The Ingram-Lewis Chronicles

THE  INGRAM-LEWIS CHRONICLES -  PART 2

PATRICK THE PREFECT  

A  Homoerotic Short Story

By

Jason Land

FOREWORD 

Subsequent to publishing the first story in the chronicles of the Ingram-Lewis family, the present Headmaster of Rigby School, having read the first account, kindly gave me access to documents from the school archives which throw a somewhat different light on the school career of Patrick Ingram-Lewis, the main character in this second part of the Ingram-Lewis Chronicles. 

Based on the documents available, among which were several diaries kept by Patrick Ingram-Lewis himself and the Headmaster of Rigby School at the time Patrick was  a pupil there,  I therefore  thought it worthwhile  to use these record, now over one hundred years old, in the re-construction of Patrick’s career at Rigby School. Perceptive readers of the first story will discern certain discrepancies between the two accounts. However, in light of my most recent researches into the life of the two members of this family, Patrick Ingram- Lewis and his son, Cedric Oliver Ingram-Lewis, I believe that the events as reported in the present narrative are as accurate as can be expected, in view of the fact that neither of the key players, Patrick or his son, Cedric Oliver, nor for that matter any of their contemporaries are still with us to give us any verbatim account of their school days.

PATRICK  INGRAM-LEWIS : A PREFECT AT RIGBY SCHOOL 

CHAPTER 1 

In the first story about the Ingram-Lewis family, we met  Patrick Ingram-Lewis and his son, Cedric Oliver, who aged just eleven was plunged into an that bath of cold water which is the English Preparatory School where he had to face up to the ghastly realities of the English public school system for the first time. We are now going to go back in time to the early days of the twentieth century, when Patrick Ingram-Lewis was himself still a schoolboy and learn something  about him, for his career greatly affected his attitude towards his son, Cedric Oliver.

Patrick Ingram-Lewis was the heir to the Ingram-Lewis fortune and property, which had been built on coal mining in the northeast of England.  The family home, Ingram House, was located near the small Northumberland town of Hexham, some twenty-five miles west of Newcastle where the family business was located. The actual mine, Ingram Deep, was to be found in the coal fields just north of that city.  Patrick had inherited the Ingram-Lewis fortune and become the nominal head of the family at the tender age of twelve, when his father had suddenly died. 

His mother, Mildred Ingram-Lewis lived in considerable style in the family home and as befitted Patrick as the only child of a well-to-do family, he had been shipped off at the age of eight to a preparatory school, Rigby Court, whence in due course he moved on, aged thirteen, to Rigby School, a small but well respected public school located near the City of  Lincoln.

So, Patrick was essentially “out-of sight and out-of-mind” between the ages of eight and nineteen, when he finally left Rigby. His only contact with his rather remote mother during these formative years was during the school holidays, when he came home to Ingram House. In this he was not alone for his education mirrored that of countless other boys of similar background.  However, as Patrick was an only child, his time at home was very lonely, which had a profound effect on his overall development. He never truly had a parental hand to guide him and as such he had, since is earliest days, ploughed his own furrow. And a very interesting furrow it turned out to be, for Patrick had not the slightest interest in coal, that source of the family fortunes.

English upper class education in the early 1900s was both rigorous and brutal.  Boys were subjected to regular beating and birching for the slightest deviation from the imposed norms of the school where they were enrolled.  It was generally thought that this approach was “good for the soul” and produced young gentlemen, capable of taking leading posts in politics, the civil service with its ramifications throughout the British Empire, as well as commissions in the armed forces.  Pretty well al such posts were filled by products of the British public school system and its two ancient Universities; it was all reminiscent one huge club to which members belonged by birthright and to which outsiders were definitely not welcome.

And to some extent many observers maintain that the same is still true today.  While members of parliament and their political parties come and go, that basso-profundo: the British  Civil Service, is still awash with products of the British public school system.  Times are changing, but these types still hang on and exert enormous influence from behind the scenes.  As one senior civil servant once put it: “Our job is to stop the elected members of parliament from making horrible mistakes.” Looking at the British economy since the end of the Second World War, many observers feel that these self-satisfied guardians of the realm have largely failed. They are, nevertheless, still very much around.

Patrick Ingram-Lewis was not a stupid boy, but neither was he brilliant. But his biggest problem was his lack of application, which became apparent to his masters soon after he started his school career aged eight. And so, poor Patrick’s bottom was regularly beaten in an attempt to get him to toe the line. English public schools had implements of punishment which suited all ages and which dated back into the mists of time.  Junior canes were used on boys aged eight to thirteen and senior canes and the dreaded birch thereafter.  All punishment was applied “on the bare”; which is to say that the unfortunate recipient was made to drop his trousers and underpants and was bent across a chair or desk or, in many cases, across a specially designed beating horse or stool and had his naked buttocks beaten – usually with a variety of rattan canes but also, with the birch..

And when I say beaten, I mean beaten hard; there was never any soft pedalling as the cane descended on the boy’s naked arse. One way and another Patrick seemed to be very often offering up his naked bum for punishment ; and he became much admire by his classmates for the stoic way in which he accepted what seemed to be his destiny. On the whole, the wielders of these implements had got punishment down to a fine art; they knew how hard they could apply the cane or the birch to inflict maximum pain, but without ever drawing blood. And on the whole, one has to say that masters and prefects, who were allowed to thrash their errant schoolmates, carried out their duties with gusto: for the most part they enjoyed it! It has to be sad that many of those who enjoyed caning privileges in the English public school system, were both closet homosexual and closet sadists.

At Rigby Court Preparatory school, only the Headmaster had used the cane, which he did with that monotonous regularity of one who actually enjoys inflicting pain on others; which in fact, like many of his ilk he did! But things changed radically for the worse for Patrick once he arrived at Rigby School itself. There the Headmaster flogged and birched boys regularly; but in addition there was a two tier prefect system, whose members could also cane their schoolmates.  Rigby’s two tier system was not unique; it effectiveness had been emulated by several other public in the north of the country. The Headmaster appointed a number of junior prefects, selected from boys in their penultimate year, who were only allowed to discipline thirteen year old boys in their first year at the school and this only with the light junior cane. 

In their final year the junior prefects achieved seniority and were also allowed to beat older boys with a heavier senior cane. In both cases the prefects were limited to a maximum number of six strokes of the cane: six which were almost always given! The one exception to this rule was the Head-Boy. Nominated to this high status from among the senior prefects, the Head- Boy, now in his final year at the school was allowed to administer “up to” twelve strokes of the cane.

It goes without saying that when the Head-Boy beat someone, the words “up to” were forgotten; for every Head-Boy, present or past, invariably gave twelve strokes of the cane when he punished a boy, a task which every Head-Boy since the creation of the post had discharged with  vigour and (dare I say it?) pleasure;  for let us be quite clear about this; prefects who had themselves been beaten on a regular basis by the Headmaster and prefects during their entire school career to date, saw their elevation to the school “police force”, for that was what it amounted to, as what they called “pay-back time”. So generally speaking, prefects were usually very generous in distributing their percussive largesse on the naked flesh of their unfortunate schoolmates.

So pretty well every prefect took every possibly opportunity to beat arse, treating it almost as a sport; and being limited to six strokes did not prevent them from leaving their “victims” with very, very sore backsides.  As many a lad could testify, six from a well-trained prefect with a good strong arm were just as bad as twelve from the Headmaster. It was quite common for the prefects to practise their caning techniques on cushion, pillows and chair arms and they gave each other tips, such as that final flick of the wrist just before the cane bit into the naked flesh of the victim’s arse, to ensure that maximum pain was delivered.

And so, this was the disciplinary regime into which Patrick Ingram-Lewis entered at the age of thirteen. He had six long years: eighteen terms to “serve”, for in many ways it looked like a prison sentence.  And make no mistake: every misdemeanour discovered was punished and punished severely, for there were no lighter “sentences” or the equivalent to “time off for good behaviour”. Good behaviour was considered the norm and all delinquencies led directly to very sore arses. 

Another peculiarity about Rigby was that all ages were subjected to the same rigid discipline. From entrants aged thirteen to eighteen year old and above to final year boys, the cane and the birch were applied without discrimination; even to the naked arses of the prefects themselves; no one was excluded and several junior prefects had the doubtful pleasure of being birched by the headmaster during Patrick’s time at Rigby.

So, as you can see Rigby was one of those great British educational establishments where the maxim “School days are the happiest days of your life,” rang rather hollow. Were the boys unhappy? Not particularly. The canings and birchings were such common daily occurrences that they were accepted as part and parcel of school life. After all, the boys had no bench mark against which to compare their treatment; so no; the boys were not unhappy; and no one ever complained about a sore arse. And no boy ever went bearing tales to a master about the often brutal beating he had taken from a prefect. The Rigbyans were young gentlemen; and gentlemen did not tell tales.

CHAPTER 2

Patrick Ingram-Lewis was not naturally a rebel; he was not “against” everything in the way some boys are; but along with many others he fell afoul of the system on many different occasions; usually for committing some minor misdemeanour, which led to him being made to offer his naked arse for “correction” either to the Headmaster or the prefects on a monotonously regular basis.

But worst of all was to be beaten by the Head-Boy; one incumbent to that annual position after the other proved himself capable of delivering pain to  a boy’s arse which reached excruciatingly unbelievable heights. It was as if they were each in turn endowed with a special talent for applying the cane. So a summons to the Head-Boy’s study with all that that implied was viewed with fear by most boys; it was the thing to be avoided at all costs.

Things finally came to a life-changing head for Patrick when, one gruesomely awful day, his arse was thrashed twice, leaving him in a state of excruciating agony.  The pain was well night unbearable and he vowed there and then to himself that he would never again expose himself to such severe punishment; he had truly learned his lesson. How did it all happen? Well it was all Patrick’s own silly fault.

He began by slipping off into the town centre late one afternoon to buy a boy’s paper at the local newsagent’s, without the necessary “exeat” from his form-master.  To compound his delinquency, he neglected to wear his school cap, which was mandatory when in town; and of course, he was seen by one of the masters who happened, that day, also to be shopping. And so at the daily assembly next morning, the Headmaster, having made his announcements then said: “Ingram-Lewis, I would like to see in my study for a few minutes immediately after assembly. You and I have some urgent business to transact before your first class this morning, So, Ingram-Lewis, kindly don’t be late for our meeting.”

Patrick’s hear sank to his boots as he realised why he had been summoned to see the Headmaster; someone had seen him down town yesterday afternoon and had reported him and he was now to pay the price for his stupidity, which he knew would be twelve sound cuts of the cane across his bare arse.  The Headmaster briefly lectured Patrick on the sins of breaking the school rules, before having him him offer up hs naked arse for the ritual sacrifice which visits to his study invariably involved. So Patrick, I almost said, poor Patrick; but he was the victim of his own stupidity; started the first class of that day with a freshly beaten arse; he could barely sit down at his desk.

But Patrick had still not fully learned the folly of his ways, which was to be brought home to him only later that day: after supper in fact.  It was the end of the day and there was a period of recreation between the end of prep and supper; so that day Patrick and two of his friends took off and installed themselves in the shower room adjacent to the gym to “have a drag.”  Smoking was strictly forbidden, and was therefore one of those delicious temptations which many boys could not resist: even though many of them did not actually much enjoy the experience itself: it was just one of those things that lads do to make themselves feel grown.

The shower room and gym at that hour were considered safe from prying eyes of both prefects and masters. But that day proved the exception to the rule, for the gym instructor. Mr Patterson, a frightening, bullying man, who when he was taking a class walked around with a leather strap in his hand, a strap he applied liberally to the shorts of any boy he deemed to be slacking, walked into the shower room and caught the three lads smoking. He made the three of them drop their pants there and then, touch their toes and gave each of them six resounding whacks across their bare arses with his strap, before hauling them off to the Headmaster, who said: “ I will see the three of you here in your gym strips, at eight o’clock sharp, right after supper. Is that clear?”

