The Pin-Up Boy
by Jolyon Lewes


“Take off your blazer, boy, and lean over my desk!”

The burly, grim-faced schoolmaster swished his cane in a menacing fashion and the poor boy, now minus his blazer, leaned slowly over the desk, gripping its far edge with his fingers and letting his chin rest on its smooth, wooden surface, his worried little face glumly regarding the rows of boys seated before him at their desks. These boys, in short trousers of light-grey flannel and looking about thirteen years old, were sitting bolt-upright and wearing an expression of grave concern for their hapless classmate. All the boys had their arms neatly folded but for one, whose right hand was on his desk while the left was reaching below the desk, as if seeking his groin.

The eyes of the boy to be caned were moist, even though the cane hadn’t yet commenced its duties. A single tear fell to land on the desk and sparkle briefly in the bright light bathing the scene of punishment. The schoolmaster stopped swishing his cane and with his free hand he tugged hard at his victim’s waistband, making the boy gasp as his shorts were wrenched firmly into his crotch. This action emphasised the contours of the boy’s pert little bottom but this pleasing prospect was available only to the schoolmaster, as the boy’s bottom was facing away from the seated boys.

“Right, keep still, Brokenshire!” said the schoolmaster.

As the cane made loud contact with its grey flannel target the watching boys saw Brokenshire jerk forwards and crease his features into a grimace of pain. He was allowed to regain his position over the desk and now his fingers were gripping the edge of the desk very tightly. As he unscrewed his eyes, more tears fell onto the desk.

The schoolmaster inspected his cane then loosened his tie and took some deep breaths. He dealt the second stroke and this time Brokenshire let out a little squeak and grimaced more vigorously than before as the force of the cane shunted him forward. He sniffed loudly and moved himself back to the required position, preparing himself in dread for the next stroke. The schoolmaster took out a red spotted handkerchief and made a fuss of wiping his florid brow while poor Brokenshire, tears now pouring down his pretty face, awaited the next impact on his stinging bottom. He blinked a few times then fixed his gaze on one of the watching boys – a slim, dark-haired beauty – as if seeking strength to cope with his ordeal.

The dark-haired boy did not meet Brokenshire’s gaze because he had his eyes closed in ecstasy. He was the boy whose left hand was jerking away at his crotch. The schoolmaster didn’t see this for he was preparing for his third stroke. The dark-haired boy didn’t see the schoolmaster take three quick steps forward to deliver the stroke but he heard them and he heard the crack of the cane hitting its target. After a momentary pause the boy heard Brokenshire make a strangled gasp followed by a heartfelt cry of anguish.

“Oh, please sir, please sir, I can’t take any more!” cried Brokenshire, in a tremulous, treble voice.

Then a man’s voice yelled “CUT!”

Looking annoyed, the schoolmaster put down his cane and turned to face the director, who was bustling in from the side of the classroom, or studio – for the classroom was a stage set and all the boys were actors, as was the schoolmaster.

“What the hell’s wrong, Roy?” said the schoolmaster. “I was working up quite a lather!”

Brokenshire had rapidly collected himself and was standing up, easing his shorts a little lower to relieve his aching groin. The shorts were sensationally short.

Turning to Brokenshire, the director spoke. “First thing, Cosmo, love, you reacted far too late to the third stroke. Why was that, darling?”

“Cos Dean was putting me off.”

“Yes, and that’s the second problem,” said the director, turning to the dark-haired boy. “Stand up please, Dean, hands by your side.”

Dean rose uncomfortably to his feet, holding his hands in front of his shorts, which at mid-thigh length were much longer than Brokenshire’s.

“Hands by your side!” snapped the director.

Dean’s face went bright red as he moved his hands to reveal the dark patch on the front of his light grey shorts.

“Look, we all know Cosmo’’s a real sweetie but I can’t have you tossing yourself off whenever he gets flogged! I want all you boys to sit up straight, arms folded, looking sorry for Cosmo but not making a bloody mess in your shorts! Wardrobe!”

A fierce-looking woman called Medusa appeared and to gleeful sniggering from the other boys, led a thoroughly embarrassed Dean away for some clean shorts. A young girl with a clipboard came and supervised the schoolmaster as he re-knotted his tie and then attended to Cosmo Brokenshire, checking his shorts were in the correct position, helping him on with his blazer and tidying his hair. A pimply youth came and swabbed Cosmo’s face and patted it with a powder puff before squirting some essence of raw, cut onion on the desk to induce tears from Cosmo on the next take.

