The Head Boy's Fag Ch. 02

After the sixth stroke, The Headmaster repositioned himself in the opposite direction between the two lads, who were now both in absolute agony and had been reduced to tears. He then continued in exactly the same way, except that now with the new orientation, it was Cartwright who took the forehand and Thompson the backhand strokes. I suppose we should consider this a subtle example of democracy and equality in action; but by now the two suppliant young men were feeling too sorry for themselves to take note of any such delicate considerations.

Any observer watching Dr. Redvers-Grex wielding the cane would have realised that this was a completely virtuoso performance of flagellation. When he had completed the twelve strokes, each lad sported what had to be described as a "perfectly beaten arse". With no special fuss, the Headmaster had achieved such perfect aim with each and every stroke that the lads each sported twelve, identical, evenly spaced, deep red welts across their backsides. Dr. Redvers-Grex was in a class of his own when it came to using the cane and he and both the young suppliants knew it.

"You may get up now, Cartwright; your punishment is now is finished. But you, Thompson, kindly remain exactly as you are; I am far from done with you yet." Thompson shuddered inwardly wondering what on earth was now going to be visited upon him: he had not long to wait. The Headmaster went into a side-room off his main study, where he in fact kept the professionally made beating horse (of which more later) and emerged just a few moments later, a birch in hand. Cartwright was still standing there, naked from the waist down, his cock now more or less fully erect, looking down at his friend's backside and wondering if his own raging arse looked the same, which, of course, it did, of course).

" Cartwright; as you are before me for the first time this evening for a first offence, I have been lenient with you and let you off lightly with only twelve cuts, as I did Thompson the first time. (Only twelve cuts; "lenient"? What then did "severe" look like?) I hope that you have learned your lesson and realise that the school rules are made to be obeyed, a fact which seems to have escaped our friend Thompson here, as he has gone on and repeated the same offence, which he knows is punishable by a beating. And so, Thompson, as you are a recidivist, I have decided to bring home to you, in a painful way, exactly what happens to boys who repeatedly break the rules; I am now going to give you six strokes of the birch to consolidate and reinforce the basic lesson which I hope you have this time learned via the cane."

"Cartwright, if you would be so good as to help me, kindly put your hands on your friend's shoulders and restrain him in his present position whilst I administer his additional punishment. Normally when I birch a boy, it is in the room next door, where the proper birching stool has the necessary straps to restrain the unfortunate boy being punished; but as you are here, I think we can dispense with that for now. So, if you please, Cartwright; hands in place and hold down your errant friend. And you, Thompson, kindly keep perfectly still whilst I finish your punishment."

Picture if you can the extraordinary situation. Two half naked young men, one bent over a chair, waiting to have his already throbbing arse birched, being held down by his close friend, who was bent over his head, with his cock rock-hard and starting to exude precum due to the extremely homoerotic overtones of his extraordinary situation. If Dr. Redvers-Grex had noticed any of this (which he had, of course) he gave no outward sign to either lad. He then said "Thompson; I am now going to give your six strokes of the birch, which by its very nature will ensure that the totality of your buttocks are evenly wracked with pain, which I hope will finally teach you a lesson that the school rules are there to be obeyed. If I have to deal with you yet again for a smoking offence, then I shall give you eighteen strokes of the birch. I hope that have made the situation clear to you."

The Headmaster then went ahead and gave poor Thompson six severe cuts of the birch. He rapidly turned what had been a pair of buttocks bearing twelve distinct stripes of the cane, which were already turning a rich purple colour, into a uniform field of small red cuts where the spreading fronds of the birch filled in the hitherto untouched areas clearly delineated by the precise strokes of the cane. Lord only knows (and as we all know, the Lord is not a very communicative type) what Thompson felt as this horrible implement of punishment landed mercilessly on his already flaming arse. The poor lad was in utter agony; he wept like a child and, frankly, who could blame him? The punishment he had just received would have been qualified as "thorough" by Dr. Redvers-Grex, had he been asked his opinion. Many others would have said that it had been brutal and excessive: which, frankly, it had. But in that day and age, corporal punishment was often excessive.