The fatidic hour arrived and the three boys stood trembling in front of the Headmaster, seated at his desk, wearing his most thunderous expression. To the side stood the odious and much disliked Mr Patterson. “You all know that smoking is strictly forbidden. It is one of the school’s most sacred and inviolable rules, which you three boys have chosen to break. Mr Patterson was quite right to give you each an immediate taste of his strap in the shower room where he found you; but the true moment of reckoning for your inexcusable behaviour is right now.  I am going to give each one of you in turn twelve strokes of the birch, for the normal cane is not capable of delivering a message painful enough to teach you the lesson you all richly deserve.”

In Rigby School, birchings were always performed in a separate punishment room a few yards down the corridor from the Headmaster’s study. This room was equipped with a professionally made birching horse, which allowed a boy’s wrists and and ankles to be strapped to the frame and render him immobile for the duration of the punishment.  The whole business was quite  frightening,  for the “victim”  had to remove his lower clothes completely, step up to the frame, where an assistant, in this case Mr Patterson, fixed the straps on around his wrists and ankles, leaving his naked arse exposed to take the birch.

Patrick was the last to be punished and had watched with horror as the Headmaster brought down the birch bundle on the arses of his two friends, each of whom howled with as the pain of the beating built up.  “You’re the last Ingram-Lewis. Come on lad, step up and look lively, I’ve not got all night.”

“Please sir, I don’t think I should be birched. You already gave me twelve cuts of the cane this morning before class and Mr Patterson has just given me another six with his strap. Really sir, I don’t think I can stand a birching. Please sir, do have a heart, I have really suffered enough today.”

But Patrick’s pleas fell upon stony ground. “Ingram-Lewis, the beating I gave you this morning, was for a completely unrelated offence which you very foolishly committed. You have now been foolish enough to go on and break yet another rule;, this time a much more serious one, for which you a now going to pay the painful price: the birch!  Now step up to the horse and allow Mr Patterson to strap you in place so that I can get on and give your backside

the treatment which it richly deserves.”

The Headmaster paused once Patrick was strapped in place and surveyed his earlier handiwork of that morning. “Yes, Ingram-Lewis, I would say that your backside is in perfect condition to receive an additional beating.  I see that this morning I placed my twelve cuts parallel to each other across the entire expanse of your handsome bottom. I have to say, Ingram-Lewis, that you do have a bottom which lends itself admirably to the act of beating.  It is one, which if I may say so, inspires the beater, in this case me, to the heights of what I call percussive artistry.”

“If I may make a comparison, the, picture, for that, Ingram-Lewis is how I see what I whacked into your bottom this morning, is reminiscent of a denuded forest, made up of a series of vertical tree trunks.  The birch will enable me to complete this magnificent tableau, by filling in the intervening spaces with what will appear as leaves on the trees. Ingram- Lewis, you should count yourself as fortunate that due to a rather unhappy concatenation of events, you are, nevertheless, going to have a most interesting posterior to show to your fellow classmates in the showers tonight.”

What Patrick Ingram-Lewis thought about the load of twaddle which the Headmaster had just uttered, we shall never know, for once he had finished his speech, the Headmaster set to with the birch.  Although Patrick had been foolish enough to bring all this upon himself, one has to feel sorry for him for when he finally escaped and went back to his dormitory; he was in absolute agony; his arse had been well and truly roasted that day.  He lay there in bed, naked on his bell, his arse uncovered, for he could not even bear the weight of a sheet to touch its raw, burning skin. He prayed that in the morning the pain would have subsided to a bearable level; but Patrick wept bitterly well into the night.

The outcome of this awful day was that Patrick Ingram-Lewis took a serious look at himself in the mirror. The severe punishment he had just received had finally taught him a lesson he would never forget; and he was man enough to blame no one for what had happened other than himself.  And so, standing there looking at his reflection that morning, his arse still hideously painful, he vowed that from then on he would abandon all stupid gestures leading to beatings and become a model pupil for the rest of his time at Rigby.

Now remember that Patrick was only fifteen years old when this incident had occurred and he still had three more years to go before leaving the school at eighteen.  Fine words and sentiments, you might think, but actions speak louder than words and incredibly, Patrick stuck to his vow and apart from one painful beating by the Head-Boy for swearing, he had no more brushes with the Headmaster or the prefects. Ingram-Lewis became, in a word, that model pupil of his vow: his promise to himself.

CHAPTER 3

We now move the action forward .  Patrick is now in the lower sixth and it is first day of the third term, the summer term, of his penultimate year at Rigby.  It is the morning assembly and the Headmaster, having completed his announcements paused and said:  “Ingram-Lewis, will you kindly see me immediately after assembly in my study.”  Patrick had an immediate release of adrenalin as a frisson of fear shot through his body.   His first thought: “What have I done now? Why does he want to see me? Dear God; please save my arse.”

Anyway, the assembly ended and Patrick duly presented himself in a state of high nervousness and trepidation at the Headmaster’s study. After all, since that awful day several years ago now, when he had had his arse beaten to pulp by the very man he was now about to see, he had never again spoken the Headmaster. He had, as he had promised himself, kept his nose clean. He had toed the line and broken no rules and apart from that one lone beating by the Head-Boy, his arse had suffered no other “percussive correction” in the meantime. So why the fuck (No, don’t use that word, he told himself) was he here?

“Ah, do come in Ingram Lewis: I wanted to see you at the end of last term but the pressure other matters prevented it; so I felt I had to see you promptly today.  Ingram-Lewis, we have not had the pleasure of each other’s company for quite some time now; in fact, our last meeting was, if I recollect correctly, not a very agreeable one.  I seem to remember that I had occasion to correct you twice in one day.”

Patrick breathed an inward sigh of relief, for evidently he had not been summoned by the Headmaster to be punished for some unknown delinquency.  In fact the tone of the Headmaster was really quite benign. “Yes sir, I remember that occasion well.  I still have a very vivid memory of the pain of that day; in fact, sir, it is as if it were just yesterday.  But I deserved the two beatings you gave me; they taught me a lesson I have never forgotten and since then, sir, I have endeavoured to behave correctly.”

“Quite, quite, Ingram-Lewis and I see from your record that since that fateful day, you have been beaten only once by the Head-Boy and that you have otherwise an unblemished record to your name.  I have also been reviewing your school work and I see that you are well up in your class in practically all subjects, which is a remarkable achievement and turn around for a boy who started life here on the wrong foot. I also see from the report of Mr Patterson, the gym and PE instructor, that you are  one of the best gymnasts and sportsmen of your year.  So, Ingram-Lewis, you appear to have become a model pupil and you are to be congratulated on your achievement.”

Patrick heaved a large internal sigh of relief at all this unexpected praise. But where was it all leading?

“So, Ingram-Lewis, in consultation with my colleagues, I have decided to appoint you to the rank of senior prefect as of now.  You will appreciate that this is an unusual appointment as the Rigby system is to appoint the chosen boys as junior prefects in their penultimate year, to become senior prefects in their final year, one of whom will then be honoured by being named Head-Boy. But as you probably know, one of the senior prefects had been expelled for gross moral turpitude. (Marvellous expression that; the lad had been caught fucking a laundry maid and had had been expelled from the school.) so the complement of senior prefect is one short and I have decided, in view of your excellent performance, to appoint you to fill this unexpected vacancy.

“These appointments are usually made at the junior level the start of the school year in September; but as you are nearing the end of your time in the lower sixth I have decided that you will have the rank of senior prefect for this term and for the three terms of your final year at the school; so  you will enjoy  a full four terms as a senior prefect, an honour no other boy has ever obtained.  This, Ingram-Lewis is your reward for your remarkable achievement.  The saying has it, that virtue is its own reward, but I think that a more evident a reward is most appropriate in this case.”

Patrick could not believe his ears at the news and began to thank the Headmaster profusely, only to be cut short by the Headmaster.

“Ingram-Lewis, before you drown yourself in the evident euphoria you are clearly gripped by at the moment, I have to remind you that as a prefect you shoulder some grave responsibilities.  Outside of class hours, it is the Court of Prefects, to which you now belong, who are charged with maintaining order and discipline among their fellow classmates.  Now, this can be an awkward experience, for it means that you, as a prefect, have to distance yourself from the boys you are controlling. In a word, Ingram-Lewis, you cannot be servant and master; you cannot run with the hare and hunt with the hounds.” 

“Now this can lead to some unpleasant situationsactions, which are also part and parcel of your job. For example, you will certainly be called upon to beat some of your fellow classmates; or even worse, a boy older than yourself, which is often a hard task. So, Ingram-Lewis you have to stick fast to your powers as a prefect and if a boy questions your decisions and refuses to obey you, then you must refer him immediately to me whne I shall then take appropriate action, which, I can assure you will be more severe than anything you are authorised to visit on any miscreant boy. However, I feel that those of you, who are honoured to be named as prefects, will rise to such occasions, which will equip you well for your future careers, where necessary decisions are not always easy to take.”

“Now to a few practicalities; this chit, you can take to the school outfitters in town and they will provide you with your mortar board, which will replace your normal school cap now that you have attained the rank of prefect.  It is a gift from the school in recognition of your new status. Wear it with pride, but please remember, Ingram-Lewis, that as of now, you must always wear your mortar board when you are outside the school premises.” 

“And, most important, there are the accoutrements of discipline, your personal junior and senior canes; they are on the chair behind you. Take them with you when you leave me and use them wisely;  but do use them, for a good taste of the cane applied to the naked buttocks of a miscreant boy works miracles; but I don’t have to tell you that do I, Ingram-Lewis.”

“And so, Ingram-Lewis, it remains for me to wish you well in your new role.   Oh, I believe that the Head-Boy, Jeremy Meakin, whom I have informed of your elevation, would like to see you at the mid-morning break to welcome you to the fold; doubtless your fellow prefects will give you a warm welcome to their common room, which is also where they hold Court once a week to deal with any recalcitrant delinquents.  I am sure, Ingram-Lewis that you will soon get the hang of things in your new role and integrate yourself into the elite group to which you now belong.  Oh, and I quite forgot; you will, of course, have your own private study from now on; a privilege granted to all senior prefects.”

After all that wordiness, Patrick left the Headmaster’s study, clutching his two canes and went off to his first class of the term. He was walking on air: he was in seventh heaven: he was euphoric!   He, Patrick Ingram-Lewis was now a prefect! Who would ever have thought it? Certainly never Patrick himself.

“Ingram-Lewis,” said Mr Carruthers, the English master, whose class he had just entered late, “You are late for class, which would normally result in a punishment. However, on this occasion I believe that congratulations are in order; I see that you are brandishing your two new canes; so I suppose we are to understand that you have been elevated to the level of prefect by the Headmaster.”

“Yes sir, that’s right, sir.  The Headmaster has just told me of my appointment as a senior prefect and given me my two canes.”

“Well, Ingram-Lewis, I congratulate you on your preferment as I am sure do your classmates, whom I would, nevertheless, now warn to tread carefully otherwise they might find themselves on the receiving end of one of your weapons.”

Everyone laughed, if somewhat nervously, for there was more than a grain of truth in Mr Carruthers’s remarks. But as the Headmaster had said, things were never to be the same again for Ingram-Lewis;  he had just become one of “them” and was no longer one of “us.”

CHAPTER 3

Jeremy Meakin, the Head-Boy, saw Ingram-Lewis at the break and welcomed him into the fold: “Your fellow prefects look forward to welcoming you into their midst and you are expected in the prefects’ common room after prep this evening, when we shall endeavour to show you the ropes.”