A still-blushing Dean returned to take his seat and all was ready for the next take. After nods from the sound engineers, the lighting man, the man with the rostrum camera and the man with the steady-cam the lad with the clapper board yelled “Scene nine, take four!”


Meet the Brokenshires was a sitcom on British TV in the early nineties. It purported to depict the life of a middle-class English family in the late sixties, the era of The Beatles, mini-skirts and big hair. Mr and Mrs Brokenshire had a son of thirteen. Cosmo Grant played the son, conveniently called Cosmo. Like the other boys, he’d been recruited not from stage school but from auditions at ordinary schools in London. The producer didn’t want a young actor, he wanted a boy to look decorative and to be spoken about by the adults but not often spoken to. Cosmo therefore had few lines to learn, apart from ‘Yes, Mummy,’ or ‘Thank you, Daddy.’

Cosmo was fourteen when picked for the role but looked only twelve, so the producer was content he’d still look young enough for the role if and when the second series was filmed the following year. Cosmo’s voice hadn’t broken but just in case, he was recorded saying a bundle of stock lines that could be dubbed onto later episodes should nature take its course earlier than convenient. The producer’s idea of what thirteen-year-old boys wore in the sixties was a little naive, for he insisted Cosmo be dressed as a Wolf Cub for every episode. He didn’t seem to realise that Wolf Cubs, however keen, didn’t wear Cubs uniform every day of the week, nor did he realise that at eleven, Wolf Cubs usually became Scouts and adopted a different uniform.

The director, on the other hand, knew you became a Scout at eleven but was happy for Cosmo to be dressed as a Wolf Cub, in green jersey and vanishingly short grey shorts because from every angle he looked impossibly cute. Yes, the director was a boy enthusiast. Cosmo’s little bottom in those tight shorts was a pleasure to behold – and to film. As for Cosmo, he was so thrilled to have the part he didn’t mind dressing as a Wolf Cub for a few hours in a film studio during the school summer holidays for some very useful pocket money, even though the grey shorts exposed vastly more thigh than did any shorts he wore in real life.

By the end of Series One Meet the Brokenshires had attracted an enthusiastic following, particularly among men of a certain disposition who enjoyed the sight of Cosmo trotting about in his little shorts. In the real world, boys in such short shorts had become sights of depressing rarity.

In December, Cosmo and his stage family were the principal guests at the official switching-on of the Christmas lights in Kingston-upon-Thames, the town where the series was set. Now fifteen and making his first public appearance in the flesh as Cosmo Brokenshire, he was decidedly nervous. Squeezed into his Cubs uniform he felt horribly conspicuous as he signed autographs for the fans young and old who pressed against him. He felt small fingers exploring his bare thighs and trying to probe inside his tiny little shorts. Teenagers were giggling. How he longed for the safety of the film studios!

Feedback to Series One made it clear to the producer that if Cosmo were thirteen he ought to be a Scout, not a Cub and many viewers wanted to see him in school and even getting the cane. Keen to please the fans and anxious to ensure good ratings for Series Two, the producer gave instructions to the director and scriptwriter. Thus, the new series began with Cosmo attending a boys’ school where caning was a regular feature of the curriculum, as had been the case in the 1960s. Luckily, Cosmo’s voice hadn’t yet fully broken so he was able to chirp his lines without having them dubbed. Not that his lines were exactly poetic – mostly he just had to squeal and yelp when he was caned.

The plot didn’t make it clear why, of all the boys in the class, it was only ever Cosmo who was caned but audience response suggested the plot was barely relevant, so long as he was caned at least once in every episode. Of course, Cosmo wasn’t really caned. The moustachioed schoolmaster struck his cane on a dummy bottom – a beach ball covered with grey flannel. It was firmly anchored just to the right of Cosmo, who leant over the desk and was expected to react realistically to each stroke of the cane.

This is where we began this story. Naturally, Cosmo found it quite good fun; it was money for old rope. He had to produce tears, of course and if he got used to the raw onion, there was a menthol stick which Cliff, the pimply youth in charge of make-up, would apply just below Cosmo’s eyes and that worked every time.

