to increase the power ofg the boy’s orgasm.
Mal was panting and moaning, his balls aching and in ecstasy at the same time. He came for almost thirty seconds unabated, and Principal Vaughn teased, pumped, and licked every last droplet of cum from him before Mal finally stopped air humping and squirting.
Vaughn stayed seated for a moment, immensely amused at the boy’s short fuse and massive libido. His disappointment that Mal had not lasted longer was vastly outweighed at his pleasure at the boy’s massive orgasm, and obvious lust.
Vaughn stood and walked to the filing cabinet again. He took out a roll of paper towel and thoroughly cleaned his face, and hand. He’d never had to blow his nose after a blowjob before! He returned to Mal and tenderly cleaned the boy’s cock, enjoying the feel of the kid’s hard glans.
As he wiped the puddle of pre-cum from the floor he became aware that the boy was sobbing. He looked up and the Mal’s face was contorted like a grizzling three year old. Vaughn stood and hugged the boy.
“What’s wrong?” he asked. “Are you in pain?”
The boy buried his head against Vaughn’s neck, his still hard cock pressing against his Principal’s leg.
“Yes. I mean no. I mean yes. But that’s not it.”
Vaughn hugged the boy, cradling his head now.
“Well what’s the problem then Malcolm?”
“It’s just that… It’s just… Well, that felt really good.”
“What’s wrong with that?”
“It means that I’m a faggot.”
“No it doesn’t. It just means that you enjoy being jacked off. Haven’t you ever done that with a friend?”
Mal didn’t answer, but his silence spoke volumes.
“Even if you are gay, it’s no crime.”
Vaughn was starting to feel ambivalent, sleazy. That was a first. This was supposed to be about what HE wanted. And now he was comforting this kid?! That wasn’t part of the plan.
“Everyone hates fags,” Mal said.
“No they don’t. It’s just at school, where everyone wants to seem macho. Dozens of boys at this school are gay. We catch them in the showers or around the grounds all the time. It’s perfectly natural.”
“You do?” Mal asked, reaching for the lifeline.
“Of course we do.”
‘What the fuck am I doing?!’ Vaughn screamed at himself. ‘I’m supposed to be using this kid not feeling sorry for him!’
But he couldn’t help himself.
“I have to say, you’re the horniest boy I’ve ever encountered. You’re a very lucky young man.”
Mal looked at him like a puppy dog eager for its master’s approval.
“Get dressed, and I’ll sort out what you’re doing for the rest of the afternoon.”
Mal picked up his pants and pulled them up gingerly.
“You’ll have to throw those away. Be sure not to let anyone see them or you’ll be in trouble.”
Mal nodded and pulled on his trousers equally cautiously, then put on his shoes.
Vaughn couldn’t resist one last comment.
“So you enjoyed it then?”
“Not the hitting. The other thing.”
Mal couldn’t say the words.
“Was that the first time?”
Vaughn “Well, well my door is open any time you want to enjoy it again. It gets even better…”