But back in the corridor outside the Headmaster's study, where Lattymer-Smith was still waiting whilst the two sixth formers took their punishment; he could hear through the door, the muffled sound of voices and then more clearly the thwack of the cane landing across naked flesh. He counted the strokes: twenty-four in all, in bouts of two rapidly applied cuts. This was followed by a short pause, with some more talking, after which here was a different sound accompanied again by cries of pain from whomever was receiving the punishment.

Lattymer-Smith became increasingly nervous as he wondered what was in store for him; and he still had no idea why he was there. Suddenly the door opened and Thompson and Cartwright emerged, both furiously massaging their arses in an attempt to dissipate the pain which had clearly been inflicted on both of them. Thompson looked at Lattymer-Smith and said: "You poor little sod! Redvers-Grex is on the warpath so God help you." And it was with these encouraging words that Lattymer Smith was left standing alone, waiting to be summoned before the Headmaster.

He waited alone, for about ten minutes more, before being called into the study. What had been the reason for this long delay? Well the simple fact of the matter was that Dr. Redvers-Grex himself was so sexually aroused by what had just happened in his study that he had had to retire for a few minutes to his bathroom to ease his own raging erection. In a word, he went and jerked himself off to calm himself down before addressing the problems of young Lattymer-Smith, a task he was quite looking forward to.

Lattymer-Smith finally found himself standing before the Headmaster who was sitting behind his desk. To put it bluntly Dr. Redvers-Grex had what might best be described as that "wrath of god" look on his face, look which boded ill for the boy. In his hand was a monthly report sheet. The boy stood trembling in front of the Headmaster, whom he had never, until this moment, actually met. Redvers-Grex began: "Well boy, I suppose you know why you are here in front of me this evening," to which he received a negative reply, "Do you know what this is I am holding in my hand?" Again a blank response from Lattymer-Smith. "This, my dear sir, is a copy of your first month's progress report, put together by your teachers. You are, I suppose, aware that in this school, we follow each boy's progress very closely on an individual basis as we are intent in providing all our pupils with a first class education, such as befits young gentlemen. I suppose that you are familiar with the contents of this report." Again he got a blank look from Lattymer-Smith.

"Well, then, as you clearly know nothing about anything let me enlighten you. This report, sir, makes depressing reading: very depressing reading indeed. Let me read out to you a few of the many negative comments made about you by your masters." And he went ahead and read out to Lattymer-Smith a series of disparaging comments about his application, his lack of attention, his written work, his timeliness and so on and so on. No one, or at least so it seemed, had a good word to say about Lattymer-Smith's work in class. By the time Redvers-Grex had finished berating the boy he had practically reduced him to tears just standing there. "Have you any explanation as to why you have made such a miserable start at this school, Lattymer-Smith? If so. I would like to hear it."

Lattymer-Smith now spoke for the first time: "Well sir, I truly didn't know that I was doing so badly and I have to tell you sir that this is the first time I have actually been in a school. You see sir, until arriving at Ollerton, I had always been educated at home by a private tutor. So you see, sir, I really have no experience of being in a class with other boys and working as a group together; so perhaps that is the reason I am performing so badly." And then hoping against false hope, Lattymer-Smith went on to try to convince the Headmaster that as of now he would pull up his socks and knuckle down and work hard and make the grade. In fact, Lattymer-Smith would have promised the Headmaster anything to avoid what he knew was the inevitable conclusion to the present meeting. But, of course, Redvers-Grex was having none of it. He was already salivating inwardly at the thought of what he was about to do to the boy's arse: a pleasure he was not prepared to forgo.