Cosmo objected to two things, the first being why his shorts had to be so much shorter than those worn by all the other boys.

“Because I say so, sweetheart,” said Roy the director. “And we pay you more than the other boys.”

Cosmo’s second objection concerned the sultry Dean getting so obviously turned on by the caning scenes, especially when, as we’ve already seen, he ended up shooting his load into his grey shorts. The director said Dean’s reaction was a genuine compliment to Cosmo’s superb acting skills.

By the end of Series Two, Cosmo had become a key member of the cast. Scripts were adapted to give him more lines and a bigger role in the story. Instead of the Cubs uniform he now wore a khaki Scouts uniform and if he wasn’t dressed as a Scout he was in his school uniform of blazer and grey short trousers. The director’s insistence that Cosmo wear shorter shorts than the other boys was because he knew tens of thousands of fans would be aroused by the sight of Cosmo’s bare thighs and to that end, he instructed that Cosmo’s Scouts shorts be shorter still.


Series Two finished its six-part airing on national TV in December 1992. The film company hadn’t expected the surge of interest in their show nor the public demand for the cast of Meet the Brokenshires so, as well as the turning-on of the Christmas lights in Kingston, Mr and Mrs Brokenshire and their son were booked to appear at shopping malls, bookshops and even garden centres across Greater London, to promote the videos of the show.

Dean, who by now had his own considerable fan base, was invited along to keep Cosmo company. This thrilled Dean as he’d have a rare chance to get close to Cosmo, on whom he’d had a crush ever since Series Two had begun filming.

“It’s gonna be dead cool!” he said in the car on the way to the first venue. “Just think of the adoring fans!”

“Yeah and just think of having to stand for hours in front of hundreds of staring people and with our bare legs freezing,” said Cosmo sullenly. “There’s no way we can get out of wearing this stupid school uniform.”

“It’s the price of fame, sweetie!” said Dean, mimicking the camp speaking style of the director. “All those people lusting after you …”

“I hate the thought of people lusting after me. They ought to be lusting after you instead, what with your film star looks and everything.”

Dean blushed and looked at the floor. Was that a big compliment Cosmo had just paid him? Dean decided to test the water.

“I thought you’d find it dead cool if girls fancied you.”

“No!” said Cosmo. “I don’t want crowds of bloody girls fancying me!”

Dean smiled. “So you don’t mind boys fancying you, then?”

Cosmo gave no answer. Dean’s smile broadened. He was, if you haven’t already guessed, besotted with Cosmo.

In their late-1960s school uniforms the two boys, now both sixteen, attracted crowds to their public appearances and Cosmo, always jealous of Dean’s much longer shorts, coped bravely with the thrusting hands and groping fingers. To Dean’s credit, he managed to control his lust for Cosmo and while on public duties avoided uninvited ejaculations into his shorts. He waited until he was safely in bed.

Dean, knowing his character was still supposed to be thirteen, had taken trouble before these Christmas appearances to make sure he still looked thirteen. He’d used his razor not just on his face but on his legs. Lying in bed the first night after he’d shaved his legs, he stroked them and was pleased at their smoothness. He imagined they were Cosmo’s legs and wondered for the hundredth time if he’d ever get a chance to seduce the beautiful boy. ‘Actors get up to all sorts of cool tricks,’ he mused, as he settled into a wank of epic proportions at the thought of Cosmo lying naked beside him.

Let’s now move on to the next summer, and filming. Sixteen he may have been but Cosmo still had to act a boy of only thirteen. He’d grown three inches taller – and even prettier – since Series Two and would be given a new blazer but would still have to wear the same grey shorts which would seem even briefer than before but not as short as the khaki Scouts shorts he’d be wearing for many of the home scenes. Roy, cunning as ever, knew his target audience would be attracted by the many publicity photos he’d arranged, showing Mr and Mrs Brokenshire with their beautiful, bare-legged son. Dean had a copy of each and kept them in a secret place in his bedroom.

