The Ingram-Lewis Chronicles

THE  INGRAM-LEWIS CHRONICLES -  PART 4

PATRICK “IN LOCO DOMINI”

A  Homoerotic Short Story

By

Jason Land

CHAPTER 1

In Part 3 of the Ingram-Lewis Chronicles, we had left Patrick Ingram-Lewis on the first day of his final year at Rigby School where he had, much to his surprise, been appointed Head-Boy.  But his appointment went much further than that normally associated with the position of Head-Boy. The present Headmaster, Mr. Godber, had conferred upon him exceptional powers, in declaring him not only Head-Boy, but also “in loco domini” which translates as “in place of the master”. By this extraordinary act, Mr. Godber had handed over to Patrick Ingram-Lewis the responsibility for the enforcement of the entire discipline of the school. In concrete terms he was putting Patrick in charge of administering all corporal punishment at the school. As he had consulted no one prior to making his announcement, it had come as a complete surprise to both masters and pupils when this amazing news was announced at the first School Assembly of the new school year.

In the past, Mr. Godber had himself beaten and birched boys who were referred to him through a system of punishment slips issued by the teaching staff.  This was the traditional Rigby method of enforcing the school rules during class times: the masters themselves never wielded the cane, but by this referral system, handed errant boys over to the Headmaster for punishment .The prefects themselves had, at the same time, been able to administer beatings to any boys whom they caught misbehaving out of class time. But now, with this edict, in one stroke, Patrick Ingram-Lewis, assisted of course by his fellow prefects, was more or less solely responsible for beating the boys. I say more or less, because Mr. Godber had told Patrick that he would administer certain punishments himself. But Patrick believed that he would soon drop that idea and leave the entire wielding of the cane and the birch to him and his cohorts of prefects, who together constituted the Court of Prefects.

And so, under the new arrangements, the system of punishments slips continued, as this was the only means the teaching staff had of disciplining their pupils. But as of now, the corporal punishment associated with such citations would be handled not by the Headmaster himself, but by Patrick Ingram-Lewis, the Head-Boy. However, outside of class time, the prefects individually were still allowed to beat boys whom they caught breaking the school rules or, if they wished, have the errant youth appear before the weekly Friday night sessions Court of Prefects itself and undergo his beating there. So, Rigby School had possibly the most rigorous and extensive system of corporal punishment imaginable of enforcing the school rules. Every beating was accompanied by a pink slip giving the full details which were entered each day by the Head-Boy into the Punishment Register. It truly was a case of Rigby Rigour, for every delinquency no matter how minor was punished and the cane and birch reigned supreme.

On that first day of the new term, the first of the morning classes had been cancelled as the Headmaster had spent considerable time at the first School Assembly laying out the dramatic changes in the running of the school to both masters and boys.  Immediately after the assembly, Patrick, who as Head-Boy was also the President of the Court of Prefects, called the first meeting of the Court for eight o’clock that same evening, to discuss with his co-prefects how they would manage the revised situation under his sole direction.

It was immediately after lunch in the noon pause before the start of afternoon activities that Patrick happened to be walking on the corridor in front of one of the first form class rooms.  Rigby was not a big school, and had an annual intake of some sixty thirteen-year-old-boys , who were distributed into three first form classes designated 1A, 1B and 1C. Passing the door of 1A, Patrick heard through the closed door, what was clearly a rumpus going on in the classroom. Now at Rigby rule, rigidly enforced for several years, was that first and second year boys were not allowed alone in the class rooms, all of which were supposed to be locked over the lunch hour. 

Mr. Godber, himself,  had  introduced this rule many years ago (remember; he had been around at the school for over forty years) as on one occasion, boys had been left alone in the classroom when one of them had climbed onto the  master’s raised desk, from which he had fallen and broken his arm.  The boy in question had had to be taken to the hospital to have the fracture set. From then on, all classrooms were locked over the lunch hour, a job which devolved on the junior prefects, who performed  the task in a rota.  So Patrick asked himself why, as evidenced by the noise, boys were clearly in the room in defiance of the rules.

Patrick flung open the door to find that a chalk fight was going on.  Some dozen or so boys were engaged in a pitched battle, throwing broken pieces of chalk at each other, itself a highly risky pastime.  As he entered the boys, all of whom were new entrants and none of whom he knew personally, suddenly stopped their antics and fell silent: a typical reaction when authority of any sort showed its face. They looked sheepishly at the Head-Boy, wearing his gold tasselled mortar board, whom they had seen for the first time in his new authoritarian role at the Assembly that morning.

“You are, I am sure, all aware that it is strictly forbidden for first year boys to be alone in the classroom over the lunch hour.”  Utter silence!  “I shall take your silence as affirmative, which for those of you who are still momentarily dumb, means that you are aware of the rule and of the consequences you now face as a result of breaking it” Again, utter silence. “You boy, take a sheet of paper and write down for me your own name and the names of all your classmates who are involved in this lamentable spectacle.”  Patrick waited whilst the boy in question did as he was bidden and a few moments later handed over a complete list of the young delinquents, who numbered a round dozen in all.  The names of the new boys still meant nothing to Patrick but the name of the boy, whom he had charged with preparing the list, struck an immediate note of recognition: Tomlinson.

“Tomlinson: that is a name well known to me: the name of an older boy who chose last year to break every school rule in the book for which he was soundly punished on many occasions.”  Patrick gazed at Tomlinson and then it suddenly hit him; this young lad was none other than Tomlinson’s younger brother.

“Ingram-Lewis sir, (The Headmaster in his first address to the Assembly earlier that same day, had informed the boys that those in the the first and second years would address the Head-Boy as a mark of respect as “Ingram-Lewis sir”) I’m Thomas Tomlinson, and the person you are thinking of is my elder brother, Colin, who is now in the second form, sir.  He’s a year older than me, sir.”

“Tomlinson it is not necessary for you to tell me that your brother is a year older then you; believe it or not, I had managed to work that out for myself. Well, Tomlinson, I suppose that now we are to have the doubtful pleasure of coping with the two of you, we shall have to accord you the handle “minor” and refer to you as Tomlinson Minor, whilst your brother will be known as Tomlinson Major.  So, Tomlinson Minor, let me give you a piece of advice; do not emulate the school career to date of your elder brother, otherwise you will find you backside in a permanent state of pain: the very kind of pain that you and your miscreant classmates are going to experience for the first this evening.  Do I make myself clear?”

Patrick’s style of address was typical of the way in which older boys treated their younger brethren in public schools of the period.  Every opportunity that arose was taken by the prefects to punish the younger boys and to berate them in much the way Patrick had just done with Tomlinson. It was all part and parcel of life in an upper-class public school of that time.  The other young boys were all deathly silent whilst this was being said, but they now realised that they were in for what was often called “the high jump” that evening. Anyone could see with half an eye that many of them were already trembling at the thought of what was to happen to them. 

The thought was turned into a reality by Patrick: “You boys, all twelve of you, will report to the Court of Prefects this evening at eight o’clock precisely; I repeat eight o’clock precisely.  You will present yourselves wearing only your gym shorts and vests and in your bedroom slippers; no underwear of any sort to be worn. Is that clear?” There was a long silence whilst the implications of what has been said sank in. Patrick repeated: “Is that clear?”  Finally the boys mustered a collective, weak positive response.

“Good; then we all understand one another perfectly.  Now, the lot of you will pick up all the bits of chalk you have been throwing around and when that is done, you will all line up for inspection in the corridor outside the classroom.  Be quick about it, I shall be back in five minutes.” And Patrick left the boys to stew in their own juice, contemplating their fate, whilst attempting to clean up the mess they had made.  If ever a group of lads merited correction, it was this lot and they were to learn that evening precisely what Rigby Rigour actually meant as the cane mated painfully with their naked arses.

Patrick had come purely by chance upon these boys and their antics; but now decided that he would check on the other two first-form class rooms.  Both were still open, whereas the doors should have been locked; but both were empty. Returning to the class room 1A, he inspected the place to see that it had been restored to order, which it had and then told the line of boys in the corridor to go outside and play until the afternoon classes started. This done he himself turned the corner of the corridor in the direction of his own study.

CHAPTER 2

Patrick had no sooner turned the corner when he was almost knocked off his feet by a boy who had been running hell for leather down the corridor.  Patrick was surprised – or  was he, given the boy’s previous record? – to  find himself face to face with none other than the second year boy whom we now know as Tomlinson Major. The two looked at each other. “Tomlinson, Tomlinson, Tomlinson! You yet again; running in the corridor; and on the first day of term. What on earth were you doing rushing around at such speed? Did you not learn your lesson last term as to the painful consequences of such a serious disregard for one of the cardinal rules of the school?  Perhaps to make sure that you understand the seriousness of the trouble in which you once again find yourself, you would kindly repeat to me the rules governing movement inside the school buildings.  Come along Tomlinson, out with it, boy; let me here you recite the relevant rule which governs your conduct inside the school.”

The ever resourceful Tomlinson, evidently not in the slightest nonplussed by the situation in which he once again found himself,  took the business in his stride: “Ingram-Lewis, sir, (he had clearly heard and understood the Headmaster’s remarks at the Assembly that morning) I know that the rules forbid running in the corridors, sir, I really am aware of that, I really am, sir, but on this occasion it was justified. You see, I was running to the lavatory as I was nearly bursting and needed to have a pee.”

Patrick did not know whether to laugh or cry; one had to admire the inventiveness of Tomlinson, who always came up with some ludicrous excuse for his behaviour. “Tomlinson, or Tomlinson Major as I now must call you having just had the very doubtful pleasure of making the acquaintance of your younger brother; calls of nature requiring such drastically precipitate attention simply do not occur. It is the lunch hour and you have had every opportunity to prepare yourself well in advance for any call of nature.  Anyway, thousands wouldn’t, Tomlinson, but I shall believe you about your need to have a pee. So kindly go and relieve yourself and then come directly to my study.”

“Oh, Ingram-Lewis, sir, the urge has now passed and I no longer feel the need to go, so perhaps I could make my way ….”

“Directly to my study, in that case,” said Patrick, finishing the sentence for Tomlinson.  “Tomlinson, you are starting this new term in the same way as which you completed the last one. You boy are a died-in-the-wool serial offender: a regular breaker of the school rules and shall be treated as such. So Tomlinson, kindly button your lip and don’t waste your breath in thinking up new excuses for your behaviour. Just go along to my study and wait at the door for me. I shall be with you in a few moments and you and I will, as ever, get to the bottom of your problems in the traditional and time honoured way.”  Patrick then saw that in spite of his instructions, Tomlinson had not yet given up the fight and was preparing another excuse, so nipping the matter in the bud, Patrick said: “Not another word, boy! My study immediately and be quick about it.”  Tomlinson finally saw that he had to hold his tongue and did as he had been bidden.

A few minutes later, Tomlinson was to be found standing nervously in front of Patrick in his study. Patrick said: “Tomlinson, do you actually enjoy having your arse thrashed regularly?  Do you flaunt the rules in order to ensure that you are beaten by either the Headmaster or one of the prefects more times than any other boy each term? Or is it that you are just a masochist and enjoy the pain of the rod across your arse? There are people like that you know. Well, Tomlinson, as you know the Rigby way of punishing a boy for his misdeeds is what you would call a bare-bum beating. So, whilst I select a cane appropriate for the present occasion, perhaps you would kindly drop your trousers and underpants, bend over that chair there and let me inspect your arse in detail, so that I can decide how to proceed with maximum effect. I really wouldn’t want you to think that you were missing out on anything.”

Tomlinson started to say something, but Patrick cut him short: “Tomlinson, do as I say, otherwise I shall be obliged to give you extra strokes for disobedience.  Nothing you can say or do is going to save you from a very sore backside; so just cut the cackle; put yourself across that chair, stick that arse of yours well up boy and let’s get on with it.”

Patrick was standing, chosen cane in hand, when a firm knock came at the door which was flung open to reveal none other than Mr. Godber, the Headmaster: “Ah, Ingram-Lewis, I see that I arrive at a very propitious moment, for unless my eyes deceive me, I perceive that you are just about to correct some errant boy; excellent, excellent!  Ingram-Lewis, when I gave you the best of my canes the other day, it completely slipped my mind to give you the handle which went with them.  I see you have selected one of my very old favourites:  one I used for over twenty years to great effect on the bottoms of dozens of miscreants’. But as you will have observed, this cane, along with all the others I gave you, lacks the crooked handle of the traditional rattan. Its slenderness, which is part of its splendidly arousing quality when in use, renders it rather difficult to maintain a firm grip on it; and as I am sure  you are well aware, the lack of a firm grip makes it rather awkward to place the cuts exactly where you want them;  and it has a nasty habit of slipping out of one’s hand.  I speak from long personal experience, of course.”

“So, Ingram-Lewis, I have brought you a couple of the handles I had made by a local joinery shop a few years ago, to overcome this problem.  If you would kindly hand me the implement you are at present holding,  I will show you how it works”  The Headmaster took the cane from Patrick’s hand and showed him how it could be inserted into a well designed handle, where it was held in place  by a simple manual thumb screw.  The addition of the handle, as the Headmaster said, enabled the user to get a very firm grip on the dreaded implement, thereby rendering its use much easier and more accurate.  “As you can see, Ingram-Lewis, the handle enables you to change the actual cane to suit the present purpose. You will find that you can better place each stroke on the miscreant’s bottom, which as I am sure you appreciate is a very important aspect of any serious beating,”

“So, now that that is settled, whom have we here awaiting punishment? Good lord, I don’t believe it: it’s that serial offender Tomlinson, unless I am sadly mistaken. What has he done now to find himself at noon on the first day of the new term, offering his backside up for a beating? No, don’t tell me; let me guess. You caught him running in the corridor again.  Yes, Ingram-Lewis, I can see from our face that I am right. Well, I’m delighted that you caught him in the act so early in the term, so that some swift punitive action right now now might set him on the straight and narrow for the rest of the year. But knowing his history last year as a new boy at Rigby, I do wonder, I really do. Still it is our duty to try, as I am sure that you agree.”

“Far be it from me to interfere of course, Ingram-Lewis, but just how many strokes were you thinking of applying to this wretched boy’s posterior; not only six, I hope, for I have long been of the opinion that to achieve a well-beaten bare bottom at least twelve good, well applied and evenly spaced strokes are needed; and in certain cases considerably more. Anyway, Ingram-Lewis, I have achieved my mission in bringing you the missing cane handles, and you must do as you feel fit.  But do remember Ingram-Lewis, that as Head-Boy, in loco domino, you are no longer limited to six strokes of the cane, which applies only to the other prefects when they beat a boy alone. You are free to use your own discretion as to the severity of any punishment, which I am sure you will do. And remember too, that in your presence and at your behest, the other prefects can also administer beating of more than the six strokes.” And with that the Headmaster departed, leaving his Head-Boy and the suppliant Tomlinson still trembling with his arse naked across the chair.