That evening, Patrick entered the prefects’ common room for the first time as a member of the elite group. He had, in the distant past, been a regular visitor for the Friday night Prefects’ Court, when the assembled prefects dispensed their justice on delinquent boys by thrashing their naked arses.  The Friday night beatings dispensed by the Prefects’ Court, was one of the all enduring fixtures in the Rigby calendar. It is safe to say that the prefects themselves loved it; the boys, their “victims”, had a rather different view.

The Head-Boy explained: “The way it works, Ingram-Lewis (always surnames and never ever a Christian name!) is that we, the prefects, are authorised to use the cane to correct any boy whom we find committing a misdemeanour.  The junior prefects may correct boys in the first year with the junior cane, but must refer any older boy to the Court of Prefects for punishment with the senior cane.” 

“The senior prefects, to which august group you now number, can beat any miscreant boy from any class, using the junior cane on the thirteen year olds and the senior cane thereafter on boys from any class.  The school rules limit us to six strokes, always applied to the bare arse, by the way, but of that I am sure you yourself are painfully aware of  as are we all. The one exception to this rule is myself; as Head-Boy I have the right to give twelve strokes at any one time, a facility of which I regularly avail myself.”

“Now, Ingram-Lewis, you have the right to cane individual boys as you see fit, if you find them breaking the rules. However, the Prefects’ Court, which meets every Friday night after supper to deal collectively with the week’s “harvest” of miscreants, needs to be certain that it has a regular supply of what we, among ourselves refer to as “cannon fodder” on which to exercise its disciplinary rights.  Crudely put, Ingram Lewis, we need at least half a dozen arses available to beat every Friday night.” 

“It’s all very unofficial of course, but we have to be sure that we have a minimum number of backsides at our disposal at every formal meeting of the court.  Now, to achieve that target, each of us has a “quota”, which is the number of boys per month each prefect has to deliver to the Court. So, your quota, as it is your first term as a prefect will be two boys a month, So, Ingram-Lewis you are expected to name two boys each  month who will appear before us at Court and whose arses we shall proceed to beat.”

“As Head-Boy, I participate in this weekly dispensation of justice as I feel that there are always a few individuals who merit a dozen cuts, which only I personally am authorised to give. So, for instance, if you bring a boy before the Court, it is your right and duty to beat him; but you are limited to six cuts only. However, it may well be, as is so often the case, that the offence merits a more severe beating. So, as Head-Boy I then step in and administer another six cuts, bringing his total up to twelve.  And believe me, Ingram-Lewis, with our finely honed techniques with the cane, twelve good cuts across a naked arse at a Prefects’ Court beating surpasses anything that the Headmaster can hand deliver.”

“We don’t brag about our prowess, of course, but it is a fact; I can assure you that boys leave the Court on Friday nights with an unbelievably painful backside.  Of course, any boys you find over and above your monthly quota, you are free to beat yourself, or to hand them over to the Court for collective justice, as you see fit.”

Patrick thought for a moment and said: “But supposing I don’t find two boys a month who deserve a beating; what happens then?  Take me for instance; I’ve been made a prefect partly because for the past two years I’ve kept myself out of trouble and never been beaten. Supposing I can’t meet my quota, what happens then?”

“Ah, well, Ingram-Lewis, that would be unfortunate for you, as there is a sting in the tail of all this.  Prefects who do not meet their quota are obliged to make up the lack with their own arses. So, old son, if you don’t produce two boys a month, it’s your own backside which will take six at the Court as we must have – how shall I put it ? – “our Friday night pound of flesh”.  Arse beating is one of the perks of being a prefect: it adds soice to life! But I wouldn’t worry too much, for it is dead easy to find errant arses to haul up before the Court.”

“Remember outside of classes, our word is more or less law; so just keep your eyes peeled and pounce on any minor infraction.  You’ll soon get the hang of it. It’s not difficult you know; and once you get a taste for thrashing a well-rounded pair of naked buttocks, well, I suppose I shouldn’t say this as we are supposed to be administering a punishment; but most of us find it real pleasure as I am sure you will.  I know I do!”

“Too bloody true, I will,” thought Patrick, “There is no fucking way that any of you lot is going to take pleasure in tickling my arse with your canes. I’ll make bloody sure that I not only make, but exceed, my quota. This is pay-back time for me and I intend to exercise my right arm on any arse that takes my fancy.”

CHAPTER 4

We now move on to the Saturday afternoon following Patrick’s promotion. This was to turn out to be the fatidic day on which he was to be presented with his first opportunity as prefect to try out one of his new canes on an errant but receptive arse; the junior cane as it so happened. He had just turned the corner  to see a boy running down down the corridor in the opposite . When Patrick  saw him he had almost reached the other end. Patrick stopped him dead in his tracks. “Tomlinson,” he called, “Is that you I see careering down the corridor. Stop where you are Tomlinson, turn round and walk back to me; walk boy, I said, not run.” 

The boy turned round and very slowly came back and stood trembling in front of Patrick, who, himself nearly six feet tall, towered above this first former. “Tomlinson, would you like to explain to me why you were in such haste running down this corridor? You are aware, I suppose, that running anywhere inside the school premises, excepting in the gymnasium, is strictly forbidden as it has been the source of several accidents in the past.”

“Yes Ingram-Lewis; I’m very sorry I was running and I won’t do it again. I was just making my way to the JCR (the junior common room) to have some tea and fruit cake.  You know Ingram Lewis, it is Saturday and every Saturday there is tea and …..”

“Tomlinson, I have been at this school for the past five years and I am fully conversant with the catering arrangements; so I do not need you to tell me that there is tea and cake in the JCR on Saturday afternoons.  What I do need you to tell me, however, is why you were breaking a cardinal rule of the school and running down this corridor.  So come on, Tomlinson, let’s be having an explanation for your delinquency (that word and all that it implied for the addressee made Tomlinson tremble in his boots) and it had better be a good one.”

Patrick stood there gazing down beadily at Tomlinson, whom he could see was wracking his brain to come with some plausible explanation for his behaviour; for the very mention of the word, delinquency, had sent shivers down the boy’s spine.  Patrick then was treated to his first dose of Tomlinson’s inventive imagination.  One had to marvel – and  I suppose to smile inwardly  at the speed with which the lad thought up  a totally implausible explanation in attempt to save his arse from what he knew was sure to be a very painful experience.

“Well, Ingram-Lewis, it’s like this; you see I don’t like strong stewed tea: it really does disagree with me you know as I do have a very delicate stomach; and so I was hurrying along to the JCR so that I could get a cup of freshly made tea before it became stewed in pot. So, Ingram-Lewis, as you can see, it was a sort of medical necessity; I absolutely needed to get there before the tea became too stewed and …..”  Here his voice tailed off as he realised the utter futility of his excuse. “Anyway, Ingram-Lewis I am truly sorry and as it is Saturday afternoon and as I do really need a cup of tea, do you think that I might go now?”

“Indeed I think you might go figuratively speaking that is; but not to drink a cp of freshly made tea, but to wait for me outside of my study.  And then,Tomlinson, whilst  you are waiting for me and contemplating the fate which awaits your arse, I will go and have a cup of tea myself; so Tomlinson, when I return, suitably refreshed, I shall be in fine form to deal with you. You and I, Tomlinson, will then get to the bottom of this; thrash it out together, so to speak,” said Patrick with heavy irony.

“Oh please, Ingram-Lewis, have a heart; it is Saturday afternoon and there was no one around to see me breaking the rules so couldn’t you just, for once, turn a blind eye and let me off.”

“Tomlinson, you have broken a cardinal rule of the school; and far from no one being around;, I am someone and I was around and I caught you breaking the rules; and I, as prefect have a duty to bring home to you what happens to any boy of this school, a junior boy to boot, who breaks a rule. So, Tomlinson; no blind eyes turned and no lettings off.  Do as I say and go and wait for me outside my study and I will be with you shortly.”  Patrick was adept at using the very wordy English commonly use by prefects and masters when they were dressing down a boy. He literally laid it on with a trowel; it was all very theatrical and turned a minor infraction into a real life drama, turning Tomlinson into a limp leaf.

A deflated Tomlinson did as he was bidden and found himself standing alone in the corridor before the said study door for the best part of twenty minutes; during which time Patrick regaled himself on tea and cake. During this long waiting period, poor Tomlinson, who let’s face it, had not broken a very serious rule, spent his time engaged in that metaphorical act known in modern day vernacular  as “shitting bricks.” 

Patrick arrived, opened the door and ushered Tomlinson, his first “victim” into his study.  Tomlinson was trembling with fear as he knew only too well what was about to happen to him. “Tomlinson, the only thing I can say about your ludicrous reason for your lamentable lack of observation of the school rules is that you reminded me that it was Saturday afternoon and that there was was tea and cake available in the JCR. So, my dear Tomlinson, even though I am not exactly a junior, I went along there and availed myself of their generous hospitality and partook of tea and cake myself.  And I can tell you, Tomlinson that I enjoyed it; and, moreover, the tea, in spite of the fact that I walked there, was not stewed.

So, Tomlinson, as even someone as dim as you clearly are can see, (it was common practice for prefects at public schools to berate and belittle the boys they were about to thrash) had you yourself observed the rules and walked like a gentleman down the corridor to the JCR, you too would have enjoyed freshly brewed tea and fruit cake. However, as it is, you did not walk: you ran and for that reason instead of tea and cake you are going to enjoy a painfully arousing experience as I whack your arse.  I trust I make myself clear Tomlinson. So may I suggest, Tomlinson, that you now  drop your pants and underwear, bend across the of the back that chair over there, put your hands on the seat and present your bare arse to me for examination.”

Poor Tomlinson listened to this avalanche of sarcasm from Patrick, and then  made one last attempt to rescue himself from the truly desperate situation in which he now found himself:  “Oh, come on, Ingram-Lewis, be a sport, don’t be so hard on me. It is a Saturday afternoon and I wasn’t causing any harm or doing any damage; and it is the first and only time I have ever run in the corridor; and  I won’t ever do it again I promise; so please, Ingram-Lewis, please have a heart and let me off this one time.”

Tomlinson ended his plea for “clemency” by painting a penitent look on his face, none of which moved Patrick in the slightest. As you can well imagine, Patrick had the bit between his teeth and was not going to let Tomlinson, his first “trophy” so to speak, off the hook. Tomlinson’s arse was well and truly doomed to be roasted that Saturday afternoon and he knew it.

“Tomlinson, you are trying my patience to the limit. Now let me see your naked arse across the back of that chair immediately.”  Tomlinson finally capitulated and did as he was told. Patrick looked at the pair of buttocks which were presented to him for his first onslaught ever with the cane and was singularly unimpressed.  It was unclear what more he could have expected to find under the trousers of a thirteen year old boy and rational observer would have found Tomlinson’s nether physique fine for his age.

But we have to remember that Patrick was in a state of considerable tension himself, for he was about to thrash a boy for the first time.  He knew precisely what Tomlinson was feeling as he had been in exactly that same position himself so very many times;, but he had never before experienced being on the delivery end of the cane and he found himself almost cumming as his cock hardened with the eroticism of the occasion. He Patrick Ingram-Lewis, was about to thrash a naked arse for the very first time and he was relishing the thought.

“Tomlinson, I have to tell you that you have the most miserable looking arses I have ever had the misfortune to beat, (Tomlinson had, of course no idea that he was Patrick’s maiden target) but I suppose I shall have to make the best of it and see that it gets its just deserts. But I see, Tomlinson, that your arse has received some fairly recent percussive attention, judging from the welts I discern on it.  So who has beaten you recently?”

