THE DIARY

Peter finds the diary of his great-grandfather and learns how
masturbators were treated 100 years ago.

(Editor's Note: The role of heredity in the development of 
masturbatory addiction has received insufficient study; whether 
nature or nurture is predominant is still an open question. At 
the Institute for Correction of Sexual Misbehavior, we hold 
that, while genetic factors may predispose a man to masturbation 
dependency, expression of the trait is not inevitable. The 
development of unwholesome habits depends ultimately on deficits 
in the personal character and self discipline of the 
masturbator, and may be avoided by appropriate early corrective 
intervention. In this chapter, Peter discovers the diary of his 
great-grandfather, which indicates a family history of habitual 
masturbation and describes corrective measures common in the 
last century. While we do not endorse every particular of the 
treatment described below, we entirely agree with its emphasis 
on the personal value issues of masturbatory addiction. == Dr. 
Margaret Wilson)



I recognize that I am a man of unusual sexual tastes. My 
preference is for the delightful practice of masturbation: for 
me nothing can match the pleasure of my own penis warm and 
throbbing in my hand. It's true what they say that the practice 
is addictive, and I must confess that I have become completely 
enslaved by my masturbation habit. Even as I write this, my 
pants are pulled down so that I can lovingly stroke my penis, 
well lubricated with Johnson's Baby Oil. 

In this enlightened time, there is no penalty for inclinations 
such as mine, except perhaps personal embarrassment if my secret 
addiction should become known. It has not always been so. In 
times past, masturbation was strenuously discouraged, and those 
unlucky masturbators discovered in the act were subjected to the 
most severe punishments.

A few days ago I was in the attic of my home, looking through an 
old chest that belonged to my great-grandfather. Among the 
memorabilia of his life, I found quite by accident a secret 
diary that he kept as a teenager at a New England boarding 
school. One incident he records riveted my attention.

The diary reads:

=========================September 23, 1896

I entered the office of Mrs. Crane, the Headmistress, with 
trepidation. She sat at her desk, wearing a high-necked white 
blouse and a black skirt that reached to her ankles, not quite 
covering the high-top black shoes. The blouse swelled in front, 
asserting the presence of her magnificent bosom that was famous 
among the boys of the school, almost as famous as the severity 
of her punishments. I handed her the note I was carrying from my 
classroom teacher. She read it with arched eyebrows and a grim, 
determined smile.

"So, Peter, Miss Adams has sent you to me for 'special' 
discipline. You have been very, very wicked. Do you admit your 
offense?"

"Yes ma'am, Miss Adams . . . saw me."

"And will you please describe your iniquity to me?"

"I ... I was in the cloakroom ... you know, touching myself."

She drew in her breath sharply. "I see. Peter, that practice is 
not only disgusting and immoral, but more harmful than you can 
even know. I shall have to punish you very severely, for your 
own good."

Mrs. Crane led me into a small adjoining room, and closed the 
heavy door behind us. In the center of the room was a straight-
backed wooden chair, of curious design I had not seen before. A 
large U-shaped gap bit into the front edge of the seat, so that 
an occupant would be supported along his thighs and buttocks, 
but his crotch would hang suspended over the gap. A low stool 
stood in front of it. An assortment of whips, paddles, and rods 
of various shapes hung on one wall. I knew that I was in for a 
whipping, but the array of implements puzzled me: they all 
seemed too flimsy and light of weight to do much damage to a 
teenage boy's buttocks. I began to have an ominous sense of 
foreboding, without understanding why.

"What ... what are you going to do to me, Mrs. Crane?"

"This is your first time to receive 'special' discipline, isn't 
it, Peter. Of course, you are to be spanked, but I think that 
you will find that it far exceeds your expectations. Now remove 
your britches and underwear, please."

School spankings were always administered on bare flesh, and I 
was not surprised at her order. I dropped my trousers and 
stepped out of them, standing shyly before her, naked from the 
waist down. I expected the usual "bend over and grab your 
ankles"; but instead, she set me in the half-bottomed chair and 
produced four short leather straps with which she bound my hands 
behind the back of the chair and my ankles to the chair legs. 
Finally she took a wooden rod that terminated at each end in a 
padded "Y" and placed it between my legs, looping leather thongs 
around each knee to keep it in place. The rod held my legs 
widely apart, and my naked genitals, dangling above the gap in 
the seat, were fully exposed to her. I was terribly anxious at 
these proceedings.