Tomlinson having listened to all this, waiting for Ingram-Lewis to begin his “attack”, was now in the state of what we today would crudely put as “shitting bricks”. Here were the Head-Boy and the Headmaster discussing in front of him, what Ingram-Lewis shoud visit on his bum. Tomlinson was sure in his own mind that Ingram-Lewis, prompted by the comments of the Headmaster would now give him at least twelve hard cuts.  Ingram-Lewis, after his previous one term as senior prefect, had already acquired the reputation along with Jeremy Meacher, the previous Head-Boy, of being a really hard caner. But now left free to deal with the boys as he and he alone saw fit, well, Ingram-Lewis could be an absolute terror. Tomlinson waited trembling for the first stroke to land on his rump. He was not to be disappointed, for Patrick had every intention of well and truly roasting Tomlinson’s arse before he left his study.

Patrick surveyed what was for him the new term’s first virgin canvas offered by Tomlinson’s two well rounded globes,  As the long summer vacation had intervened between Tomlinson’s last beating and the present moment, there were no traces at all of any of the previous term’s thrashings, which Tomlinson  had suffered.  Looking at the delightfully smooth and unblemished flesh he was about to defile, Patrick could already feel himself hardening inside his trousers. There was no doubt about it at all; beating a boys naked buttocks was a truly homoerotic experience which Patrick, with a slight pang of guilt, realised he really enjoyed.  There was something enormously satisfying to Patrick as he carefully surveyed the “battle-field”; decided where to place that first cut; followed by that satisfying crack as the cane mated with its naked target. Swishing the cane a few times in the air, to set the scene, Patrick then set to with a will and gave Tomlinson’s arse a text book beating.  He placed the first cut directly in the middle of the lad’s arse; he then moved upwards, stroke by stroke to the bottom of the boy’s back. Finally he turned his attention to the lower regions, making sure that the all sensitive sit-spot, where the buttocks join the legs, received some careful attention.

Tomlinson howled and howled as the cane rose and fell on his backside and the pain grew steadily worse until Patrick placed the final twelfth stroke diagonally across the rest.  “Up you get Tomlinson,” he said to the tearful boy. “Let that be a lesson to you to never ever again to run in the corridors.  Now, get your clothes back on and cut along to class otherwise you will be late and find yourself the unfortunate recipient of a punishment slip.”

Tomlinson, whose arse was truly on fire, hobbled along the corridor, went into the lavatory and attempted to look at his damaged anatomy, before a few minutes later, creeping gingerly into the class.  Mr Cass, the classics master: a dried up, unpopular and unsympathetic figure who and been at Rigby almost as long as the Headmaster himself said: “Nice of you to join us, Tomlinson.  Do I gather from your limping gate that you have already had your backside beaten?  That must surely be a record as we are only half way through the first day of the new term.  Well boy, go and sit down and let’s get on with the lesson.”

“Please sir, do you think I might stand at the back of the class for the moment?”

“Certainly not, Tomlinson. You have been beaten for a reason and your backside is no doubt aching; but that is no excuse whatsoever for not sitting at your desk in the normal manner. The fact that sitting down has now become painful is, my dear Tomlinson, a problem of your own making.”

“But sir, it’s just so very painful when I sit down; I’m in agony, sir.  Please sir, couldn’t I just remain standing?”

“Sit down, Tomlinson; you, young man, are now reaping what you have sown. You clearly broke some rule and merited a thrashing and you must now live with the consequences. So, boy, for the last time sit down and pay attention before I feel myself obliged to issue you with a punishment slip.”

Tomlinson, by now completely demoralised, did finally sit down and had a very uncomfortable afternoon.

CHAPTER 3

That evening, the Court of Prefects met for the first time. Patrick presided over the meeting and explained to his co prefects exactly how the changes, announced by the Headmaster that morning, affected them. As of now, the prefects, under the direction of Patrick himself, were more or less responsible for the entire discipline of the school. The previous rule, which had limited them to no more than six cuts of the cane to any miscreant still applied. The senior prefects could administer punishment to any of the boys with either the junior or senior canes, but the newly appointed junior prefects were limited to the junior cane and could beat only boys in the first and second forms.

But then came the great change; as Head-Boy in loco domini, Patrick had now the authority to beat and birch any of the boys as he wished.  There was no limit on the severity of the punishment, other than that imposed by the school regulations, which limited the maximum number of strokes of the cane to twenty-four on any one occasion and eighteen for the birch. But, as Patrick now pointed out, the court of Prefects, under his presidency and in his presence, could administer the cane as he directed. His co-prefects were of course delighted to hear that they would have the chance to carry out more severe beatings.

But it got even better, for the Court of Prefects would now be responsible for beating boys who had received punishment slips from the teaching staff; punishment which had previously been administered exclusively by the Headmaster himself.  Patrick now  informed the Court of the changed situation: “As you will now appreciate, the Court will convene every weekday evening after supper, when we will jointly have the pleasure of beating the boys who are on that day’s punishment list.  Boys will be punished the evening of the day after their offence, to enable the school secretary to prepare and post the list of those boys who are expected to attend the Court that evening. The actual number of strokes to be given is a matter for the Court itself to decide. However, I can tell you that the Headmaster himself has just today told me that he considers a minimum of twelve cuts are needed to beat a boy’s backside adequately and that often more can be justified. So I suggest we align ourselves to the Headmaster’s wishes and consider twelve cuts as the starting tariff; I am sure you all agree with that suggestion.” (As if anyone would object!)

“And so, gentlemen, as you can now see, we the prefects, under my direction, will more or less administer all corporal punishment at Rigby.  We have it in our power to make sure that the miscreants with whom we deal are adequately punished and I suggest that we make the concept of Rigby Rigour mean something.  It is up to us, to make sure that each boy leaving the Court does so with an arse which has been well and truly roasted.  I want no half measures here; beatings have got to hurt and boys should leave us in the knowledge that they will have a very painful arse for several days.  Of course, gentlemen, as ever, all canings will be given “bare bum” as the boys call it. And any of you who individually wish to punish a boy for some misdemeanour or other and feel limited by the statutory six cuts, then just refer him to the Court.”

“Well, gentlemen, unless there are any questions, I suggest that we get down to this evening’s business”  At this, the prefects were all more or less agog, wondering what Patrick meant, for none of them were aware that he had, by chance, found some twelve boys, the chalk fighters, who were now waiting in the corridor outside the Court and who would be the first boys to be punished as a group by the new Court of Prefects.  “Awaiting our ministrations in the corridor are twelve first year boys, who entered Rigby this very day and already, in the lunch hour, were creating mayhem. I therefore propose that we come down on them like a ton of bricks and give each of them a beating to remember. Firstly it will teach them a lesson and secondly, by word of mouth on the grape vine, the whole school will soon know that we the prefects mean business. I think it is good that our power  be known and exercised when necessary. We need to be feared by all; from the new boys through to our contemporaries in the lower and upper sixths.”

“Now to this evening’s inaugural beating session; Gentlemen, allow me to introduce to you the bath-brush.” And Patrick pulled from under his desk two long handled wooden brushes of the type used earlier in the century by people to scrub their backs whilst in the bath.  But these brushes with their large flat wooden heads and long handles, made an excellent implement with which to administer a hard spanking, I use the word spanking here in the English sense, which is less than a caning and was a light punishment often applied by a father to the naked bottom of his errant child whilst pulled across his knee. Patrick continued: “What I propose  is that the six junior prefects give each of these  boys a little “warm up”; let us say three good hard whacks with this brush on each of their cheeks.”

“Then, gentlemen, we will proceed to some serious caning.  The Headmaster has given to me several of his his favourite old canes and I can tell you that after a brief examination that we have in our hands some superb implements of justice with which to beat these boys.  So, after a warm up session with the brush, I will personally give each boy three strokes of the cane, leaving the nine remaining strokes to complete their punishment to be applied by you, the senior prefects. I propose that we deal with the boys two at a time; across two chairs and that we coordinate our strokes to add a touch of drama to the occasion.  I want these boys to experience true Rigby Rigour, and to go away wondering what they are going to do to cool down their arses. Believe me, gentlemen, these twelve miscreants will rue the day they ever started the chalk fight. They are all in for a very uncomfortable night in bed, I can tell you”

“Now, before we begin, there is one other thing which has to be cleared up: why was the classroom door left unlocked at lunchtime? There is a rota of junior prefects whose job it is to ensure that all the junior form rooms are locked over the lunch hour. Now, all three first year rooms were, in fact, left unlocked.  I checked the other two; and so, I would like the the prefect whose job it was to lock the rooms this week, to see me in my study immediately after we have finished dispensing justice here.  Now, gentlemen, might I suggest that we begin our arduous task?”  There was a titter of laughter at this remark as the prefects were relishing roasting a dozen virgin arses.  What luck and on the very first day of term to boot!  This was to be a metaphorical bloodbath.

The twelve first formers filed nervously into the room and were told to line themselves up against the wall. Patrick gave them a brief lecture about the error of their ways and told them that they were going to be punished here and now; moreover, severely punished as an example of what happened to boys who broke the rules.  By this time the boys were all trembling with fear without really knowing exactly what was to happen to them. “Right, drop your gym shorts, all of you step out of them, fold them neatly and place them on the floor behind you; then stand to attention with your hands on your heads,” said Patrick.  This was for most of them their first acquaintance with the utter brutality of public school life: everyone was allowed to see everything; there were no secrets.

Reading from the list of names prepared by Tomlinson Minor, Patrick ordered the first two boys to step forward and bend across a chair. “Come on you two; look lively; get your arses well up in the air so that we can see what we are doing. Don’t worry, you will not catch cold, for we are going to warm you up right now.”  Then motioning to the two junior prefects who were to form the first relay and were to administer the first strokes with the brushes, he stood back and said: “Now, gentlemen, on my count and together, let us show these two miscreants how now we do things here at Rigby.” 

The two young lads howled with pain as they each took six resounding strokes across their arses, three on each of their virgin buns.  By the time this warm up bout was finished, tears were streaming down the faces of both boys, neither of whom had any idea of what was still awaiting them. They were followed successively by pairs of their class-mates, each of whom received a similar treatment.  Those who had been punished first and sent back to stand and watch their classmates receiving the same treatment probably thought that the punishment was over. Alas they were sadly mistaken

“Now boys that you have had a warming prelude to to what is in store for you, the first two of you kindly step up and bend over the chairs again when we shall proceed to make you wish that you could peel off your arses and hang them out to dry.” The poor lads looked at each other in horror and fear. What was going to happen to them now?   Patrick now took the cane and gave each of the two now rosy red backsides three hard well placed cuts of the cane. He gave the strokes one at a time and moved between the boys, thereby creating that all important “appreciation pause” between each stroke Having completed his task, two senior prefects took over, this time each armed with a cane and to Patrick’s count, gave each boy another nine resounding cuts. The boys cried out in agony, as stroke followed stroke.  The rest of the class looked on, hands on heads, in utter fear and horror as  they now knew what was in store for them.

When the last pair had been beaten Patrick ordered all of them to get dressed and go to bed; it was a very sad, tearful parade of twelve first-formers who trooped woefully back to their dormitory. The punishment had been very severe; their backsides felt as if they were on fire; they felt as if they had taken a series of cuts from a knife. But closer examination would have shown that no skin had been broken and no permanent damage done to the boys’ anatomies.  It was as if a boy’s buttocks had been designed specially to take the cane: a sort of marriage made in heaven! It had been an exemplary lesson for the twelve lads who had had the misfortune to be caught out on their very first day at school.  For them, it had truly been an initiation by fire into the the rigours of Rigby.   

But as the Headmaster had said, his view was that at least one third of the new intake ought to have had their arses beaten by the end of the first month and two thirds by the end of the term. What had just taken place would be a shining example to the entire school of the way in which the new disciplinary regime under Patrick Ingram-Lewis in loco domini would function. That the new regime meant business; well, everyone had better believe it!  Patrick, recalling the Headmaster’s remarks, felt that he had made a good start to say that it was only the end of the first day of term.  Already thirteen arses had been thoroughly thrashed but the question of the unlocked doors remained to be answered. Who was responsible?  Its solution would almost certainly involve a further beating of some delinquent’s arse; but whose?

Patrick passed the time in his study waiting for the as yet unknown junior prefect who had forgotten to lock the form room doors that lunch time. He examined the selection of old canes which the Headmaster had given him the previous day and after  much thought, selected a particularly gnarled looking one with several                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                             prominent knots along its length.  He saw no reason to deprive the arse of the errant boy who was about to enter from the very severest of treatments. After all, his negligence could have led to a serious accident.  So, having fitted the chosen implement into its handle – a  brilliant idea of the Headmaster’s –  Patrick waited with eager anticipation to see which of the newly appointed junior prefects would appear. It was one of them who had been delinquent in his duty and that was cause enough to give him a really good thrashing. And administering a really good thrashing to an older boy’s naked arse, was an act Patrick savoured; it was just so much more satisfying to thrash the well muscled arse of an older boy than to beat the stuffing out of some first or second former.

A knock came at the door. Patrick opened it to find a highly embarrassed lower sixth former called David Stevens awaiting his invitation to enter. Stevens was big lad, one of the biggest of his year.  He was a keen rugby player and had the physique to go with it. In particular he had well rounded, muscular arse, which was the part of his anatomy on which Patrick’s eye immediately alighted. “An eminently beatable arse,” thought Patrick to himself. “What luck!  Stevens is going to go to bed feeling very, very sorry for himself by the time he leaves here.”

“Ingram-Lewis, you said at the Court this evening that you wished to see the prefect who had inadvertently left the form rooms unlocked over the lunch hour today. Well, “mea culpa” old man, I am sorry to say it was me; and I am most awfully, awfully sorry. I don’t know how I came to forget to lock the doors. It was just one of those things which could have happened to anyone (already moving himself into a wider circle of potential “forgetters”): a moment of inexplicable forgetfulness and as I say I am truly awfully sorry and it will most certainly not happen again. So now that you know, Ingram -Lewis, and have heard my apology, perhaps I could cut off and go to bed now.” 

Stevens’s eye now came to rest on the beating chair which Patrick had already placed in the centre of the room, his chosen cane resting across its arms. He also looked nervously at the large selection of canes which stood in an old oriental pot near the door. The chair was known to many of the pupils of Rigby for it had stood for years in the Head-Boy’s study and had seen countless lads bend across its back and offer their arses for punishment.

“Stevens, I have to remind you that today was your very first day as a junior prefect, a position of trust and responsibility;I repeat, responsibility, which the Headmaster placed in you when he elevated you to the rank of prefect. Now you come here and tell me that you forgot to do the very job for which you were responsible this week; and this on your very first day; how can this be? You must have been asleep. Well Stevens I simply cannot let such dereliction of duty pass without some form of sanction and I propose to send you away tonight wide awake.”

Patrick could see that Stevens was getting more and more nervous as he listened to him. His his gaze was fixed on the horribly foreboding chair and cane, which he had now fully understood were destined for him that evening.  “So, Stevens, I am afraid that you have to be punished, to do penance, for your, shall we call it, forgetfulness. As you must realise it could have led to some very unpleasant consequences. Just image what might have happened if one of those first year boys, whom we have just thrashed, had been hit in the eye by a piece of chalk. Your delinquency would have contributed directly to such an event, which could have had dire consequences,” Patrick concluded; laying on the drama with spades.

“Yes I agree, Ingram-Lewis, there could have been an accident, but in the event, there was not, so, don’t you think that you are blowing this business out of all proportion?  After all, it was not done intentionally, with malice aforethought; it was just a simple piece of forgetfulness on my part.”  Stevens was already beginning to try to present arguments to escape from what he must have known was the inevitable beating. Alas he was wasting his breath!