The pictures couldn’t speak, of course, and at sixteen Cosmo’s voice had fully broken. With the producer’s agreement, Roy had no choice but to let Cosmo speak in his natural voice and if it applied to Cosmo it had to apply to Dean, whose role now expanded. He’d come round to the Brokenshires’ house to see Cosmo who was usually in Scouts uniform. This appealed greatly to Dean, safe in a pair of jeans. He enjoyed frequent off-stage wanks inspired by Cosmo’s ravishing appearance as a Scout. ‘I wish I’d been around in the sixties,’ he thought, ‘if that’s what Scouts wore! So sexy!’

Roy guessed Dean was shaving his legs and this gave him an idea. The boy was a natural show-off so would wear shorter shorts for Series Three. Dean tingled with joy at this news. He was told in confidence about certain plans that were not in any circumstances to be divulged to Cosmo. Roy told Dean he mustn’t allow himself to get over-excited as what Roy called unannounced ejaculations would lead to more takes and added expense. This advice had exactly the effect Roy wanted – Dean would suffer many more unannounced ejaculations and Roy would discreetly film these events with cameras Dean didn’t know about and market the results to an entirely different audience from that which watched Meet the Brokenshires.


So, why was Dean again driven to spilling seed into his new and thrillingly brief grey shorts during the filming of Series Three? The answer is provided in the first episode. The customary classroom scene was one of the first scenes to be filmed. Cliff the make-up youth had to scrutinise each member of the young cast once they were in costume and decide if they looked right. Dean needed a dash more rouge on his pale cheeks and a touch of eye-shadow. So did some of his classmates. Cosmo needed a little more lipstick.

But Cosmo needed further attention from Cliff. Not unnaturally for a boy of sixteen, Cosmo now had some hairs on his legs and these had to go. He protested loudly but stood still in front of the class and obediently held up the hems of his shorts while Cliff carefully dry-shaved his legs from the very top to just below where his long socks reached. Dean was beside himself with lust and wondered how many spare shorts Medusa the wardrobe woman possessed.

Soon Cosmo’s legs looked like those of a boy of thirteen: hairless, glinting in the light and smooth as glass. His classmates gave him a round of applause, most feeling glad they hadn’t such important roles as to need to look totally authentic. Dean rubbed his own thighs which, thanks to his new shorts were almost as bare as Cosmo’s. He was satisfied he’d done a good job with the razor that morning and self-arousal served to give him an even bigger erection than he’d enjoyed while watching Cosmo’s leg-shaving. Dean was very fond of his own body.

There were more cameras than usual and the film crew seemed more animated than normal. So was Dean. Cosmo put it down to the fact that it was the first caning scene of the new series and he resolved to react to the six strokes as impressively as he could. He tried to look especially reluctant as he removed his blazer and to look even more fearful than usual as the grumpy schoolmaster ordered him over the desk. That was when he realised Cliff hadn’t applied the cut, raw onion so he’d have to try to produce real tears this time.

The other boys sat with arms folded, pretending to look aghast at what was about to happen to Cosmo. But not Dean – he had his left hand working furiously in his groin, and for once, Roy smiled approvingly.

The schoolmaster yanked up Cosmo’s waistband, making Cosmo gasp in genuine pain and then paused to gather his strength, glad that he’d had a larger than usual gin and tonic in his dressing room. He raised his cane, took a big breath and swung.


It was like a thunderclap. Not at all like a cane striking a beach ball, not even a beach ball clothed in grey flannel. Cosmo had been thrust forward by the force of the stroke and he screamed in pain, the result of being actually struck by the cane. No beach ball this time – it was a real caning!

Dean knew it would be real and so did the schoolmaster and all the film crew but not poor Cosmo, nor the other boys. Cosmo writhed about, clutching his bottom, groaning and shedding real tears. The cameras kept running.

“Get down again, Brokenshire!” yelled the schoolmaster. “Did I give you permission to move?”

So shocked was Cosmo that instead of protesting to the director he shakily complied with the command to lean over the desk. Through teary eyes he looked at his classmates, all of whom looked aghast at what had happened. Even Dean looked shocked, for he hadn’t realised a real caning could be so violent.


Again the thunderclap and again the shriek from Cosmo, the tears, the moaning and the frantic clutching of his nice little bottom. And all caught on camera and microphone. This time the schoolmaster didn’t order Cosmo to lean down and the poor boy was allowed to knead his poor bottom and sniff and gurgle and sob. Roy was in heaven. Dean was exploding into his grey shorts and his red face was reddening further at the thought of Medusa yet again marching him off to change into clean shorts.

