The Ingram-Lewis Chronicles Pt. 05

Atkins took Patrick in the mission position: face to face. He pulled his legs over his own shoulders and held them there behind his arms whilst he fucked the living daylights out of Patrick's arse. When they had finished, they lay there side by side and Atkins said: "You know Ingram-Lewis you really are quite a stud; where the hell did you learn to fuck like that? That was one of the best sessions I've had for ages and you know what, I enjoyed that just as much as I did thrashing those young lads this evening. Ingram-Lewis, it was the perfect end to what has been a memorable first day back at school. May we have many more like it."

"Well, Atkins, I have to say that I have enjoyed it all as much as you have, and please don't pretend that you are a newcomer to this; you know exactly what you are doing as do I and you are very well equipped to do it. I have to say that I do enjoy being fucked by a guy with a big hard cock who knows how to use it vigorously. I really like a good hard fuck and I equally like to fuck hard myself. What we have just done together was not a casual act of schoolboy buggery but one of deep homosexual sex and I do not have to remind you that as we are both of age, we could be imprisoned for it if we were ever caught. So I take it I have your word as a gentleman that our liaison this evening remains strictly between the two of us. I suggest that we do not inquire into how we each became so proficient at this wonderfully satisfying act, but that we just accept that we have enjoyed each other's prowess."

As he was leaving, Atkins turned to Ingram-Lewis and said: "You know, Ingram-Lewis, I don't know about you, but I would not say no to another round sometime."

That evening as he lay in bed, Patrick mulled over the day's events. It was not even the first day of the new term and he had already thrashed Tomlinson and von Staufen for fighting; birched Parker and his two friends for being in town without either caps or an exeat; taken part in the beating of eleven miscreant young lads from the lower forms; thrashed Cromarty's arse and ended it all with an amazing fuck with Atkins. All in all it had been an eventful but a very, very satisfying day. And on the near horizon, he still had the gratifying prospect, after after chapel next Sunday, of thrashing that wretch Tomlinson's arse yet again.

He still had in mind Atkins's parting remark. If it could be discreetly arranged, he too would not mind another encounter with Atkins; he enjoyed having sex with an experienced partner. He did not want to offend Roderick, but he knew that Roderick also played the field when he was at school; and why not? They did not own each other. So why should he too not consort with Atkins if the opportunity arose and he knew then in his heart of hearts that he would make it happen. All in all, things looked really very promising for the new term.

CHAPTER 9

The new term finally dawned, classes resumed and the school fell quickly into its daily rhythm. That first week, there were few punishment slips handed out by the masters and the Court of Prefects beat only two boys all week. Patrick allowed his co-prefects to handle the punishment as he knew that on Sunday he personally would renew his acquaintance with Tomlinson's arse. That Sunday, after chapel, Tomlinson reluctantly presented himself, as ordered, at Patrick's study; as he approached the door he saw that he was not alone, for there was a final year a pupil from the upper sixth waiting there: a boy called Gresham, whom Tomlinson hardly knew. There was only one reason why Gresham was waiting there; he had been ordered to attend for a beating.

It was clear that Patrick had not yet arrived and so the two suppliant lads stood there eyeing each other nervously. Gresham looked at Tomlinson and asked: "You here too to get your arse beaten? What did you do?" So Tomlinson, never short words, launched into an explanation of why he came to be standing there and how unfair it all was etc. etc. etc. He then asked Gresham why he had been summoned to the Head Boy's study.

"Oh, it was my own entire fault," said Gresham. "Ingram-Lewis heard me swearing as we came out of chapel this morning and sent me straight here. So, I guess I'm in for a packet. Word has it that Ingram-Lewis beats really hard so I'm not looking forward to the next few minutes."

At that moment Patrick turned the corner and came down the corridor towards his study, his face as black as thunder. He opened the door and said: "You first Gresham: in you go; I'll deal with you first and teach you not to use such profane language in public especially straight after chapel. Get in there Gresham and get your pants and underpants down. You are going to have a very uncomfortable lunch today, believe me, after I have finished with you." All this was said before Gresham had actually moved to go into his study. Patrick then turned to Tomlinson: "Tomlinson; sorry, you'll have to wait a few minutes before can tend to the needs of your backside, which I am sure is just crying out for a little tender care and attention." With that Patrick closed the door of his study and left Tomlinson trembling with fear in the corridor.

