In Disgrace

by Mike Ward

I get home from school at 4.30. Dad is waiting for me as I knew he would be. We have an appointment. I try to act normally, trying not to show my nervousness. But I know that my greeting to him is so extremely polite that my anxiety must be obvious. I go straight up to my room and remove my trousers, socks, and boxers. My stomach is in knots and it feels as if my heart is beating so fast that it must surely burst. I find a pair of white y-fronts and pull them on. In another drawer I find my grey short trousers. I hesitate for a moment, wondering what it would be like if I dared to go downstairs wearing longs.

But there's no point in tempting fate. I'm going to get the rod as it is, and as always I have to be dressed in these short trousers when I am being punished. I remember the embarrassment of having to wear them at primary school when I was the one of only three boys in my year-group who wore shorts all year round. Dad has bought me a new pair of very traditional grey school shorts every summer since then. When I am due to be punished I have to change into these as a sign of my disgrace. I will have to drop them along with my underpants when I bend over for the rod. Then, after about an hour of corner-time, I will pull them back up and then I have to wear them for the rest of the day regardless of who might call and see me.

My two best friends at school know that this is how I get punished and even though they tease me about it from time to time they have been very good about keeping my embarrassing secret to themselves. I cannot imagine just how awful it would be if word got round at school that I still get caned and put back into short trousers at my age. I step into the shorts and pull them on over my y-fronts. And it happens again. As soon as I feel that cool cotton lining brush against my thighs my dick springs to attention. I will have this hard-on until Dad brings the rod down on my bared bottom for the first stroke. I don't understand why I always get an erection when I get dressed in my punishment shorts, but the pain of the punishment itself is always sure to cure my arousal.

I find a pair of grey kneesocks hidden among my normal school socks. These have two dark-green stripes on the tops so they match in well with my ordinary school uniform. I check my appearance in the mirror and cringe with the embarrassment of it all. I am eighteen years old, nearly six feet tall, starting my A Level exams in less than a fortnight and yet I still have to dress like a prep-school kid whenever Dad thinks that I need to be disciplined. There seems to be an awful lot of bare leg exposed between the hem of my shorts and the tops of my socks. Frequently, when I am dressed like this, I will get a sharp smack across the back of my legs from a parental hand just to remind me that I am subject to their authority until I leave home and am no longer dependent on them for money.

The worst of it is that I want to study medicine and Dad has insisted that my first-choice university must be our local one so it looks as if I will be at home for the next six or seven years at least. Actually right now that might not be the worst of it. There is of course the fact that I will be suffering a lot of pain in only a few minutes time. But on the other hand there is also the fact that Philip, one of my best-friends, is coming around later so that we can help each other with revision. He's seen me dressed like this lots of times before. Unfortunately for me corporal punishment is my Dad's method of choice for dealing with my failings or lapses, so hardly a week goes by without me spending some time in my school shorts. I take a deep breath. I better not keep Dad waiting for much longer.

The cane is as terrible and painful as it always is. I don't bother trying to pretend that it isn't hurting. Later on, after I have served my sentence in the corner, Dad watches as I tuck my shirt into my shorts. He remarks that the shorts are getting a bit tight on me but that I needn't worry; he has found an online school uniform shop that sells traditional grey short trousers in all sizes up to a 36" waist. His meaning is clear, I can expect to be punished in this way for quite some time to come and it's actually that thought rather than the caning I have suffered that has me in tears in my bedroom when Philip arrives and comes up to join me at my desk.

I tell him that my Dad has ordered a new pair of shorts for me and that it looks like I'm going to have to live under this regime of strict discipline even when I'm at university. Philip tells me not to worry. His hand is gently massaging the inside of my bare thigh. He kisses my ear and whispers, "You know that I think you look drop-dead gorgeous in your little short trousers". My dick has springs back to attention again as I lean forward and we kiss. I can't imagine what Dad would do to me if he knew why my best friends are always so keen to come round and study with me on the days when I am due a punishment caning.

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