“Good, boy. Get over my knee,” he said, patting the bed covers that lay across his lap. I did as I was told, clambering across and waiting nervously for him to begin. My bottom quivered as he held the cool brush against my right cheek.
“Ten strokes, which you will count and thank me for. If you miscount, we will start again so pay attention. Are you ready?” he said.
“Yes, Sir,” I said, although not sure how it would feel.
WHACK! He brought he brush down hard in the centre of my right cheek, causing me to squirm and moan.
“One, thank you Sir,” I managed.
“Quicker next time,” he said before bringing the hairbrush down hard again.
“Two, thank you, Sir,” I replied.
Part One
The City Guild University was founded in 1908 and had been providing higher education for boys 18-23 ever since. One of the few private universities in the UK, located in central London, it only admitted some of the most intelligent young men in the country. It was different to other institutions in many ways, from the style of delivery of teaching through to the structure and discipline it provided. It’s appeal, less so for the boys and more so for parents and guardians, was the firmness it provided.
The university was single sex, with a view that young women would prove an unnecessary distraction when seeking academic attainment. The boys were accommodated within the university for the entirety of their degree and were given special privileges according to their year of study, academic performance and behaviour.
First and second year boys were placed in twin bedrooms, with four bedrooms making up each hall. They would be allocated their room at the start of the first year, and providing there were no issues, would remain sharing the same room until their third year. In their third year they were given a private room, in a block of six, to allow them to focus on their final exams.
It was a view shared by the founders, and passed down the generations of Chancellor’s that uniform would be mandatory through university life. The uniform would be standardised for all three years of study, and would mark each boy as equal amongst their peers. The uniform, not too dissimilar to one worn at Grammar Schools, would consist of the following: a black jumper, a long-sleeved white shirt, a blue and silver striped tie, black trousers, white briefs, black shoes and socks. The uniform would remain the same all-year round, with the boys given the option of removing the jumper in the third term if the weather was too hot.
The stipulation of what underwear a boy was permitted was frequently a topic of discussion, with some feeling it was childish. The view of the University senior leaders was that men wore boxer shorts, and these boys would not be considered men until after graduation. Therefore, white briefs would be the most appropriate for their time of study. Unsurprisingly, the stance of the university when it came to discipline set it apart from many others. It had a long-standing tradition that boys whose academic performance is below par or who’s general behaviour is poor, would be disciplined in the same manner. This meant corporal punishment, which was always applied to a boy’s bare bottom. As they were eighteen, they were legally adults and therefore would consent to following the rules of the university.
The discipline was firm but fair, with discipline often beginning with the hand before moving onto more effective implements like the slipper, tawse and cane. There were two levels of cane, the junior and senior, and the use of which would be determined by the boy’s year of study and offence. Boys in the first year were given the junior cane, unless the offence was determined serious enough for the senior cane. Boys in their second and third year received the senior cane regardless of nature of offence.
It was fair to say most boys hated this method of discipline, although over the years there were patterns of behaviours from lads that suggested they rather enjoyed the thrill of it. There were also rumours, never proven and naturally denied by the university, that boys would sometimes thank their spanker for the discipline received. The suggestion was that following the slippering or caning, a boy would kneel and orally pleasure the Master who spanked him.
In a university with boys aged 18-23, it seemed highly likely that there was a level of homosexuality that went on. The boys were together almost twenty-four-seven and naturally would develop affection for one another. Sex wasn’t banned at the school, but was strictly to be kept private, and if any boy was to be caught in any compromising position, they would likely feel the cane on their bare arse.
Places at the university were highly sought after, particularly amongst the upper classes as it demanded wealth to accept higher than average fees. A year’s study would typically cost in the region of £60k, with this figure including tuition, accommodation and all meals. This figure had grown with inflation and was one of the highest even amongst the private institutions.
I was very academically bright, but with almost no common sense which had been my undoing throughout my teenage years. I had lost both my parents in a freak boating accident when I was very young and had been placed in the care of my grandparents. They were kind but stern and had little time for my teenage nonsense. They were wealthy, and my grandfather’s connections were enough to see me interviewed at the university to study there. To my surprise I passed the interview and entrance exam and have arrived at the university to start my first term.
Edward Harwood, room 443.
I found my name and room number on the noticeboard at the grand old entrance to the university building. The university was tucked away in the Buckinghamshire countryside, close enough to the capital to attract the students it wanted without the buzz of the big city being a distraction. It was a mix of old and modern buildings, with some of the highest-level technology in existence.
I was sharing a room with a guy named Scott Williams, who was already unpacking when I arrived. He was stocky, with thick arms and legs, and I wasn’t surprised to learn he was a rugby player. He shook my hand firmly, leaving my hand a little red afterwards, and pointed out my bed in front of me. He had taken the bed nearest the window, and the desk that overlooked the university grounds. First-come, first-served, I thought begrudgingly as I began to unpack too.