“Stevens, we the prefects, of which you are one, are a privileged group in this school. We are appointed to keep order and have the power to punish boys who break the rules.  If you escape your present delinquency unscathed, what are the boys going to think. Well, I will tell you. They are going to say, “Look at him; he is supposed to be in charge, but he makes his own rules and escapes uncensored when things go wrong.”  The same with your fellow prefects; if you are not punished for your dereliction of duty, the others are going to say that things don’t really matter; and well, if we forget something, who cares?  Well Stevens, I’ll tell you who cares; I care as Head-Boy; I have to.  I have been given exceptional powers, in loco domini: powers designed to enable me, aided by you the prefects, to maintain order and the standards long associated with this school. It is my job to see that things are done according to the rules, which I intend to do. And so, Stevens, much to my regret, you have to be punished;  I cannot let it pass.  You failed in your duty on the very first day of term and for that you have to answer to me.  Sorry, but that is that.”

“Oh, come on, Ingram-Lewis, you are making a mountain out of a molehill. You are surely not suggesting that you are going to beat me, a co-prefect and a sixth-former.  Come on, Ingram-Lewis, be reasonable; prefects and sixth formers do not get beaten.”

“There I am afraid you are sadly mistaken, Stevens. Everyone at this school is subject the same rules and the same punishments. That goes from the first form right through to the upper sixth, prefects and myself as Head-Boy included.  So there are no exceptions.”

“Oh come on, Ingram-Lewis, you really are not going to beat me, just because I made one slip up.”

“Stevens, I am afraid that I am; so I suggest that you stop arguing with me and accept what is coming to you, which frankly you do truly deserve.”

At this stage, Stevens became quite abusive and started to dig himself more deeply into the hole in which he already found himself. “You are a pompous, fucking prick, Ingram-Lewis. I see now that in your new position you think you can lord it over all and sundry.  Well you are not going to boss me around the way you think you can. I am a prefect and I have certain rights.  I think you have blown this out of all proportion and you just fancy showing me that you are the boss.  Well some boss you turn out to be, threatening to beat me on your first day as Head-Boy. You really are the bloody limit.” And so the invective continued until Stevens finally ran out of steam and insults to hurl at Patrick, who had listened to all this in complete silence.

“Stevens, let me disabuse you of one thing you just said. I am not threatening you with a beating, believe me. I am actually going to beat you here and now.  It is a reality: not a threat or a promise; you had better accept the fact that you are going to get your arse beaten. Now, Stevens, for your information, the Headmaster has decided that the standard, shall we call it “tariff” for normal offences are to be twelve strokes, as I told you all at Court a little while ago. The Headmaster thinks, and I totally agree with him, that six strokes of the cane are simply not enough to teach a boy a lesson.  And so, Stevens you had qualified for a twelve stroke beating by virtue of your dereliction of duty this lunch hour. Note I say “had qualified” which was the situation before you addressed me with you insulting remarks.  Stevens, your comments to me were not those a gentleman would make to anyone, let alone to his immediate superior.  Therefore you will receive an additional three strokes over and above the standard number.”

“Oh fuck you, Ingram-Lewis; if you think I am taking that nonsense from jumped up nobody like you you are bloody-well mistaken. There is no way I am going to let you thrash my arse. Do I make myself clear?”

“Six additional strokes, Stevens; pray continue if you wish, for there is still a good margin available before we reach the absolute maximum number of strokes set by the Board of Governors, which for your information is twenty-four: a round two dozen. You will appreciate that you are now at eighteen, so there are still six more cuts available if you which to avail yourself of them and go for what might be called “a grand  slam”. Now, Stevens as you seem to want to question my authority, I will give you a choice; either you take the beating from me here and now, which is the gentlemanly thing to do, or we go together straight to the Headmaster and let him deal with you directly. Far be it for me to prejudge matters, but I think that Mr. Godber, when he hears what you have done, or rather what you did not do, will reduce you to the ranks.”

“You will no longer be a prefect and will be obliged to hand back your mortar board and lapel star. And in addition you will certainly receive a birching. So Stevens, there you have the alternatives. Neither is particularly attractive for you;, but you must decide.  I shall turn my back on you to check whether another cane from my collection might be more suited to the present situation than the one you see reposing there across the chair. When I turn around, I except to see you presenting our naked arse to me across that chair.  If that is not the case, then we shall immediately go to see Mr. Godber.  I trust you understand your options.”

Stevens was now completely silent, He realised that he was in what might well be described as dire straits.  Patrick spent a couple of minutes with his back turned to Stevens whilst he pursued his inventory of canes, trying to decided which one he thought would be the most painful implement to apply to Stevens’s arse.  When he turned around he saw that Stevens had decided that he would, in fact take the beating and Patrick was presented with a magnificent pair of muscular buttocks.  For all his braggadocio, Stevens was a fine sportsman; a bit of a bully; but as a rugby player he had a strong physique figure and his arse was well rounded and muscular; it was simply crying out to be beaten. Patrick found his cock hardening at the thought of what he was about to do; of the pain he intended to inflict, for with Stevens’s intransigence he intended to give his arse a really hard roasting.

“Stevens, keep absolutely still until I have finished with you. Keep your hands on the seat of the chair and do touch your arse. This is, I am afraid, going to be very painful for you and I suggest you bite on this cork to help you bear the pain.”  Patrick paused for a few moments admiring the two magnificent globes of flesh which he was about to shred. He decided in his own mind to start with one stroke right across the middle, covering the two halves and then process with five strokes upwards, each separated by a thin, even space. Then he would transfer his attention to the lower part of Stevens’s anatomy and give him six severe strokes in that most sensitive part: the seat.  Then he thought he would pause for a couple of minutes before returning to the upper half, where he intended to place the remaining  six strokes directly on the first furrows he had ploughed.  With eighteen strokes of a whippy cane applied with all the force of Patrick’s right arm Stevens would get up from the chair with a very, very sore arse indeed.  It would be a lesson he would never forget.

Patrick had a natural sense of the theatrical and allowed Stevens to stew in his own juice, so to speak, his arse in the air, whilst he himself flexed the cane and gave it several quick, menacing cuts through the air.  Then he approached his target and began by very gently tapping the centre spot when intended to begin.  He could see Stevens arse quivering as he felt the tap, tap, tap of the cane, wondering when the first fateful stroke would descend. When it did it took away is breath. It was like being cut with a knife. The pain was excruciating.  Patrick had decided that there was no rush to finish, so he allowed about ten seconds between each stroke so that Stevens could fully appreciate what was happening to him. Stroke followed cutting stroke, with unerring accuracy; after the fourth stroke, Stevens began to howl. By the time Patrick had started on his lower arse, he was in tears, which was not at all surprising as Patrick truly laid the cane on as hard as he could and the thin flexible rod cut into Stevens’s arse with great force.

After twelve strokes, Patrick stopped for five minutes.  Stevens made as if to rise from the chair but was stopped by Patrick; “Not yet, my friend; you still have six more cuts to come, so just stay where you are; we are simply taking a short pause to allow me to regain my strength and for you fully to appreciate what you have already received.”

When it was all over, Stevens raised himself painfully from the chair, rubbed his richly striped arse, pulled on his clothes and made as if to leave. Patrick said: “Stevens, before you go it is customary to thank me for having corrected you.”  He offered him his hand, which was taken by Stevens through his tears and the requisite thanks were given.  “You may go now, Stevens, but let that be a lesson to you. No one in this school is above the law, me included. Don’t forget to lock the doors tomorrow lunch time and curb that abusive lip of yours.”   The beating had taken a full fifteen minutes, given the pauses between the strokes that Patrick had taken and Stevens left with an arse, pulsing with pain; very tender and raging with heat; he barely knew what to do with himself. He had learned a serious lesson as he admitted to himself privately. But was that enough to set him on the straight and narrow path which all Rigbyans were expected to follow?

By now Patrick himself was in a highly aroused state. He went to the door to lock it before going to his bathroom intending to relieve his sexual tension in the classic solo-male manner. As he was about to turn the key in the lock, there came a knock at the door; it was his friend and sex partner of the past summer holidays, Roderick Pennington.  By way of a brief recapitulation back to what had been a sex-filled summer for the two boys, Roderick had spend the whole of August with Patrick at his family home, Ingram House, in Northumberland. There, together with a sexually very active young footman and an assistant gardener, the two of them had fine-honed their techniques at gay sex.  But as an additional bonus, both young studs had been introduced to heterosexual sex with a kitchen maid, Rose, who had generously bestowed her favours on both young men. So it was exceptionally two sexually highly-experienced young men who greeted one another at that moment.

“My God,” said Patrick, “Roderick you are a gift from heaven as I am absolutely dying for a fuck.”  And he quickly explained to his friend how he had come to be in such an aroused state.  Roderick, like Patrick himself, was always ready for any form of sexual pleasure and quickly gave his friend access to his most vital parts to allow him to release his tension.  The relationship between Patrick and Roderick had gone way beyond the classic act of buggery, forbidden in theory, but tolerated in practice, in English public schools. Theirs had become a deep homosexual relationship. Whilst buggery was forbidden but tolerated, as the school authorities realised that it was essentially due to the lack of female company which led the lads to fuck each other, a deep ongoing sexual relationship such as now existed between Patrick and Roderick would have lead to instant expulsion if discovered.

Roderick stayed until late that evening with Patrick and as they lay together in Patrick’s bed after slaking their sexual thirsts on each other, Patrick said to Roderick: “Listen Rod, I know you play the field here at school but for Christ’s sake, don’t get caught at it.  If you are, then old Godber will have to birch you; and with the present new arrangements with myself, the old boy might well ask me to officiate. And as you might imagine, the last thing I want to do is to thrash your arse.  So, Roderick, if you bugger another of your classmates, I don’t care personally (he did, in fact, as he wanted Roderick entirely for himself) but do make sure you are not caught “in flagrante” otherwise I might find myself obliged to roast your arse.  I know I did it once, and it brought us together, but I don’t want to have to do it again.”

Roderick, somewhat cavalier about the whole thing, brushed it off and said: “Patrick, stop worrying. It will never come to that.”

Patrick replied: “I hope to hell you’re right.  But please, please watch it!” 

CHAPTER 4

Lying in bed that same evening, Patrick reflected on his first day at Rigby as Head-Boy.  If anyone had told him that he would have beaten no less than fourteen different arses that one day, he would have been highly sceptical. But it was true; and Patrick had to admit to himself that he had enjoyed every single moment where he had wielded the cane personally.  For him there was something intently satisfying in the sound of a well seasoned rattan cane landing on the bare flesh of a well-presented pair of naked buttocks.  It was for Patrick and for many other prefects like him, not only at Rigby but throughout the English public school system, a most satisfying experience; highly homoerotic in most cases, leaving the beater himself in such a highly arouse state that on occasions he climaxed in his pants.  All in all this had been a most exhilarating first day for Patrick in the exercising of his powers as Head-Boy in loco domini.  He looked forward to the rest of the first term and the two terms to follow.

After this dramatic start to the term, the rest of that first week was much quieter The Court of Prefects met each evening at eight o’clock but there were only two beatings to be carried out: boys who had been cited by their masters for some offence or other, which the Court punished in its thorough way and the two young miscreants left with burning backsides. So the first week’s “arse count” for the Court was a nifty fourteen: a very creditable performance.

 Patrick took the opportunity to tell his fellow prefects about the Headmaster’s thoughts on the new entrants that term: “The Headmaster is of the firm opinion that pretty well all of the new entrants need to feel the cane on their arses sometime during their first year. They have to become accustomed to the fact that the cane and the birch are part and parcel of daily life at Rigby.  He further thinks that we should have an objective: to ensure that at least one third – that’s about twenty boys – get their arses roasted in the first month, rising to at least half of all new entrants by the end of term.” 

“But the ultimate objective is to see that by the end of the school year all of the new entrants have experienced the pleasure of a naked arse beating and understand the meaning of Rigby Rigour.  So gentlemen be vigilant; don’t let these new lads get away with anything and haul them before the Court for the slightest infraction, so that we can warm their arses in the traditional way. With a little effort we should be able to exceed the Headmaster’s expectations; so let’s set ourselves a private objective of thrashing half the new boys by the middle of this term with two thirds before Christmas. And gentlemen, let us adopt as standard practice at the court, of giving delinquents six good whacks with the bath brush before applying the cane. I cannot help but feel that a pre-warmed arse beats better than a cold one. So let’s make the brush the perquisite of the junior prefects and the cane that of the seniors. The distribution of these “unfortunate” duties I shall leave to you to decide. But each and every one of you has to be prepared to share the burden of this heavy  task. It is one of the crosses we, as prefects, have to bear!”   

Patrick’s concluding remarks were made with heavy irony, for as he well knew, the prefects, lock, stock and barrel, enjoyed nothing more than beating arse; or perhaps in the senior ranks, fucking it.  In much the same way, boys had a lively morbid interest in watching a classmate being punished; it was human nature: a highly homoerotic experience even for the younger boys, whose immature cocks hardened as they watched a classmate take a beating.

On Saturday morning Patrick found a note under the door of his study. It was from the Headmaster inviting him to take a glass of port with him in his lodgings on Sunday evening after supper. “An occasion for us to review the first week’s progress under the new arrangements,” the Headmaster had written. And so Sunday evening towards eight o’clock, Patrick was again to be found in the company of the Headmaster, Mr, Godber: the man who had granted him his exceptional powers.

Curiously, although consumption of alcohol of any kind was strictly forbidden to the pupils and which, if discovered, led to a mandatory birching, the Headmaster, Mr. Goober, apparently saw no inconsistency in plying his Head-Boy with port, whilst simultaneously exhorting him to apply the birch to any and all boys caught drinking alcohol. Equally, as we shall see later, the fact that the Headmaster himself indulged in sexual relations with his Head-Boy did not deter him from inflicting a mandatory birching on any boy stupid enough to allow himself to be caught in the act of buggery.

Mr. Godber was a prime example of the philosophy:  “Do as I say, not as I do.” It is unlikely that any considerations of inconsistency had ever crossed Mr. Godber’s mind.  For him, his universe was Rigby; he was in charge and people did what he said. There was no question at all that the system was rotten to the core: that was the way it had always been, was now and would probably be in the future! And actually, it worked; it was not broken; so why try to mend  it?

Mr. Godber began: “Well, Ingram-Lewis, do please sit down and let me pour you a glass of port. The butler tells me that this is my last bottle of Taylor’s 1865: 35 years old: absolutely at its prime.  I did by a pipe: that’s about 700 bottles in all you ; and I have been drinking my way through it for the last twenty five years. Well, you seem to have made a very good start in maintaining discipline at Rigby.  I’ve taken a glance at the punishment register and see that you managed to cane no less than 16 boys in the first week of term. That’s by way of being a record, I think. And what is certainly a record is that you corrected that perpetual miscreant, Tomlinson, by noon on the very first day of term.  I hope you laid it on good and hard, for he is a problem.  But I also saw you had beaten Stevens, one of your fellow prefects, rather severely; what was that about?”

