A Very Special School

"Johnson, where are your manners? I am already going to correct Sefton for his lack of respect in addressing me, but where, boy, on earth, are your manners." And this in an ever more hectoring tone of voice.

Johnson hadn't the faintest idea of what he had now done wrong and looked enquiringly at the housemaster.

"Johnson, when a master has had the generosity of spirit to correct you, it is customary, no, it is mandatory, for you to thank him for his diligence. I did not hear any such thanks from you and I see you need to be taught a further lesson. Resume your position across the beating stool immediately."

Johnson looked incredulous, and unwilling, but he had by now realized that it was best to obey the housemaster without question. So he again lowered is pyjamas and was given another three cuts of that horrible implement across is already battered arse.

"Sefton, assume the position and prepare to take your punishment. You, Johnson, will now count the strokes: fifteen in all. And I heartily recommend you to learn from Sefton's mistake as the three additional strokes I am going to give him will remind him how to address a master."

The housemaster then went ahead and gave Sefton the same treatment as he had just meted out to Johnson. Poor Sefton did not have the same stiff upper lip as Johnson and wept copiously as blow followed blow. When the housemaster had finished, he told the boys to get back into their night clothes and go back to their beds.

Once the boys had left the study, Selby turned to the assistant housemaster, Summers and said: "Well, I think that went very well, don't you? I have to say that until tonight I had never ever used the legendary pickle rod on any arse, but, let me tell you it gave me great satisfaction to see those two young miscreants shudder as I brought the cane down on their posteriors. I think that we are onto a winner here. My god, it looked bloody painful and I should think that the arses of those two lads will get a great deal of admiration from their dormitory mates. Now, my friend, if you are not too tired, how about we trawl around another of our dormitories and see if we can catch any more fish?"

So the two of them went very quietly to the second of the four dormitories under their care and listened quietly at the door. There was a strange noise coming from within, and Selby flung the door open, to find a pillow fight going on in the almost complete darkness.

"Stop what you are doing, immediately." roared Mr. Selby. "Mr. Summers, could I trouble you to go back to my study and bring two of the very excellent pickle rods here, for I see we have a great deal of work to do before the night is out. Right, boys, while we wait for the canes to be brought, I want all of you to take off your pyjama trousers and bend over the end of your beds. Now, the lot of you, jump to it or it will be more painful for you than you can possibly imagine; and don't think, any of you, that what is shortly going to happen to you will be painless; nothing could be less from the truth."

A loan voice piped up and said, "Please sir, do I have to do it as well as I was not involved in the fight."

"No exceptions." said Selby, "The whole lot of you, innocent or guilty, are going to have your backsides thrashed. Ah, here is Mr. Summers with the necessary equipment, which I can assure you is very, very painful when correctly applied, as you are all now about to find out."

Selby turned to his colleague and said in a low voice: "Listen, Summers, I suggest is that we each wield a cane and give each of six boys ten good hard cuts across their naked arses. That should teach them a lesson they will not forget in a hurry. Let's begin at the far end, with each of us taking one side of the room and, for the sake of drama to strike the fear of god into the lads as we roast their buns for them, let's try to synchronise our strokes so that two boys feel the cane across their arses simultaneously. And, by the way, don't hold back; lay the cane on good and hard so that they know they have had a proper beating; it's got to be painful for them otherwise we are wasting our time."

And that is exactly what two housemasters did. The boys were all aged between eighteen and twenty-one but whatever their age, many of the lads finished up in tears. But justice, if justice it was, was done quickly and when the the whole thing was over as some twelve chastened lads pulled back on their pyjamas, lined up to thank the two masters for their punishment and climbed back into bed, where they all spent a fairly uncomfortable night.

"All in all a very satisfactory evening's work, I think," said Mr. Selby to his assistant housemaster, Mr. Summers, "Very satisfactory indeed."

So literally in their first week at the school no less than fourteen of the boys in Norfolk House had had their arses thoroughly beaten, a fact which would make the Commander very happy once he learned of it.

"You know," said Mr. Selby to his colleague, "I think with a bit of luck we can find enough misdemeanours so that by the end of the month we can have lavished, the painful delights of this magnificent implement on most of our little flock."

