The Ingram-Lewis Chronicles

THE INGRAM-LEWIS CHRONICLES – PART 5

PATRICK – THE GREAT DISCIPLINARIAN

A Homoerotic Story

by

Jason Land

CHAPTER 1

When we last left Patrick Ingram-Lewis, it was just before the Christmas holidays in 1901 and he and his closest friend, Roderick Pennington, were to spend the holidays together at Ingram House in Northumberland. Roderick’s parents had gone off on a safari to Africa and he would otherwise have been alone for the whole period. But Patrick also wanted Roderick to spend his holidays at Ingram House, as he and Patrick were regular lovers; they indulged their passion for sex with each other with gay abandon and Patrick was looking forward immensely to having Roderick around for the whole of the Christmas holidays.

Strictly forbidden at Rigby School and censored by the then law of the land, but nevertheless omnipresent, all sexual activities liaison between boys was officially forbidden; if caught in the act of buggery, the culprits were always given a very severe birching and, in the limit, could be expelled. But the Headmaster, Mr. Godber, an ageing homosexual himself, had long realised the futility of trying to stop boys sodomising each other. Mr. Godber, in spite of being a Victorian, had realised that boys in the English public school system, where they became young men with all the carnal desires that young men naturally develop, could not be stopped indulging in what was then referred to as “unnatural behaviour”. So although officially forbidden, buggery was tacitly accepted and it was rare that anyone found himself mounting the Rigby Horse and offering up his naked arse for a birching for indulging in the act. But it did nevertheless occasionally happen; and such occasions were to be avoided like the plague, as a birching is an unbelievably painful punishment.

Patrick and Roderick had already spent the whole of the month of August together at Ingram House, were they had indulged their mutual lust for anal intercourse with a handsome young footman, Geoffrey and his friend, the assistant gardener, Tom. But to cap it all, Geoffrey, who indulged his own passion for sex with both men and women, had introduced the two young men to a very nubile kitchen maid, Rose, who had willingly shared her treasures with two handsome, sexually well equipped, eighteen year old studs; so, you can well imagine as the two young men arrived at Ingram Hose, they were looking forward to a two week holiday break in which sex would be regularly on the menu.

The only potential fly in the ointment as readers will probably remember, was Patrick’s widowed mother, Mildred Ingram-Lewis, a miserable, snobbish woman with a totally mildewed view on life in general, who lived alone apart from a paid companion whom she treated almost as a slave.  In fact, “mildewed Mildred” aptly summed her up! But as Patrick said to his friend, his mother tended to keep herself to herself in what was a rambling sort of a house with two separate wings, so that if they put up with her at mealtimes which were always very formal occasions, all would be well.

The liaison with Geoffrey the young footman was rekindled the first evening of their arrival at dinner; Patrick and he exchanged meaningful glances which said it all. That same evening, Roderick and Patrick, who had adjacent room’s remote from the wing of the house where Mrs Ingram-Lewis slept, were immediately engaged in a sexual embrace. Patrick had gone straight away into Roderick’s room via the communicating door between the two rooms and they had then tossed a coin to see who would have the first fuck of the Christmas holidays.  Patrick had won the toss and had decided that he would like to take Roderick flat on his back on a side table with himself standing there with his partner’s legs over his shoulder.   Patrick truly enjoyed this position as by holding his partner’s legs in his arms, it gave him a chance to apply maximum force as he fucked his friend; it goes without saying that the two young men, in that first flush of sexual exploration, were both vigorous performers.

Patrick had just penetrated his friend’s eagerly awaiting anus, when he suddenly found himself gripped around the waist by a pair of hands; his legs were forced further apart and before he could object, he felt a long, hard shaft of well lubricated man-meat slide smoothly inside him; the “intruder”, was, of course Geoffrey, the footman.  Geoffrey had quietly entered Patrick’s bedroom, seen that he was already engaged with his friend in the adjacent bedroom. So he had quickly stripped off and gone to join the two young men, whom he had found already in the inimitable act of copulation. So as Patrick’s arse was so invitingly presented, Geoffrey simply could not resist surprising him and join in on what what promised to be a hot occasion.

“Jesus, Geoffrey,” said Patrick, “You gave me a fucking surprise, both literally and metaphorically. Anyway now that you are here, and have made a threesome of it, let’s get on and have a really hard fuck together.”