“Well sir, Stevens was the reason the twelve first formers from class 1A got their backsides beaten; including Tomlinson’s younger brother, by the way.  I caught twelve of them at lunch time in the form room having a chalk fight and the Court of Prefects beat them for that delinquency the same evening.  But it was Stevens who left all three classrooms unlocked over the lunch break that first day when he was the duty prefect responsible for locking the rooms. And so I had to beat him for that. He got eighteen rather than the usual twelve cuts as he became verbally totally abusive to me when I told him he had to be punished. So sir, I am afraid he went away with a very sore backside. I am not totally sure, sir, that Stevens will prove a reliable prefect; he certainly does not behave like a gentleman.”

“Excellent, excellent, Ingram-Lewis; I am delighted that you are not afraid to take on a senior boy: a prefect to boot, and thrash him. And if Stevens was abusive, then you were quite right to give him six extra strokes.  But you know, Ingram-Lewis, I think we need to keep a sharp eye on Stevens in the light of is dereliction of duty on his first day as a junior prefect.  My colleagues were not at all keen that I promote him to prefect; but I overrode their view and did it anyway.  But I was really the only one of the staff in his favour; I may have made a mistake; so, keep an eye on him.  If there are any more problems, send him to me and I will deal with him personally.”

“Moving on to another matter, Ingram-Lewis, I think you should give serious thought to the question of the birch. I am anxious that we maintain the birch as an implement of punishment here at Rigby.  I do not want the boys to get the idea that its use has been abandoned; it should always be there in the background as the ultimate sanction.   Now, clearly the way to ensure that the birch is not forgotten, is for you to birch a few bottoms. Quite specifically, any case of buggery between boys of any age, is a mandatory birching offence; and boys involved will get eighteen strokes. Any boy caught stealing should also be birched; eighteen strokes again. And boys who are repeat offenders in spite of numerous warnings and canings should also be given a taste of the birch on their naked buttocks. But there are many other instances, which I am sure will come your way in the course of the term, where you could quite easily justify giving a boy a good birching.”

“The point of all this, Ingram-Lewis, is that I think you ought to find some reason to birch at least one boy before the end of the month. The boys have got to see that it is not just a threat but that it is currently being used on miscreants if they deserve it. It’s the time honoured practice here at Rigby. Now I went into the punishment  room just the other day and there are no fresh birches available at the moment, So, Ingram-Lewis, I suggest that in the next few days you talk to Mr. Patterson, the head gardener and get him to make up few new birches for you.  You need to be prepared; to be able to strike whilst the iron is hot, so to speak. I always used to birch one or two boys quite early in the term; they merited it, of course; but it served to underline the fact that the birch was alive and well and would be used on any errant bottom if required.”

So there it was; the Headmaster wanted Patrick to make sure that birches were available and used in the near future.  It was reassuring to Patrick that the Headmaster had clearly approved of his first week’s performance with the cane and wanted him to use the birch on some poor lad’s arse in the very near future.  The birch, for the Headmaster, had to remain a reality: part and parcel of Rigby Rigour and not just a threat.  As far as finding a suitable arse to flog, Patrick did not see any great difficulty, for boys were boys and there was no telling as to what mischief they might get up to. And, of course, Patrick enjoyed beating naked arse, so he was unlikely to miss an opportunity to move to the next stage. Yes, Mr.Godber had made an excellent choice in Patrick.

“Well Patrick, I think that concludes all the immediate business.”

With the change of the form of address from Ingram-Lewis to Patrick, one did not have to be a mind reader to see what was coming next. Patrick sat there sipping his port, which was delicious, musing to himself as the Headmaster prattled on about times past etc. etc. etc.  In fact Patrick did not really listen to what Mr. Godber was actually saying as he knew exactly what was going to be required of him.  As Godber droned on, Patrick mused to himself: “In anno domini 1900: in the year of the Lord 1900, here I am in loco domini: in place of the master; and in a few moments I shall doubtless  required to insert my cock “in anum dominum”. I wonder if the word “anus” is a Latin word?  Does it exist in Latin; and if it does, does it mean what I intend it to mean: his anus? If it does, then once I have got started on stimulating the old boy, then I suppose to be grammatically correct, my cock will be  “in ano domini” which crudely translated is “up his arse;

Well Patrick’s musings apart, he was of course required to give a repeat performance of their first encounter. Godber retired to his bedroom where Patrick followed him a few minutes later and proceeded to fuck the old boy’s arse. But as before, Godber was satisfied with one good hard fuck and did not suggest a return bout.  In fact Patrick never really got a good look at Godber’s penis, as he was flat on his belly when Patrick entered.  This was to become a regular pattern on Sunday evenings for Patrick throughout his final year at Rigby: an hour or so to review of the week’s events accompanied by a glass of port and ending with a good hard fuck.  But Patrick did not mind, for in a way he quickly came to be quite fond of old Godber and he wondered how he would fare when, alone, he left Rigby for ever at the end of the year.  “A frighteningly lonely  prospect for the old man,” Patrick thought with considerable empathy for Mr. Godber.

CHAPTER 5

The following week, acting on the Headmaster’s advice, Patrick went to see Mr. Patterson, the head- gardener, who lived in a small house on the school grounds. He was greeted like a long lost friend by the gardener, whom he in fact barely knew: “Mr. Patrick sir, the Headmaster told me about your position as Head-Boy and the heavy burden he had put on your shoulders making you responsible for all discipline in the school. You know sir, I remember when you first came here as a thirteen year old; my goodness what a tearaway you were in those days and I guess you must have felt one of my birches across your backside more than once. And now look at you: Head-Boy and ordering birches to use yourself.”

“Well sir, the Headmaster told me that as of now I should take my instructions from you as to the making of the birches. I’ve been here for twenty-five years, you know. I came as a fifteen year old apprentice and became head gardener fifteen years ago when I was only twenty-five myself. But you know, sir, I’ve actually been making the birches for the Headmaster for over twenty years.  Now sir, as it’s the beginning of term I suppose you will need a new supply as unlike the cane the birch does not have a very long life; especially those which were made from birch twigs themselves. Why sir, I can remember having to make at least three or four a week as the Headmaster used two on one boy; very fragile they were, which is why I moved onto a birch made of hazel twigs.  But sir, I have now found something much better.”

“I don’t want to burden you with my life story, sir (which is, of course, exactly what he was going to do) but since my wife died about six years ago, I’ve been left a widower with two young lads, Herbert and Alfred to bring up by myself.  They’re a good pair of lads, really, eleven and twelve now, but recently they have been getting above themselves and the Headmaster at the village school where they go has caned them on the hand several times, for rudeness.  So, I thought to myself that it was time to give them each a really good thrashing, just to put them on the straight and narrow, if you get my meaning sir.”

“Until then I had never ever laid a finger on either of them, but they truly did need taking down a peg. So I thought to myself that if a birching is what the young gentlemen up at the school get to make them toe the line, then it’s surely good enough for my Herb and Alfie. So last week sir, I made a couple, in fact three, birches which I intended to use on my two sons.  Now sir, I came across, in the grounds, the stump of a maple tree, which had thrown up a lot of whippy young shoots from the base. It suddenly struck me, looking at them, that they would make a splendid birch; you know sir, the new shoots of the maple are very fine and bendy but they are also very strong, in many ways like fine, flexible bamboo. Anyway sir, I cut them, took them back to my work-shed and made them into three birches.  And let me tell you sir, I’ve never had a taste of the birch myself, but these seemed pretty good to me.”

“So last week, one evening after the boys had gone to bed, I called them down to the kitchen, made them drop their pyjama trousers and bend across the table and I gave each of them a real good thrashing. My God sir, how my two sons howled; but I pressed on regardless and gave them a dozen really good hard cuts each; no point in half doing the job I thought. When I had finished the two lads were in tears and their backsides were bright red thanks to my efforts. Well sir, since then I have not heard a peep out of them and the two have been as good as gold. So I feel very satisfied with my efforts. But the thing is, sir, I made these birches only last week so they are more or less brand new and I still have them in my shed,  so if you think that you could use them up at the school then you have  three ready-made birches to hand now.”

So Patrick and Mr. Patterson went to the shed where Patrick was shown three magnificent bundles of maple twigs.  As Patterson had said, they were really very strong and the implement made a very satisfying noise as it was swished through the air.  Patrick looked at the gardener’s handiwork with admiration and realised that he was an expert in the fabrication of this implement of corporal punishment and that the three examples he had in front of him were in their own way, masterpieces of the art.  Mr. Patterson explained that he had made one birch somewhat longer than the other two:  “You see sir, some of the shoots were a bit longer than the others and I saw no reason to cut them down. So if you like sir, there are two what you might call junior birches and the longer one is sort of a senior birch. Believe me sir, with the longer one and the greater length of stroke, you’ll be able to give the older boys a really good thrashing; let them know what a good birching feels like; that should keep them out of future mischief sir. A really sore backside works wonders with boys in my view.”

Patrick realised that Mr. Patterson took his job as maker of birches really seriously and that with his own brief experience, he himself was a firm believer in their efficacy.  So he thanked Mr. Patterson for his handiwork and asked him if he would kindly deposit the three rods in the punishment room to which he knew from the Headmaster, Mr Patterson had a key. To this Mr. Patterson readily agreed saying he would deposit the three new rods he had made there later that day. So Patrick went back to the school in the knowledge that he had all the tools he needed to open for business; all he now needed were some “customers”.

Patrick did not have long to wait long to test out his newly acquired birches as a suitable opportunity soon presented itself. As is often the case, it happened quite unexpectedly. However, as we shall see, what started small soon blossomed into the discovery of a major piece of delinquency which ultimately left quite a number of second formers with very painful arses.

It was the Saturday evening in the third week of term that Patrick was walking along the upper corridor off which a series of twelve bed dormitories let, when he detected that inimitable smell of cigarette smoke.  Smoking was, of course, strictly forbidden along with alcohol consumption and a variety of other acts and closer investigation seemed to indicate that the source was located in the linen room at the end of the corridor.  Throwing open the door, Patrick found two boys lounging nonchalantly on a pile of clean towels, puffing away like hardened smokers. “What do you two think you are doing? a rather stupid question, as it was as plain as a pikestaff what they were doing. Put out those fags at once step outside into the corridor and explain yourselves.”

The linen room had been lit by a single gas-light but once in the corridor, Patrick discovered that one of the miscreants was that habitual offender: that regular breaker of any and all school rules: that “arse in waiting for to the cane: Tomlinson Major.   The other boy was called Newton: Jonathan Newton. “Tomlinson, why am I not surprised to find that you are the source of the smoke?  Where did you get the cigarettes from; come on; out with it Tomlinson. And don’t tell me, please that they were a present to you from last Christmas or that your mother kindly packed them for you for the new term.  You know Tomlinson, your bum and the cane seem to have a remarkable affinity for each other; an affinity which once again is going to be turned into a reality as I thrash your miserable arse for the second time this term. And you, Newton, where did your fags come from?”

“Oh Ingram-Lewis sir, we weren’t really smoking,”  began the agile minded Tomlinson, “We were just conducting a test to see whether it irritated our throats as some people say and we did not intend to continue; indeed, Ingram-Lewis sir, we did not; it was purely in the interests of medical science as you can surely see, sir.  And Newton did not have any cigarettes of his own, so I just lent him one of mine so that he could take part in this ground breaking experiment. So, as you can see, it was completely innocent and instructive, and we were not, in fact, breaking any school rule Ingram-Lewis Sir.”

“Tomlinson, can you stick to the question and not indulge yourself in another of your flights of utter fantasy.  The question I asked you, boy, was where the cigarettes came from and while you are at it, just tell me now many more you still have. And I would draw your attention to the fact that you do not lend someone a cigarette, for once it is smoked it is gone and cannot be returned; and it was quite clear that the pair of you were smoking.  So come on Tomlinson, let’s be having an answer.  Now, the only clear fact so far is that Newton did not have any fags of his own and that you gave him one, which he was foolish enough to smoke, and so the pair of you were smoking which is against the school rules and a very serious offence. So now, Tomlinson, I want to know where you got your supply from.”

Tomlinson finally realised that he had to come clean and said: “I brought them with me from home at the beginning of term.  I actually got them from my father’s smoking room.  (By way of a historical note; gentlemen at that time often avoided smoking in the presence of ladies and had one room to which they retired to smoke). You see my father always keeps a supply of cigarettes and I just sort of helped myself to a few. He only smokes cigars himself; but he keeps the cigarettes to offer to friends who prefer them. So it’s not as if I have deprived my father of his own pleasure, for I did not take any of his cigars.”

“Let me get this quite clear, Tomlinson, are you telling me that you stole the fags from your father’s stock? And while you were at it, just tell me exactly how many you appropriated?”

“Well, Ingram-Lewis, sir, I wouldn’t actually call it stealing; I just sort of pocketed a few. After all they were in the house and it’s not as if I pinched them for a shop or anything is it?”  By this time Tomlinson was beginning to realise that he was in deep trouble; not only had he been nabbed smoking; but smoking stolen cigarettes to boot.

“Well, Tomlinson, if you did not steal them from your father, how exactly would you describe your actions?  And, let me ask you this question. If your father had caught you in the act what would he have done to you; and if I tell him now that his son had stolen cigarettes from him what would he say?”

Tomlinson blanched as he now realised that there was no easy way out of the predicament in which he found himself and said: “Well, I suppose you might just call it stealing, Ingram-Lewis, sir, but the cigarettes were just lying there so I helped myself.  If my father had caught me he would have thrashed me hard.  He’s an army man, you know, who believes in order, rules and discipline and all that sort of stuff;and he has beaten both me and my younger brother on numerous occasions.”

“So finally Tomlinson, we agree that you stole from your own father, but you still have not told me how many cigarettes you took.  Come on, out with it boy; I want to know and I want an answer now.”

Newton had been trembling in his metaphorical boots (both boys were in fact in their pyjamas as they were supposed to have been in bed when caught) as he listened to this inquisition. A very chastened Tomlinson finally said “Two packets, Ingram-Lewis, sir.  But I have only smoked five so far so there are still about thirty-five cigarettes left.”

“So, Tomlinson, far from conducting any medical experiment as you claimed, you are in fact a hardened smoker and intended to smoke the lot. Frankly, Tomlinson, I am utterly astounded that you took two full packets from your father’s stock and that he never noticed the loss.  Well gentlemen, let us return to your dormitory when you, Tomlinson will hand over your remaining stock.” 

The atmosphere in the dormitory among the other ten boys, all of whom were in bed but awake, was, to say the very least, tense.  They had all half overheard what had been said in the corridor and it was clear to everyone that Tomlinson and Newton were in trouble up to their necks.

Patrick adopted his sternest expression and said: “Now these two of your classmates here, have just been caught smoking in the linen room; and, as you all know, smoking is a very serious offence.  Now, I wonder how many of you here also have cigarettes which you are hiding away. So, here is what is known as a deal; all of you who are hiding cigarettes have one minute from now to step forward and hand over your forbidden fags to me. And woe betide any boy who has cigarettes hidden away and does not now come forward, for later when it comes to light, which it inevitably will, then the wrath of God will descend upon him.”

The atmosphere was tense; the silence was deafening; the boys looked around knowingly at each other, for whether guilty or not, everything was known to the entire dormitory. Then one boy stepped slowly forward and handed Patrick an unopened packet of cigarettes, knowing that in so doing he was going to get his arse beaten. He was followed shortly afterwards by three others who tipped up their illicit stocks.