"Yes" said Mr. Summers, with a hint of Schadenfreude in his voice, "I wholeheartedly agree with you; it shouldn't be too difficult and it will give the two of us something to work for - a goal, an objective - not to mention the pleasure one gets from thrashing a pair of good firm buttocks. I can hardly wait: I get hard just thinking about it! Now, I think that for tonight we have done enough and I just wondered if you would like to "relax" with me."

"Sounds a great idea. What exactly had you in mind?"

"Well, I thought that you might enjoy a little, how shall I put it delicately, anal stimulation; I know I would."

"That sounds absolutely perfect. I always say that there is nothing like a good hard fuck to round off a busy day!"

And with that the two housemasters went off to together for an evening of intensive copulation.

Chapter 9

The events of the previous chapter, describing what happened in Norfolk House during the first few days after the boys arrived at the school were, in fact, replicated in the other three houses, Suffolk, Essex and Cambridge. The wardens acting as housemasters and assistants were just as perspicacious as had been Selby and Summers in finding fault with enough of their charges to ensure that a goodly number had their arses beaten within the first week of their arrival at the school. The honours undoubtedly went to Cambridge House, where the two housemasters in charge were particularly zealous in their task and managed to find excuses to beat no less than half of their inmates during the first five days of the term.

The Commander, reviewing the results at a staff meeting at the end of the first week, expressed himself highly satisfied with the way the each house had produced an adequate quota of boys who had been beaten, by way of an example to the rest of what they could expect if they broke the rules, even the minor ones. So the cane reigned supreme at Moulton-Midmarsh more or less from day one of its opening. And not a day went by but some poor lad's arse was subjected to a painful dose of the cane.

As yet, the Commander himself had not had the pleasure, and let us not mince words, for he considered it a pleasure, as did all the warders, to beat anybody; there was a strong sadistic thread running through the entire supervisory staff of the school, from the Commander on downwards and the Commander himself was already beginning to feel that he was missing out by allowing the warders such a free hand with the cane. But then he realized that this was the end of the week and he could collect the punishment citations filled in by the members of the teaching staff who, you will remember, were not themselves allowed to administer corporal punishment to their pupils.

He was delighted to see that he had no less than ten referrals of boys to be dealt with. Most of the cases were for relatively minor misdemeanours and could be dealt with rapidly with a few cuts of the pickle rod, which he duly did that Friday evening after supper, when all the boys on referral lined up outside his study and waited to be beaten; and beat them he did; never less than ten hard cuts across the naked buttocks and often twelve, if he felt a boy really deserved it.

But among the names on that first list was one referral, of a boy called Colin McGregor, who had grossly insulted his mathematics teacher. So, the Commander, having read that master's citation, referred to McGregor's file to find that he was a hardened dissenter and had caused trouble in two other institutions where he had been confined since he was fifteen years old. This boy, now approaching nineteen years of age, thought the Commander, is the ideal candidate for a good birching, as he was eager to try out the latest birch rod delivered by Mr. Barraclough just that morning.

Chapter 10

McGregor had been made to wait until his classmates had been thrashed and left before being called into the Commander's study, where he now stood in front of the Commander, who was seated behind his desk.

"Don't slouch, boy. Stand up straight when you are in my presence. McGregor isn't it? Are you a Scot then; and how old are you boy?"

"No sir, I'm a Londoner. My grandfather was from Glasgow and moved south and my father and then I were both born in London. In fact, sir, I have never been to Scotland, in spite of my name, and I'm twenty years old"

"I suppose you know why you are here in front of me this evening. According to Mr. Caruthers who was trying to teach you elementary mathematics, you were constantly disrupting his class and when he told you to behave yourself, you threatened him in with some quite disgusting language, according to what I read here, in his citation for punishment. Perhaps you would care to repeat to me here and now, exactly what you said to Mr. Caruthers, so that there is no misunderstanding between us, for this, let me tell you, boy, is a very, very serious matter, which I propose to deal with in an equally serious way."