Now Geoffrey, as you may remember was a few years older than the two boys with whom he was now engaged and he quickly took charge of the situation.  Geoffrey, it has to be said, was a real nifty operator with his cock and so he told Patrick, whom he always addressed even under these most intimate of circumstances as “Mr. Patrick Sir” to follow his rhythm and they would both fuck butt together; locked as the threesome, Patrick inside Roderick and Geoffrey inside Patrick, as they now found themselves.  So Geoffrey set the pounding rhythm which he and Patrick now adopted as they started their tandem anal fuck together. Geoffrey’s technique was steadily to increase the power and length of each successive stroke, withdrawing his member further and further from its target until, reaching his climax, he withdrew his cock completely from his partner and then with the greatest force he could muster, thrust it full-length back into his partner’s hole. With this final gesture, he climaxed and emitted a huge amount of thick creamy cum in an intense orgasm.

As he pounded away at Patrick’s arse, whilst moving towards his own climax, by holding onto Patrick’s hips, he forced him to synchronize his movements in and out of Roderick. At the climactic moment, thanks to his consummate copulative skill, he managed to bring both Patrick and Roderick to their climaxes at the same time as his own. And so both Geoffrey and Patrick withdrew their rock-hard cocks from their partner’s anuses, held them clear for a second or so and then thrust them back simultaneously into the the expectant holes;  the three young men managed to achieve simultaneous climaxes.

Three large cocks shot out, huge quantities of cum in the unbelievably intense orgasms, which took each of their owners to heaven and back It was a memorable moment for all three young studs as sperm was shot forth in a series of uncontrollable jerks, All three of them, Roderick included, who had not yet this evening had the pleasure of fucking butt himself, managed to enjoy, for that all too brief moment, the greatest of all pleasures known to man: the male orgasm. Geoffrey’s sexual skills were left in no doubt: Geoffrey was an absolute crack with his cock and always managed to take his partners with him on his pleasurable sexual exploits.

All three of them then collapsed in a heap, sweating and laughing. Patrick said, “You know, Geoffrey, you really are the greatest pro of all time. Speaking for myself I have never ever had such a huge orgasm as I had just now: it was quite sublime.”  The sentiment was immediately echoed by Roderick.

When they had cooled off a little, Patrick bemoaned the fact that copulation, the most pleasurable of activities, was also one of the messiest. So he suggested, looking around at the cum soaked table and the sperm shot by Roderick onto both his own and Geoffrey’s chests, that they go and get cleaned up before continuing.  We leave the three young men there wallowing in the sex that they mutually enjoyed together and which on that occasion went on into the early hours of the morning.

And so the Christmas holidays passed agreeably but much too quickly for both Patrick and Roderick.  They enjoyed uninhibited sex with both Geoffrey and Tom, the gardener, who again insisted on whacking everyone’s arse with one of the many switches he had cut.  But the most memorable moment for Patrick was the night he and the kitchen maid, Rose, spent alone together in his bed.  Rose had introduced Patrick to the pleasure of sexual intercourse with the opposite sex. And it was perhaps fucking Rose, his first woman since the long summer holidays, when he had first slept with Rose, that was the moment the Christmas break at Ingram Hall which he enjoyed the most. 

Patrick reflected on his own sexuality, and finally admitted to himself that he enjoyed sex equally with either a man or a woman. Was that to be his future, he wondered? At least he knew that he was not incapable of making love to a woman and as the way of the world was to get married and have children, he vaguely assumed that that would one day be the path he would take. But, he had already decided that he could never give up gay sex. Illegal as it then was, he knew that he would always have sexual relations with other men; he just enjoyed fucking butt so much that he could not envisage life without it. The thought of renouncing forever the delight of forcing his cock through a tight, recalcitrant anal sphincter of a willing, young, male partner followed by the pleasure of pounding his hole, was just not on the cards. He just knew in his heart of hearts that he would go on all his life fucking and being fucked by other men; even eventually as a married man; and of that he was quite sure.

CHAPTER 2

We will leave Ingram House for the moment and take a look at the two Tomlinson brothers: Colin the elder and his brother Thomas who also figure prominently in this story.  Boh boys were pupils at Rigby School where Patrick wa snow Head-Prefect.You will remember that Tomlinson Major was a boy who could not keep out of trouble and that in the autumn term he had been punished several times; once for running in  the corridor and twice in quick succession after having been found, along with another boy, Newton, smoking in the dorm.  This had led to a mini bloodbath of beatings in the dorm that very evening; several other boys who were found to have been concealing cigarettes had their arses thrashed by Patrick. But Tomlinson’s punishment went much further; the next day Patrick treated Tomlinson’s naked arse to a monumental birching with a vicious new birch made of maple shoots by the gardener. All in all, Master Tomlinson endured twelve cuts for smoking and another six for having stolen the cigarettes from his father.  So Tomlinson Major’s excursion into the forbidden pastures of smoking had landed him with a very, very sore backside: six cuts of the cane and eighteen cuts of the birch.