"What is that for? Please, Mrs. Crane, what are you going to do 
to me?"

She smiled, and explained, "The discipline you are about to 
receive is 'special' because it is applied to the 'special' 
parts of a young man, on which whipping is most effective. This 
brace will keep your legs separated, and your privates readily 
accessible."

I could scarcely believe what she was implying. "What... what do 
you mean, Mam?"

"Don't you understand yet? I mean, Peter, that you are to be 
whipped on your male organs of generation."

I shuddered in horror. "No! Please! I couldn't bear it!"

She looked at me with genuine sympathy, and gently stroked my 
cheek. "Then pray for courage, Peter, for bear it you must."

She withdrew from the wall a short rod that broadened at the end 
into a small paddle, rather like a miniature carpet beater. She 
drew the stool up in front of me and sat down. "Now Peter, we 
are ready to begin. I have secured you into this position so 
that you may watch the proceedings. I'm sure they will interest 
you greatly." 

She held her implement in front of my eyes. The small paddle on 
the end was cupped, rather like a soup ladle, and I shuddered to 
think for what purpose. "We call this the 'slapper', and you 
will come to know it well; it will be your faithful friend in 
leading you from the paths of iniquity."  

She moved the slapper between my legs and brought it up slowly 
to my testicles, which fit neatly into the cup of the paddle, 
and hefted them in a gentle, almost caressing motion,. "It is 
appropriate, is it not, to apply the discipline here, for these 
small glands and their little appendix were the seat of your 
offense. Perhaps you did not know, as you were engaged in that 
loathsome act, that they can provide agony even beyond the 
wildest ecstasy?"

In spite of my fear, the gentle oscillation of my organs began 
to have an effect. My penis stretched and reared its head. 
"Peter! What is the meaning of this lewd insolence! Do you 
flaunt your carnality even in my face? Cease this disgusting 
display at once!"

I pleaded, "But Mrs. Crane, I can't help it when you... your'e 
making it ..."

"What, do you blame me for your wantonness? I'll make you 
sorry!" She lowered the rod and then with a flick of her wrist 
brought it up sharply between my legs. There was no doubt of her 
practiced skill as the paddle made precise impact with my 
testicles in a clearly audible "spat". A searing pain gripped my 
viscera and I howled in misery.

"There, that's better. Your member has lost its lascivious 
tension. What, are you in pain already? But we're just 
beginning. Watch, Peter." I tried to close my thighs to protect 
the vulnerable targets, but the brace kept them apart. She 
delivered three more quick slaps to my manhood, leaving me 
shivering in agony.

"Now, young man, as I have your attention, we will discuss the 
loathsome practice of self-abuse." She began telling me of the 
evil and injury resulting from the practice of my vice, 
punctuating her words with regular assaults on my genital sacs. 
She applied the punishment in unhurried, measured strikes. Each 
began with a swift upward flick of her wrist, executed with a 
practiced skill, catching my dangling testicles precisely in the 
cup of the slapper with a quiet but devastating "spat". As the 
resulting wave of pain and nausea washed over me, she held the 
slapper against my glands, cradling them in a soothing gesture. 
As the agony began to gradually subside, she slowly lowered her 
wrist and began again.

The torment I suffered was awful, worse than I could ever have 
imagined. Yet after some time, an unexplainable transformation 
began to take place. The pain was no less, but its very 
intensity confused and altered my senses. I felt a glowing heat 
at the core of my manhood, and the ache crossed over and became 
an indescribable sweetness. With each upward sweep of the 
slapper I began to welcome the blows on my tender bulbs, to 
relish being tied helplessly before this terrible but beautiful 
woman. I felt myself opening to her, spreading my legs and 
sliding my hips forward, offering my vulnerable maleness to her 
intimate caress.

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 Through a haze I thought I saw just the trace 
of a smile on her lips.

Finally she ceased, put away the slapper, and allowed me to 
catch my breath. "You took that well, Peter, with humility and 
acceptance. Now we are ready for your next lesson."