"I can't remember any more, sir, what I said in class to Mr. Caruthers, sir."

"I suggest you try to refresh your memory and recall, here and now, what you said, McGregor."

"Sorry, sir, I don't know what I said; I just can't remember, sir."

"McGregor, I do not believe you. Take of your clothes; get stripped, boy and I will try help you remember what you now claim to have forgotten."

"Take of my clothes; what, now, here sir, in front of you?"

"No time like the present, boy. So, just do as I say; strip off and don't argue!"

"I'm not arguing with you, sir, but why do you want me to take off my clothes, sir?"

"McGregor, arguing or not, you do not seem to understand that when I tell you to do something, you jump to it, boy, and do it. Yours is not to reason why, but to obey; that is the way things are done around here; now, boy, for the last time, get stripped; and button up your lip, for I can tell you now, that you are just making things worse for yourself."

McGregor finally realized that the Commander meant business; really meant what he said, so he very slowly started to take of his clothes. The Commander looked at him balefully.

"McGregor, I do not have all night; get on with it, boy; strip off and I mean everything; I want you naked in front of me in the next thirty seconds; just get a move on, boy; you are trying my patience to the limit."

"But, sir, you don't really mean everything, do you. You don't want me..."

McGregor's voice tailed off as it finally came home to him that the Commander meant exactly what he said and his last piece of underwear fell the floor. And with the embarrassment of finding himself naked in front of the Commander, with that reflex, so typical of men in the position he now found himself, he placed his hands in a cup, to cover his crown jewels; a simple act of modesty; a means of retaining what scrap of dignity he might still have. But the Commander was having none of it.

"McGregor, pick up those clothes you have thrown on to the floor, fold them and place them neatly over that chair behind you. I cannot and will not tolerate your sloppy ways in my study: and when you have done that, face me, put your hands on your head and stay that way until I tell you otherwise; and then turn around so that I can get a good look at you; I always like to see the buttocks of a boy before I beat them."

What the Commander finally saw, now that he had got the young man naked in front of him, was a fine young body, well muscled and proportioned. With a large cock - nothing at all to be ashamed of - and a superb arse, sporting a magnificent pair of buttocks, just made for thrashing. The Commander felt himself getting hard with anticipation of what he now intended to do to the boy.

"Now, McGregor, for the last time, repeat to me what you said to Mr. Caruthers."

"I've already told you twice, sir, that I don't remember. How can tell you something I don't remember, sir?" This was said in a rather truculent manner which did not help matters,

"McGregor, how dare you adopt such an insolent tone of voice with me; have you no manners at all? Have you any idea of whom you are addressing? Let me tell you, boy, that I do not believe you; you, boy, are a liar and in a moment I shall expose you as such. Now, you see that stool over there, boy; bend over it and position your buttocks so that I can start to jog your memory."

McGregor looked at the beating stool with trepidation, but by now conscious of the fact that he could do nothing but do as he was bidden by the Commander, went across to the stool and positioned himself across it. The commander walked across and selected a pickle rod from its bath, fixed in it in its handle and stepped across to the chair, where he made a slight adjustment to the height of the back rail, thereby setting the boy's buttocks in what he considered the perfect place to apply the cane.

Ready now to start applying the cane to McGregor's arse, the Commander paused for a moment and admired the two luscious globes of unmarked flesh which the young man was now presenting to him for punishment. As he gazed upon this delightful prospect, getting ever harder himself at the thought of what he was now going to do, the Commander saw that this boy had not had his buttocks beaten for quite some time, for they look so virginal; not a mark on them; but that was just about to change; they would be a colourful picture by the time the Commander had finished with them.

"McGregor, do you know what this is?" asked the Commander, waving he cane around in front of McGregor's face.

"It's a cane, sir, isn't it?"

"And when, exactly, McGregor, was the last time your arse had an encounter with a cane?"

"I don't remember exactly, sir, but it was in my previous school before I was transferred here, sir."

"Well, let me tell you McGregor, this is a very special cane. It's been soaking in brine for two weeks to make it very heavy and supple and if a few strokes of this across your buns don't jog your memory of what you said to Mr. Caruthers, I'll eat my hat; it's what I like to call "percussive therapy"."