Roy was in heaven because with the different angles from which the caning had been filmed, he was sure he’d got enough footage to account for six distinct strokes in the finished film. He’d also got a juicy little sequence of Dean first sexily preening himself and then engaging in a glorious ejaculation, clearly captured by the steady-cam Dean hadn’t noticed barely a yard from his jerking knees.

“CUT!” shouted Roy. “Well done, darlings and you, Cosmo dear, have excelled yourself! I don’t think we’ll need to shoot that take again but just give me a sec, sweetie and I’ll have a look.”

“But – I didn’t know it was going to be real,” said a whimpering Cosmo to the schoolmaster.

“Sorry, old thing, it had to be a secret from you or you’d have refused to do it.”

“You bet I would!” sniffed Cosmo, still kneading his bottom.

The schoolmaster noticed one of his strokes had struck Cosmo just below where his shorts finished – a horrible red line had appeared about an inch below the boy’s left buttock. He thought he’d better improve his aim if he’d need to do this again. A smaller gin next time, maybe.

Medusa brought back Dean in a clean pair of shorts and Roy announced that they could all move on to the next scene, which meant Cosmo could go and sit at his desk, alongside Dean. Cosmo received another round of applause from his fellow-actors and, knowing he’d be spared any more blows from the cane, went with tear-stained cheeks to take his seat. A camera was ready to catch him yelping in pain as he sat on the wooden seat. Dean found himself getting aroused again, partly because of Cosmo’s yelp of genuine pain and partly because he’d spotted that vicious red streak just below the hem of Cosmo’s grey shorts.

Potent young sex-machine that Dean was, even he couldn’t manage another ejaculation so soon after the first one and he had to wait till he was in bed that night before he could muster the ingredients for another epic wank at Cosmo’s expense. It mightn’t have taken him so long if he’d seen the filming of a later scene, set in the Brokenshires’ house on the evening of the caning.

It had been a tradition in the first two series that after supper Cosmo, invariably in either Cubs or Scouts uniform, would be sent upstairs to do his homework. He’d always try to stay downstairs and do something nicer but Mr Brokenshire would always say “For the last time, Cosmo, I’m telling you to go to your room and do your homework,” at which Cosmo would pick up his books and tramp up the stairs, followed by the camera. All very straightforward.

On this occasion, however, it took four takes before Roy was satisfied with Cosmo clumping upstairs.

“Don’t scratch your bum, sweetheart,” said Roy on Cosmo’s first ascent.

“But it’s still bloody hurting!” complained Cosmo. “From this morning, remember?”

At that point Roy saw for the first time the weal on Cosmo’s left thigh. Cosmo’s Scouts shorts were wider in the leg and even shorter in length than his grey shorts and the weal would show up magnificently on film.

“On second thoughts, sweetie pie, just nip up those stairs – not too quickly – and scratch your bum as much as you bloody well like!”

Roy was very happy with the fourth take, as the rearranged lighting highlighted the nasty weal most deliciously and just above it, nicely exposed by the khaki shorts, the lower part of Cosmo’s gorgeous left buttock. Blink and you’d miss it. Roy was sure the boy enthusiasts wouldn’t miss it.


During the filming of Series Three Cosmo was subjected to no more real canings because Roy’s cinematic skill meant that on each of six episodes there were different views of Cosmo being caned, yet he’d received only two strokes in total, one to his bottom and one to his left thigh. Dean had grown more infatuated than ever with Cosmo and the uncomplaining Medusa kept a stock of clean underwear and shorts in Dean’s size. Unknown to Dean, his excitement had been comprehensively recorded on film but that footage was destined for a distinctly more furtive market than the one that watched Meet the Brokenshires.

By early September filming had finished, in time for the boys to go back to their various schools. Despite acting as thirteen and fourteen-year olds they were now at least sixteen and well into adolescence. In November Series Three began its run on TV. Cosmo quite liked being a bit of a film star but wasn’t keen on the sudden interest in his thighs and bottom, which his real schoolmates wanted to examine for signs of the cane. He hoped he’d contributed more to dramatic art than a rear end covered in weals. The weals had, of course, long faded but the hair on his legs took much longer to grow back and his schoolmates were able to admire in the flesh the smooth thighs they’d enjoyed seeing every week on TV.