But as we all know, time heals wounds and that awful experience had more or less been forgotten by Colin Tomlinson as he and his younger brother, Thomas, arrived for the Christmas vacation at their local railway station.  They were met there by the dog-cart driven by an under-footman (the Tomlinson’s lived in semi-splendour and had the full complement of staff to look after them) who had been sent there to pick them up and take them back to the house some two or so miles from the station. Both boys were looking forward to the holidays at home and the freedom from the restrictions imposed on them at Rigby

.

The door of the house was opened by Mottram, the butler who welcomed the boys home and then went on to say that their father wanted to see them immediately on arrival in his smoking room. The very mention of the smoking-room sent a shiver of fear coursing through Colin’s veins, for it was from there that he had pilfered (he could not bring himself to use the word stolen) the two packets of cigarettes which had led to that monumental thrashing he had taken from Patrick.  Thomas, of course, was not at all involved in the smoking fiasco and was unaware of the reaction that the news that their father wanted to see them immediately had engendered in his brother.

So to the smoking room the two boys went to be greeted rather gruffly by their father, Colonel Tomlinson, who at the best of times was a rather forbidding figure to them; today, however, the Colonel looked downright cross.  Colonel Tomlinson was not a man to mince his words or to waste time on unnecessary pleasantries, and after welcoming the boys home for the holidays, came straight to the point: “ Colin and Thomas, I have a matter which I wish to clear up with you before the start of the Christmas festivities; a matter which I think is best dealt with immediately. Now boys, I had in my smokers’ cabinet not only my own cigars in their humidor, but also two unopened packets of cigarettes, which, as you both know , I do not smoke myself, but which I keep there to offer to those of my guests who do not care for cigars themselves .”

By this time, Colin was beginning to feel very, very uneasy;  a feeling which was further reinforced when he saw that an armchair had been pulled into the centre of the room and that a cane lay in waiting across its arms. Colin had that sudden urgent desire to go and have a pee; a desire which the prospect of having one’s arse beaten so frequently engenders in boys with a guilty secret.

The Colonel continued: You can imagine my surprise therefore, when just the other day, I offered a cigarette to the vicar who was visiting us, only to find that both packets had disappeared. Now I have been assured by Mottram that none of the household staff, male or female could have touched the cigarettes and so I am forced to ask myself if one or both of my sons had decided to help himself to my cigarettes. Thomas, do you know anything about their disappearance? Now don’t lie to me boy, as I shall know immediately whether you are telling the truth or not and you know I don’t tolerate liars; so if you know anything at all about this business, now I the time to tell it.”

Thomas who was, of course not only innocent but was also unaware of is elder brother’s actions. He knew of course, along with the entire school, that Colin had been severely beaten for smoking in the dorm, but that was the sum total of his knowledge. Colin, somewhat ashamed of the fact that he had stolen the cigarettes from his father, had chosen not to tell his younger brother the full story. And so Thomas was being completely truthful when he answered no to his father, who now turned and looked at is elder son: “Colin what do you know about the disappearance of these cigarettes from his room?”

Tomlinson major, he of the glib tongue and absurd, slick excuses whenever he was caught in the act of a misdeed at school, was now at a complete loss for words in front of his father, who glowered down at him. Any braggadocio attitude he might have tempted to affect disappeared under the imposing gaze of his father; the boy felt himself falling to bits internally and could not even open his mouth to give any form of answer; he knew just looking at his father, seething with anger, with a face than was visibly taking on that wrath of God look, that the game was up and that his arse was certainly in for a hiding. And a hiding from Colonel Tomlinson, which he had experienced quite a few times in his younger days, was not something for which anyone who was familiar with the Colonel would volunteer.

“Colin, I can see from your face that you are the guilty one; it was you, wasn’t it who stole the cigarettes? Come on, boy, out with it and don’t even think of lying.”  Thomas, who was still present whilst all this was happening, began to feel frightened himself; he could see that his father wanted blood and he did not want any of it to be his. He too had suffered beatings from his father and he knew exactly what it felt like to have his naked arse thrashed by the Colonel. And now, with his father working himself into an ever greater rage, he was terrified. But he need not have feared being implicated as an accessory in the affair, which his father obviously took very seriously indeed, for Colin finally opened his mouth and said to his father: “Yes father it was me who pilfered your cigarettes. Thomas is not involved and I really am very sorry I did it, but I just wanted….”

The Colonel cut him off in mid-sentence before his elder son could start spouting out some outlandish reason to justify the theft, for he was well aware of Colin’s glib tongue. He then said: “Thomas you may leave us now and go and see your mother. I shall be a little while in dealing with your brother here.”