“Oh, Ingram-Lewis, it was the Head-Boy who corrected me about two weeks ago and he gave me twelve and it was frightfully painful.”

“Well, Tomlinson, the rules dictate that I can only give you six; and only with the junior cane; but believe me when I say that I will try to make this an occasion you will never forget.  I would hate you to think Tomlinson, that I was short changing you on this our first transaction.” And with that Patrick picked up the cane flexed it and was preparing to address his target, when a firm knock came at the door and the Head-Boy himself entered.

“Oh, excuse the interruption, Ingram Lewis, I see that you are occupied and are just about to beat a boy. I’ll come back later.” Then looking at Tomlinson, he continued:  “I see that you have the wretched Tomlinson in your sights; he’s a serial offender you know. What’s he been up to now? I had to beat him myself a couple or so weeks ago and the miserable wretch screamed the heavens down; no backbone at all!  God help him if he gets a birching from Headmaster, which seems highly likely if he continues on his present trajectory.  What are you beating him for?”

“Well, Meakin, I caught this miserable little sod running down the corridor this afternoon and hauled him in here for correction. You know, Meakin, you would never believe the cock and bull story he told me in mitigation of his breaking of the rules.”

“Oh yes I would, Ingram-Lewis; our friend here is a spinner of tall tales. In fact he told me a load of nonsense the last time I beat him for exactly the same reason as you are doing now: he was running down the corridor and I caught him red-handed.”

“You beat him for running down the corridor, did you? Well not only is he a teller of tall tales but he is a liar to boot. He has just told me that this was the first time he had ever run down the corridor and would never do it again.”

By this time, as you might well imagine, Tomlinson was beginning to feel very uneasy about the  immediate future of his now naked arse. Not only had he been caught by Ingram-Lewis, but he had then gone on and lied to him: a lie which had now been exposed.

“Ingram-Lewis, before you give Tomlinson’s arse the thrashing that it clearly merits, would you please hand me your cane. I think our friend here needs to be taught not to lie and I am a very good teacher; so your cane, if you please Ingram-Lewis.”

Patrick handed over to Meakin the cane he had been about to apply to Tomlinson’s arse.  Meakin said to Tomlinson: “You miserable brat; stay just as you are and I will show you exactly how we deal with liars like you in this school.”  He then proceeded to give Tomlinson twelve cuts of the cane, which he spaced with obvious expertise, across the full width of Tomlinson’s two buns.

Patrick watched with unconcealed admiration as the Head-Boy applied each stroke with extraordinary force and precision to the arse of the errant Tomlinson. Stroke followed stroke, each raising an angry looking welt, placed in precise parallel lines across Tomlinson’s buns.  Patrick realised that he was watching a true expert with the cane: one who knew how to deliver the maximum pain to a boy without ever breaking the skin.  He observed how Meakin added a final flick of his wrist just before the cane landed on its target, a flick which gave an additional stinging touch to an already painful experience. 

It was, by any standards a virtuoso piece of corporal punishment and served as a true object lesson to Patrick: the absolute beginner: he realised he had a long way to go before he could equal the performance of the Head-Boy.  But he told himself as he watched Meakin’s performance that he would get there; by the end of term he vowed to himself that he would be as proficient as his impromptu mentor. It was also an object lesson to Tomlinson, who howled blue murder as each stroke landed and wept copiously; surely after such a beating he would mend his ways, 

When he had finished, Meakin handed the cane back to Patrick and said: “Over to you, Ingram-Lewis; let me see you give him six good cuts for having run down the corridor this afternoon.  I suggest you place fout of your six strokes low down where his arse joins his legs; it’s a very sensitive spot and he will not be able to sit down comfortably for a couple of days.  So, Ingram-Lewis, don’t hold back. You know, I did not mean to steal your thunder, but as Head-Boy, I felt I had to correct Tomlinson personally for telling lies.”

Tomlinson was now begging for mercy; “Oh please, Ingram-Lewis don’t be too hard on me; my backside is already on fire and I don’t think that I could stand anymore.”

It was the Head-Boy who answered him: “Oh do shut up, Tomlinson. You are a miserable, lying, moaning wretch and deserve everything you are getting today.  So, button up your lip and allow Ingram-Lewis to correct you for running along the corridor. Just thank your lucky stars that the school rules only allow Ingram-Lewis to give your six strokes, for frankly in my view you merit another dozen!”

And so Patrick went ahead and gave Tomlinson another six hard cuts of the cane. It was a first time for Patrick; but one has to say that did not acquit himself badly.  He did place those four key strokes low down on Tomlinson’s rump at the “sitting spot” which is highly sensitive and sent Tomlinson into paroxysms of pain.  Beginner or not, Patrick found that he had actually taken great pleasure in thrashing Tomlinson’s arse.  There was something quite erotic about and he felt himself totally hard in his pants.  A glance over at Meakin’s  showed him that he too was enjoying a similar sensation.

Then it was all over and the two prefects, full of contempt for Tomlinson, told him to pull his pants back up and get out. But the afternoon was far from being over for Meakin and Ingram-Lewis.

CHAPTER 5

The Head-Boy looked at Patrick, his eyes focused on Patrick’s bulging crotch, which even the most inexperienced of eyes must have known was hiding a rock- hard cock. “Well, Ingram-Lewis, that was a job well done.  I think. It was lucky I dropped by as otherwise that dreg of humanity which is Tomlinson would have escaped with just six cuts.  But you see now how duplicitous boys can be as they try to wriggle their way out of any awkward situation into which they have got themselves.”

“Anyway, listen, Patrick (note the change in style of address and tone of voice; Patrick certainly did) I think you did very well for a first time beating, so keep up the good work. Don’t let any of themone get away with the slightest infraction. Either haul them in to your own study and thrash them there and then; or hand them over to the Friday Prefect’s Court and we’ll thrash them together. Never let any one of them talk his way out of a caning. Always get his pants down and thrash his naked arse. But listen, Patrick, just looking at you, I can see that you are in a very excited state as am I myself; in fact I always find beating arse arouses me. So, well, I was wondering if you might fancy our getting together on a more intimate basis; you know, getting to know one another a bit better.”

Patrick had never before been propositioned and aged eighteen he was still an anal virgin.  In fact he was a total virgin as he had never had sex with anyone: male or female.  So what he truly knew about sex was really hearsay, as there were at that time not many explicit books about sex available. So it was all by word of mouth and innuendo, until the advent of that fatidic day when two warm bodies actually got physically together.

Hitherto Patrick had released his sexual tension, like so many other young men of his age, by simply jerking off in private. In fact, somewhat surprising for a boys boarding school, he had never even joined in at a jerking off party, where a number of adolescent lads get together, fiddle around with one another’s cocks and indulge in group masturbation. So here he was being invited, in a subtle way to have sex with the senior prefect, Jeremy Meakin, the Head-Boy, whose prowess with the cane he had just been admiring. And although totally inexperienced, Patrick knew exactly what Jeremy was offering. So, what should he do? 

Well, Patrick was now eighteen and he rationalised to himself that it had to be sometime; so why not now? Jeremy seemed to know what he was talking about; at least that was the way it appeared by the positive invitation Jeremy had just proffered. And, Jeremy was a good looking well developed, muscular young man, whom Patrick rather liked.  So Patrick said: “ I take your meaning Jeremy and I am flattered that you are attracted by me, but listen, what you are proposing as I understand it would amount to us committing an act of buggery together, which is strictly against the school rules and moreover against the law  What happens to us if we are caught?”

Jeremy laughed:  “Listen, my friend, the art in living life to the full in this restrictive place,  is to break the rules and not to get caught. Realistically, as I see it, our job as prefects is not to make the boys obey the rules but to punish them if and when we catch them in the act of breaking the rules. That might sound very cynical and I suppose it is. But taking Tomlinson as an example; who gives a fuck that he was running down the corridor?  Short answer: nobody. But what was unfortunate for him was that he got caught. Look here, Patrick, pretty well everybody is breaking school rules all the time and for the most part they do not get caught. And most of the time their infractions don’t amount to a hill of beans.”

“We, the prefects, need to catch a few lads at some nefarious actions so that we can bring them to book, whack their arses and be seen to be doing our job. But do we actually care that they had been breaking the rules before we caught them or for that matter would continue again later? Of course we don’t. Our job is merely to discipline the guys we catch and not to try to make them toe the line. “So, if you and I get together, and commit an act which many people find repulsive and which, if we are taken “in flagrente delicto” then we are in for the high jump. Our arses will be birched to pulp by the Headmaster. But, my friend, we are not going to be so stupid as to be caught. So, the question is: do we it together or not?  “It” by the way so that you have no illusions, is to fuck one another; or put in more formal and polite but less graphic terms, to indulge in anal intercourse together. Patrick, I have to tell you that I find you super attractive; so, are we on or not?”

Patrick said nothing for a moment as a huge number of thoughts flashed through his head:  “Providing we do not get caught, what have I got to lose, apart from my virginity? And that has got to go sometime; so why not now? I am surely old enough, so why not?  And I really dig Jeremy. I never realised until he propositioned me that I was attracted to men in quite the way that I now realise that I am.”

“And he says he finds me attractive.  And he is dead right; I am really horny after having thrashed Tomlinson.  Should I feel guilty about that?  I really had no control over my cock. It just went hard on me of its own accord; quite embarrassing really, the way one’s cock makes a sort of tent out of one’s crotch, but I guess it might be fairly general; looking at Jeremy’s crotch, he is just as hard as I am. So, I guess that is just the way it is; at least it seems to be so for us two anyway.  Are we both perverts I wonder? But what constitutes a pervert? I am not at all sure.  But I know that I am not interested sexually in young boys like our friend Tomlinson;, so I guess I am not a pervert. I hope I am not as I would hate to be classified as one.  So what the fuck; I may as well go with it and see if sex is a great as it is made out to be.”

“It’s sort of suck it and see. And anyway, stuck away in this place, there is no access at all to any girls, so that option looks remote, although lots of the lads talk of nothing else. But it’s all talk  and no real action. And, after all, I might even like it with another guy. Who knows? In fact, I hope I do, otherwise it will be a great let down for me.”

All these considerations flashed like lightening through Patrick’s head as he answered:  “OK Jeremy, let’s give it a try out. But I have to confess, before we start, that like the caning I just gave Tomlinson, this too will be a first for me. So, Jeremy, you will have to hold my hand, metaphorically, of course, all the way; it’s you and not I who will be the lead player.”

“You mean a well set up guy like you has never had sex? What the hell have have you been doing? You are truly missing out on one of the greatest pleasures of life.  But listen, it’ll be my pleasure to initiate you into the alternative ways of exercising your cock, other than jerking off.  How you can have managed to avoid it in a place like this baffles me, for there is buggery absolutely everywhere.”

“You know, Patrick, stuck here away from any female company, what the fuck are we supposed to do to relieve ourselves? We’re basically normal, healthy young men; it’s the system that forces us to fuck each other; it’s the system that is responsible. But don’t worry; it’ll all be OK; believe me Patrick. I don’t want to brag, but I’m as expert with my cock as I am with the cane; so you are in good hands. There has to be a first time for you, so why not now?”

“And don’t worry; I won’t tell anyone that you had never had sex before, because, believe me, now that you are a prefect, with your looks and body, you’ll get plenty of solicitations. And I don’t want to alarm you; but there are one or two masters who are not averse to consorting with us.  Yes, it does happen; don’t look so surprised; they are men too, you know, with the same basic needs.  Look, let’s go off to my study; it’s bigger than yours and more comfortable and I know we shall not be disturbed there. And you know we have still two hours before supper so we’ve loads of time.”