Series Three proved even more popular than Series 2 and you can probably guess why! Shares in the film company leapt when it was announced that there was a huge demand for video sets and this pleased Cosmo for one reason. ‘Thank God – this year I won’t have to ponce about trying to promote the bloody videos!’

Dean was more streetwise than Cosmo and fancied there’d be a need for the Brokenshires to make guest appearances throughout the Christmas holidays and he looked forward to supporting Cosmo. People were beginning to use the internet and one of the first images ever to go viral was the rear view of Cosmo climbing the stairs with that juicy weal decorating his left thigh and his bare bottom peeping out of his Scouts shorts. Dean had a printed version, given to him by Roy.

Here’s another one of your pin-up boy,” Roy had said. “Keep it out of sight, won’t you?”

For the third year running the Christmas lights at Kingston-upon-Thames were switched on by the Brokenshires but this time, by popular demand, Cosmo was in his Scouts uniform and hated every minute. He wouldn’t have done it if Dean hadn’t been there to take some of the catcalls and whistles. Dean seemed to have oiled his legs for his smooth, bare thighs glistened warmly in the floodlights while Cosmo’s shone whitely and were covered in goose pimples. The icy wind ruffled Cosmo’s khaki shorts and he knew people would be getting glimpses of his bottom. The crowds closed in to peer up at the dais on which the Brokenshires and Dean stood. Something was missing – there was no red weal on Cosmo’s thigh. Teenage boys felt short-changed. Old men wiped their rheumy eyes and sighed.

“Never wearing that Scouts uniform again,” said Cosmo, afterwards. “Too humiliating for words. I’m seventeen for God’s sake!”

“But you’ll wear this school uniform, won’t you?” said Dean, doing a sexy twirl. “We’d look so cool together! Only eight more appearances to go. And think of the money!”

“S’pose so, so long as you’re there as well,” said Cosmo, smiling shyly and giving Dean yet another erection.

The final appearance was to take place in a big London hotel in the New Year. It was an awards ceremony for British TV shows. To Dean’s absolute delight and Cosmo’s consternation the boys were allocated a bedroom suite to share for the night. They had to be there in time to be made immaculate by the wardrobe and make-up staff. Meet the Brokenshires was in the running for an award.

Medusa had laid out the boys’ clothes on the two beds and Cosmo looked in horror at the grey shorts he’d last worn back in September – they looked tinier than ever. Cliff the make-up youth was assembling the tools of his trade. The producer popped in to say hello.

“I’ll collect you at seven, boys, and we all go down for the dinner – and yes, you may have a glass of wine! The presentations begin at eight-thirty and we’ll be on live TV so no scarpering off! From now on, do whatever you’re told, please and remember, it’s the most important night we’ve ever had!”

Cliff asked the boys to strip and to Dean’s delight but Cosmo’s disgust, gave their legs and faces the closest shave they’d ever have, not that Cosmo’s legs needed it.

“Now you’re both thirteen again and scrumptious,” said Cliff. “Into the shower!”

Dean showered first but then he suffered an unannounced ejaculation watching Cosmo in the shower and needed another shower after Cosmo had finished.

“OK, boys,” said Cliff. “I’ll be back later to touch up your darling little faces. I’ll leave you with Medusa.”

Medusa fixed Dean with her stony glare. “I haven’t any spare shorts for you tonight so don’t go having any more accidents! Put on these bathrobes and I’ll be back in half an hour to supervise your dressing.”

“When the cat’s away,” said Dean, sexily, after she’d gone, “the mice can play …” He lay on his bed and looked hungrily at Cosmo.

“Don’t be stupid,” said Cosmo. “We’ve got an important night ahead and anyway, I don’t know what you mean.”

“I mean we could have a snog, just like real actors,” said Dean, beginning to pant.

“I’m off for a walk then,” said Cosmo, huffily. Rather than stay in the room to be molested by Dean, he went into the corridor and, in slippers and pale blue bathrobe, explored the upper corridors of the hotel.