But of course, Thomas did not do as his father had said; like many a boy before him, he decided to hang around outside the room where the drama was unfolding, to see what what was going to happen to his brother; it was all just to juicy to miss.  Even between siblings there is still that horrible Schadenfreude moment when the punishment is administered to one of them; and even for a boy aged only thirteen, there is a certain homoerotic thrill in hearing a cane mate with a pair of naked buttocks; even if those buttocks belong to one’s brother.  Thomas’s little cock, was already quite hard between his legs, just thinking about what was now about to take place behind the closed door of the room he had just left. But as we all know, curiosity killed the cat and Thomas’s curiosity was to lead to some very painful consequences for him.

Back in the room, Colonel Tomlinson had worked himself into a volcanic rage which was about to erupt on Colin, who stood there, terrified, in front of his father.  The Colonel glared at his son:  “Colin, I find it hard to believe that a son of mine would stoop so low to steal (that horrible, hateful word again, thrust directly into Colin’s face by his own father). And, to boot, I think also I have sired a half- wit for a son, who had he had an ounce of intelligence would not have taken the lot, but just a few cigarettes to try and see what smoking was like.  Had you done that, you half-witted idiot, the theft might not have been noticed.”  And so Colonel Tomlinson went on with his invective, inveighing against his elder son, until he suddenly, finding that he had run out of pejorative expletives, he stopped and said:  “Colin, drop your trousers and underpants and let me see your naked arse across the back of that armchair there. I am going to I give you the severest thrashing you have ever had. Jump to it boy. Let me see you in position to be thrashed.”

Colin had stood silent whilst his father berated him. Inwardly he had now pulled himself together as this was not by any means, as we all know, the first time that his backside was going to be beaten. But as ever, Colin Tomlinson was already working out what he was going to say to his father when the eruption of lava-like words had stopped flowing from his volcanically enraged father.  He also realised, as he was not the half-wit his father had called him, that there was no way in which he was going to escape a beating; so the question was; could he in some way palliate it: cut down the deluge of strokes which his father clearly had in mind.

“Father, may I please say something now?” Taking his father’s silence as affirmative, Colin launched into one of his arguments: “Father, I don’t think you should punish me stealing (there it was; he used that word himself for the first time). You see I was caught smoking at school and straightaway in the dorm, I and several others of us who had been hiding cigarettes in our lockers had to take six across our naked bums (he did not use his father’s more vulgar choice of word, arse) from the Head-Boy, there and then bent across our beds. And then father, the next day, I was birched by the Head-Boy, for smoking the cigarettes, I got twelve cuts of the birch across my naked bum, sir, and it really did hurt very much, sir, and then he gave me another six cuts because I had told him I had stolen the cigarettes from you. You see, sir, in the dorm we were each given six cuts but that was only for having and concealing cigarettes, but my birching was for smoking them and stealing them from you sir, so you see, father I think I have been  punished enough and I hope that you will see that too, sir, and not beat me anymore, sir and I really am very sorry sir, and I will never ever steal anything again sir, and I am not really a thief father, really and truly I am not.” All this poured out from Colin’s lips in a torrent of verbal diarrhoea.

The Colonel had listened to all this totally stone-faced; anyone with half an eye could have seen that all Colin’s pleading to save his arse had been in vain. He had sown his seed stony ground and it had not taken root.

“Colin, I was never very good at sums when I was at school so let me get this straight. The punishment you received at school in this unfortunate affair comprised six cut of the cane in the dorm for having the cigarettes, followed by twelve cuts of the birch for actually smoking them,  to which were added a further  six strokes of the birch as a penance for stealing. So, Colin what you are telling me is that in all in all you have received only six strokes of the birch to correct you for having stolen the the cigarettes.”

“Well son, let me tell you that I consider six cuts a totally inadequate punishment for thievery. If it were one of my young soldiers who had been caught thieving, then I would have sentenced him to thirty strokes of a very painful cane across his naked buttocks. However Colin, I shall be somewhat lenient with you and give you only eighteen cuts of the cane.  Now, boy, the discussion is over. Down with your trousers and under-pants and over the chair and I will, begin. Hold your backside well up, boy, so that I can see what I am doing; I like to make a neat job of any arse I beat.”

Colin realised now that he had totally lost his argument and obeyed his father; there was little else he could do. Colonel Tomlinson, swished the cane a few times through the sir, tapped the middle of his son’s arse several times as he took aim and them brought the rod down with tremendous force on the boy’s naked flesh. A rich red weal was immediately visible across both globes.  And from then on, systematically and precisely without the slightest haste, the Colonel applied the cane with great force to his son’s backside. By the time he had finished with his eighteen strokes, the boy’s buttocks were lined with a series of tight, livid red welts many of which were already turning purple.