The two young men, I say men and not boys, for they were young men, went off to the Head-Boy’s study. Jeremy locked the door behind them as they entered and promptly started stripping off his clothes. Patrick, unaccustomed to what was about to happen, felt embarrassed to see Jeremy standing there in front of him, stark naked, his cock rock-hard and raring to go.  “Come on, Patrick, strip off and let’s have a look at you. Surely you’re not shy about showing yourself off in front of me; after all we all do it every day in the showers in front of our class mates.”

“I know we do; Jeremy, but you know that is somehow different and right now it feels a bit awkward. We’re not just about to take a shower, but to do something quite different together and you know I’m not at all sure I want to go on with this any further.”

“Oh, fuck that,” said Jeremy as he came cross to the reluctant Patrick and pulled his pants down. “Come on Patrick, strip off and let’s get started. Listen; you are going to lose our virginity here and now; no arguments; just accept it as part of your destiny: something written in your stars: something you can do nothing to avoid.  Patrick, just relax and accept the inevitable. I’m not going to hurt you; and if you decide after you tried it all out that it’s not for you, then all well and good. There is a first time for everything and this is the first time for you; so just accept the fact that you’re about to get your arse fucked;  just relax and enjoy the anal stimulation which is coming.”

Patrick finally composed himself sufficiently and pulled himself together to be able to strip off and stand naked in front of Jeremy.  The two young men stood looking at each other: two muscular young studs: two rock-hard cocks: two pictures of perfect young manhood. It was not surprising that Jeremy had made his advances on Patrick, as both were clearly sexually aroused by the canings they had just carried out.

And whether Patrick knew it or not, his own cock, standing there strictly to attention, was telling him exactly what it wanted.  For once he had to listen and acquiesce to its demands. So he finally decided that the best approach was, as Jeremy had suggested: to “sit back and enjoy his first experience.”

Jeremy, as was clear, had to take the lead: “Look, Patrick, I know it’s all a bit strange at the moment, but just relax and let me show you how it’s done; don’t resist, just let me very gently take your anal virginity away from you.  Look, Patrick, lie down on my couch there, and just raise yourself a bit on your knees and then I will do the rest. Believe me, you’ll enjoy it.”

Patrick did as he was told and Jeremy fished a small bottle of oil out of the drawer of his desk and generously lubricated his own cock and Patrick’s hole, before very gently pushing his member against Patrick’s tight little anal sphincter.  Patrick winced at the pressure, but Jeremy persisted and is cock slipped smoothly inside of Patrick, who let out a slight gasp of pain.

“It’s all right, Patrick; it’s all part of the experience,” said Jeremy and then proceeded to give Patrick’s anus a long, professional fuck.  As he had said, Jeremy was as proficient a handler of his man-meat as he was at wielding the cane and he went on and gave Patrick his first fuck taking him to heaven and back. He understood the art of anal intercourse to perfection and of the need to bring his partner to a climax as well as satisfying his own needs.

And so, Patrick had what was probably the very best introduction to male anal sex he could have had anywhere. When Jeremy finally shot his wad, he managed to bring Patrick to a simultaneous climactic orgasm so that Patrick ejaculated spurts of creamy thick sperm in a long series of jerks. One had to admit, Jeremy was a real pro. both with the cane and also when it came to fucking butt.

Jeremy collapsed on Patrick’s back when he had finished and remained there, clinging to his partner for several minutes in complete silence before asking “So lover boy; how was it?”

“That was just the most amazing experience I have ever had. OK, so I know how an orgasm feels as I jerk off regularly myself; but Jeremy, that was really something else.  It was beyond my wildest imagination: that exquisite sensation I had as you brought me to climax and I shot my load all over your sofa.  On a practical note, thank god it’s covered in leather otherwise it would be a monumental sticky mess.”

Jeremy laughed at Patrick’s obvious concern for his furniture: “So you enjoyed it; that’s the only thing that matters Patrick: you actually enjoyed your first fuck as a bottom: that’s the part you have just played, by the way. You see, I told you that it would all be OK and it was. Now, lover boy, it’s your turn; you have got to do the same for me to complete your baptism into the art of male sex. At the moment you are still half a virgin: fucked but not a fucker. A superb stud like you needs to know how to do both. Besides, you will have a great deal of pleasure exercising your own cock on my arse, where you are the prime mover in the action. So, come on Patrick, shake yourself and give me the pleasure of taking your cock up my arse: I can hardly wait; you have a super cock, by the way!”

And Patrick did exactly as he had been requested. Like all well equipped young men - and he was very well equipped indeed - Patrick took to fucking butt as easily as the proverbial duck takes to water.  The two young men then went on for another hour, during which Jeremy showed Patrick other sex positions. When they finally dressed and went along to supper, Patrick was a changed man; he was more confident in himself; he had taken that first, often difficult step of having sex with another person ; and he had to admit to himself that he enjoyed it. That night as he lay in bed he felt utterly contented with his day’s work. He had learned how to swing the cane effectively and he had learned how to fuck: a sort of double first; he somehow felt more complete in himself. The immediate future looked bright.

CHAPTER 6

Monday was the dawn of Patrick’s first full week as a prefect. He had already decided that he would attempt to fill his monthly quota for the Friday night’s Prefects’ Court immediately, as he did not want to risk, having his own arse beaten as a substitute for that of some other poor sod. So he went around, eyes peeled, to ensure that not the slightest misdemeanour escaped him.  Luck was with him as he found two second formers sneaking out of the school grounds without their caps on. Taking a leaf out of the Head-Boy’s book he promptly upbraided them in the insulting, hectoring sort of language which it was evident that the prefects used when on the war path:

 “Where do you two miserable specimens of humanity think you are going in such an indecent state of undress,” he began. “I have seen slovenliness in my time, but frankly you two take the biscuit: you really do.  What on earth do you imagine that people will think when they see such an untidy looking pair as you two sauntering around half naked?”

Remember now, the “gravity” of the boys’ offence was simply that they were not wearing their caps; that was all. It was, of course, a breach of school rules, but mountains have regularly been built out of molehills and by his absurdly theatrical performance, Patrick managed to make them feel as if they had committed a capital crime.  Drew and Bristow, for those were the names of the two boys, wilted visibly under this verbal onslaught. But what could they say in their own defence? 

So Patrick went on with his verbal invective: “Well, you two god-forsaken specimens, you don’t have much to say for yourselves, do you? So, the pair of you: Friday night at eight sharp, at the Prefect’s Court, when we shall see if we can set you on the road to correct behaviour.  And remember to arrive wearing the correct attire for the occasion: gym shorts and gymslip and no underwear!”   Having given the two boys their “sentence”, Patrick heaved an internal sign if relief. He had attained his quota and his own arse was out of danger.

The Prefect’s Court had decided unanimously several years ago that the owners of the arses comprising its Friday night “catch” should present themselves for punishment in their gym kit to facilitate the access to that key part of their anatomy which was always beaten naked. This practice had been instigated by the Court several years earlier but had been adopted enthusiastically by every Court since then.

And the Rigby system of junior and senior prefects assured the continuation of tradition within the Court, for the juniors who became seniors in their final year were already fully indoctrinated into the traditions of the Court. There was no doubt about it that once elevated to the rank of  prefect, a boy’s perspectives and attitudes towards his erstwhile classmates, from which group the himself had been selected, changed radically.

In general, it was safe to say that the prefects were extremely enthusiastic upholders of the school rules. Catching miscreants ensured that they could indulge in a pastime which pretty well all of them quickly came to enjoy:  beating naked arse!  In fact, an acute observer might have observed that the elevation to the rank of prefect in the Rigby School system, gave a boy a degree of power over his classmates which bordered on the abusive. In microcosm, the Rigby system was an illustration of the maxim “Power corrupts; absolute power corrupts absolutely.” 

But that was the way things worked at Rigby.  Outside of the classroom, the Court of Prefects’ word was law. They seized upon even the most minor infraction of the school rules to inflict excessively severe corporal punishment on the perpetrators.  And the extraordinary fact was that the boys being punished accepted their fate as being part and parcel of the system. Checks and balances: forget it!

It may sound incredible, but Patrick, who in his earlier years had been a serial offender and had been beaten times without number both by both the Headmaster and the prefects, had, in fact, in recent times never been summoned to the Prefects’ Court. And so, it was on the first Friday meeting of the Court that term that Patrick, now a prefect himself, arrived at the prefects’ common room early, to find that the evening’s “catch”, including his two nominees, already lined up at the door awaiting the order to enter.

To Patrick it looked like being a good evening as there were no less than eight boys in their gym kit waiting to enter. He was surprised to see that the Prefect’s Court was formally arranged around a table at which the Head-Boy, Jeremy Meakin was already sitting as President of the Court. 

“Ingram-Lewis, welcome to your first Prefect’s Court,” began Meakin. “You are to be congratulated as a newcomer on your contribution of no less than two eminently acceptable backsides to this evening’s session.  Just to put you in the picture as to how we handle things.  All the miscreants are brought into the room together and have to stand against the wall with their hands on their heads, and watch as each of their school fellows takes his punishment.”  

“The lucky lads, or perhaps better put, the unfortunate miscreants, are punished in date order. So those assigned to the Court at beginning of the week are thrashed first and so on.  Where two or more boys are caught breaking a school rule together, then we thrash them together. That is to say in the case of your two citations, they will be put across two chairs together and two of us will then proceed to apply the cane to their naked arses simultaneously, to the count of another prefect. We think that this heightens the drama of the whole occasion and brings home to the boys being beaten that they were partners in crime, so to speak.  And so, this evening, you will beat one of your referrals and you may nominate any other of your fellow prefects to beat the other boy alongside you.” 

“Now, in certain cases of a severe breach of rules, irrespective of who made the referral, I myself intervene and administer the cane, as I alone am authorised to give up to twelve cuts. So, as you can see, Ingram-Lewis, this is quite a formal occasion and brings home to those of our school fellows we are correcting, the serious way in which we, the prefects, take our role in maintaining order out of class time.  And so, Ingram-Lewis now that you are conversant with our methods I think that we can invite our unfortunate friends to enter and get on with tonight’s proceedings.”

The eight boys entered and lined themselves up against the wall, hands on heads as bidden by the Head-Boy. “Merton, kindly step forward and stand in front of the desk,” intoned the Head-Boy.  “Merton, you were caught smoking a cigarette in the changing rooms.  As you know, this is viewed very gravely by the Headmaster and if referred to him you will most certainly be birched. However, as this is your first offence of this kind, we have decided to be lenient and deal with the matter here and now.  I shall personally have the unpleasant (he actually meant pleasant) task of beating you myself, as this offence merits twelve cuts.” 

Poor Merton blanched at the thought of what what was about to happen to him, as The Head-Boy’s skill with the cane was legendary. Remember we are in the third term of the school year and Meakin, the Head-Boy had been exercising his caning arm for five terms already, three as a junior prefect and two as Head-Boy.

In fact he had become somewhat of a caning legend, for no one was considered his equal, not even the Headmaster himself. A beating by Meakin was just about as bad as it could get: the most excruciatingly painful experience imaginable. And here was Merton about to suffer twelve vicious strokes for what he had just been told was a lenient punishment.  Merton looked nervous, but then who would not have knowing that he was about to have his naked arse roasted; but he said nothing.

“Right, then Merton, step out of your shorts, bend across the back of that chair in there and present your naked arse to me for my consideration.” Merton hesitated for a moment; but was immediately urged on by the Head-Boy: “Come on Merton, get a move on; we’ve not got all night and we have a lot to get through,” he concluded, throwing a meaningful glance at the waiting line-up. With Merton finally in place and his arse presented to the Head-Boy’s satisfaction, he picked up a senior cane and proceeded to give Merton’s buns a text- book thrashing. 