The top floor corridor was narrow, with doors spaced more closely than on the other floors. Cosmo assumed these were the cheaper rooms and walked to the end. He saw a couple of young men come out of a room and look at him before disappearing. Feeling slightly uneasy, he turned back to the lift. A door opened and he was confronted by two strapping young men dressed as waiters.

“Well, well, well,” said one. “You must be Cosmo Brokenshire! Can we have your autograph?”

Cosmo found himself frog-marched into a stiflingly hot little room with six beds. It was a dormitory for junior waiters. He began to panic and started to say he had to get changed for the awards ceremony but as two more young men appeared he knew he couldn’t escape and muttered something about signing his autograph.

“I – I haven’t got a pen. Can I use yours?”

“No, we just want to see you,” said one waiter.

“We’re all fans of your sweet little bottom,” said another.

“In fact,” said the third waiter, “we’d like to autograph it!”

A cane appeared from nowhere and Cosmo felt a surge of fear. “Gotta go,” he mumbled. “Mustn’t be late …”

“This won’t take a second,” said the first waiter. “Take ’is gown off and hold ’im down!”

In seconds, poor Cosmo was naked and forced face-down over a bed, his arms and feet held tight.

“We love watching you being caned on the telly and now we’re gonna see it for real! Hold ’im tight, lads! Cor, what a fantastic arse!”


Cosmo gasped as the cane struck him and the tears came quickly. He’d forgotten how agonising the cane could be and frantically tried to wriggle free but to no avail. He heard another assailant demanding the cane for a second whack on his bottom.

Realising he was helpless Cosmo stopped writhing and waited for the pain. He felt his bottom being stroked and hands running up and down each silken thigh. When the stroking stopped he braced himself. He wasn’t to know it but just below each buttock a livid red streak was forming.

“Bloody fantastic!” said somebody. “But we’d better let ’im go or ’e’ll be missed.”

They let him go and he staggered back to Dean, choking with sobs. Dean was shocked to see his sweet Cosmo in such a state.

“Well at least there’s no blood,” he said, staring at the weals but not daring to touch. “Those buggers knew what they were doing. Probably at each other all the time with that cane! Look, you’d better not let Medusa see – and don’t forget, Cosmo, we’re in showbiz now – the show must go on! You’d better wash your face.”

“I’m scared, Dean. S’pose those waiters come back for me? I bet they’ve got a master key for this room. Can I have the bed furthest from the door?”

“But that’s near the window – they might get in that way.”

Cosmo looked panic-stricken. “So what can I do?”

“Safety in numbers, my darling Cosmo. We’ll share a bed and I can protect you …”

“You just called me darling,” said Cosmo, rubbing his bottom. “You sounded like you meant it.”

Dean felt himself blushing. “Um, yeah, it sort of came out. Sorry.” He gently touched Cosmo’s face and Cosmo didn’t flinch. “I meant it though. I’m crazy about you!”

Maybe Dean wasn’t so awful after all. The warmth in Cosmo’s bottom spread into his chest. “You’re the one with film star looks, not me,” he said. “D’you remember I said I hated the thought of girls lusting after me?”

“Yeah,” whispered Cosmo, not sure what was coming next.

“I hate the thought of boys lusting after me too, ‘specially those bloody waiters.”

Just then Medusa burst in to supervise the dressing. When she’d gone Cosmo asked Dean if his grey shorts were hiding the cane-marks.

“Yeah, but only just, so be careful when you’re sitting.”

“Sitting?” said Cosmo, grimacing. “That’s going to be bloody agony!”


The team from Meet the Brokenshires sat together for the dinner, the boys beside each other, flanked by the producer and Roy the director, who seemed unable to stop touching Dean’s magnificent, bare thighs. Famous actors on adjacent tables looked admiringly at Cosmo who seemed to be acting in character, constantly wriggling and shifting on his chair, as if he’d just received a caning, which of course he had. Nobody was looking at his stage parents so they were miffed and grumpy.

Poor Cosmo was highly agitated. People were staring at him and he just couldn’t get comfortable on his chair. He wished it was time for bed – even if it meant sharing it with Dean, who seemed to have a perpetual tent in his shorts. At last the dinner was over and TV cameras appeared everywhere. A very camp compere began to introduce the awards. The producer kept smiling at his team and telling them to keep their fingers crossed. Cosmo was still writhing in discomfort and Dean still had a tent in his shorts. This Roy mistakenly attributed to his regular caressing of Dean’s legs but it was entirely down to Dean’s thoughts of sharing his bed with Cosmo. How obliging of those waiters to terrify Cosmo!