Returning to the wall, she took down another implement, a wooden 
rod about a foot long to which a half-dozen short leather straps 
dangled from the end. She sat down and pointed the rod at my 
penis, a shriveled bud after the punishment of my glands.

"Now we shall address another part of your person, Peter. It is 
this small member that was the object of your lascivious 
mischief, was it not?"

"Y . . .yes ma'am. Are you going to . . . beat it like the 
other?"

"Yes, and no, Peter. We will whip it, certainly, but our purpose 
will be somewhat different as you shall presently see."

She began flicking the whip back and forth across my flaccid 
penis. The punishment was surprisingly gentle, producing a light 
stinging that was almost pleasant, and certainly stimulating. My 
member, well trained by the regular but unsophisticated 
attentions of my own hand, began to respond the novel 
sensations. I recalled her earlier displeasure at this response 
and tried to suppress its insurrection by force of will, but it 
rose rebelliously in my lap.

"Well, Peter, it seems as if our work is not yet finished. Would 
you care to explain this manefestation?"

"Please, ma'am, I'm sorry! I know it's wrong, but I can't help 
it." I knew better than to imply that it was her actions 
producing my insolent erection.

To my surprise, Mrs. Crane accepted my apology. "I know, Peter, 
I know. This organ is surely the seat of a young man's 
temptations. It recognizes no master, but arises disobediently 
at its own impulse, and subordinates his will to its own 
voluptuous needs. See how it lewdly swells and puts itself forth 
to my whip, though I know you struggle against it."

"Yes, ma'am, I'm trying to make it .. . go down, but it won't." 
I was thoroughly off balance now by her unexpected sympathy. She 
continued to flick the whip across my erect penis from side to 
side, with increasing intensity. The whipping leather stung and 
turned my bobbing organ an extraordinary shade of red, but I 
found the sensations far from unpleasant.

"No, Peter, it is too strong for you alone. Do you feel how your 
member throbs and stings, Peter? The very Devil is in your 
flesh, and we must draw him out. We must whip the Devil out of 
your member, Peter, and make your organ humble and obedient once 
more. Will you work with me, Peter? Will you work to push the 
Devil out?"

I had no idea what she was talking about. I only knew I wanted 
the delicious stinging whip to continue nipping at my ruddy 
penis. I could feel myself becoming increasingly excited, and my 
member was emitting small clear droplets of arousal. "Please, 
ma'am, tell me how!"

"You must bear down as I whip you, Peter, and press the Devil 
out. Your male organs are full of the Devil's own spunk, and we 
must rid you of it. We've loosened it up in your glands with the 
slapper, and now I'm going to whip the spunk out of your 
member."

She maintained the maddening stinging rain on my penis, as I 
arched my hips in the chair to meet the whip. I could not 
believe this was happening, but I did not question it. The 
combination of pain and pleasure in my organ transported me into 
an almost unbearable rapture. "Please, ma'am, whip it, whip the 
spunk out. Oh! Mrs. Crane! I feel . . . Oh!"

"It's starting, Peter, the Devil is starting to let go. Press 
him dear, bear down and push the Devil's spunk out."

She continued to whip my penis from side to side as it throbbed 
and jerked, and the spasms of release began. But when the first 
pearly stream burst from the tip of my penis, she withheld the 
whip, and encouraged me only with words. "There, that's it, 
Peter. Push for us. Push the Devil out of your member."

I was wild with urgency as she stood idly aside, watching my 
penis ejaculating nakedly by itself. "Please, ma'am, please! 
Whip it! Whip it some more!" I begged, desperate for her touch.

"No, Peter, I've done my work. We must not tempt the Devil with 
further whipping, because he is making it feel too good right 
now. Just go ahead and squeeze inside yourself, and express all 
the spunk for me."

I thrashed in my bonds, trying desperately to find a way to rub 
my spasming penis on something. In an agony of frustration I 
watched my naked and lonely organ, untouched, spurt jet after 
jet of sperm into the empty air.