Colin had had many beatings in his life, both at school and from his father, but the fury which his father visited upon his arse that day was unprecedented. He howled and yelped at every stroke after the third by which time he was totally reduced to tears. This was easily the most painful beating Colin had ever had in his life; his father was a real crack with the cane and not someone with whom to trifle. It finally dawned upon Colin that his father was not subject to the restrictions imposed by school regulations and could, in his own home, go much further that the school ever dared.

“Right Colin, get dressed and go and greet your mother, who is anxious to see you. The footman will provide you with a pillow to sit on at table this evening. But let me make one thing quite clear. If I have any other trouble at all with you over these holidays, and believe me son when I say this; Christmas or not, I’ll have you back in here quicker than you can imagine and take the skin of your arse with the cane.” And with that final admonition, he opened the door of his smoking room to show Colin out only to find his younger son, Thomas, with his ear close to the door.

“Thomas, what are you still doing here boy, lurking around outside this door, I thought I had told you to go and see your mother whilst I  dealt with your brother; so why are you still here?”  Thomas looked guilty and wondered what to say to his father. “Thomas; I believe that you were eavesdropping at the door, trying to learn what was happening to your brother; come on, boy; out with it, were you or were you not eavesdropping?. I should tell you that eavesdropping is not a pastime in which a young gentleman should indulge. Eavesdropping, my dear Thomas, is an activity of which I totally disapprove and which inevitably leads to correction for the person caught in the act.”

The Colonel had an aptitude for putting the fear of God into his sons, and indeed also into those serving under him in the army; he was a man not to be trifled with, as well you might image. Faced with this tirade about eavesdropping, poor Thomas was already dreading what was about to happen. “No father, really, I was not eavesdropping; really I wasn’t sir, I just thought that I would wait for Colin and that we would then go to see mother together.”

“Total poppycock.” roared the Colonel at his son. “You were eavesdropping and I caught you at it. Step inside here, boy, and I will see what I can do to rid you of this awful habit.  I think a good dose of what I have just given your brother might well be the ticket.”

By this time, Thomas was almost wetting his pants, trembling with the fear his father had aroused in him. He then made a fatal slip which sealed his immediate future meeting with his father’s cane as he said: “Oh please father you are not going not give me eighteen cuts of the cane just for standing by the door; please father; please not.”

The Colonel was in no mood to be lenient as he was still seething with rage that Colin had stolen his cigarettes and he seized upon what his younger son had just said:  “You just told me, Thomas, that you had not been eavesdropping: listening at the door. Well then, just explain to me how you know that I gave your brother eighteen strokes of the cane. Come on, boy; just explain to me now how you know that fact.  Yes Thomas, you are not only an eavesdropper but you are also a liar to boot; you professed that you had not been listening at the door.  Pants and under-pants down my boy and let me see your naked arse well raised across that chair there.  I intend to show you with a practical demonstration, of how I deal with boys who are untruthful and who eavesdrop.”

The Colonel had, by now, reduced his younger son to tears and plead as he did, Thomas did not succeed in budging his father from the course of action which was about to inflict great pain on his arse. The Colonel became more and more exasperated as his son pleaded with him and said finally; “Thomas I will have no more arguments; I am going to beat you, boy, and beat you hard as you need to be taught a lesson in manners and not to tell  lies.”

A reluctant Thomas, with tears coursing down his cheeks, finally dropped his clothes, bent over the chair and waited for his father to begin. Colonel Tomlinson was not one to spare even his own son; and for what was really a very minor matter, he went ahead and thrashed the boy’s arse without pity, leaving him with twelve neat deep red welts, evenly spaced across the full width  of his buttocks. Poor Thomas could barely stand the pain, which was much worse than anything he had experienced at school, and wept bitterly the whole time, crying out in agony at every stroke. But the Colonel was totally impervious to the obvious distress of his son and simply thrashed on until he had administered the twelve cuts. Had anyone witnessed the thrashing they would have concluded that the Colonel was a sadist; and they would have been right! The Colonel was in fact a sadistic, late Victorian disciplinarian, of which there were many. Remember that these events were taking place at Christmas 1900 and Queen Victoria was still on the throne.

“Pull up your pants and go and see your mother and try to explain to her why both you and your brother have very sore bottoms.” said the Colonel, totally unfeelingly. “And let me add the warning I gave your brother which applies equally to you; any further misdemeanour over the holidays and I will have you back in here and over that chair again; and if you think you have been badly done by now, believe me, son, you don’t know just how hard I can beat a boy. So just make sure that you don’t provoke me as I do mean what I say.”