 “Well gentlemen, if that is the sum total, then there are six of you who have broken a very serious rule of the school and six of you who are, to use the classical illusion, purer than Caesar’s wife. Well the six of you cigarette hoarders know full well that you are to be punished, so each of you stand at the head of one of the six beds down this side of the room and wait there until I come back with a suitable cane with which to warm your backsides. Oh, Tomlinson and Newton you two will be at the end of the line up.”

Patrick turned round and left the boys to their own devices whilst he went back to his study and selected a long flexible cane with which to deal with miscreants.  He was himself quite looking forward to thrashing a series of six naked arses as he re-entered the dormitory, swishing the cane through the air to add a touch of drama to the whole proceedings.  “Right, gentlemen, kindly drop your pyjama trousers, bend across the end of the bed where you are standing and present your naked bums for my attention.” 

Patrick viewed the initial vista with inward delight; six sturdy sets of buttocks bent over, tightly stretched and just asking to be caned. He felt his cock already stirring as he went slowly along the row of waiting arses, giving each bum a slight tap with the cane, telling the odd boy to bed over further or to raise his arse higher into the air. He then walked to the first boy in the row, gave him a few gentle taps in the centre of his buns before suddenly bringing down the cane with a tremendous crack onto the boy’s rump. There was an immediate howl of pain, for Patrick had really well and truly laid on the stroke. By any standards this was a serious beating which was being administered.  Patrick paused for a few seconds and then moved on to the next boy in line and repeated the whole procedure with the same cries of pain as the cane landed smartly on naked flesh.

Slowly and methodically with great precision and force, Patrick completed his first pass before returning to the first boy who was now in tears with the pain of that first stroke. And methodically Patrick then gave each boy five more strokes, one at a time so that by the time he had finished the  six lads had all had six very painful cuts of Patrick’s cane across their arses.  “Now, all of you pull up your pants and get back into bed.”

By the time he had finished all the boys were weeping profusely, which was not at all surprising, for Patrick had the knack of getting the best out of every cane in his hand; he was a real crack, of that there was no doubt; his reputation as the hardest caner ever was assured.  None of the boys had gone to bed that evening with any idea of the bloodbath that Tomlinson and Newton would bring upon them by their stupid act of smoking in the linen room. The two lads were decidedly unpopular that evening.  But it was not yet over for Tomlinson and Newton. Patrick said: “I wish to see the two of you tomorrow afternoon at three o’clock in my study; that’s three precisely; and come in our gym strips.”

“But Ingram-Lewis, sir,” protested Tomlinson, “You have just punished us. Surely you are not going to beat us again tomorrow?”

“As I said; three o’clock tomorrow afternoon in my study.” And with that Patrick left and returned to his own study and bedroom. He was desperate to relieve the sexual tension which had built-up inside him as he had thrashed the six arses. By the time he had finished whacking the last arse, he was practically about to climax, a phenomenon that happened to many men, prefects and masters alike, when they beat a boy’s naked arse. But he manage to control himself and get back to his study where intended to relieve himself in the time honoured way when a young man is alone.  But he had no sooner entered his study, than a knock came at the door and his friend, sex partner, and lover, Roderick Pennington entered.

“Boy, am I glad to see you.” said Patrick. “A friend in need is a friend indeed and what I most need right now is your friendly arse. If ever a guy need to fuck butt, well you are looking at him right now.”

Roderick laughed, locked the door behind himself and started stripping off with no further questions.  “I guessed you might be in a state of super arousal,” he said, “As he prepared to offer his arse to his friend.  I came by a little earlier, thinking that we might get together this evening, for I could do with a good fuck myself; but as I came around the corridor, I saw you beetling off towards the dorms with a vicious looking cane in your hand.  So I followed you up there to see you enter one of the second year dorm.  Ever curious, I stood by the door and listed and  realised that you were intent on thrashing a whole raft of arses, I don’t know how many, but I heard that distinctive crack of the cane as it mated firmly with naked flesh and the howl of pain that it elicited from some lucky lad who had just received it.  But it seemed to go on and on so I guessed you were having a bloodbath in there and I thought I would come back later when you had finished your labour of love, correcting those miserable specimens of humanity in the second year.  What did they do?”

By this time Patrick had stripped off complete and was showing his rock hard cock to his pal Roderick.  Nothing new in that as they had long been sex partners, but Roderick said:  “ Jesus, man, what the hell has got into you today? My God, I’ve never seen you looking so big in all the times we have fucked together.  Listen Patrick, if you are proposing to stick that piece of meat up my arse right now, for crying out loud, lube it well up with some oil and give my hole a good dose too;  you really look as though you would like to rip me apart; you are just so fucking horny, it is not true.”

Patrick did as he was asked and then proceeded to give his partner a truly hard fuck, He pounded Roderick’s arse as if there was to be no tomorrow and when he climaxed he shot out an unbelievable quantity of creamy cum. which seems to go on forever.  When he had calmed down, he said Roderick: “You, my friend, have just saved my life. I was so aroused after thrashing six arses one after the other in the dorm. that I could hardly contain myself.  My God, what an experience it was; I just got harder and harder as I worked my way through them; I could hardly stop myself cumming there and then, which is why I was in such a state when you arrived.  My God, the sexual tension was enormous.  To put you in the picture, I thrashed six of them for hiding cigarettes in the dorm.  Old Godber is keen to stamp out smoking and so I felt I had to make an example of them; so I thrashed the naked arses of six of them in front of the other six in the dorm.”

“And, let me tell you it is not yet over completely, for tomorrow afternoon, I’m going to birch the two principal culprits: that serial offender Tomlinson and another lad called Newton.  The thrashing they’ve all just had had was for concealing cigarettes, but tomorrow I’m going to birch that pair whom I caught smoking.  They don’t know exactly what they have in store; so they are going to have a very uncomfortable night, both physically and mentally; but I reckon it’s good some times to let boys stew in their own juice and come to terms with what they have done and what the punishment might be.  Anyway, they both deserve a birching. So as old Godber wants me to make sure that I get some birching in so that the boys all realise that it is still on the books, tomorrow afternoon I will kill two birds with one stone.  Now, my friend, can I offer you the pleasure of my own hole, since you said you fancied a fuck?”

And the two young men spent a pleasant hour together, enjoying one another sexually.  After the summer vacation which Patrick and Roderick had spent together at Ingram House, their physical relationship had gone far beyond an act of casual sex, that release of sexual tension so common in public schools. Aged eighteen, the two young g men were now serious lovers.  What Mr., Godber would have said about that if he had known, we shall never find out, as the two boys were very discreet in their liaison.  But Roderick, foot loose and fancy free, still messed around sexually with other schoolmates and Patrick warned him yet again to be careful for if he was caught, then Godber would birch him and possibly expel him from the school.  But Patrick’s worst fear was that Godber would expect him to carry out the punishment, for he had more or less abrogated wielding the cane himself  since giving Patrick the power in loco domini.  The last thing Patrick wanted to do was to be forced by Godber to thrash his lover.  But what if it came to that? What could Patrick do? It was one of those awful thoughts which was always somewhere in the back of his mind. He could not escape from it. And so, that night after Roderick had gone off to his dorm. and Patrick was alone in bed, although sexually very satisfied, he could not escape from that feeling of uneasiness.  Try as he might, he simply could not banish the thought from his mind that he might, one day, be faced with having to skin Roderick’s arse.

CHAPTER 6 

The Sunday dawned and Patrick, between chapel and lunch, thought that he had better take a look at the punishment room and familiarise himself with the equipment there:  equipment he was about to use on the odious Tomlinson and his partner in crime, Newton. Both boys knew that they were in for a further dose of punishment, but just what was going to happen to them they had no idea, as Patrick had never mentioned the birch.

The dreaded punishment room was a largish essentially empty room with one window looking onto the garden.  In the centre stood the dreaded Rigby Horse, the birching stool, which some previous mid-nineteenth century Headmaster had had commissioned to be made especially for the school. The horse was a formidable piece of equipment on four stout legs, down the length of each of which was series of straps, designed to secure the suppliant’s ankles and wrists so that he was held immobile whilst his arse was being roasted. Patrick had not entered the room or seen the horse since that awful day some three years ago when he himself had been made to ride the Rigby Horse and Mr Godber himself had birched his naked arse. The excruciating pain which the Headmaster had managed to inflict on him that day remained as vivid in his mind today as the day it had been inflicted. It had been the key experience in Patrick’s earlier life, when he had been a young tearaway himself and the regular recipient of the cane, which had led him to reform his ways.  Since that awful day, he had never again been subjected to any form of corporal punishment at Rigby in the intervening years. And now here he was, about to inflict the dreaded birch on two young boys: two boys who richly deserved it.

Anyone who has never had the very doubtful pleasure of being birched has no idea of the pain which a bunch of twigs can inflict on the buttocks of an errant boy.  Unlike the cane, whose first stroke is immediately felt and seen in the form of a furrow-like welt on the naked flesh of the offender, the birch is a subtler form of punishment.  The first two strokes do hurt, but are not terrribly painful.  But as stroke follows stroke, the agony builds up until it becomes unbearable, which is the reason why the offender is usually strapped down so that he cannot jump up and disrupt the process. And unlike the cane, whose path across the arse of the offender can be clearly seen, the birch, by its very nature, splays out covers a wider area. In fact, a well birched arse is left a fiery red colour, composed of hundreds of minute but painful flecks left by the twigs over its entire surface.  The birch is the ultimate punishment and this is exactly what Patrick, encouraged by the Headmaster, was intending to visit on Tomlinson and Newton later that day.

Patrick looked at the horse with an inward feeling of anticipation but tinged with a touch of  horror of what he intended to do; just looking at the apparatus already had an effect on his cock, which was beginning to harden.  The Rigby Horse had been designed for older boys: young men in all but name, so that when they were strapped in place, their arses were more or less horizontal, with their legs being held down the front legs of the horse, whilst their wrists were strapped to one of a series of cross bars which were to be found between the two back legs.  As the basic horse was clearly too big for younger, smaller offenders, a set of two steps stood to hand; these fitted between the two front leg of the horse. Depending on the height of the unfortunate lad being birched, he was made to stand on one or other of the steps so that his arse conveniently fell in the desired place.  So at Rigby, the birch descended more or less vertically onto the waiting pair of naked buttocks.

Patrick looked at the three maple birches, which Mr. Patterson had delivered to the punishment room. He had placed them, like bunches of flowers in the water buckets, with their cut ends in water so that they would remain supple for as long as possible.  Patrick picked one up, shook off the little water remaining and swished it around, admiring the sound it made as he brought it smartly down through the air. Then, never having used a birch before, he decided to take it back to his study and have a few practice strokes on the arm of an easy chair, to make sure that when it came to the real event he was truly proficient. For good measure he also took the longer, let us call it, the senior birch, along him to see if there was any noticeable difference between the two. There was no doubt at all that Patrick knew how to wield the cane to great effect; but he wanted to be absolutely sure of himself with this new implement. 

Back in his study, he gave his armchair a thorough thrashing. He saw how the twigs spread out and realised that with a few well placed strokes he could cover a boy’s entire arse before going on to consolidate his work and produce that red, well roasted pair of red globes: the hallmark of a well birched pair of buttocks.  There was also no doubt at all that the senior birch by virtue of its length was a superior instrument of punishment when compared with the smaller version of the instrument.  All in all, Patrick thought that it all looked deliciously promising; a sense of achievement for him and the satisfaction of knowing that Tomlinson and Newton would have very, very painful arses for the several following days.

At the appointed hour of 3 pm, Tomlinson and Newton duly presented themselves at Patrick’s study.  Patrick sat, stony faced, behind his desk and made the two lads stand in front of him.  As ever, Tomlinson began:  “Ingram-Lewis sir, I don’t think that it is fair that you have called us here today to beat us again. Look, you beat us in the dorm, the other evening so why should we two and not the other four be singled out now for special treatment?”  Newton meanwhile kept silent, eyes focused on his feet. He clearly realised that they were both in a hole and he did not want to dig himself in any deeper, so he heartily wished that Tomlinson would shut up.

“My dear Tomlinson, what on earth gave you the mistaken idea that you are here to be beaten for a crime for which you have already paid the penalty?  No Tomlinson, you and Newton along with your other classmates have already paid for that indiscretion. You were all beaten for possessing and concealing cigarettes, which is strictly against the school rules and attracts a mandatory beating.  You two lads are here today because you were caught in the act of smoking your forbidden loot; and it is for that act you are going to be punished.  And additionally,Tomlinson, you personally have something else to answer for: the fact that you pocketed, purloined, pilfered, appropriated, acquired – call it what you will – but the actual words is “stole”,  not one, but two full packets of cigarettes from your father. Now that, Tomlinson, is a very serious matter indeed.”

Tomlinson, who, as ever, merited full marks for trying, said: “But Ingram-Lewis sir, I was at home when I pilfered the cigarettes and not at school  so that should be a matter between my father and me.”

“Indeed, Tomlinson, that would be the case, were you at home and answering to your father for your actions. But the fact of the matter is that you are here at Rigby and the masters act “in loco parentis” whilst you are in their care. I presume that you understand  what that means, Tomlinson; but to be absolutely sure, that you do, let me tell you that whilst you are at this school the masters and I as Head-Boy in loco domini act in place of your parents.  So, Tomlinson, you will answer to me for the theft of the cigarettes and I shall punish you accordingly. Now, you told me that your father would thrash you for the theft if he found out and that, Tomlinson, is exactly that I propose to do.”

“Now, I do not propose to beat you two boys again, for I think that seriousness of your offences merits a more severe punishment than a simple caning of your naked backsides. You two young men are going to have the privilege of being the first boys this term to ride the Rigby Horse. So if you two gentlemen would follow me to the punishment room, we will get this affair settled once and for all.”

Both Tomlinson and Newton were now trembling with fear at what was about to happen to them, but they could do nothing but follow Patrick as he led them to the punishment room and the dreaded Rigby Horse.  Tomlinson, who could never be silent for long, said:  “Ingram-Lewis sir, you don’t mean that you are going to birch us sir, do you?”

“Tomlinson, you have hit the nail on the head; that is precisely what I am going to do to you. I am going to treat your naked arses to a good firm dose of the newest birches made by Mr. Patterson, the gardener, just last week. He has tried them on out to great effect on his own two sons and tells me that since then he has had no more trouble from them. So, let us hope that after you have both enjoyed the percussive therapy of a fine birch rod across your arses, you will do likewise and tread the straight and narrow and stop misbehaving.   I should tell you that Mr. Patterson has produced a splendid new version of our old friend, the time honoured birch rod; it is made of fine maple twigs and is, apparently, very effective.”

Tomlinson and Newton eyed the Rugby Horse with undisguised horror as they stood there waiting.  “Gentlemen, kindly step out of your gym shorts completely and you Newton mount the horse as I am going to deal with you first.  Tomlinson, if you would be so kind at to assist Newton and attach his ankles and wrists to the horse by means the straps. Pull them tight so that Newton is firmly held, but make sure that he is comfortable, for his may take some time. Administering a good birching is akin to drinking a glass of fine wine: something to be savoured slowly so that the recipient has the time to appreciate the full effect of every stroke.”