But the door did not properly engage on its catch and swung slightly open so that Tomlinson was able to hear what was going on inside, "Gresham, as I already said to you; get your trousers and pants down and bend across that armchair there. I want your bare arse well up in the air, sir, and well presented so that I can see what I am doing. Gresham, I cannot allow you to go unpunished in the light of the remarks you made outside chapel just now. They were heard be all and sundry and to allow you to escape unscathed, I would be neglecting my duties in loco domini. You, sir, will get twelve strokes of the senior cane. Now, keep perfectly still whilst I beat you".

Tomlinson shuddered with fear at the first stroke as the cane descended and landed with a hard crack on Gresham's bare arse. Gresham was already a young man, the same age as Patrick, but he could not stop himself crying out in pain. Patrick brought down the cane stroke after stroke, with unerring aim, pausing between each stroke to allow Gresham to appreciate the full effect of the punishment, When finally told by Patrick to stand up and pull his trousers and pants up, he was in tears; it had been a very, very painful few minutes and he could not stop his tears. His arse had been truly roasted and felt as though it had seared with a red-hot poker. Patrick shook Gresham by the hand and told him he could leave.

Gresham emerged from the room, closed the door firmly behind him, looked with pity on the trembling Tomlinson and said: "God help you Tomlinson, Ingram-Lewis is really on form today. I've taken many beatings in my time at Rigby, but that was easily the worst," And it was with this comforting thought that Tomlinson now stood at the door, waiting to be called in to his fate.

"Come in Tomlinson, I do apologise for keeping you waiting, but now I can devote my undivided attention to dealing with you. Now, Tomlinson, you do know why you are here don't you?"

Patrick immediately realised he had made the cardinal error of asking a question which gave the ever loquacious Tomlinson an opportunity to try to talk himself out of the inevitable. "Ingram-Lewis sir, I know why you said I had to be punished again sir; but honestly, I don't really think that it's fair. After all, you beat me at the same time as von Staufen and he was one who actually started it all, sir, And besides, Ingram-Lewis sir, my bum is still really very sore from what you did to me at the beginning of the week and so I don't think I could take another beating today sir."

Tomlinson would have gone on, had Patrick not stopped him short: "Tomlinson, we have already been through all this, but for the record, you are here today as you well know in retribution for the offensive remarks you made to von Staufen about his national origins. Those remarks are what led to the fight and though it is true von Staufen struck the first blow, that blow was provoked entirely by your remarks. So Tomlinson you and you alone are the root cause of the fight. And as for your backside being still sore after practically a full week since it last received attention from me, well that testifies to the high quality of the correction I applied. So look upon today, if you wish as a refresher, a rather painful refresher it is true, which will bring the pain in your arse back up to the peak of perfection. When you leave here in a few minutes from now, you will again find it difficult if not impossible to sit down in comfort for the next few days. But that, Tomlinson, is what is known as penance. So, Tomlinson; not another word; you know what is required of you now and I would like you to observe the protocol appropriate to the occasion."

Tomlinson looked crushed, but nevertheless could not resist opening mouth yet again. "Ingram-Lewis sir, I don't think I know what protocol mean sir."

"Tomlinson, I suggest that when I have finished with you today, you go to the library and look up word in a dictionary. For now, Tomlinson, take off your trousers and underpants completely and put them on the side table over there. That sir is what the protocol here at Rigby demands of a boy about to be punished. As ever, Tomlinson, I need access to your bare bum as you would doubtless call it, for as you are aware I am going to address that part of your lower anatomy. Now, Tomlinson, jump to it boy and do as I say otherwise you will get extra strokes."

"Ingram-Lewis sir, usually when you beat me, I just drop my pants; I don't take them off completely sir."