Our uniforms were already hung in the wardrobe, and we had a small section for casual clothes which would be permitted at the weekend. I put away a few of my belongings before laying on the bed for a few minutes. It was Sunday evening, and we had an introductory meal with all other students before teaching started on Monday morning.
The university only offered eight courses, and they were all the traditional subjects one would think of. History, Classics, Literature and Music made up the humanity subjects, with Law, Maths, Chemistry and Physics for those more scientifically persuaded. I was studying Literature and was surprised to learn that Scott was learning Law. He explained that his father and grandfather were both barristers, so he was given very little option but to follow in their footsteps.
The university, very unlike any other institution, didn’t publish details of students who studied there, or alumni. They felt that the reputation of the university was strong enough that it’s students and graduates preferred a level of discretion. On CVs, if such thing was required as most people got jobs on their name alone, graduates would simply write CGU, and employers would know exactly what they meant.
Dinner was fine, and it was nice to chat to some of the other students who all had far more glamorous and exciting families than mine. I just listened, nodded along and would occasionally comment otherwise staying silent. Scott sat further down the table than me, but I could still make out his deep and manly voice as he told another tale from the rugby pitch. I was grateful to make it to bed that evening and was asleep within seconds.
We shared a shower block of four, with two separate bathrooms at either end of the corridor. We would be expected to shower together, and any hopes for a level of privacy within the hall were quickly dismissed. But it was still a surprise to wake up on Monday morning to see a fully naked Scott walk through the door and past the end of my bed. His thick muscly legs and firm arse the last thing I saw as I clambered out of bed myself.
Aware of the rules around punctuality, I had a quick shower and left plenty of time to arrive at my first lecture. The lectures were small with just nine of us studying Literature in our first year, so there was little chance of sitting at the back and not paying attention. They were taught in two-hour blocks with typically a lecture and seminar per day, leaving four hours for reading and personal study. You were expected to read two books a week and write an essay on one or two each fortnight so the study time should be used wisely.
The first day passed without any real issue, and I returned to my room at just before six PM to find it empty. I changed into my more casual clothes, before settling down on the bed and reading three more chapters before dinner. I ate dinner on my own, returning to the room to a distinct smell of sweaty kit. Noticing a pile of rugby kit that had not been there before, I assumed Scott had returned from training and gone to shower. Foolishly, I moved off the bed and over to wear his kit lay. I lifted his shorts up and surprisingly myself I gave them a good sniff. I found the smell of sweat arousing, and my cock stiffen in my briefs as I did. Hearing noises outside, I quickly dropped them down and jumped back on my bed.
Scott looked at me strangely on his return, towel around his waist this time, but didn’t say anything. I asked him how his day was, and we chatted normally for a few minutes before he disappeared to get food. I went for a wander round the campus that evening, exploring some of the facilities and learning where everything was. There was a state-of-the-art gym with the latest equipment, and a fifty-metre indoor pool. Returning to the room I found Scott asleep already, so ignored the urge to do anything risky and went to bed myself.
The next few days passed quite quickly, and I found myself in the flow of the university life until we reached the weekend. On Saturday I had a day in the library to get ahead on my studies, returning to the room about 6pm. Scott was dressed in his casual clothes, and said he was going down for dinner and then to chill with some rugby mates. I said I’d be down shortly, noticing another pile of kit in the corner. They had a match today against another university, so I guessed it was kit from that.
Putting my bag down on the floor, I walked across and knelt on the floor near his kit. I saw a pair of briefs, mud-splattered, and lifted them up. Opening them out, my eyes went for the crotch, and I lifted them up. Taking a long, hard, inhale, I let the material sit just beneath my nose.
“Well, you really are a dirty pant-sniffer aren’t you,” said Scott, who had returned at the doorway. I felt my body freeze in panic, taking a second or two to drop his briefs and turn. “I came back because I left my phone. Good job I did really. What were you going to sniff next?” he asked, closing the door.
“N-n-nothing,” I stammered, and attempting to stand back up. With four determined strides he was stood over me, and with a firm push I was back on my knees in front of him.
“This isn’t the first time you’ve sniffed my dirty pants, is it, boy?” he asked, looking down at me.
“No,” I said quietly, after a pause.
“Speak up,” he snapped.
“No,” I said more loudly this time.
“Does it turn you on, smelling a real man’s underwear?” he continued, taking my face and pushing it against his thigh.
“Ye-yeah,” I replied, truthfully.
“Show me,”
“What?”
“Take down your fucking pants and show me,” he replied, loudly, releasing his grip of my face.
