Meet Jett

 

A BBFC MEMBERS AREA ONLY UPDATE: 

This cheeky lad turned up asking for a contribution towards a new phone, little did he know the price we attached to that. 

That’s how he found himself over the horse with his butt presented for a great hard first caning. 

Being a first time, he is reasonably vocal and no wonder when you see the splendid welts coming up on his butt. 

At the end, he seems to think it was a good deal, so that’s a challenge to beat next time he comes along. 

Meet Jett

British Boys Fetish Club

One Question, Will he leave or stay? 

A Gift from our friend Kinky

 

Image done by Kinky Callum 

 

The next lad to take the test and see if they are as tough as they think is Jaxson. 

Yes, he has been lazy and needs correction anyway, but the challenge was always there waiting for him. 

He is restrained and ready for the session, and that starts off with his nipples being pegged and a cane flogging. 

Then onto the CBT and some heavy ball squeezing. 

Then a step up on the CBT as he gets the hot wax treatment. 

Then, to end things, some good swats with the wooden spoon to get the wax off. 

It's a spectacular clip with Jaxson

Jaxson Endurance Challenge 

Punishment4Lads

Nigerion Spankables

 “When the Cane Is an Oath”

He stood, not stripped—revealed.

A man forged from dusk,

his back an altar to memory,

His silence permission.

The one who held the cane did not wield power—

He held promise.

Not to harm,

but to hold him in the fire

until the steel sang through.

Swish.

The first stroke landed softly,

like a truth confessed into a collarbone.

Crack.

The second wrote heat between the shoulder and spine—

Scripture in a tongue older than shame.

No safe word spoken.

None needed.

Their covenant was the air itself—

thick with shea and sweat,

a chorus of breath and bruise.

He did not flinch.

He did not cry.

He received.

Every stripe

a psalm.

Every sting

An Amen.

When it ended,

He knelt not in pain,

But in peace.

His skin now sang what his heart could not say:

“I am seen. I am disciplined. I am whole.”

“Inheritance of the Switch — Redefined”

The raffia mat warmed beneath bare skin,

and the air was thick with kòlà whispers.

He didn’t kneel in shame—

He offered himself,

a man carved from fire and consent.

The elder’s wrist, wrapped in red coral, moved—

And the cane answered like a talking drum.

Not punishment.

But performance.

A rite.

An invocation of tradition and trust.

"Ìdá jo, kí a má bínú."

(The cut may burn, but do not be angry.)

Whick.

It stung like pepper pulled fresh from the stalk.

Whick.

It bloomed bright crimson against dusk-dark skin—

a language older than apology.

This was no child’s lesson.

This was the ceremony of surrender:

a man, bound in silence,

willing to be unmade and remembered

by each stroke that praised his obedience.

"Ọmọlúàbí ní wọn ńṣe."

(This is how one becomes a nobleman.)

Pictures are from Nigerion Sweetheart . 

The poem is from Discipline Matters. 

“The Rhythm of Red”

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