"Lattymer-Smith; talk is cheap and promises are easy to make but, in the practice, often much harder to keep. I have to be sure that you are on the right track and I cannot and will not allow matters to coast along as they clearly are doing at present. It is my duty to take things in hand and to make sure that you improve your efforts immediately. Now, I am a firm believer that education and learning are best acquired in the classroom via the ears and the eyes, which in your case seem to have been singularly feeble. But there is another way to a boy's brain and that is via his bottom. Lattymer-Smith, I am a great believer in giving boy who is slacking and allowing himself to slip behind purely by his own lack of effort, a short, sharp shock to help him better see and define his future and his objectives. I am sorry to say, Lattymer-Smith that I find you fall into this category and accordingly I am going to correct you. Lattymer-Smith. I am very sorry to tell you that I am going to beat you, in the hope that the pain which you will suffer will bring you to your senses and that you will realise that your present attitude is untenable and unacceptable and that you will, accordingly change it. But let me tell you, Lattymer-Smith, that if you continue on your present path, then what you are now about to experience will become a regular feature of your life at Ollerton. I will not tolerate having a boy slacking; and certainly not a boy like you who was been born with a silver spoon in his mouth."

Lattymer-Smith finally realised that the die was cast and that there was no point in any further argument; the Headmaster's mind was made up and his arse was going to take a hiding. Of course, Dr. Redvers-Grex had had every intention of thrashing the young lad's arse, but he had felt that he had somehow to justify his action. And it was quite true; Lattymer-Smith had been slacking and deserved to be corrected; but did he deserve what was now about to happen to him? The boy was already in a high state of nervous tension and fear; he had heard through the door what had happened to the two sixth-formers and he was terrified of what the Headmaster was going to do to him. His only previous encounter with the cane in his entire life had been on his first day at Ollerton, when his fag-master had given him six stingers which he had not enjoyed at all. But now, it was the Headmaster, a notoriously harsh caner who was about to take him to task:. he couod hardly bear to think about it.

"Lattymer-Smith, kindly follow me, if you please." It was all so gentlemanly and polite. Lattymer-Smith wondered what would now happen if he said that it did not please him to follow the Headmaster; but he quickly thought better of the idea as he was already up to his neck in trouble. Redvers-Grex led him into the adjoining room where he looked for the firs ttime in horror at that professional beating horse which was mentioned earlier. "Drop your shorts and step out of them, commanded the Headmaster and bend across the horse."

Lattymer-Smith had no option but to do as he had been told and the Headmaster quickly strapped his wrists to the legs of the horse. The Headmaster then applied himself to a wheel on the side of the horse and Lattymer-Smith, felt himself being lifted up as the padded rail over which he was bent was raised into the air. The Headmaster stopped as boy's feet were just about to leave the floor leaving him more or less suspended with his naked arse in the air, stretched and in a perfect position to be beaten.

"As you can see, Lattymer-Smith, this piece of equipment is very versatile, as it can be adjusted to the perfect position to suit the height of any boy. So I can and do put boys from the first form, aged thirteen, right through to the upper sixth, where the boys are really young men, aged eighteen, over this splendid piece of Victorian school equipment. So, young man, now that you are comfortable and in the perfect position to enjoy your correction to the full. I must now ask your indulgence for a moment, whilst I go to my study next door and select a cane suitable to apply to your naked buttocks."

"Enjoy your correction!" "I must ask your indulgence!" what on earth was Redvers-Grex talking about? This was politeness and good manners carried to a ludicrous level; it was so totally unreal.

The Headmaster was absent of a couple of minutes, sorting through his various canes; selecting precisely the one which he felt would do justice to Lattymer-Smith's arse. Of course, by making him wait to take his punishment, he heightened the fear and horror rattling around inside the young lad's head. Finally he re-entered the room where his "victim" was waiting, holding in his right hand a three foot long, thin and very flexible Malacca cane. "Well, Lattymer-Smith, I think we are ready to begin"

But before the cane began to descend on Lattymer-Smith's naked arse, Redvers-Grex treated him him to a longwinded homily: "I have to tell you, that before I apply the first stroke, I am very particular about the choice of the cane: I always select the implement which I feel will best complement the boy I am going to correct. In your case, a preliminary glance at your bottom has told me that you have not been caned recently, if at all, as no traces of a precious caning visible. However, I gather from the Head Boy whose fag you are, that he did have occasion to correct you, on your very first day as it happens, as you showed a distinct lack of punctuality and were somewhat deficient in the tasks he had set you. He was, of course, quite right to take immediate corrective action as he, like me, does not believe in letting things drag on and go from bad to worse. We both have the same approach which is to nip any problem in the bud, which is precisely what I now intend to do."