Awkwardly, I fumbled with my belt and jeans but managed to slip them down to my knees. I could see my cock already tenting in my underwear, but I knew from a raised eyebrow from Scott they would have to come down too. I managed it and was kneeling in my room, my jeans and briefs around my knees and my stiff cock on display. Without warning, he unfastened his own jeans, sliding them down and revealing a pair of black CK boxers.
“Take a deep sniff of these,” he said, taking my head and holding it against his crotch, so my face was just inches away from his cock. His bulge was significantly bigger than mine, and although I hadn’t caught a proper look, I could guess his cock was much larger too. I did as I was told, inhaling his scent as I did, and my little dick responding positively.
“Like the smell, boy?”
“Yeah,” I admitted, weakly.
“Good boy. Stand up,” he instructed, and I awkwardly clambered to my feet. I went to pull up my underwear only to have my hand slapped away. Taking me by the ear, he led me across the room to the wall near to his bed. He pushed me up against the wall, so I was standing upright with my back against it. He lent down and moved my pants and jeans down to my ankles.
“Are these your books?” he said, pointing to a pile stacked on my bedside table.
“Yes,” I replied.
“When I ask you a question you reply ‘Yes, Sir,’. So, let’s try again. Are these your books?” he said, moving across to them.
“Yes, Sir,” I said, feeling my face flush with shame.
“Stick your arms out, palms facing up,” he said, and I did as I was told. He placed the books on my hands and instantly I could feel the weight dragging my arms down. He then bent over, picked up a pair of his socks and balled them in his hand. “Open wide,” he said, and as I did, he pushed the socks inside. Taking his worn underpants, he placed them carefully over my head, so that the crotch was in front of my mouth and nose.
“I’m going for dinner. Don’t move an inch and we’ll continue our little chat when I’m back. Remember, I’m always watching,” he added, before chuckling to himself and leaving the room.
Well, I knew at that moment things were going to change between us. How could I be so naïve and stupid as to do this in my first couple of weeks. Keep your dirty habits and obsessions to yourself, I thought ruefully, as my arms began to ache with the weight of the books. The time passed so slowly, but finally after what felt like hours, I sensed the door open again.
“Achy?” he asked, removing the books from my arms and putting them on the floor.
“Yes, Sir,” I said, through a mouthful of sock.
“Not surprised with those weedy little arms. Need to get you down the gym, boy,” he replied, giving them a squeeze. “But at least you got a good sniff,” he added, removing the pants from on top of my head. “Open,” he added, removing the socks and tossing them to one side.
He moved across to his bed, and sat on the edge, telling me to kneel between his legs. Knowing all the power lay in his hands, I did as I was told.
“So, I’ve been thinking, and it seems quite an advantage to share a room with a dirty pant sniffer like you. I was used to having someone to clean up after me at home, and now I’m here I have you. From now on, you will keep this room clean and tidy, and you will do all my washing and cleaning. I expected all my clothes to be clean, ironed and put away. You will treat me like a King in this room, and in return you will get to sniff my pants. Is that what you want?”
“Yes, Sir,” I replied, pathetically.
“Good boy. But I have high standards, and if you don’t meet them then you will be punished. No slipper or cane in here, but I have a very handy wooden hairbrush that will turn your pathetic arse black and blue. If you’re a very naughty boy, then you will feel my belt too. Is that clear?”
“Yes, Sir,” I repeated.
“Good, feels like we are getting somewhere. One of the boys has sneaked some beers in so we’re going for a few in his room. My dirty laundry is in the corner, so you can get on with that and give my shoes a good polish. I expect them to be shinier than the moon when I get back,” he continued, before reaching into the top drawer of his bedside table. “If they’re not, you will feel this,” he said, taking a thick wooden hairbrush out and tapping it menacingly against his palm. “Understood?” he said, and I nodded. With that he stood up, placing the brush away and heading for the bedroom door.
“Oh, and from now on when you’re in this room, you will be naked. See no reason why a dirty little pant sniffer like you deserves any clothes. See you later!” he said, from the doorway, before closing the door behind him.
Resigned to my fate, I quickly got to work in standing on his laundry. Gathering all his dirty clothes together, separating his colours and whites, I took them down to the laundry room on the ground floor. Like any laundrette you would visit, they are split into washing machines and tumble dryers. Loading his clothes into two separate machines and set them off. The washing machines were quick, and within an hour all the clothes were clean. Splitting them between hang-dry and tumble-dry, I was piling his kit into a dryer when a voice caught me unawares.
“Didn’t know you played rugby?” said Alan, a lad who was also in my class.
“Oh, I don’t. They’re my roommates,” I replied, instantly thinking I should have lied.
“You’re doing his washing?” asked Alan, smirking slightly.
“Yeah. He was out and I said I didn’t mind. Nice to be helpful,” I said, realising how strange I must have sounded.
“Is he paying you?”
“No not paying,” I reply.