Thomas limped tearfully away from his thrashing to see his mother in the hope the hope of a sympathetic word.  He came upon his brother, Colin, waiting for him, advisedly well away from the smoking room and together they went to greet their their mother. Alas, there was little  sympathy for either of them from her, as she told the boys that as they had been naughty they deserved to be punished and that their father had just been doing his duty; empathy was not a quality with which Mrs. Tomlinson was well endowed!. That first night, in the bedroom they shared together. Thomas climbed into bed with his elder brother and the two boys snuggled up together, sobbing with their pain as they tried to comfort each other.  Tom said to his brother that he was happier at Rigby than at home: at least there , there were other lads for companionship and company whereas here in their own home all they seemed to receive was he cold shoulder.

It had been a sad homecoming to a miserable household in which to spend Christmas. It would have been nice to have been able to say, the thrashings over, that the boys passed a pleasant Christmas at home; be but it would not be true. Colonel Tomlinson was never a very approachable man at the best of times and these were certainly not the best of times; he remained grumpy and unapproachable for throughout the whole of the holidays and both Colin and Thomas were relieved when the day came for them to return to Rigby. Ingram-Lewis and his cane and the rigours of Rigby were a darn sight better than the wrath of Colonel Tomlinson. So both boys arrived back at Rigby School in the early New Year 1901, bearing fading battle scars on their bottoms.

CHAPTER 3

Returning now to Patrick and Roderick, the Christmas holidays were all too quickly over and the two young men took the train back to Rigby together.  They arrived back in time to organise their affairs late in the evening, two days before the start of school.  A few boys had already arrived back at school but the following day all boys arrived back in order to be ready for the start of the spring term next day. This would be the penultimate term for Patrick, who would be leaving Rigby forever at the end of the summer. So, as he looked at it, he realised that he now had two terms left in which to leave his mark on Rigby. Patrick had thought to himself could do little of any permanence to leave behind at Rigby when he moved on to his adult life. So, reflecting to himself, he decided decided that he would attempt to leave behind him the reputation of being the Head-Boy who had thrashed more arses than any other before him.  He had been appointed in loco domini by Mr. Godber, the old Headmaster and in loco domini, in place of the master, or better put, as the master, he would act.  He decided to be as strict as could be possible with the boys under him and to whack as many bare arses as he could in the time left to him as Head-Boy.

In this he knew he would be supported by Mr. Godber, whose regular “lover” he had also become. As the Headmaster himself was a great protagonist of, and true believer in, the beneficial effects of corporal punishment, Patrick knew he would be on firm ground in exercising his powers to the full. Indeed it was Mr. Godber who had suggested to Patrick that the “standard tariff” as he called it, be raised from six to twelve strokes of the cane cross a boy’s naked buttocks; a suggestion which Patrick had, with considerable enthusiasm, immediately adopted implemented.

“I don’t think personally that a boy can be adequately corrected by just six cuts of the cane.” Mr. Godber had said to Patrick. “I recommend that you increase the standard dose from six to twelve strokes, which will give you ample opportunity to teach any boy a proper lesson. A boy’s backside should be on fire when he rises from the beating stool.  Don’t let a boy’s howling put you off; just press on and beat him thoroughly. And don’t abandon the birch either; if you feel a boy deserves a birching, then give it to him; don’t hold back; it never hurt a boy to have his backside birched and it is the most painful of all the punishment which we are still allowed to administer under the benighted rules and regulations which successive reforming governments have foisted on us. In my day, when I was a boy, the whip was still used and if a little blood was drawn, well, it was not thought amiss. We really have become very soft in these modern times. I really don’t know any more what things are coming to” concluded Mr Godber.

It was mid-morning of the day before the new term began and Patrick was roaming around outside the school buildings. As classes did not start until the next morning, boys who had arrived early were free to spend their time in the common rooms and around the school grounds. Patrick suddenly heard a fracas with voices shouting and jeering coming from a remote corner of the grounds hidden behind a tall yew edge.  Approaching the source of the noise, he realised quickly that a group of boys were clearly encouraging and egging on two boys who were fighting each other: it was the typical school yard fisticuffs.  Without his being noticed, further observation revealed that some dozen or so second formers were grouped around two boys who were going hammer and tongs at each other.  Patrick waited for a few minutes, observing what was going on; the onlookers grew more and more enthusiastic and vociferous, encouraging the two protagonists to hit each other even harder. It was a typical manifestation of that hidden sadistic streak which many schoolboys have in watching one lad attempt to knock the stuffing out of the other.

“Stop what you are doing immediately.” said Patrick as he emerged from behind a large bush where he had been standing watching what was happening, “We do not accept or allow brawling here at Rigby. The aim of this school is to turn out young gentlemen who can take their places in the civilised world. We are not in the business of turning out a set of street fighters.   Now, you two who are fighting, let me take a look at you. And the rest of you; don’t even think of sneaking off unobserved, for you are all as guilty as they are in that you encouraged them to go on with their senseless fight.  So the lot of you; stay exactly where you are.  Now you two young ruffians; step forward and give me your names.”