As I sat in the afterglow of release, covered in my own male 
juices, I thought that there was an end. But Mrs. Crane had one 
more surprise for me. Turning to the wall once more, she took 
down an ivory-handled knife, with a short blade that curved at 
the end into a cruel hook. The light gleamed on the blade, which 
I saw was sharpened on the inside of the curve.

She reached down and encircled the neck of my scrotum with thumb 
and forefinger, pinching my aching glands painfully. Her other 
hand took the knife and held the wicked curve of the blade 
against my sac, gently feeling for the precious testicles hidden 
but vulnerable inside. I shuddered at the touch of the cold 
steel on the wrinkled skin of my scrotum. "We have covered much 
ground today, Peter. I hope that you have learned enough. But if 
these arguments have not convinced you, there is one final 
measure I will take. Castration will surely put an end to your 
vicious habit. I would rather prune these fruit of carnality 
with the gelding blade and let you live you live as a neuter, 
than allow them to lead you to utter ruin."

Her words filled me with indescribable terror. I had no doubt of 
her earnestness. "Please, please, Mrs. Crane, don't! I promise 
to be good!"

She slid the razor-sharp knife over my scrotum, shaving off the 
hairs. A few flicks of the blade, and I was as smooth and 
hairless as a newborn babe. "There, that will serve as a 
reminder, when next you feel inclined to yield to your unnatural 
urges. Remember that if you are caught abusing your organs of 
generation again, I shall take more than your pubic hairs." I 
looked down at my pink, denuded maleness and blushed in 
humiliation.

There was no more punishment that day. She released me, and told 
me to reflect carefully on what she had said. I left her office, 
walking slowly and awkwardly, wincing with every step at the 
lingering ache in my testicles, but as I walked and relived the 
incredible punishment in my mind, another feeling grew within my 
loins, welling up and consuming all else. I rushed into the hall 
lavatory and locked myself within the W.C. Beside myself with 
urgency that belied my recent release under her whip, I tore 
open my trousers and stroked my member to a furious, shuddering 
climax, spraying the walls of the W.C. with the jets of my 
spending. Finally at ease, I rearranged my clothing and returned 
to my room, amazed at the conflicting torrent of feelings I had 
experienced that morning.

==============================================

Well, that was the excerpt. You may guess that I read the 
passage with a "conflicting torrent of feeling" myself, 
recoiling at my ancestor's brutal treatment and yet experiencing 
a dark, unexplainable excitement. I too ripped my own britches 
open and jerked myself to a throbbing, spurting release that 
drenched the front of my clothing. Luckily, I did not soil 
great-grandfather's diary, for it contains much else of 
interest. Now, if you will excuse me, I think it is time to take 
care of a certain matter at hand....

            * end *




**************************************************

CURRENTLY AVAILABLE CHAPTERS IN "THE PETER FILES":

PeterFile#01: A STUDY OF MASTURBATORY ADDICTION (mast, Femdom, 
nurse)
(Introduction to the series by Dr. Margaret Wilson, with 
comments on the treatment of habitual masturbators)

PeterFile#02: OVERDRAWN AT THE SPERM BANK (mast, Femdom, nurses, 
mild bond, breasts)
(Peter is introduced to modern techniques of clinical sperm 
extraction.)

PeterFile#03: SUMMER CAMP (mast, Femdom, teasing, mild w/s, 
teen)
(An early, formative experience, illustrating a connection 
between urinary and masturbatory practices.)

PeterFile#04: PENIS CREAM (mast, Femdom, teasing, nurse, 
breasts)
(Peter receives treatment for masturbation-induced penile 
abrasions.)

PeterFile#05: THE PARTY (mast, Femdom, teasing, exposure, 
humiliation)
(Peter attends a campus swing party but suffers a masturbator's 
humiliation.)

PeterFile#06: BETTING THE RANCH (mast, Femdom, castration 
threat, penis milking, bondage, breasts, teen)
(Peter's country cousin introduces him to some techniques of 
animal husbandry.)

PeterFile#07: BEACH BALLS (mast, Femdom, exhibitionism, breasts)
(Peter is discovered masturbating at a nude beach.)

PeterFile#08: THE DIARY (mast, Femdom, CBT, spanking, castration 
threat)
(Peter finds the diary of his great-grandfather and learns how 
masturbators were treated 100 years ago.)

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