And on and on droned the Headmaster as poor Lattymer Smith, his naked arse stuck in the air awaiting the first stroke of the cane, grew ever more afraid of what was finally going to happen to him for Redvers-Grex, in his various observations, had not even told him how many cuts he intended to land on his victim's arse.

But he had still not finished his interminable monologue and went on: "Lattymer-Smith, I have selected a finely seasoned Malacca cane which I have been using for several years now on boys such as you, who hitherto have had little experience of correction. I think you will appreciate the care I have taken in choosing this particular cane, which also just happens to be one of my own very favourites. Your bottom is in a totally unblemished state, in spite of the earlier beating you took from Mottram; so I want you to leave here this evening with what is commonly and vulgarly referred to as "a well beaten arse". Now just to set your mind at rest, I will explain to you what, in my view, constitutes such a state of perfection."

"Starting with a pristine field of battle, of which your buttocks are a prime example, it will be my aim to place the twelve strokes I am going to give you, in the form of a series of neat parallel welts across both of your buttocks; a set of welts which you will be able to show with pride to your classmates in the showers later this evening. Another characteristic of a well beaten pair of buttocks is that they are so painful after the caning itself, that their owner, in this case your good self, finds it very uncomfortable to sit down for at least two days. In fact, I shall endeavour to leave you with a lasting memory of this evening, which will be with you for a third day as a reminder to apply yourself better to your class work,"

So finally, there it was; Lattymer-Smith now knew that he was about to have to endure twelve stinging, biting cuts of what was obviously, from the Headmaster's long winded monologue, a viciously efficient cane applied across his bare arse. He heartily wished that the Headmaster would get on with it; but no; the Headmaster still had a few more words to say: "Before I begin, Lattymer-Smith, let me explain to you precisely how I propose to administer the cane to your bottom."

"It is my aim to distribute the strokes and the pain they provoke, evenly across your two buttocks and, I might add, the flanks of each buttock. As you can see, I have chosen a very flexible cane, which not only ensures the fine, closely spaced welts I am aiming for, but when well applied, wraps itself around the side of the remote buttock of the moment, But then, to ensure that each buttock and its flank receives an even distribution of the cane, I adopt a unique double approach; I give the first stroke forehand standing to your left and then move to your right and given the second stroke backhand. Then I return to my original position and repeat the procedure five more times. Thus you will receive twelve cuts, all of which I can assure I shall apply with extreme accuracy, so that you will finish up with backside you will be proud to show to your classmates, whilst each of your flanks will have received six cuts."

"Thus, as you will appreciate, Lattymer-Smith you will have benefitted to the maximum from my efforts to correct you and set you on the right academic path. Oh, and just one more thing before I begin; I shall pause for about ten seconds between each stroke to allow you to appreciate the full benefit of each successive cut. I have to tell you, Lattymer-Smith, that I am the only person in this school who can apply strokes with extreme accuracy either forehand of backhand to produce the effect I have just described to you; so you can count yourself lucky that you are consigning your bottom to such expert care. This will truly be a memorable occasion for you!"

Lattymer-Smith, strapped across the beating stool as he was, his naked arse stuck into the air, could do nothing but listen to this horribly sadistic monologue from the Headmaster. He realised now that, in common with Mottram, here was someone of the same mentality: someone who just loved to beat a boy's arse. He just wished that he would get on with the job, whack him and let him go. But twelve cuts; and twelve cuts applied in such a sadistic fashion that he finished up with not only his arse but also his flanks, striped by the bite of the cane, was a horrific prospect. He knew from his first experiences with his fag-master, Mottram, just how much the cane hurt; but something told him that what was now coming was going to be much worse. He gritted his teeth and waited. Surely Dr. Redvers-Grex was now ready to begin; surely he had said everything that could be said to put the fear of god into any young boy.