Patrick watched in sheer admiration as he saw Meakin, for the second time in a few days, lay on stroke after stinging stroke in neat parallel lines across the full width Merton’s arse.  He enjoyed the sound of the cane as it cut into Merton’s muscular buns, creating furrow after furrow, which turned red and then blue. It was clear that the pain achieved by the Head-Boy with the senior cane greatly exceeded that that which he had inflicted on the miserable Tomlinson the other day. 

Merton, to his great credit, maintained complete silence through the entire onslaught (there is no other word  to describe it) but but when he finally got up from his beating, pulled back on his shorts and resumed his position in the row of waiting supplicants, his face was full of tears.  The others waiting their turn had winced at each stroke, but punishment was punishment and they all accepted it with no ill will towards the prefects. 

However, it has to be said that Merton was the object of immense admiration, not only from the waiting boys, but also from the prefects, for Merton and exhibited that quality which they all admired tremendously: at the end of the day, Merton was a true gentleman and had behaved as such; he had exhibited that much admired quality, the stiff upper lip. He had broken the rules and taken his punishment but there was now no sign of rancour. This may sound strange today, but such was the attitude among the British upper classes at the beginning of the twentieth century: the end of Victoria’s long reign.

“Drew and Bristow, step forward you’re next.  Now we have to thank our new member, Ingram-Lewis, whose vigilant eye caught you breaking one of the most commonly broken rules: going out without your caps.  This, as you both know, is always punished by six; and in your case, as you are now both fourteen, it will be six with the senior cane.  So, step up to the two chairs the pair of you, shorts down and let’s be seeing what your backsides look like and what sort of picture we can paint on them.”

We should perhaps describe how the two boys were to be beaten simultaneously.  The two chairs had been place in the middle of the room, seat to seat, with a boy bending across the back of each chair, so that the two lads were in fact facing each other.

“So, Ingram-Lewis; this is your maiden appearance at the Court to which you have most commendably sent two young tearaways for its attention: so whom would you like to nominate to help you in this double caning?” asked the Head-Boy. “I am sure anyone of us will be delighted to perform this onerous task and exercise his caning arm on your behalf.   So, who is it to be?  But remember that you must choose a senior prefect, for these two young delinquents are going to be given a good taste of the senior cane.”

“Well, Meakin, thank you very much; I would like to ask Ashton, if he would care to help me and perhaps you yourself would do me the honour of calling the strokes: six in total, I think.”

So Patrick and Ashton each picked up a cane and stood over the naked arse of one of the boys: Patrick took  Drew and Ashton, Bristow. It has to be said that both lads had arses which were just asking to be caned: well rounded, muscular buttocks, with no other recent “attacks”, provided perfect fields for the two prefects to exercise their skills.  So Patrick and Ashton stood more or less facing each other as each was right handed and that was the best way to address of each target.

On a nod from Patrick, the Head-Boy called out the first stroke and both canes descended in perfect unison to land with a resounding thwack across their targets.   Both boys were less stoic than the admirable Merton and let out howls of pain. 

The Head-Boy waited several seconds to let the impact of the first stroke sink in and then said: “Two”.  And so it went on from there. The highly experienced Ashton laid on his six in strictly parallel lines.  Patrick tried to emulate him, but this was his first effort and a public one at that; with the senior cane his cuts were not quite as uniformly distributed.  But he managed to deliver a good stinging caning to Drew’s arse, and when the two lads were finally got up they were both in tears.

And so the Court continued its beating trajectory, as boy followed boy and one naked arse after the other was thrashed.  Patrick who had never experienced anything like it, was in seventh heaven, he realised that he absolutely adored beating naked arse. It gave him a sexual high; so much so that by the time it was all over his underpants were soaked with his cum and he could hardly keep his cock in his pants, so hard was his erection.

But looking around at his his co-perfects he saw that he was not alone. It had to be admitted that the beating naked young men’s bare buttocks was a very exhilarating and moreover, arousing erotic experience. 

CHAPTER 7

The evening was, however, not yet over; the Head-Boy suddenly raised his hand for silence, walked across to the door, which suddenly pulled open. Two young boys, clearly first formers, virtually fell into the room;  they had clearly been eavesdropping at the door, trying to find out what was going on. One was our friend, the ubiquitous Tomlinson and the other a boy called Parker, The Head-Boy clearly knew them both and said: “Tomlinson, Parker, what can we do for you two this evening? What exactly were you doing there standing at the door?”

There was a brief silence whilst both lads tried to think of something to say to excuse their eavesdropping and it was, of course, the ever inventive “I don’t like strong, stewed tea” Tomlinson, who ventured another unlikely explanation for their misconduct:  “Well, Meakin, you see, it was like this; we were just going along the corridor when Parker’s shoelace came undone and he just leaned against the door to support himself whilst he re-tied it.”

“And what were you doing propping yourself up on the door, Tomlinson? Was one of your shoelaces also undone?”

“Oh no, Meakin, I was just leaning there to help support Parker, whilst he re-tied his lace;  so that he wouldn’t fall over, you see, Meakin; I was actually just helping him.”

“Yes, I do understand. Tomlinson; it was most noble and considerate of you to help our friend in need. But you know Tomlinson, I may be a bit thick right now, but how do you explain the fact that you were tying or helping to tie shoelaces when you are both wearing your bedroom slippers?  Just explain that to me, would you Tomlinson; no doubt, as ever, there is a rational explanation to this unlikely act; or could it be, Tomlinson that your slippers are, in fact, a mirage and that you are both wearing shoes; or am I imagining things when I think that you may be wearing slippers in order not to disturb us at our appointed task?  You know, Tomlinson, I see a great literary future for you as a writer of far-fetched, unbelievable tales; I can see the title of the book now: Tomlinson’s Tall Tales.”

Tomlinson, as ever unable to keep quiet said: “Do you really think so , Meakin? I never ever thought about that.”

“Tomlinson, not only are you a serial breaker of the school rules, an inveterate liar and a teller of the most unlikely tales, but you are an utter twit to boot.  You know, Tomlinson, I can think of no arse I enjoy thrashing more than I do yours.  You, Tomlinson, have a backside on which the words “Thrash me” are written large.”

Parker was now getting increasingly nervous and could see by now what a mess Tomlinson had got them into and said: “Well, truth to tell, Meakin, we were wondering what actually happened at Prefects’ Court and that is why we were listening at the door.  So now that you know the truth, if it is all right with you, could we please go back to our dormitory as it is nearly lights-out time for first formers and after that we are not allowed of bed.”

“Don’t worry your little head, Parker, about lights-out. We shall see that you get to bed on time; but as you are here we shall also satisfy your curiosity about what happens at Prefects’ Court.”  And with that Meakin motioned the two boys to enter the room, at the same time indicating to Patrick that he should put the two chairs in their central position, ready to accept the two boys. 

“Well, boys, now that you are in the Prefects’ Court, just look around you. You see that line of boys in their gym kit, over by the wall; well, they have all just been beaten by us the prefects to correct various misdemeanours which they committed during the week. That is what we do on Friday nights at Prefects’ Court: we correct the misdemeanours of errant boys by beating their arses.” 

“Now you two, miserable specimens with your prurient curiosity, allow me to tell you that gentlemen do not eavesdrop. It is a very a grave misdemeanour, which has to be corrected. But fortunately you are in the very place for that correction to be applied.  So no arguments; drop your trousers and underpants, the pair of you and each bend across the back one of those two chairs and present your naked arses to me for inspection. Ingram-Lewis, if you would be so kind as to help me correct this odious pair. I suggest you take that miserable liar, Tomlinson , with whose anatomy you recently familiarised yourself and I will explore the unknown delights of what Parker has to offer.”

Meakin and Patrick then went ahead and with six cuts each of the junior cane, reduced the two boys to snivelling, whining wrecks. “Parker, you may get up up, pull up your shorts and join the line against the wall,  As for you, Tomlinson, stay exactly as you are, for I personally intend to give your miserable arse some further attention,  You Tomlinson are a serial liar and we do not like liars in this school.  The cuts you have just received were your punishment for eavesdropping. Now you, and you alone, Tomlinson , are going to pay the price for lying yet again.” 

“The only regret I have on this occasion, Tomlinson, is that your age does not permit me to use the senior cane on your backside, so I shall just have to do my best with the tools to hand. Ingram-Lewis you would kindly stand aside and allow me access to Tomlinson’s arse, I will I have the doubtful pleasure of trying to teach him yet the same lesson as I did previously; that lying does not pay.”

CHAPTER 8

When it was all over and the boys who had been punished and the prefects had dispersed, Meakin looked at Patrick and said: “You know, Patrick (note the intimate form of address which presaged what was to follow) you look as though you need some stimulation yourself.  You did very well indeed this evening at your first Prefect’s Court and if you wish, I will try and give you a few tips as to how to improve our stroke. It’s all in that final flick of the wrist, which makes the difference between a good and a great caner; and you have all the makings of a truly great caner, let me tell you.  Patrick if you feel like a little relaxation with me before we go bed, just say the word. Me, not to mince words, I could do with a really good fuck before going to bed; so how about it?”

Of course, Patrick needed no further invitation and he and Jeremy went off together to Jeremy’s study, where behind a locked door they released their mutual tensions by fucking each other.  This was the second time that they had enjoyed each other’s company and Patrick was much more relaxed.  Suffice it to say that Patrick finally came away and went to bed feeling sexually very satisfied;  he had had the greatest erotic experience ever, in taking part in the Prefects’ Court and had then gone on to an equally delightful bout of anal sex with Jeremy: a perfect ending to a perfect day. He really felt that he had found his way in life.

And so, Patrick, the unexpected new prefect, took the bit between his teeth and flagellated  and fucked his way through the rest of the term. It was, without a doubt, the happiest time he had ever had at Rigby; he had found what he saw as two complementary vocational activities: to beat arse and to fuck it. He enjoyed his regular participation in the Friday night Prefects’ Court, but he also maintained an eagle eye to ensure that he had a regular number of boys to beat himself.  One of these beatings, of a boy of his own age, named Roderick Pennington, has already been described in some detail in Part 1 of this chronicle, but for the sake of completeness the salient details of this encounter are repeated here, as Pennington was to play a major role in Patrick’s subsequent school life.

Patrick had caught Pennington smoking. After a great deal of argument to and fro between the two young men, Pennington had had to submit his arse to Patrick who had given him a hard beating.  But then, he had gone on and immediately established an active sexual relationship with Pennington, who himself was already quite experienced cocksman.  The two young men and clicked and had become regular sex partners, so that Patrick had two very experienced young men with whom he had regular sex during that summer term before the long vacation, Roderick Pennington, and the Head-Boy, Jeremy Meakin.

It was during that first term that Patrick acquired the reputation of being one of the hardest caners among the prefects and one of the school’s greatest sexual athletes. He adopted a technique where he would offer all boys over eighteen whom he was about to beat an option which came to be known as “The Ingram-Lewis Either Or.”  Patrick had not thought up the idea but had,

 himself been offered it on one occasion by a senior prefect, who had been preparing to beat Patrick’s arse. Had been given the choice of either six bare or three bare and…  The  “and”  was left hanging; but the meaning  was clear: six full strokes or three strokes and a fucked arse. 

Patrick had hesitated at the time but had finally taken the six; otherwise he would have lost his anal virginity there and then.  Patrick availed himself of this idea on a very regular basis and many of his supplicants were happy to take three cuts and an anal fuck from Patrick, who rapidly became recognised as one of the school’s top sexual athletes.  But for Patrick it was also a revelation.  He had learned to love male sex but never more then when the supplicant opted for three cuts followed by a good hard anal fuck. Fucking an arse which he had just beaten became Patrick’s idea of heaven;  not that a more comfortable and relaxed fuck was to ne n-sneezed at either.  Patrick loved them both!