“That’s a bit weird, mate,” said Alan, giving me a strange look before taking his clean clothes and leaving.
When the tumble-dryer had finished, I gathered up the clothes and took them back to the room. I stripped off my clothes and began to sort his laundry whilst completely naked. It felt kind of free to me naked in the room, and I forgot about it in a few minutes as I focussed on the task in hand. When I’d sorted his clothes, I took out his shoes and grabbed my polish.
I spent a good thirty minutes polishing each pair of his shoes, and by the time I had finished they were gleaming. I gave mine a quick onceover too and then spent the rest of my time tidying. I left his shoes next to his bed, so he could see my work, before I ironed several of his shirts that were dry and hung them neatly in his wardrobe. Just as I finished up, I heard the door open and him return.
“Here he is, the pant sniffer,” he said, sounding a little pissed, closing the door with a. bang behind him.
“I’ve done everything you asked, Sir,” I said, like I was trying to impress him.
“Good boy. What the fuck are these doing here,” he said, walking round and seeing his shoes by his bed.
“Just thought I’d show you, Sir,” I said.
“Put them away,” he said, waving his hand dismissively at me. A little annoyed he wasn’t impressed, I put them away.
He stripped down to his boxers, before climbing into bed and turning his light off. I was about to do the same when I felt something land on my duvet. I reached down and felt his boxers in my hand.
“Goodnight sniffer,” he said with a laugh, before turning and facing away from me.
“Night, Sir,” I said, taking the boxers and laying them on the pillow next to me. A few seconds passed before I pulled them into my face and inhaled deeply, flooded with the scent of a real man.
I woke before him the following day and could hear him snoring softly. His pants were pressed against my cheek as I woke, and I tossed them off almost annoyed. Today was going to be different, and yesterday was a one off, I thought positively as I clambered out of bed to make myself a coffee. Dressing in a pair of pyjamas, I headed into the kitchen and boiled the kettle. Despite my show of defiance, I still made him a coffee with one sugar and returned to our room with both mugs. Placing mine on the side, I walked as quietly as I could round to his bed and placed the mug down on the side. He opened his eyes as I approached, and a funny look formed across his face.
“Why aren’t you naked?” he said, still half asleep.
“I had to go to the kitchen for the coffee,” I explained.
“What was my rule and don’t forget your manners,” he said, sitting up slightly in the bed.
“I must be naked in the room, Sir,” I said.
“What happens if you break the rules?” he asked.
“I get the hairbrush, Sir,” I replied, and he nodded.
“Take your clothes and off and get the brush. Then you can beg me to tan your little arse,” he said, sitting up properly in the bed, placing the pillows behind his head.
Any moment of defiance that I had felt a short time ago had evaporated, and almost no hesitation I slipped my clothes off and took the hairbrush from his drawer.“Please Sir, can you spank me with the brush for breaking the rules,” I said, holding the brush out in front of me.
“Good, boy. Get over my knee,” he said, patting the bed covers that lay across his lap. I did as I was told, clambering across and waiting nervously for him to begin. My bottom quivered as he held the cool brush against my right cheek.
“Ten strokes, which you will count and thank me for. If you miscount, we will start again so pay attention. Are you ready?” he said.
“Yes, Sir,” I said, although not sure how it would feel.
WHACK! He brought he brush down hard in the centre of my right cheek, causing me to squirm and moan.
“One, thank you Sir,” I managed.
“Quicker next time,” he said before bringing the hairbrush down hard again.
“Two, thank you, Sir,” I replied.
The next four strokes came and went, with remembering to count and thank just in time. He paused after the sixth stroke, rubbing and squeezing my upturned cheeks.
“The next four will be harder so get ready,” he said, before lifting the brush and bringing it down hard on the upper thigh of my left leg. I squealed in pain and felt a tear form in my eye.
“S-s-s-seven, thank you, Sir,” I managed to squeak out.
The brush came down again, mirroring the seventh stroke but on my right leg. The reaction was the same and I felt a searing pain run through me.
The final two strokes were slightly higher-up, in the middle of each cheek and delivered with an almighty whack. I held it together enough to murmur each count and to my relief I heard the bedside table drawer opening and the brush going away. He rubbed my cheeks a little before slapping the back of my thigh and telling me to stand back up.
“Stand against over there and put your nose against the wall, hands on your head. Don’t even think about rubbing your arse whilst I enjoy my coffee in peace,” he ordered, snapping his fingers and pointing to the same spot of wall I had stood with the books yesterday evening. I did as I was told, taking up position, the burn from my bottom unrelenting.
I had many thoughts about this place, when I had read the rules online, and I had been dreading any discipline that may had been handed to me. However, in all my expectations before arriving here, I never once considered that it would be my roommate who’d deliver my first spanking. As I stood against the wall, my red bottom on display, I knew deep down this was just the start.