And with that the Commander gave his full attention to the naked flesh before him. He carefully tapped McGregor's buns, deciding where to place the first stroke and then, with no warning, suddenly raised the cane and brought it down with a resounding crack across McGregor's naked arse. The boy let out a howl of pain.

"Sir, that really hurt; truly it did sir." howled McGregor

"That, my boy, is precisely the point; a beating without pain is an utter waste of time and in this case useless, for remember, we are trying to help you recollect what you said to Mr. Caruthers." The Commander ended his words by bringing the cane firmly down again across McGregor's naked buns, where two fine red furrows were already visible.

"Do you feel, boy, that the "therapy" I am giving you is bringing your memory back, McGregor, or is your mind still a blank?"

Receiving no reply from his "patient", the Commander quickly gave McGregor two more hard cuts, by which time the boy had realized that either his memory had better come back or the thrashing he was taking was going to continue.

"Sir, I think I am beginning to remember what I said to Mr. Caruthers, sir."

"You think you are beginning to remember," repeated the Commander with incredulity in his voice, "Or do you actually remember?"

While McGregor was trying to think what to say next, the Commander profited from the pause to place two more agonisingly painful cuts of the pickle rod across McGregor's arse, which was now looking pretty dreadful, lined as it had become with the cuts of the cane.

"Sir, sir, please stop there; please no more sir; I do now remember what I said to Mr. Caruthers."

"You see, my boy, what a wonderful restorative effect the cane has on the memory." said the Commander, his voice filled with irony. "Now, stand up, boy, in front of my desk with your hands on your head and repeat to me exactly what you did say to Mr. Caruthers."

McGregor stood, stark naked, hands on head, cock now fully hard, clearly totally embarrassed (But, frankly, who would not have been, given the circumstances?) McGregor realised that the moment of truth had arrived and that he could no longer beat about the bush; he had to deliver or he would again be across the chair taking even more cuts from that accursedly painful cane.

"Well, sir, I'll try to tell you, as best I can, what I said to Mr. Caruthers." he began only to be cut short by the Commander.

"McGregor, you just told me that your memory had, miraculously, returned, an event as noteworthy in its own way and just about as credible as the biblical miracle of the turning of water into wine. Now, McGregor, let us understand one another once and for all; either you remember exactly what you said and repeat it to me here and now, or it is clear that you need a little further "therapy" with the cane to enable you to crystallize your thoughts. So, which is it? Can you repeat to me verbatim what you said to Mr. Caruthers that day in class, or do you want to bend across the chair again and allow me t renew your acquaintance with the cane to help you further with our memory?"

McGregor realized now that he had to deliver; there could be no more beating about the bush. The boy standing there naked in front of the Commander had no means of further defence, but he found great difficulty to give voice again to the actual words he had said to Mr. Caruthers; and when you hear them, you will see why. They were words spoken in anger at the time, and which now, in the cold light of day, sounded even more awful than they had done then. But utter them to Mr. Caruthers he had, and now he had to repeat them to the Commander. So, screwing up his last ounce of courage and completely defeated, he finally told the Commander what he wanted to hear.

"What I said sir, and I really, truly, honestly did not mean it, sir and it was said in the heat of the moment and I would never ever say such a thing again, sir, was...," and here his voice tailed off as he steeled himself to repeat what he had said. "What I said sir, was, "Fuck off you old fart or I'll kick you in the balls." Sir, I am so very, very sorry I said it, and I truly did not mean it, sir; honestly I didn't!"

By this stage, poor McGregor was practically in tears. In a certain sense one had sympathy with the boy, in the way he had been treated by the Commander, who in wringing those fateful words from him, had, metaphorically, made the boy jump through the hoop; McGregor, already in agony from the cuts he had just received, was nearly dying with embarrassment at his nudity and the fact that he had had to repeat what he had said to Mr. Caruthers. But what little sympathy one might have had for him was lost, when one realized just how vicious and aggressive this young man could be. The Commander looked over his glasses at McGregor, who stood there hands on his head, stark naked and said nothing.