So Patrick flogged and fucked his way through that final summer term, which ended in an extraordinary Prefects’Court.  Jeremy Meakin, the Head-Boy, would be leaving at the end of the term along with all the other senior prefects and a new Head-Boy from among the newly promoted juniors, who in their final year became seniors, would be named by the Headmaster for the beginning of the new school year in September.  All the present juniors were agog, wondering who of their number would have the honour to be made Head-Boy. Meanwhile, Meakin wanted his reign as Head-Boy to go out with a bang so he urged his co-prefects to round up minimum of twelve miscreants to “take part” in the final Prefects’ Court of the year. 

“Listen ,” he said to his fellow senior prefects, “Round up as many miscreants as you can so that we can have a gala thrashing for our final Court together. I know that what we are supposed to be doing is to maintain order, but there is no reason at all why we do not make a special effort to find as many tearaway rule breakers as possible, so that we too, as prefects feel satisfied with our final efforts; no slacking in our duties just because it is the end of our term of office and we seniors are all leaving Rigby for good. We need to set a good example for the new Court.” 

What he left unsaid, but what everyone understood, was that the prefects were also aiming to enjoy themselves by having a gala beating occasion for the final Court of the year. And so in that final week, all stops were pulled out to corral twelve “candidates”.

Twelve candidates to be beaten was a tall order, or so thought Patrick, but as he and Meakin were very close he was determined to do his best for his friend. Fate or luck (bad luck for the boys who were caught) helped Patrick.  He was again passing the shower room where he had caught Roderick Pennington smoking, when he heard some loudish laughter and again smelled smoke, so he opened the door to find four sixth formers just back from a cross country run, standing around having a drag.

The boys looked sheepish at being caught red-handed by a prefect and knowing full well the potential  consequences of their action, one of them said: “Oh, come on, Ingram-Lewis, it’s the end of term; let it go for once, can’t you. You have fag yourself sometimes; come and have a drag with us.”

“Patridge (for that was the name of the boy who had spoken) I am afraid that is not possible.  The four of you, Patridge, Collins, Williams and Bairstow, are all senior boys and you all know that smoking is an offence which is dealt with by the Headmaster and usually involves a birching. I ought to report you to him immediately, but as it is the end of term, I will ask the Head-Boy if, on this occasion, we can be lenient and deal with you next Friday at the last Prefects’ Court of the term.”

“Oh come on, Ingram-Lewis; be a sport and let the whole thing go; nobody will be any the wiser and you do take the odd drag yourself. It looks awfully like the pot calling the kettle black to me”

“Patridge, and all of you, I have to tell you that the fact that I do occasionally smoke a cigarette myself is not relevant.  I am not proposing to refer you to the Head-Boy because you smoke, but for having caught you in the act of smoking. If I look the other way, then it will be round the school like greased lightening that Ingram-Lewis is a soft touch and my authority as a prefect, which continues in the coming school year this September, will be undermined.” 

“So no, I cannot and will not let your delinquency go unpunished, as I say I will suggest to the Head-Boy that you be brought before the Prefects’ Court this Friday, rather than reporting you to the Headmaster; that way you will get a caning rather than a birching.”

Partridge looked unbelievingly at Ingram-Lewis: “Oh fuck you Ingram-Lewis! Get real; get off your high horse: who the fuck do you think you are, lording it over us?”

“To answer your question, Partridge, I am a senior prefect and I am simply carrying out the duties associated with my office. Patterson, you and your three friends here, were stupid enough to allow yourselves to get caught breaking the rules: a cardinal rule: infringement of the no smoking rule is considered a serious offence and is always punished. As for your other comment, Partridge, I am afraid that you will have to forego the pleasure to which you just alluded.  However, other delights await you in fifteen minutes in my study. Is that clear Partridge? You will present yourself in my study in fifteen minutes.”

“Fuck you, Ingram-Lewis!  What the hell do you think you are doing, bossing me around like this?”

“Let me make it quite clear to you what I am doing Partridge. I am telling you, a boy whom I have just caught smoking and who has chosen to become abusive to me, a senior prefect, who was doing nothing other than performing his duty, to see me in my study in fifteen minutes time. On that occasion I shall have the pleasure, and believe me, Partridge, in view of your abusive remarks, it will be a great pleasure, to correct you in the time-honoured manner of Rigby.  I shall attempt to beat some manners into you by applying my cane to your bare arse.  Fifteen minutes, Partridge; don’t be late.” And with that Patrick turned on his heel and left the four lads stewing in their own juice. 

Partridge wished that he had held his tongue; but what was done could not now be undone and he knew he was in for a very painful few minutes. He knew he had to obey Patrick’s order, for to ignore it would mean being hauled before the Headmaster with the prospect of a birching.  He entered Patrick’s study, with a look of defiance still on his face.  “Pants and underpants down and across that chair,” said Patrick with no other word of explanation.

”Oh come on Ingram-Lewis; be reasonable, what I said was in haste and anger and I am sorry I said it; so couldn’t we just forget it for once?  Look we are all going to get a thrashing for smoking at the Prefects’ Court on Friday, so you don’t really need to cane me now; come on, Ingram-Lewis, be a sport and say you will forget it.”

“Partridge; you were totally abusive to me and you need to be taught a lesson as to when to hold your abusive tongue.  This has got nothing at all to do with your being caught smoking; this is personal to you. You need to be taught a sharp lesson and I am going to undertake that task here and now; soyou’re your bare arse across that chair and quick about it.”  To add weight to his remarks, Patrick had picked up his senior cane, which he had bent practically double in front of Partridge, whilst he was speaking. Partridge blanched visibly as he saw the Patrick truly meant business. “Come on Partridge; what are you waiting for? Let me see your bare bum over that chair right now.”

Patrick then went on and gave Partridge’s buns as sound a thrashing as he was able. It has to be said that we were now at the end of the term and Patrick had greatly improved his earlier technique, so that he was now up there alongside the Head-Boy in terms of the pain he was able to deliver. Partridge for all his braggadocio was reduced to tears by Patrick’s efforts.  As he left Patrick’s study a humbler man, Patrick added a reminder: “Don’t forget Partridge, you and your three friends are expected at the Prefects’ Court this Friday at eight sharp; don’t be late otherwise you will all finish up in front of the Headmaster; that’s not a threat, but a promise!”

CHAPTER 9

The final Prefects’ Court of the school year was sort of a gala occasion. The word “gala” is really inappropriate to describe a gathering whose job was to punish a number of errant youths. But all the seniors, whose schooldays would be over for ever in just a few more days, looked upon it as an occasion when they would have, for the very last time, access to a selection of naked arses which they could beat. So there was an element of “Schadenfreude” – joy in the misfortunes of others – as well as a strong current of homoeroticism in the air as the prefects assembled and viewed their final “catch. For most of the seniors, this would be the last time ever that they wield wield the cane. Their schooldays were at an end.”

Together, by increased vigilance during the week, the prefects had managed to put together a group of twelve boys whom they intended to beat, of which Patrick’s contribution, the four smokers, was considered the jewel in the crown: four boys who would be made to offer their arses simultaneously for punishment: a flogging hitherto unheard of. The Head-Boy, Jeremy Meakin had literally jumped for joy when Patrick told him of his “catch”.  “You know Meakin, according to to the rules; we should refer this to the Headmaster, for smoking is a birching offence.” 

“Not on your life, Ingram-Lewis,” was Meakin’s immediate reaction. “ There is no way we are going to hand them over to the Headmaster and deny ourselves the pleasure of a four-man, naked arse beating to end the year.  They will be the magnificent final act of our last Court of the year.  Don’t worry, there is no way they are going to complain; none of them would want to have his arse birched, which as we both know from personal experience, is one of the most painful of all experiences.”

The fatal Friday evening arrived. The prefects were assembled. The “condemned” boys were brought in, wearing their gym strips and all in a state of nervousness which testified to the electric feeling running through the air. The Head-Boy called the name of the first boy to present himself for punishment.  Usually boys were caned in the chronological order in which they had been caught “in flagrante delicto.”  But the Head-Boy had decreed that Patrick’s group of four would be punished last, to provide a fitting finale to the Court’s last session of the school year.  The sense of drama heightened the tension and made this final Court a very special occasion.

Each supplicant had to drop his gym shorts, bend across the chair and take his punishment across his naked arse. The prefect who had nominated the supplicant to appear before the Court was the one who carried out the task; and it is safe to say that everyone put heart and soul into wielding the cane. All the boys who had been beaten stood up somewhat tearful from their ordeal.  But the Court was to witness as a climax, two simultaneous multiple beatings, the first of  two boys who had been caught down town not wearing their caps and the second, the four smokers, sent to the Court by Patrick.

Two chairs were arranged for the two-man simultaneous beating and guess who were the lucky lads? None other than our old friend, the ubiquitous Tomlinson and his “partner in crime”, Parker.  Earlier in the term the two of them had been thrashed by the Court for having eavesdropped and Tomlinson had been given added strokes on that occasion for having lied to the Head-Boy.  Also, earlier in the term the Head-Boy had himself thrashed Tomlinson for running in the corridor and a few weeks later Patrick had taken the cane to him for exactly the same offence, on which occasion the Head-Boy had also felt obliged to give Tomlinson a dozen additional cuts for lying to Patrick.  So Tomlinson was th proud possessor of what had to be the most beaten bum of the year

As he called up the two boys for punishment, the Head-Boy said: “Tomlinson, I see that you are again up for punishment. I have the strong impression that yours is an arse in perpetual search of a cane. Tell me, Tomlinson, how many times have you been beaten this term?”

Tomlinson thought for a second and then said; “Seven times, or eight if you include today, Meakin.  But just let me explain: many times I was victimised; for instance….”

And Tomlinson would have launched himself into one of his tall stories, concocting an absurd excuse, had Meakin not cut him short.  “The pair of you, shorts down and each across a chair and let’s see your arses naked to see what we need to do to put you on the right path.” It was a junior prefect who had caught the pair without their caps and he had nominated another junior to assist him in the simultaneous caning of the two boys.

The Head-Boy called the count and the two prefects synchronised their strokes so that the two canes landed simultaneously across the two waiting arses with a satisfying crack; satisfying for the onlookers that is but terribly painful for the two recipients, both of whom howled blue murder with pain as blow followed blow. Both were in tears when they finally were told to get up and rejoin the observing line of penitents. 

The Head-Boy then said toTomlinson: “Tomlinson, in view of your extraordinary record this term: the exceptional number of encounters between the cane and your arse, I think that tomorrow, you and I need to have a little talk about your future; my study tomorrow morning immediately before lunch.” Tomlinson started to protest, but was silenced by Meakin: “As I have just said, Tomlinson, tomorrow, my study, immediately before lunch and don’t, please don’t, come up with some lame, far fetched  excuse, such as “I couldn’t find your study, Meakin.” Just be there Tomlinson; if you value our are at all, just see that you are there boy!”

But now came the climax of the final of meeting of the Prefects’ Court of the school year.  The four boys, Patterson, Collins, Williams and Bairstow were called to stand in front of the Head-Boy, who sat like a judge in the centre of the table, surrounded by several senior prefects.  He manage to make the whole scene sound like the passing a death sentence in court of law.  “As you know, strictly speaking you four should have been referred to Headmaster for birching; but as it is shortly the end of the school year we have decided to be lenient with you and deal with your gross misconduct and blatant disregard for school rules here in Court.”  