Awards were presented and at last it was time for the camp compere to announce the winner of the comedy sitcoms.

“And the winner is….. Meet the Brokenshires!”

The applause was immense as the team made its way to the front, cries of ‘Cosmo’ becoming thunderous as the embarrassed boy climbed to the stage, his fingers trying to tug down the hems of his shorts. Bathed in light, he tried to edge behind Dean as the compere waxed lyrical about the show. The producer looked like the Cheshire cat and Roy had his arm around Dean, whose tent had miraculously vanished.

“And now,” screeched the compere, “a special treat for Cosmo, who’s made the show his very own!”

The applause was augmented by more ecstatic cheers and a frantically blushing Cosmo was pushed to the front of the group. To wild screams from the audience, he was grabbed by the compere who turned him to face upstage. A cane materialised in the compere’s hand.

“Now then, Cosmo, sweetie, let’s see how you react to a gentle caning! Bend over, boy!”

Roy eagerly took hold of Cosmo and pulled him down to the punishment posture, making sure the delectable bottom was facing the audience – and the cameras. But Cosmo’s grey shorts had ridden up far enough to reveal the ugly weals just below his bottom, and the audience gasped in unison. The applause faltered. The compere couldn’t see Cosmo’s weals and had crashed the cane onto the boy’s bottom before the producer strode over and rescued the situation, turning Cosmo to face the audience and getting him to do a gracious bow. The audience went berserk, clapping and cheering and showering Cosmo with compliments and endearments. The producer beamed and Cosmo gave a sweet little smile. Medusa hoped Dean could avoid another unannounced ejaculation. For once, he could.


Later, in Dean’s bed, Cosmo eased onto his side and the boys lay facing each other, not touching. They wore nothing but the tiny briefs they’d always had to wear under their little grey shorts. Dean privately gave thanks for the waiters who’d terrified Cosmo into sharing his bed.

“What a bloody night!” said Cosmo. “I’m really glad the producer said there’d be no more Meet the Brokenshires, I’ve had enough of acting. We can rest on our laurels. D’you have any idea how bloody humiliating it’s been for me?”

“You can’t help the way you look,” said Dean, moving his hand slowly over towards Cosmo. “And you look fabulous, even when you’re grumpy.”

“Rubbish!” said Cosmo. “You’re the good-looking one. Always have been. Those sultry looks of yours. I’m just a sex-object for dirty old men and bent teenagers.”

“Not now you’ve retired, cos they won’t get to see you again, except on video. I thought you were a sex-object once but not now. You’re far more than that.”

“Whaddya mean?”

Cosmo felt Dean’s hand touch his waist and move very slowly onto his hip.

“I mean I used to lust after you but now – I – I love you!”

Expecting Cosmo to pull away, Dean was thrilled when he didn’t. Instead, Cosmo gave his hips a little wriggle and Dean felt brave enough to move his hand until it was resting ever so lightly on Cosmo’s splendid bottom.

Cosmo liked the feel of Dean’s fingers on the large part of his bottom left bare by his briefs. “You called me darling, didn’t you? Did you mean it?”

“Course I did! Darling!”

“You’re tickling my bum just like those boys tried to do at those bloody Christmas things when I had to wear Scouts uniform but it’s alright, I don’t mind you doing it.”

A short pause in conversation while Dean tickled Cosmo’s bottom.

“You’ve wanked over me in public, God knows how many times! Everyone saw it and I hated it. But it meant you must’ve had feelings for me. Then when you shaved your legs and got shorter shorts and stuff I thought you were trying to look like me and I liked that. I’ve even had a couple of wanks over you – but only in private!”

“That’s bloody marvellous!” said Dean, giving Cosmo’s bottom a friendly squeeze. “I’ve been saving myself all night for this. Why don’t we have a glorious night of amazing sex?”

“Only if you promise to be gentle. My bum’s still a bit sore.”

“Course I will, darling,” said Dean, his erection now epic. He’d never been happier. At last, his dreams had come true – he’d got his pin-up boy.


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