The two lads who had been fighting stepped forwards and Patrick smiled inwardly as he recognised one of them immediately. He began rhetorically, as he knew full well whom he was addressing:  “Tomlinson major, is it you that I see in front of me? I might have known that you were involved; you cannot keep out of trouble for more than five minutes at a time; and who is this you were fighting?”

“I’m Karl von Staufen, Ingram Lewis sir” replied the other boy, now trembling in front of a very menacing looking Head-Boy.

“So, the pair of you; what have you got to say for yourselves? Why were you fighting before the start of term?”

Colin Tomlinson, Tomlinson Major, he of the facile word, he whose arse had been soundly whacked by his father at the start of the Christmas holidays, as ever, took the lead: “Well Ingram-Lewis sir, you have got it all wrong. We weren’t actually fighting; we were just practising wrestling before the start of term. You see, Ingram-Lewis sir, what we were trying to…..”

“Tomlinson major; go no further with another of your ludicrous excuses. You were no more practising wrestling than I was floating through the air when I caught you at it; you two boys were engaged in an unbecoming, bare knuckle fight and were being encouraged to knock each other silly by this on-looking crowd of your blood-thirsty classmates. So Tomlinson, I suggest that you hold your tongue and stop digging yourself more deeply into the hole in which you now find yourself. You boy, along with your opponent, are in deep trouble. And as for the rest of you; well don’t think that you are going to escape from this unseemly exhibition unscathed. You are all going to be punished for participating in this unfortunate affair.”

“Tomlinson and von Staufen; you two will report to my study in thirty minutes time, wearing only your gym kit; glancing at his watch Patrick added, that will be at eleven o’clock precisely. Do I make myself clear?  Meanwhile Tomlinson, make yourself useful and make me a complete list of your gawping classmate onlookers here and bring it with you when you report to my study.  And if you feel you have sufficient mental capacity, write down the names in alphabetical order. Now, as for the rest of you; well, all of you will present yourselves to the Court of Prefects this evening at eight o’clock, immediately after supper; and you too need only wear your gym kit.  And don’t let anyone of you fail to turn up at the appointed time; late comers will receive extra strokes of the cane. Oh, yes, in case any of you are in any doubt, you are all going to get your arses thrashed this evening. It will be a good way in which to celebrate the start of term and the New Year; it will be a memorable occasion for all of you; trust me, I shall see that you are not disappointed.”

“Ingram-Lewis sir,” began the ever inventive Tomlinson, “Today is not actually in term time and I don’t think that the school rules should apply as term officially begins tomorrow morning.”

“A very good try, Tomlinson: one of your more cogent arguments in the face of punishment; but I have to tell you that you are wrong.  Once you arrive on the school premises, the masters and prefects are responsible for your well being; we all act in in loco parentis. So you see Tomlinson, you are already under our protection and on this occasion I assisted by the vigilance of the other prefects are going to protect the lot of you from the worst side of yourselves. I trust that I have made that clear. And if not, I might add that I intend to act both in loco parentis and in loco domini when I address your naked arses with the rod at eleven o’clock.  Have no illusions, Tomlinson; you and von Staufen are in for a very disagreeable experience.” Patrick concluded, having laid it on in spades

CHAPTER 4

Patrick returned to his study, arranged two armchairs with the seats facing each other and touching as he intended to thrash the two boys together and have them face to face with each other whilst he was applying the cane.  He then spent a pleasant few minutes selecting which of the several mature, well seasoned canes given to him by the Headmaster, Mr. Godber, would be best suited for the occasion.  Both boys were in the second year and should, strictly speaking, be punished with a junior cane; but as the pair of them were big for their age and had good well developed arses, Patrick chose a flexible senior cane and fitted it into the handle provided by Mr. Godber. He swished the cane up and down admiring the sound it made as it descended and then, to test its flexibility proceeded to bend it. The cane was so well used and flexible, that Patrick easily succeeded in bending it into a complete circle.  This, thought Patrick, truly was a splendid implement of punishment with which to begin the new term and the New Year 1901. He looked forward with considerable pleasure to the moment when he would apply it to the deserving arses of the two young fighters.

Punctually at eleven, Tomlinson and von Staufen entered Patrick’s study. They both blanched as they saw the two armchairs in position with the cane lying on Patrick’s desk.