"Tomlinson, kindly don't argue with me; just do as I say; the protocol has changed slightly. You see over there that new addition to my study. Well, Tomlinson, that is a special beating stool which ensures that a boy being punished offers up his naked arse in the perfect position to receive the punishment; and that, Tomlinson, is exactly what you are now going to do. So take of your pants and bend across the beating stool."

As Tomlinson was stripping, Patrick picked up the birch and showed it to the boy: "This, my dear Tomlinson, is the latest green willow birch which has been special designed for thrashing errant younger boys such as you. So you are to have the pleasure of having your arse beaten with the most modern and advanced implement currently available. As a regular offender and breaker of the school rules, you, Tomlinson, are the ideal candidate for this new approach. So as you can see, I am not proposing to beat you again with the cane but to give your arse a thorough birching. And believe me, Tomlinson, when I am through with you, your backside will be so very, very sore again that you will not be able to sit down in comfort for several more days. But that, Tomlinson is the objective of the punishment: to visit a good dose of retribution upon the offender. You are to receive twelve strokes of the birch."

Tomlinson justifiably looked terrified at the prospect of what was clearly about to be visited upon him but had little option other than to obey; and so he found himself bent in a V shape across the stool , his naked arse sticking up with his wrists strapped firmly in place awaiting punishment. Patrick looked at Tomlinson's arse and saw that the effects of the caning earlier that week were still visible and he could see that Tomlinson was still in considerable discomfort from the beating he had received with von Staufen. "Well Tomlinson, I can see now that I have inspected your backside that it is perfect condition to receive a refresher touch of the birch."

Patrick gave the birch a few vigorous swishes through the air as an intimation of what was about to happen and then systematically applied the twigs across he full length and breadth of Tomlinson's naked buns. He carefully placed each stroke so that both globes were covered by each stroke and the flexible twigs also wrapped themselves well around the flanks of the boy's arse. Not surprisingly Tomlinson yelled at each stroke and was soon sobbing and begging Patrick to stop. But it was to no avail as Patrick pressed steadily on, laying on excruciating stroke after stroke with maximum force, until the final twelfth cut had been given, by which time Tomlinson was in absolute agony.

Patrick surveyed his handiwork and could see that Tomlinson's arse was well and truly roasted and that Tomlinson would be in great discomfort for several days. "Tomlinson, you may stand up now and get dressed. Let that be a lesson to you never again to use such offensive language to one of your classmates. If ever I catch you at it again, then I shall take you to the punishment room and you will suffer the senior maple birch which is much worse than what you have just experienced. So, Tomlinson, you may now shake my hand and leave."

Tomlinson limped away down the corridor, still in tears, with his backside on fire with agonising pain. "Gresham was not kidding," he thought, "When he told me that Ingram-Lewis was on form: he was dead right. That is just the worst thrashing I have ever had in my life, worse by far than what my father gave me over Christmas. My god, what a horrible instrument of torture he has now got with that green willow birch."

CHAPTER 10

A note was passed to Patrick at lunch asking him to join the Head Master in his rooms for a glass of port after supper. Reading between the lines, Patrick knew that he was being summoned to perform what had become a regular Sunday evening ritual: to supply Mr. Godber with the dose of the anal stimulation that he clearly craved. In fact Patrick did not at all mind his meetings with Mr. Godber of whom he had become quite fond since their sexual liaison had started. Mr. Godber was also a staunch supporter of Patrick's approach to discipline and rejoiced to know that the cane and birch were in regular use, despite his own withdrawing more or less completely from actually administering any punishment himself.

"Ah Ingram-Lewis, a somewhat belated Happy New Year to you; I had meant to see you the first day of term but I had other matters to deal with and only got around to inviting you to join me today. Tell me how the first week of the new term has gone, But before I forget, I think Mr. Patterson the gardener, you will doubtless recall, would like you to see you as he has, I understand, some interesting new ideas to show you; something about a junior birch as I remember it. But do run along some time and see what he wants. But tell me; how the first week of term has gone?"