Tomlinson did as he was told and the hapless Newton found himself firmly strapped to the horse, somewhat like a trussed chicken, his naked arse in the perfect position to receive the dreaded birch.  “Now Tomlinson, stand over there against the wall, your hands on your head and do not move again until I tell you to do so.” So Tomlinson stood there, wearing only in his gym vest, his lower body and his cock and balls totally naked. It was totally humiliating for him. Whilst boys saw each other naked in the showers on a daily basis it was not the same as having to stand there parading one’s private parts to all and sundry,

Patrick selected one of the two smaller birches and prepared to beat Newton. He saw the six cuts of the cane he had given the lad the previous evening had now coloured up and were looking quite blue; he was pleased with his handiwork as the six cuts were evenly spaced. So he now intended to treat Newton to a good dose of the birch and leave him with a well roasted and painful backside.  Patrick began by tapping Newton’s arse gently all over before raising the birch high above his head to administering the first cut.  Patrick felt his own cock hardening and a great shiver of of excitement coursed through his body as he brought down the birch with a resounding crack directly in the middle of Newton’s arse.

As the blow landed with that satisfying sound of the birch mating with naked flesh, Newton took in a moaning breath, but nothing more. Remember; this was the very first time Patrick had actually applied the birch to a boy’s arse. He paused and inspected the result. He saw that the twigs had spread out widely and given a series of marks covering both of Newton’s buns and some six inches wide.  He waited a few seconds and then very deliberately gave Newton a second stroke, this time directed upwards towards Newton’s back. Newton again let out a moan but no more. And so Patrick slowly continued, pausing between each stroke to allow Newton to appreciate the full impact of his punishment.  He spaced the strokes so that the whole of Newton’s arse was well and truly beaten.  From the fourth stroke onwards, Newton started to howl with pain and after that his protests grew ever louder as the pain built up in that inexorable way associated only with the birch. By the time the twelfth stroke had been administered, Newton had been reduced to a weeping wreck. His arse was bright red and flecked with the traces of the twigs and the boy was obviously in excruciating pain.

As Tomlinson undid the straps Newton said: “Ingram-Lewis sir, that really hurt: really hurt a lot. It was a horrible experience; the most horrible experience of my life. I never ever want to see another cigarette as long as I live.”

Patrick now said:  “Come on Tomlinson! Jump to it; it’s your turn now, so mount the horse and let me be seeing your arse, boy, for believe me that part of your anatomy is just crying out for corrective attention. Now, Newton, if you feel up to it, perhaps you would accord Tomlinson the same service as he did for you and fix the straps around his wrists and ankles.  Tomlinson, you have chosen to pursue a persistent course of serial misdemeanour since your arrival at Rigby last year. Last year you were beaten lord only know how many times and at the end of the year, the Headmaster decided to birch you. Now here you are again at the beginning of a new term, your second year at Rigby and I have already beaten you twice and am now about to birch you.”

“Well, Tomlinson let me tell you that I intend this to be the most painful encounter you have ever had with a rod of correction since your arrival at this school. You, Tomlinson will take the same twelve cuts as your friend Newton, which is specifically to punish you for smoking. However, in view of your appalling action in stealing from your father, I shall, in loco parentis, give you a further six cuts, but this time with the senior birch. Tomlinson it is my intention to send you away from here today, with the sorest arse imaginable.  If I am successful, you, boy, will be unable to sit down comfortably for at least a week. I am quite sure that your father, Colonel Tomlinson, would fully approve of what is about to happen to you. Indeed, if he ever finds out about your thieving, he may well wish to give you another thrashing the next time he sees you.You, Tomlinson, need to take a serious look at yourself and mend your ways. Frankly, Tomlinson, you have all the makings of what in prison terms is known as an old lag. Take yourself in hand, now boy, before it is too late to reform.”

Patrick was by now totally sexually arouse with the proceedings and could hardy hold his cock in check inside his pants.  But he treated Tomlinson to the most tremendous birching imaginable.  The final six strokes with the senior birch were sort of the icing on the cake.  Tomlinson hit the roof with his howls of pain as the birch descended time after time with tremendous force on his naked arse. When he finally got down from the horse, his backside was black and blue and raging with pain.  Patrick wondered with the extraordinary resilience and resistance that Tomlinson showed at all times, whether he would ever reform or whether he was just a misdemeanour looking for somewhere to happen.

Patrick left the punishment room with his cock urgently in need of relief. He sought out his friend Roderick and together, locked in Patrick’s study, they spent a wonderful hour together fucking each other. Patrick attacked Roderick’s hole as if it was his last act on earth; he was just so very aroused by what he had just done. The homoerotic effects of administering corporal punishment should never be underestimated and it was obvious to Patrick that he was particularly susceptible to serious sexual arousal when he wielded the rod. The ever faithful Roderick supplied the soothing balm of anal sex to allow Patrick to relax and then Patrick reciprocated and allowed Roderick to fuck him.

The two young men could have gone on and on, until Patrick remembered that he had to prepare for what had now become his regular Sunday evening port-sipping- arse-fucking meeting with the Headmaster.  True to his word to Mr. Godber, Patrick never ever mentioned the sexual service he rendered to the Headmaster; not even to Roderick.  To all outward appearances it was a weekly working meeting between a retiring Headmaster and his all important Head-Boy. Patrick had to admit to himself that, in spite of the total hypocrisy of the situation, he had become quite fond of old Mr. Godber and did not in the least mind servicing him. He assuaged his conscience, by persuading himself that their actions injured no one, so where was the harm?

Mr Godber expressed himself very satisfied with the punishments Patrick had just administered: “I am very pleased that you have been able so quickly to make use of Mr. Patterson’s latest handiwork.  From what you tell me, it appears that the latest birches are a great improvement on the older models. Do do keep up the good work. I should tell you Ingram-Lewis, that at tomorrow’s assembly I intend to announce to the boys that certain misdeeds will carry a mandatory birching, as I want the birch to be seen as a regular feature of life at Rigby.  So, smoking and concealing cigarettes, stealing from anyone, illicit consumption of alcohol and gross moral turpitude (he could not bring himself to say “buggery”) will incur a mandatory birching. In that way the boys will know exactly where they stand. Of course, Ingram-Lewis, this should not preclude the possibility of your birching a boy for other offences if you deem it necessary. I shall, of course leave that to your discretion in which I have the upmost confidence.  Now, Patrick……”

So Patrick did what had become his weekly duty by the Headmaster and then retired to bed, with a certain satisfaction as he reviewed his recent activities,  He thought to himself that the affair of the illicit cigarettes had been brought to a  complete and satisfactory conclusion; but he could not have be more wrong, as the next week revealed.

CHAPTER 7

It was the middle of the following week that Patrick found a note pushed under the door of his study.  It said, in a juvenile hand: “You did not get all the cigarette smokers last week. David Foster did not own up. He still has some cigarettes hidden.”  The note was unsigned but had obviously been written by one of Foster’s classmates who, for some reason, bore him a grudge.  Patrick felt a wave of repulsion course through his veins as he read the anonymous message. As a gentleman he totally disapproved of any boy who was sufficiently mean-spirited as to inform on one of his classmates. In Patrick’s book a gentlemen owned up to his faults and accepted the consequences. But that was, even then, a utopic and idealised view, shared by but a few. The anonymous writer clearly did not belong to this group. But his disgust was even greater as the perpetrator had not had the courage to sign his name.  The boy in question was one of that unspeakable class: the tale-tellers: boys who would inform on their classmates behind their backs. In short he was was, to use a more vulgar expression, a snitch.

That same evening around nine, Patrick selected his favourite cane and went up to the dormitory. He opened the door to find the twelve occupants preparing to go to bed. Some were already in bed; others were in various states of undress, but the general chatter, which had until then filled the dormitory, stopped dead as Patrick entered. The cane in his hand said everything to the boys: the Head-Boy was clearly on the war path.  Patrick surveyed the scene and the state of uneasiness that his entrance had created; the fear was palpable; the silence was deafening.

“Gentlemen, a few nights ago, after catching two boys of this dormitory smoking, I gave you all of you who were concealing illicit cigarettes a chance to step forward and admit your guilt.  In addition to the two smokers, four of you stepped forward, tipped up your cigarettes and all six delinquents were thrashed here in the dorm.  Tomlinson and Newton were then, at a later date, birched by me in the punishment room as their offences were deemed worthy of a more severe dose of punishment.   Now you all heard the Headmaster’s statement at Monday’s assembly, when he announced certain offences for which the birch was a mandatory punishment. I am telling you all this today by way of a reminder as to what happens to boys in this school who conceal cigarettes or smoke them. Make no mistake any of you, if you are in possession of cigarettes or you are caught smoking, then you will be birched. There will be no ifs and buts; you will mount the Rigby Horse and your naked arses will be soundly flogged with the birch. I hope that that is now clear to all of you,”

“Now, it has come to my notice that one boy, whose name I already know, is also still hiding illicit cigarettes. But he chose not step forward the other evening when he had the chance.  I do not know the reason why, but four of you did own up and were punished for your misdeed; but this boy chose not to do so.  So, I now invite him, and I stress I already know his identity, to step forward now and hand over the cigarettes he has been hiding.  If this boy now chooses not to do this; not to acknowledge guilt, then I shall name him and believe me, the punishment he will receive will be much more severe. So, I suggest to this boy that he now step forward within the next fifteen seconds and accept the consequences of his actions.”

The tension was so great that the air seemed thick and almost un-breathable when, after a very brief pause, David Foster finally stepped forward and handed Patrick an unopened packet of cigarettes. You could almost hear the release of the tension that Foster’s admission brought with it. Foster stood there, his head hanging in shame as he realised that in the eyes of his classmates he had been an utter coward in not stepping forward previously with the others.

“So, Foster, why did you not step forward the other evening with the rest of your classmates and accept the punishment which you all knew would undoubtedly follow?  Come on boy; let’s be having an explanation, for you now find yourself in a worse position: a much worse position to say the very least.”

“Ingram-Lewis sir, I was so scared of being beaten that I did not step forward, although I do know I should have. You see, sir, I have never ever been beaten and I have a terrible fear of what it might be like, so you now see why I kept quiet. I realise now that I should have stepped forward with the others and taken my punishment like a gentleman, and that I am now seen as sort of a coward by the others. But I was just so very frighten that I did not speak up. I am very sorry indeed, for I now see the mess I am in, all due to my own stupidity. So, Ingram-Lewis sir, if I have now got to be punished, then I am ready to take it. And I am truly sorry for my previous silence; truly I am sir.” 

He stood there with his head hanging in shame. He had now realised that he was going to be thrashed, and probably thrashed harder than had he owned up with the others; and additionally he had the disdain of his classmates to bear. All in all he had created a heavy burden for himself to bear.

“You mean to tell me, Foster, that you have never been been beaten here at Rigby; never ever touched by the cane. And before that, for God knows how many years at prep school, you were never beaten there either.  My God, Foster, you must have been an angelic boy all this time.  But let me just tell you that today, all that will change and your backside will feel the cane in a few moments as you pay for your disregard of the school rules.  Yes, Foster, your arse will lose its virginity to the cane and it will be a salutary experience for you.  And Foster, to anticipate your question; yes it will hurt as that’s what it is supposed to do.”

“Now, before we go any further, I have here in my hand an anonymous note, in which the writer denounced his classmate, Foster. Now I totally disapprove of tale-telling, even though in this case it has led to the exposure of our friend Foster. But I totally abhor the fact that he who wrote this note did not have the courage to sign it.  This is totally underhand and cowardly and is certainly not the sort of behaviour we expect here at Rigby. I do not have to remind you that at this school, we all behave like gentlemen.  Now I also know the name of the boy who wrote this note (but here Patrick was bluffing) as I have identified him from his handwriting.  And so, I am giving him the same option as that I just gave to Foster: he has fifteen seconds to step forward in front of his classmates after which, if he has not revealed himself to us, I shall name him and woe betide him if I have to take that step.”

A deathly hush again fell upon the dormitory and after a few seconds another boy, Peter Selwyn, stepped forward.  Selwyn was perhaps the biggest boy of his year. He had the build of a budding rugby player and Patrick, as ever focussed on a lad’s anatomical endowments, noted that he had a large, meaty and well rounded backside: a beautiful pair of buns, which were just crying out for a good dose of the cane.  “Selwyn, what on earth possessed you to write this anonymous note denouncing one of your classmates? True, as we have seen, he was hiding cigarettes and had not owned up to the fact and so I as Head-Boy was obliged to investigate the matter. But, frankly Selwyn, your actions are not those of a Rigbyan, or of any public school boy, here or elsewhere.  What on earth had you yourself to gain from exposing Foster? Nothing at all as far as I can see.”

“We simply do not act as snitches, to use a vulgar word for your actions; it simply is not done.  It would have been bad enough had you signed the note but by choosing not to to append your name to your missive, you made matters infinitely worse.  Selwyn, your actions are those of a person of no backbone: none at all and they leave me totally cold. Heaven only knows what your classmates think of you. You have surely forfeited any trust they might previously have had in you.  Frankly Selwyn, I should not be at all surprised if you were sent to Coventry. You should hang your head in shame for your actions.”

Whilst he had been berating Selwyn, Patrick had become aware of a faint whispering going on among the other boys as they listened to what was being said. Finally, a voice piped up: “I think Selwyn has something he wants to tell you, Ingram-Lewis sir.”

Patrick looked questioningly at Selwyn, who remained resolutely silent, his eyes focussed downwards onto his feet. “Well, Selwyn, it seems your classmates think that you have something else to impart to me; come on boy, out with it; what is it I should know?”  Still Selwyn remained sullenly silent.

Then a small chorus from his classmates: “Come on Selwyn; tell Ingram-Lewis your secret. If you don’t, then we shall!”

“Selwyn it is becoming increasingly clear that you are hiding something which your classmates think I need to know: Come on boy; out with it; for the last time, what is it I need to know?”  

Selwyn seemed to have lost the power of speech completely and continued surveying his feet. After a longish pause during which the other boys whispered together, a spokesman had clearly been selected:  “Ingram-Lewis sir, Selwyn himself has some cigarettes in his bedside cabinet.  We all know it and he knows it too and we all think that he is an utter rat, splitting on Foster like that, when he has some fags hidden away himself.  He’s a real case of the kettle calling the pot black sir. That’s what Selwyn does not want to tell you sir. So now you know sir.”

“Selwyn, is this true what your classmates tell me? Do you have some cigarettes hidden away?  Come on boy, I will know the truth.”

Selwyn was by now trembling with fear, as he realised what an incredible mess he had created for himself; he had not had the courage to declare his hidden cigarettes, even when he knew that his classmate were gunning for him..  “Ingram-Lewis sir, I’ve only got a few fags, really I have; I had not intended to smoke them: really I didn’t sir; and that’s why I did not think I needed to mention them.  I was just doing what I thought was the best: really I was sir.”