The Head-Boy laid it on with a trowel; but one has to ask oneself whether the four recipients of what the Court was about to inflict on them would consider their punishment as lenient; it was very doubtful: very doubtful indeed!  Meakin went on: “The four of you will each first receive six cuts of the senior cane across your naked arses, laid on by Ingram-Lewis, to whom we are grateful for his perspicacity in catching you in the act.  He will be assisted by three other senior prefects, whom he has nominated to help him. These four gentlemen will deliver each of the six strokes to your eagerly expectant arses in a synchronised manner so that each of you will have the pleasure of feeling the cane at the same moment.”  

“I shall, myself, then intervene and in my capacity as Head-Boy give each of you a further six strokes of the cane to bring up the total to twelve cuts, which is what we feel your particular offence merits. By way of comparison the Headmaster’s tariff for your offence would be fifteen strokes of the birch, so as you can see you are being let off very lightly! That was the Head-Boy’s take on the situation; but I suspect that the supplicants had a different view, which they were not, of course, invited to express!  So, gentlemen, if you would like to turn around, drop your shorts and assume the appropriate position, I think we are ready to begin.”

Whilst the Head-Boy had been berating the four supplicants, four chairs had been arranged in the centre of the room in a square formation so that each boy could bend over the back of a chair and make his arse accessible to the cane. Patrick and his three helpers each stood above the boy they had selected to beat.  The Head-Boy called the first stroke and each of the four canes landed simultaneously on a naked arse. 

The four penitents  had agreed among themselves that they would take the beating with a stiff upper lip and would neither cry out in pain nor shed a tear. There was something horribly dramatic about the way the punishment was handled. At the end of the day, each boy was, in fact, being caned by a separate;  but somehow the fact that they were all bent over together and that four blows landed simultaneously with resounding thwacks as the cane mated with their naked the buttocks, enhanced the overall dramatic effect.  It was truly homoerotic, not to mention, sadistic occasion.

The Head-Boy now took over where the others had left off. He brought his cane down with exquisitely balanced force on one pair of  buttocks after  another. He porceeded one stroke at a time, before moving on to the next boy And so he continued stroke by stroke, arse by arse until he and given each boy a further six strokes. If ever any boys had received a truly thorough beating, this was it. And to their credit, with their arses on fire, they stood up, pulled up their shorts and rejoined the line up without a murmur.  These four boys were the object of admiration both by the others who had been beaten earlier and by the prefects themselves.

And so ended the final climactic Prefects’ Court of the summer term.  As Meakin said later to Patrick, as they lay together in his study, having spent the rest of the evening fucking each other by way of a release of the tension they had built up during the final meeting of the Court:  “You know Patrick, those four boys took their punishment as true English gentlemen; I really admire the way they took their punishment; they will all go far in life, I think.”

But there was still one unpleasant matter the Head-Boy had to deal with:  Tomlinson.  Tomlinson arrived at the Head-Boy’s study as requested, having no idea what was going to happen. “Tomlinson, let me get this quite straight. As I understand it you have been beaten by one or other the prefects no less than eight times this term. If that is correct, which I assume it is, I believe that there is something radically wrong, something which requires immediate attention.  I have decided to take your case to the Headmaster to see what he thinks should be done with you. Clearly you cannot go on breaking the rules left, right and centre, as you have done this term, otherwise you will finish up being expelled from the school and I am sure that you don’t wish that.”

And so off the see the Headmaster, they went. Meakin made Tomlinson wait  outside whilst he talked to the  Headmaster in his study:  “Headmaster, as I told you earlier, this boy Tomlinson is totally out control. I have discussed the matter with Ingram-Lewis, who tells me that he himself was much the same as Tomlinson; always in trouble, beating after beating to no effect, until one fateful day he was beaten by you one morning and then birched by you that same day in the late afternoon. He tells me he suddenly saw sense and decided to reform and the results are what we see today.”

“Quite, quite, Meakin. It is quite true that Ingram-Lewis became a reformed character after that birching incident; I remember it well. Do I understand you to think that the same treatment, one thrashing on top of another, might help Tomlinson?”

“Well, sir,  I am not an expert on the subject, but successive beatings throughout the term have clearly served no useful purpose, so perhaps  a really thorough birching making Tomlinson wish he had never been born, might be the answer.”

“I am inclined to agree with you Meakin. When do you think it should be done?”

“Well, sir, I have Tomlinson waiting outside your door, right now sir; so if you are free sir, why not do it right away?  Tomlinson has no idea sir, why I have brought him here. So sir,  there seems little point in delaying  matters; so why not strike whilst the iron is hot?”

“I agree; no point in wasting time once the decision has been taken.  Let’s take our friend Tomlinson to the punishment room down the hallway right now; get it over and done with and hope that it produces the desired results. Actually it falls well, as the gardener has just this morning delivered three fresh birches, which are soaking in water right now.  They have to be fresh, you know, otherwise they soon break-up on impact. It’s really a very, very painful punishment you know Meakin: kill or cure, I’d say.”

Meakin and the Headmaster opened the door and told Tomlinson to follow them. The Headmaster unlocked the door to the punishment room and ushered the boy inside.  “Do you know why you are here, Tomlinson?  This is the room where we birch recalcitrant boys, such as you.  I have to tell you Tomlinson, that in view of your appalling behaviour this term, I am going to birch you right now, in an attempt to make you see sense and to bring you to your sense.  You boy, cannot be allowed to continue the way you have this your first year at Rigby.”

“Oh please sir, please don’t birch me. I’ve just yesterday had a severe beating from the prefects and I don’t want another today.   I could not stand the pain, sir, and besides, I don’t think you should beat me again today, sir, and anyway, I don’t want to be birched and I don’t approve of it and it will hurt too much…”

The Headmaster cut short this verbiage from Tomlinson; “Tomlinson, take off your trouser and your underwear and go and bend over the horse.  Meakin if you would be so kind at to attach the straps around Tomlinson’s wrists and ankles and see that he is comfortable.”  Comfortable!

Tomlinson was now trembling with fear and already in tears as he found himself strapped immobile to the frame, his naked arse protruding, waiting for the Headmaster to begin. “Tomlinson, in my long experience as a teacher, I have learned that if a boy needs beating, there is no point in giving him half measure; it has to be painful to have any effect. And so, Tomlinson, I am going to give you fifteen very hard strokes of this freshly made birch rod. It will be very painful, very painful indeed, I think I can safely say; but it is for your own good.” Tomlinson would doubtless have disagreed with this well-worn observation, but his view on this matter was not solicited.  “This, Tomlinson, will probably be the most painful experience in your life to date.”

“If you are wise, you will see to it that it is not only the first but also the last visit you make to this room.  But let me be quite clear, Tomlinson, if next term I need to take the birch to you again, I shall not hesitate to do so.  Make no mistake, Tomlinson, the birch is always standing ready to deal with boys like you; and I can tell you that  I am a great believer in the old maxim: “Spare the rod and spoil the child.” So, Tomlinson, you have been warned; your future is in your own hands.  Now, Meakin, would you kindly call the strokes so that we know exactly where we are?” 

And with that the Headmaster proceeded to give Tomlinson’s naked arse the thrashing of its life. The pain from a birching builds up and up as stroke follows stroke and quickly becomes absolutely excruciating; it is quite unlike any other form of corporal punishment, which is why it is so universally feared.  Tomlinson was quickly reduced to a blubbering mess. After the tenth stroke, the Headmaster paused, looked at Meakin and said:  “Meakin I am rather tired, I would be grateful if you could take over from me and complete Tomlinson’s punishment on my behalf.”

Meakin could not believe his ears; he was being offered the chance to apply the birch to Tomlinson’s arse: manna from heaven indeed! “Certainly Headmaster.” He had almost added, “With pleasure,” a sentiment he felt but which he very wisely  refrained from voicing.  Meakin gazed at Tomlinson’s raw looking backside; the strokes from yesterday’s Prefects’ Court beating were still clearly visible and these were now being overlaid with a descant of fine bruises so characteristic of the birch. 

It is the spread of the very flexible birch twigs which ensures that the whole of a recipient’s naked arse can be brought to an unbelievable pitch of pain without doing any serious physical damage. And Meakin laid on the last five strokes as hard as he could; every stroke counted and Tomlinson knew it.  These were, in fact the last strokes of corporal punishment delivered by Meakin; a few days later he would leave Rigby School forever and canings and beatings would be gone from his life.

It was an activity whose passing he would mourn, for it had taken on a vocational aura. Tomlinson finally got up from his punishment with an unbelievably painful backside. Anyone who has never experienced the birch himself cannot begin to comprehend what it feels like: it can be a life changing experience as it had been for Patrick and hopefully it would prove the same for Tomlinson in his future school career.

The end of term was fast approaching and with it Patrick’s first term as a senior prefect; in the next few days the boys would leave Rigby for the long summer recess.  Patrick and Jeremy Meakin had their last sexual coupling as school boys before they each went their own way.

In the autumn Meakin was to enter Oxford as a freshman at The House – Christchurch College, Oxford’s largest college and training ground of several of Britain’s Prime Ministers. Views were much divided on whether this was a good or a bad thing!  Patrick was to return in the autumn to begin his last year at Rigby before moving on in life to pastures new. The two young men who had been physically so close whilst at school together, were never again to meet; such is so often the way of life.

As the last few days of term ran out, Patrick and his other regular sex partner, Roderick Pennington, grew ever closer. He and Patrick were much the same age and since that fateful day earlier in the term, when Patrick, as a newly appointed prefect had caught Pennington smoking, thrashed him and then gone on to fuck him, they had become very close friends and highly compatible sex partners.  Patrick was relieved that Pennington would still be around for the next school year so that he would have one firm port of call in which he could dock his cock.

It was almost the final day before they all left to go to their respective homes. Patrick and Roderick Pennington were in what would be their last coupling before the holidays when Patrick suddenly said: “I say, Roderick, what are your plans for the summer?  Listen, if you have nothing better to do, why not come and spend the month of August with us at Ingram House in Hexham.  The countryside is magnificent in our southern part of Northumberland and as of the twelfth: the “Glorious Twelfth”: the grouse season will be open we have some good shooting around us. We have two sets of Purdy’s so I can lend you a couple of guns. So, old son, how about it?”

“What will your parents say about having me around for a whole month?  I would not want to be a burden.”

“Listen Roderick, my father is dead and I am in fact “The Lord of the Manor”.  My mother and her companion live there but I know that for the whole of August she is off on some sort of pilgrimage to Italy with a group of her friends and I know I am not invited; thank god, I might add.  So, if you are free, do come and stay.  We’ll have a hell of a time together.  All the staff will still be around and it’s a very comfortable existence.”

As both Patrick and Roderick were each only children, there were no obstacles on Roderick’s side;, so it was settled that Roderick would come for the whole of August as Patrick’s guest.  His parents were pleased that he had found such a close friend in Patrick;  but I wonder if their pleasure would have been quite so great had they known of the close sexual bond that the two boys had developed. But they did not know and what the eye does not see, the heart does not grieve; so the arrangements were greeted with their approval.

Patrick himself was relieved that he would have a congenial companion for at least a full month; his sex life was assured by Roderick’s presence, for he was sexually hot as Patrick himself.  Patrick’s only regret was that over the long vacation he would have no naked arses to thrash, for beating boys had captured his imagination and he truly enjoyed the eroticism of the act of applying his cane cane to boys’ naked buttocks  with the prospect of a post-beating fuck. He was already feeling the pangs of withdrawal, for his regular “correction” of his schoolmates, as he liked to think of it, had become like a drug.

So, arriving home at Ingram House in the early days of July, the only question was how Patrick would occupy his time for the rest of the month, while his mother and her companion were till around. At first sight he had no one to beat and, more importantly, no one to fuck; July looked like being a lean lent-like month. But matters often have a convenient manner of arranging things for the best and the month of July turned out to be no exception: Patrick was not to be bored with his own company; far from it!

TO  BE CONTINUED  IN  PART 3