"Well Headmaster, the week has gone very well indeed. I have to tell you that on the day before term started, Mr. Patterson called me and showed me what he had developed. He has made a new beating stool, which is very well conceived and he has fashioned a new birch out of the very flexible twigs of the weeping willow in the school grounds. In fact Headmaster, he delivered both items to my study that very afternoon. So I started the term with an additional set of punishment implements at my disposal and I have today birched our errant friend, Tomlinson, very thoroughly before lunch. I have to say, sir, that the birch which Mr. Patterson saw as being suitable for the younger boys, is really a very effective means of punishment. It allows one to give a miscreant lad a very painful experience without actually doing any damage at all to his naked bottom, So, as I see it, it is useful for boys of any age as an alternative to the traditional cane and a little less frightening than the standard maple birch we are now using in the punishment room. Actually, sir, the new beating stool and the willow birches are in my own study."

Patrick then went on to give the Headmaster a full account of the week's disciplinary activities to which Mr Godber expressed his complete approval. "I am delighted Ingram-Lewis, that discipline is being maintained from the word go; and I am particularly pleased that you managed to get together a number of miscreant boys for a group beating by the Court of Prefects. It really does keep the boys on their best behaviour to know that they might be summoned to participate in such a painful occasion. Now, Patrick what do you think of this latest port; not too bad is it?"

The change to his given name signalled as ever to Patrick that a move to Mr. Godber's bedroom was the imminent and so Patrick drank up what remained in his glass and prepared to fuck the Headmaster, who without saying a word had made clear his desire to have sex with jis Head Boy. And so administering a vigorous dose of what is politely called anal stimulation to his Head Master, the first week of term drew to a pleasant close for Patrick.

CHAPTER 11

After what might well be described as a whacking good start to the new term, things quietened down considerably. True the Court of Prefects found need to beat a few miscreant boys who had been handed punishment slips by members of the teaching staff, but there was little or nothing of importance to report until towards the end of month, which was marked by two events. On January 22nd 1901, Queen Victoria died to be followed a few days later, to the great joy of many of the younger boys, by several heavy falls of snow.

Mr. Godber, the Head Master donned his best black suit and wearing mortar board, gown and university hood, called a general assembly to inform the boys of the Queen's passing. This was followed a few days later by a memorial service at which the Headmaster reminded the boys that Rigby was a school which held fast to the good Victorian values. Otherwise put, it was an establishment which believed in the regular and vigorous use of the cane and the birch in the formation of the future leaders of the country. And he made it quite clear that the ending of the Victorian era would change nothing: nothing at all at Rigby.

As he finished the service, Mr. Godber admonished his charges not to go mad in the snow, which they should enjoy as boys should, but in moderation: "If I see or hear of any hooliganism practised in the snow, then the culprits will be suitably punished." The warning was clear and unequivocal. But of course, it is the snow which brings us to the next dramatic events of the winter term at Rigby.

Patrick and fellow senior prefect, Atkins, were out in surveillance duty in the fresh snow when they saw a boy from upper sixth, a heavily built young bruiser called Turnbull, grinding the face of a boy half his size into the snow; he had the younger boy face down on the ground with one knee on his back and was repeatedly pushing his face into the deep snow. There was no fun or playfulness in what Turnbull was doing: it was just a case of bullying. Patrick bent over and pulled Turnbull forcibly off the younger boy who was gasping for breath and in tears. Turnbull turned in fury on Patrick and said: "What the fuck do you think you are doing Ingram-Lewis, pulling me of young Mallet like that? I was just teaching that bloody little squirt some manners; he flung a snowball which hit the back of my head and the snow ran down inside my shirt. I'm bloody well wet through thanks to him; he needs to be taught a lesson."

Patrick looked witheringly at Turnbull and said: "Turnbull, you are twice as big as Mallet and you were not teaching him a lesson; you were bullying him excessively. And in addition, Turnbull, you do not address the Head Boy of the school in the way you have just now addressed me. I would draw your attention, Turnbull, to the fact that not only am I Head Boy, but I am also empowered to act in loco domini. I trust that you understand what that means; if you do not, then it will all be brought home to you in a very painful way when you attend Prefects' Court this evening at eight o'clock sharp. You will then learn how Rigby deals with bullies like you. Mallet, run along now; Turnbull will pay the price this evening for his loutish behaviour."