“That, Selwyn, is a feeble excuse. Go and fetch your cigarettes and let me see how many you have.”  Selwyn’s face now went deathly white as he fetched a packet from his locker and handed it over to Patrick.  “Selwyn, your “few” cigarettes seem to be fifteen in number. That’s fifteen which, according to you, you did not intend to smoke, So, Selwyn, let’s be knowing what happened to the five which have gone. Did they disappear without having been smoked?  Selwyn, I have had enough of this nonsense. You have shown yourself in the worst possible light. You denounce one of your classmates whilst you yourself are guilty of the very act which you accused him of. You, Selwyn are beneath contempt and I do not know how you will hold up your head in future among your classmates. One thing is, however certain; you will shortly hold up your naked arse for me to beat”

“Now, all you boys except Foster and Selwyn get into bed and keep quiet. Foster, Selwyn, drop your pyjama bottoms and bend across the foot of your beds” And after that ominous instruction, Patrick then gave the cane a quick swish through the air and approached Foster’s naked arse.  He was now acutely aware that he was about to venture with the cane onto virgin territory and he wanted to be sure that Foster’s first taste of the rod was truly salutary. So he tapped a few times across the middle of Foster’s two well rounded buns before bringing down his cane with huge force on the boy’s naked flesh.  

Foster drew a huge audible inward breath and braced himself for the next stroke.  Patrick continued and gave the boy five more powerful cuts, spacing them across the upper part of Foster’s buttocks. He then told Foster to remain where was. To his credit, the timorous Foster, had managed to hold out so far and had made little sound other than a few moans; and to his credit he was taking his first encounter with the cane very well.  Patrick surveying his handiwork so far, in the form of six bright red, angry furrows across Foster’s arse, secretly admired the boy’s composure.  “He has come to terms with his misdeeds and is now taking his punishment as a true gentleman.” thought Patrick to himself as he prepared to address Selwyn’s arse.

As he turned his attention to the odious Selwyn who was trembling with fear of what he was about to receive, Patrick surveyed the large muscular pair of buttocks, which as he had previously thought were just asking to be thrashed, He gave Selwyn six tremendously hard whacks with the cane, by which time Selwyn had already become tearful and let out howls of as each successive stroke landed on his backside.

Patrick then transferred his attention back to Foster’s waiting arse and completed his beating with six well placed strokes on the lower regions, essentially on the very sensitive sitting area.  When he had finished he tapped Foster’s arse with the cane and said: “Right Foster, up you get and into bed; that’s your lot for today, but I am not finished with you yet.”

He then returned to Selwyn, where he treated his arse to another twelve hard cuts, some eighteen strokes in all, by which time Selwyn was reduced to a tearful moaning mess.  Finally told to get into bed, Selwyn looked a picture of abject misery.  But Patrick had not yet finished with the two lads, for he had no intention of letting them off the hook with a simple caning, hard though it had been.  “Foster, Selwyn, you will both kindly note that I wish to see you both, wearing only your gym strips, in my study next Sunday afternoon at three o’clock precisely, when I shall have the doubtful pleasure of completing your punishment. By that time I think that both your arses will be in need of a further dose of percussive therapy to set you both on the right road to recovery.”

“Oh come on, Ingram-Lewis sir, have a heart,” moaned Selwyn from the depths of his agony, “You have just flogged us half to death and you still intend to give us more”

“Believe me, Selwyn, I do have a heart but let me tell you that when I look and listen to you and see your two-faced attitude to your classmate, it beats like solid stone.  And so, next Sunday I shall expect you in my study at three o’clock precisely. Don’t bother with any underwear, by the way; just wear your gym strips; it makes for easier access to your arses. Believe me when I tell you that you that you still have a lot to look forward to on Sunday, I trust have made myself clear.”

As he was about to leave the dormitory, Foster said:  “I just wanted to say, Ingram-Lewis sir, that I know I should have come forward at the start and my classmates told me later that I was letting the side down by what I had done; not playing the game and all that. I know now that I should have been thrashed at the start with the others, They all urged me just to tell you and take the consequences which is what I was about to do as I did not want to be shunned by everyone, Then matters were taken from me with that that rotten trick  which Selwyn pulled.  Anyway, sir, I just wanted tell you; that’s all. You know, sir, I’m hellish sore at the moment and you really do know how to wield the cane and I know that on Sunday you are going to birch me; but I don’t care: I feel so very much better.”

Patrick said to him: “Well Foster, you have accepted your fate very well so far. I am afraid that on Sunday, as you say, I am going to birch Selwyn and you as I did Tomlinson and Newton.  You will recall that Headmaster has made the birch mandatory for cigarette and smoking offences. But you will survive, Foster and, more importantly, I reckon you will be accepted by your classmates. In spite of not coming forward the other day, they all know that you had the intention of admitting your misdeeds.  They all watched you this evening take a severe caning without complaint. Believe me when I say that they admire you for that. And, most importantly they all know how badly treated you were by Selwyn, with his malicious revelations.” 

“You know, Foster, in my earlier days, I was thrashed regularly but birched by old Godber just once, which made me see the light. It was a painful period in my life. But I don’t see that it did me any harm at all; so much so that here I am in my final year at Rigby as Head-Boy.  I regret to say I am less optimistic about the prognosis for Selwyn. He has a lot to answer for to his classmates if he is ever to regain their respect.” And with that, Patrick left the dormitory and its occupants to chew over, as they surely would, the dramatic events they had all just witnessed.  Patrick felt fairly confident that Foster would be hailed as a hero by his classmates and would be able to bare his battered backside with pride in front of them.  After the forthcoming Sunday birching, it would be a sight to behold.

The Sunday afternoon arrived and the two boys duly presented themselves at Patrick’s study.  Patrick had not told Selwyn what was to happen to him but on being informed that he was to be birched, Selwyn promptly kicked up a fuss. “Selwyn, had you listened to the Headmaster at the assembly on Monday you would be aware that your offence, concealing cigarettes, carries a mandatory birching.  I have also to tell you that in your case, in view of your utterly appalling behaviour, I shall have pleasure in giving your backside a very thorough roasting.  Believe me Selwyn when I tell you that you will wish you had never been born after I have finished with you today.  So gentlemen, shall we move to the punishment room and get on with things as I have other matters to attend to beyond thrashing your backsides.”

As ever the punishment room with its stark appearance and the Rigby Horse as the only piece of furniture, struck fear into the hearts of anyone summoned there and the two boys were no different. They both blanched noticeably as they saw what was in store for them. “Foster; step out of your shorts, mount the horse and present your naked arse for punishment.  Come on boy look quick about it; over the horse; I haven’t got all afternoon. Selwyn, kindly attach Foster’s  wrists and ankles to the horse with the straps.  Now, Foster, if you are ready, I will proceed. I suggest you bite on this cork, for it will help, you bear the pain of the birch.”

Patrick picked up one of the smaller birches and proceeded to give Foster’s naked arse a truly thorough thrashing. By the time he had finished with the twelve strokes, the standard tariff laid down by Mr. Godber, Foster’s arse was a bright red over its whole surface, with the earlier furrows of the cane standing out quite clearly.  Patrick looked at his handiwork and thought to himself that here was a truly well birched arse: a result he himself could be proud of.  Foster managed to maintain his composure and did not let out a sound. Patrick was impressed by the boy’s self control. Here was a lad who had expressed his fear of corporal punishment, but now in the event, had accepted it without a murmur.  At the end of the day, Foster had acquitted himself as befitted a true gentleman. He had admitted his errors and had accepted is punishment and now it was all over.

Patrick said: “Well taken Foster. I am truly impressed.”  Foster obviously in agony, tried to raise a smile as Selwyn undid the straps and allowed him to stand up again.  “You may put your shorts back on and stand there against the wall, whilst I now deal with Selwyn. Please accord him the same courtesy as he did to you, and attach the straps once he has mounted the horse.  Come on Selwyn, move your arse boy. Get over the horse and let’s begin.  Selwyn, you are to receive six additional strokes, a total of eighteen in all. Twelve are for concealing cigarettes and the additional six for your miserable behaviour in denouncing your classmate in an anonymous note: totally deplorable.  Now Selwyn, I will give you also a cork on which you can bite on to try to help you with the pain you are about to incur, although in view of your deplorable behaviour, I am not sure that you deserve even that consideration.  And believe me, boy, when I tell you that this is going to be a very painful few minutes for you; very painful indeed.”  Selwyn, with a half sneer, refused to accept the cork.

Patrick picked up the longer birch and surveyed Selwyn’s naked buns.  Selwyn was a very well endowed young man and his arse still carried strong stripes of his previous caning. Patrick had every intention of giving Selwyn the hardest thrashing he could.  He had not held back on Foster, even though he had a certain sympathy for him. But both boys deserved to be birched and Patrick had every intention of applying the birch to the maximum on Selwyn’s arse. If ever a boy merited and exemplary thrashing, it was Selwyn.  Patrick still felt repulsed by him.  Patrick had every intention of making Selwyn pay the heaviest price possible. No quarter would be given. Selwyn’s arse would suffer the greatest pain Patrick could inflict without actually drawing blood.

And so, Patrick applied the bigger birch with as much force as he could. Selwyn, in spite of his braggadocio manner, turned out to be a less stoic then Foster and after the third, resounding stroke was already asking Patrick to stop. But his pleas landed on deaf ears and stroke after excruciating stroke descended inexorably on Selwyn’s naked arse.  By the time he got up from the horse, totally in tears, his arse had been well and truly roasted. It was an experience that no one would ever wish to repeat.  The boy was clearly in absolute agony. Patrick had delivered excruciating pain and inwardly felt slightly ashamed to admit to himself that he had a feeling of immense satisfaction and Schadenfreude from what he had just visited upon Selwyn. 

And there finally ended the affair of the second form cigarettes. Of a dormitory of twelve boys no less than eight had been severely beaten. Word rapidly went round the grape vine that the Head-Boy clearly meant business about enforcing the no-smoking rule.  Anyone found with cigarettes would find himself mounting the Rigby Horse and taking twelve cuts of the birch across his naked arse.

But did this virtuoso beating performance finally stamp out smoking among the boys?  Of course it didn’t; it simply made them more careful to make sure that they did not get caught when they had a drag on a fag. And a few inevitably did find themselves, naked arsed across the horse, awaiting the gentle touch of the birch. But that was school life!

CHAPTER 8  

Under Patrick’s guidance and watchful eye, the Court of Prefects continued to beat its way through the boys issued with punishment slips, of which there were several every week.  Twelve good hard cuts from the cane became the norm. First form boys, who had to be introduced to the reality of life at Rigby, usually received six good whacks with the back of the bath brush across their naked backsides before they were actually caned.   And from the first time onwards, no boy was ever spared. The cane was applied with great vigour and the thirteen-year old first formers usually left the Court in tears, massaging their arses, which burned with pain. For them it was a real baptism by fire.

By dint of careful vigilance, the prefects managed to meet the Headmaster’s suggested quota of first formers to receive their first beating at Rigby. Towards the end of the term, just before the Christmas break, Patrick was able to tell Mr. Godber, on one of his Sunday port-sipping – cock-slipping sessions with the Headmaster, that the Court had managed to beat almost two thirds of the first year boys: some forty in number.  All these lads now realised that they were in a school where the cane and the birch were in regular use. Patrick himself had quickly acquired the reputation of being a really hard beater.  Encounters with the cane wielded by him were to be avoided like the plague.  But, of course, boys being boys, there was no end of mischief, which provided a regular succession of naked arses requiring chastising;  and, make no mistake: chastised they were.

One of the junior prefects made what is best described as a “coup”. He was down town when he came across some twelve first formers, none of them wearing their caps – a very beatable offence – and none of them had an exeat from a master to sanction their visit into town:  another eminently beatable offence.  Needless to say, this led to the twelve delinquents being hauled, in their gym strips before the Court of Prefects. What followed is perhaps best described as a bloodbath: an orgy of beating. “Gentlemen,” said Patrick as president of the Court, “This is, I believe, the first time since your arrival at the beginning of term that we have had the pleasure of seeing you before this Court.  Now, you all know full well why you are here. You have all broken two cardinal rules of the school and for that you are now to pay the price. We the prefects are going to beat your backsides; and beat them very hard indeed, so that you all understand what it means to be at Rigby and to obey the rules.”

“Now, as it is your first appearance before the court, we propose to make it a memorable occasion for you: something you will not forget in a hurry.  So to begin; line up against the wall and step out of your gym shorts and let’s be seeing your bare bums. Oh, and for those of you who do not know, all punishment at Rigby is always applied to the naked arse of the recipients: the Court believes that a good warm up of your bums with the brush renders the caning which is going to follow much more painful; and as you must all realise, pain is the name of the game here.  When we cane your naked arses, it is because it is intended to hurt; and as you are about to find out, it really does hurt; in fact it hurts a lot. Now, starting with the first boy on the left, you boy, step forward and bend across the chair there and one of the junior prefects will give your arse six good whacks with the bath brush.”

The first boy stepped timidly forward, trembling with fear of what was about to happen to him. He bent across the chair and a junior prefect gave him six hefty blows of the brush across his buttocks: three per side. He then regained his place to be followed by the second in line and so on until the twelve miscreants had all been thoroughly pre-conditioned for the main punishment. By this time half the boys were already in tears as the brush was by no means an innocuous implement. Well applied, as it had been, each lad already had a very sore backside.

The prefects then arranged four chairs in the centre of the room. Patrick said: “The first four boys on the left step forward, each bend across the back of one of the chairs and stick your pr-warmed bums well in the air so that we can now address them correctly with the cane. Keep perfectly still whilst the full punishment is administered and do not put your hands across your arses by way of protection.  Keep your hands on the seats of the chairs.”

So the Court was now presented with the splendid sight of four young, naked backsides, already glowing from the brush strokes and in perfect shape to be beaten with the cane. They penitent boys did not have long to wait; nor were they disappointed.  Four of the senior prefects, each with a cane in hand, each stood over a boy and with a nod from Patrick, in a quick sequential act, each of them brought his cane down very severely on his target arse; the strokes were delivered in a sequence; one cane mated with its target, to be followed few seconds later by another and another.  Four hard cracks of cane cutting into naked flesh were heard in quick order.

The boys all gasped at the severe pain which they experienced within seconds of the cane descending on their naked arses.  There were already howls of pain with the first stroke, which gradually built up as the punishment continued, stroke by steady stroke, until each boy had received twelve severe cuts across his arse.  The prefects waited about five seconds between each stroke to allow the recipients to appreciate the full pain of each cut.  After twelve strokes of the cane, the boys’ arses were deeply furrowed and angrily red.

“Now, you four lads, up you get and make place for the next of your classmates.  Come on now, you next four miscreants;  step forwards, bend over a chair each and keep still whilst you receive the cane”. And so it went on until all twelve boys had been given twelve hard cuts of the cane preceded by and six swats of the brush across their naked arses.  By the time it was all over, no less than 216 cuts had been given to the twelve boys.  It had been a true bloodbath for the miscreants but a highly enjoyable interlude for the prefects, who all really enjoyed thrashing naked arse.  Like most young men, they were turned on sexually by what they had just done and most of them had hard cocks and wet underpants by the time it was all over.

Patrick said: “Right you boys, you can put your gym shorts back on and get back to your dorm. as it is now bed time for the lot of you. Let me just say, that you are all leaving here tonight with what we call at Rigby  “a well roasted arse”; so let this be a lesson to all of you to toe the line and obey the rules. Make no mistake, any of you, this punishment in no way precludes a repeat performance of what you have just experienced, if you are found misbehaving again. We, the prefects, are here to maintain order and to see that rules are obeyed. If you break them, then expect to be beaten. It’s the Rigby way!”

