A Common Thief

It was Friday and Tom was happy. He had just ended his first weeks work in a property surveyors office in his local town and it was great. Tom was good looking, tall, blonde, blue eyed, slim and girls and boys thought him drop dead gorgeous. Passing by the book shop, five minutes from home he saw ‘Lady Chatterlys Lover” was on sale and he went in to get a copy. He realised he had spent his last money earlier paying into the office tea kitty but he picked it up anyway and turned to the, in the 60’s remember, the horny sections.

He was getting very hard and felt a trickle down his left leg and there was wet patch by his zip. He had to have the book so casually, with the air of a regular thief he slid it in his jacket pocket and walked out. He was trembling as he got onto the street. He was a thief. About to be a Queens Scout the next day and a regular church goer. No more than a common thief. He was scared and about to go back in the shop and confess everything when Mr Brown the owner took him by the shoulder and told him to follow him into his office at the back of the shop. Tom’s entire world crashed all around him for the sake of a thrill he could paid for the next morning. He shat in his pants.

Mr Brown allowed him to follow him to the office. He left Tom standing and Tom stood on the other side of his desk. He was wetting himself. There was no point at all trying to stop. It might not have been the first time he had pooped and wet himself but he was terrified, humble and humiliated. The poo was heavy in his white Jockeys. He slipped his fingers in the top of his trouser waistband and pulled his briefs tightly up against his bum. He was horny because of his loaded pants and he knew Mr Brown was looking at his erection he could do nothing about.

Mr Brown took his phone number and spoke with his father. They were good friends and Tom listened in terror as his Dad was told the story, the whole sorry story. Mr Brown told him to go home and that he ought to use the back roads. He could keep the stolen book to remind himself of the day he let himself down.

Dad was ready and waiting for him. He was clutching an old plastic springy fish slice. Tom followed him to the garage where there was a chair placed in the centre of the floor. Dad dropped his own trousers and sat down, told Tom to remove his trousers and lay across his lap. No more was said and did did as he was told. Dad rubbed his hand over his sons bum and bulge and thought what a stupid twat he was. then he started swiping his sons bottom with some relish. It was not sexual but simply justice being delivered in a way no magistrate ever could have. Tom knew this as well. The beating went on a while and Dad became wet from his son pissing again.

When Tom stood he was beyond weeping. He was in real pain. Dad sent him to the garden shower room and bought him clean shirt, pants and shorts. All dad said was, “this never happened. I know. Mr Brown knows and you know. Never ever talk about it again. Now get on with living .”

As his Dad walked out Tom realised his Dad was in tears.

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