Whilst a mass beating of younger boys was always a highlight of the Court of Prefects, what has just happened to the first formers was to be eclipsed towards the end of the autumn term, just before the Christmas break. Mr. Potts, a miserable man who bored his pupils to death in his feeble attempts to teach them British colonial history caught the prefect, Stevens, together with Harrison, another boy from the lower sixth, entering a public house down town late on Friday afternoon. Mr. Potts immediately hauled the two delinquents straight before the Headmaster, who adopted his most stony of stony look as he prepared to lecture the two boys before passing sentence

“Stevens, I made you a prefect: a boy who stands out from the others: a boy who wears the prefect’s silver star of office on his jacket lapel and a mortar board instead of a cap on his head. As such you are supposed to uphold the rules of the school, which in the event you have flagrantly disregarded.  You went into a public house to consume alcohol, which is strictly forbidden and to compound your offence you were not wearing your mortarboard.  Of course, as you must now realise Stevens, you are no longer worthy of the trust I placed in  you. As of this moment, you boy, are no longer a prefect sir, and you will hand your mortar board and star back to me.”

“As for you, Harrison; well you are guilty of consuming alcohol in a public house and you too were without your school cap.  So both of you are going to be punished, severely punished I might add, for what you have done. You will each receive six strokes of the cane immediately today and then on Sunday evening after supper you will both present yourselves at the punishment room where I shall have the doubtful pleasure of birching both of you: birching you very, very thoroughly I can tell you. You will serve as an example to the other boys. Now, both of you drop your trousers and underpants and present to me your naked buttocks for chastisement by bending across the chairs provided.”

And that was the first time that term that Mr. Godber, the Headmaster, had wielded the cane himself.   But he still showed himself capable of a sterling performance. The two miscreants left his study after twelve stinging cuts of the cane, with very painful arses and the prospect of an even worse experience: the birch on Sunday evening.

That same evening, at supper, a note was passed to Patrick, asking him to go and see the Headmaster immediately after the meal. “Ah, Ingram Lewis, thank you for coming so promptly. An incident has arisen and I need your assistance.” The Headmaster told Patrick the facts of what he now called the Stevens-Harrison affair. “Stevens, I have of course, reduced to the ranks: he is no longer a prefect. And by way of showing my initial disapproval, I have already given both boys a dozen hard cuts with my favourite old cane. I think I can say that they left here feeling very sorry for themselves.”

“But their main punishment will be at eight o’clock this Sunday, after supper, when both boys will be birched. I propose to give Harrison twelve cuts for drinking. But Stevens I think deserves more: Not only did he drink, but he betrayed the trust I placed in him as a prefect and for that he must now pay the price.  Clearly, as we have already discussed earlier this term, my confidence in Stevens was misplaced, So, I propose to give him eighteen cut of the birch: the maximum allowed under the school rules – more’s the pity!  Now, Ingram-Lewis as Head-Boy in loco domini, I want you to assist me on Sunday evening. I am not sure that I am physically up to giving thirty strokes of the birch anymore. So I may call upon you and your trusty arm to help me out.”

Patrick somehow had a presntiment that he himself would, in the event, be the only one wielding the birch on Sunday.  He sighed inwardly with relief that Stevens had been caught by a master and not one of the prefects. He saw Stevens getting very nasty, as he had done at the beginning of term when Patrick had beaten him.  So at least he was not responsible for catching Stevens. He actually looked forward to his part in the birching, as he could think of no more suitable arse than Stevens’s on which to lavish his technical prowess; it was to be a real treat for Patrick, although he took great care not to show his eagerness to the Headmaster. Overtly, it was all a very distressing and unpleasant business which nevertheless had to be dealt with!  What utter hypocrisy! Both the Headmaster and Patrick knew full well that any of the prefects would have enjoyed being asked to officiate with the birch. But the conventions and niceties were, as ever, outwardly maintained; he was only doing his solemn duty; the fact that he enjoyed what he was doing was neither here nor there: a mere incidental to the rendering of justice!

Mr. Godber then went on and said: “You know Ingram-Lewis, Stevens has really let down the Court of Prefects very badly in my view. He has damaged its reputation as the upholder law and order here at Rigby. It would not surprise me at all, if your fellow prefects decided to exact some sort of retribution out of Stevens.  I am punishing him and Harrison for their drinking; but him personally and additionally for ignoring his duty as a prefect.  But I know if I were a prefect I would want to Stevens to answer directly to the Court for the damage he has caused. But, of course, that is not my affair.  So Patrick, (alert, alert, alert!) as you are here and as the port is on the table, perhaps you might like a glass right now.  Not that that would preclude your taking another glass on Sunday, of course, as I have grown quite to enjoy our Sunday meetings!  And then perhaps later this evening, if you feel….”

Having sipped port and then gone on to simulate Mr. Godber as that was what he had indicated he wanted, Patrick left the Headmaster’s apartment.  He thought to himself: “The old boy is encouraging me to get the Court to give Stevens another beating. You know, that’s not a bad idea. I could really enjoy that, as there is no arse I would rather roast than Stevens’s. It would make a great ending to my first term as Head-Boy.”

Sunday evening arrived and Patrick, the Headmaster and that miserable Mr. Potts were assembled in the punishment room, together with the two delinquents, Stevens and Harrison. Mr Potts said nothing as the Headmaster took charge as was his duty: “Harrison, we’ll deal with you first. Kindly step out of your trousers and underpants and mount the horse.  You, Stevens, will assist your partner in crime (was the way he put it) and see that his wrists and ankles are firmly strapped in place.  Now, normally, I would wield the birch myself, but I am really getting too old to do it justice and so I am going to hand over the job to the Head-Boy. He has a strong right arm and I am sure will carry out the operation to your complete satisfaction.” The concept of satisfaction being felt by the boy being birched sounded very strange to Patrick, but that is the way the Headmaster put it.

“Over to you, Ingram-Lewis, if you please; and I think that the senior birch is appropriate on this occasion.  Now Stevens, I want you to call out the strokes as they are applied. Oh Harrison, I forgot to tell you you are to receive a round dozen cuts in all.  So Stevens, you will wait about ten seconds between calling each stroke as we do not want to deprive Harrison of the undoubted pleasure of enjoying the therapeutic effect of each cut to the full. I want him to feel truly satisfied (there it was again) after you have finished. I don’t wish Harrison to get up and feel that he has somehow been short changed. Oh, by the way, Harrison, here is a cork for you to bite on; it will help you bear the pain, which is of course, the object of this exercise, which I am sure Ingram-Lewis will bear in mind as he thrashes you.  So, Ingram-Lewis, I think we are ready to begin.”

Whilst the Headmaster was burbling on, Patrick had picked up the senior birch, the longest one of the three made from the whippy maple twigs. He thrashed it down through the air so that everyone could hear the whistling sound it made: quite different to the swish of a rattan cane; altogether more piercing and quite frightening.   Stevens, who had listened to the Headmaster’s discourse, was by now trembling with fear as he realised that his turn was soon to come. He called out the first stroke, which Patrick then applied with maximum force. Harrison took in a deep breath as the twigs landed on his naked flesh. By the fourth stroke, he was already reduced to tears and by the fifth he was howling loudly as the birch mated excruciatingly with his naked buttocks.  When it was over, Harrison had been reduced to a weeping shadow of his former confident self. Any swagger he might have had at the start of the proceedings had been thrashed out of him.

The Headmaster then said: “Right, Stevens; quick about it boy; let me see your naked buttocks across the horse.  Now, Harrison, this time you will tighten the straps on your drinking friend. And I have to tell you, Stevens that you are to receive eighteen strokes in all. Twelve for the offence of consuming alcohol in a public house and six more for your disregard of your duties as a prefect.  I would go to a full twenty four cuts with you, but I unfortunately the school rules limit the birch to each maximum of eighteen cuts.  Ingram-Lewis, if you would kindly officiate again. And you, Harrison, will count out the strokes. And don’t forget; leave about ten seconds between each cut. We wouldn’t wish to deprive Stevens of the full pleasure of every stroke, would we?”

Patrick gave Stevens the very hardest beating he could muster, as he felt he deserved it, which he really did.  Time and time again the birch whistled down and landed with a firm crack on Stevens’s arse. Like Harrison, he was quickly reduced to tears and after the twelfth stroke begged for the beating to stop: but it did not.  Stroke after exacting stroke landed on Stevens’s arse. When it was all over, Stevens was sporting a well roasted backside; very well roasted indeed. It was red raw and the pain was clearly excruciating.  Patrick had conducted a masterpiece of birching. He had delivered unbelievable pain but without breaking Stevens’s skin.  Looking at his handiwork, a truly well birched, flaming arse, there was no doubt at all in Patrick’s mind that the birch was in a different league to the normal cane; he understood very clearly why the Headmaster was keen to maintain its use at Rigby!

The Headmaster summed matters up: “Well, gentlemen, as I announced some time ago at the assembly, you both committed one of the cardinal offences for which you have been deservedly punished.  It any two boys ever merited a birching it was you two. Let that be a lesson to you both. And as for you, Stevens, well I have nothing but contempt for the way in which you have let down your fellow prefects. I have to tell you, Stevens, that it would not surprise me in the least if the Court of Prefects decided to exact some retribution from you over and above the punishment you have just undergone. You have offended the dignity of the Court and brought disrepute and ridicule to what is intended to be a group charged with maintaining order and discipline out of class time.  You sir, are quite beneath contempt, and how you will go about re-establishing your credibility in the eyes of you classmates, I do not know. Now Ingram-Lewis; I have to thank you for your sterling efforts. You have a remarkable way with the birch: indeed, quite remarkable: a pleasure to watch; full marks, sir!  Now perhaps you would like to come back with me to my quarters and take a glass of port with me.”

“And what else; as if I did not know,” Patrick mused to himself. “And the old boy is clearly keen on seeing the Court of Prefects skin Stevens’s arse yet again; that is the second time he has brought up the matter. I wonder what my co-prefects will think?”  In fact, that was a rhetorical question Patrick had just asked himself. He knew full well that the Court of Prefects would be only too delighted to have the opportunity to thrash the living daylights out of the odious Stevens. The prefects never missed an opportunity, however fleeting, to beat arse: any boy’s arse: any boy at all!  And to beat a sixth former’s arse; well that was an added delight: the icing on the cake. Yes it promised to be a “gala” occasion; one not yet even discussed; but as sure to happen as night follows day.

It was about a week after Stevens had been birched. The Court of Prefects was in session and had just finished beating two third formers who had been caught fighting each other in the school grounds.  “Well gentlemen,” said Patrick as Head-Boy and President of the Court, “I believe that concludes our business for this evening.”

One of the senior prefects spoke up and said: “Ingram-Lewis, a number of us, well pretty well all of us in fact, have been discussing the way in which Stevens by his actions, has brought the Court into disrepute.  We know he has been severely punished for his delinquency. But the fact remains that his action has partially destroyed the reputation and esteem in which this Court is held by the other boys. And so, Mr, President, we feel that Stevens should be brought before the Court and made to answer for the damage he has caused. Frankly, his actions were taken without any regard for his own position or for that to the Court of Prefects to which he then still belonged. So with your permission we would like to bring Stevens before the Court and make him answer for the damage he has caused us.  And that is the view of us all, Mr. President.”

Patrick was delighted and relieved; delighted that his fellow prefects felt that Stevens should answer to his peers; relieved that the suggestion had been made independently of him.  “Well gentlemen, I can tell you that the Headmaster has expressed the view to me, twice in fact, that he felt that the members of the Court might wish to make Stevens answer to them. In his view Stevens has committed two unpardonable acts. He has disregarded the school rules on drinking, for which he has been both caned and birched. But over and above that, he has shown a complete contempt for his fellow prefects and the effect of his actions on them. So, gentlemen, I can tell you, that Mr.Godber, will not raise and an eyebrow if you wish to go ahead and convoke Stevens to appear before the Court.  Now, the question is, if we take this action, how do we intend to punish Stevens.  We can tell him in no uncertain terms what we think of him and his actions, but that is just words.  The only other option we have is the cane; we have to beat Stevens.  We have no other option: he has to take a third beating.”

“That, Mr. President, is precisely what we thought.  Now, it is our understanding that the school rules allow a maximum of twenty-four strokes of the cane on any one occasion. If that is correct, we feel that on this occasion, Stevens should be given the full “benefit” allowed: the full twenty-four cuts: real hard cuts so that he truly realises the level of his sins.  So Mr. President, what we would like to do, is to get Stevens here one evening, the sooner the better. Then we propose to get him arse naked over the chair and each of us will give him two good hard cuts across his naked butt with our favourite canes.  That includes you too, Mr. President, as you would be the twelfth man.”

“Well gentlemen,” said Patrick, “You have clearly thought this thing completely through and it but remains to impart the glad tidings to Stevens.  One of you will perhaps undertake this task. Shall we say Friday evening for the event?”

On Friday evening at eight o’clock, a scowling and surly Stevens presented himself before the Court. He had protested strongly about his appearance, but in the end he had to obey, for their word was law.  He had not been informed of what was to happen to him, but he immediately realised that the Court meant business and that the business was focussed on his arse, which was clearly going to be roasted.  As he entered the Court, all twelve prefects stood there, each with a cane in his hand.  It was a frightening experience to see a group of twelve angry young men, each brandishing a vicious looking cane, clearly intended for his arse.

Patrick as President began by telling Stevens of the disgust of the Court his actions and why they had called him there to receive a further beating. “You guys are unreal,” said Stevens, “I have already been caned and birched for my act and I am not going to be punished again by you lot.”

“Stevens, let me disabuse you of the idea that we are going to punish you for the same delinquency: indeed we are not.  You are here today to be punished for the effect your actions have had on the prestige and dignity of the Court of Prefects to which you no longer belong. So, Stevens, you are going to be beaten. And moreover you are going to be beaten very thoroughly; you will receive the maximum number of twenty-four strokes allowed by the school rules. Now sir, step out of your trousers and underpants, bend across that chair there in the time honoured fashion and let’s see your naked arse presented ready for beating.” After considerable objections and grumbling, Stevens finally complied and presented a muscular pair of naked buttocks to his erstwhile co-prefects for beating. 

Stevens’s buttocks still showed clear traces of his earlier caning and birching. The junior prefects each applied their two strokes.  As might well be imagined, no one held back and by the time the final strokes had been applied by Patrick, Stevens was in agony, crying profusely and was sporting a well furrowed arse, already black and blue.   Stevens finally arose from the chair with what was a well and truly roasted arse.  In living memory, no boy at the school had ever been subjected to the full quota of twenty-four cuts.  It ranked as a “first” and its effect was clearly excruciatingly painful.

And with that, the Stevens’s affair was finally put to bed.  The end of term came and as boys prepared to go off home for their Christmas break, Patrick once again sipped port with Mr. Godber and gave him a much appreciated Christmas present. 

He and Roderick Pennington still got together on a regular basis. He found out that Roderick’s parents had decided to go off to on a safari somewhere in Africa for Christmas. And so, Roderick was again invited to Ingram House of the entire Christmas break. The two boys – what  am I talking  about? – the  two young men, were looking forward to renewing their sexual activities with Geoffrey the footman, Rose the kitchen maid and Tom the gardener.  It was a mouth watering prospect: two weeks of intense sex, which even the presence of Patrick’s mother would not to be allowed to spoil.

TO  BE CONTINUED  IN  PART 5