“Well now, which of you two is going to tell me what the fight was all about and who started it?  Come on now, I’m waiting; let’s be having the facts. Von Staufen, why don’t you have first shot at explaining yourself, for usually your opponent, Tomlinson Major here, dominates the situation with what can best be described as verbal diarrhoea.  So come along, von Staufen, speak up. I want to know know the truth about this lamentable incident.”

“Von Staufen paused and collected his thoughts: “Well, Ingram-Lewis sir; whilst it is true that I am was the one who actually started the fight, I am not the reason for the fight, if you see what I mean sir; and I am afraid Ingram-Lewis sir, that is all I have to say.”

Patrick, of course, realised that von Staufen had, in some way, been provoked by Tomlinson, but whatever their differences, von Staufen was enough of a gentleman not to push his classmate into the shit,

“Tomlinson, you have heard what von Staufen has said. What have you to say for yourself? He says that he hit you first, but that he was not responsible for the events which led you two boys to blows. So, Tomlinson, out with it boy; did you do something to provoke von Staufen, which led him to hit you?”

Tomlinson was now visibly trembling and terribly embarrassed by the turn the questioning had taken. “Ingram Lewis sir, I really didn’t do anything at all; really I didn’t Ingram-Lewis sir.”

Von Staufen then said: “Ingram-Lewis sir, ask Tomlinson what he said to me before I hit him and then you will understand how the fight started, sir.”

Patrick turned to Tomlinson and said: “Come on Tomlinson; out with it: what came out of your big mouth? What did you say to von Staufen which so provoked him that he felt he had to hit you?  Come on boy, out with it; make no mistake Tomlinson, I will get to the bottom of this business if it takes all morning and one of you will tell me the whole story.”

Tomlinson had now developed a panic stricken expression; one could see him struggling to find words to say what he had said to von Staufen: “Ingram-Lewis sir, it really was not anything important and anyway, I did not really mean what I said; it’s just that von Staufen took it the wrong way and hit me and that’s now we got into a fight.”

“So, Tomlinson, what was it that you said to von Staufen which led him to hit you? Come on, Tomlinson, out with it now.”

Von Staufen interjected: “Go on Tomlinson; tell Ingram-Lewis what you said; tell him what you called me. Go on Tomlinson tell him; and if you won’t then I will and then he’ll understand why I hit you.”

Tomlinson (I nearly said, “Poor Tomlinson”; but as you will see, Tomlinson was not worthy of any sympathy in this affair) was now in tears. The boy simply could not bring himself to repeat whatever it was he had said to von Staufen to enrage him enough to start a fight. Patrick turned his gaze on von Staufen and said: “So von Staufen; out with it boy. What did Tomlinson say to you which clearly was so offensive that you felt you had to hit him?”

Von Staufen replied: “Well Ingram-Lewis sir, Tomlinson is now too embarrassed to tell you himself what he said to me, so under duress from you, sir, I will tell you. Tomlinson called me a dirty, fucking foreigner. And that Ingram-Lewis sir is the gospel truth; that is what he called me. So you can now see why I hit him. I know I am of German origin and have German names, but my great grandfather, the Count Karl von Staufen, came to this country at the time of George IV  and my family has been here ever since. I consider that I am as English as the next man. I cannot even speak German and I have never actually been to Germany myself, although I have distant family still there in Koenigsberg in East Prussia.”

“Tomlinson,” said Patrick, “Is this true? Did you call von Staufen a dirty, fucking foreigner or not?”

Tomlinson did not need to answer the question; his face said it all; his eyes were full of tears.  “Ingram-Lewis sir, I really did not mean what I said; I just said it without thinking and I am truly sorry for what I said.”

“Well gentlemen, although I am not sure that you, Tomlinson, deserve the epithet, we now know the whole story, I am not at all surprised that von Staufen hit you, Tomlinson; you certainly were gratuitously offensive. But offensive or not, von Staufen should not have hit you; and  you, Tomlinson, in turn, should not have hit him back and thereby turned the matter into a brawl.  I am going to punish both of you, here and now for brawling, which is strictly forbidden by the school rules. Both of you now; down with your trousers and  pants and each bend across one of the chairs I have placed at your disposal so that I can examine the state of your arses, which I now propose to beat; and beat very thoroughly, I might add.”

Von Staufen looked very alarmed at what he now knew was about to happen to him. “Ingram-Lewis sir, I have never before been beaten. I am really very frightened sir; and as it was all the fault of Tomlinson, I don’t think it fair that I too should be thrashed.  Please, Ingram-Lewis, don’t thrash me; I am not sure that I can stand the pain: it will be very painful won’t it, Ingram-Lewis sir?”

“Indeed it will, von Staufen. In case it had escaped your notice, the whole objective of beating a boy’s buttocks is for him to experience pain.  It is the retribution for the misdeed he has committed and is the time honoured method, used on generations of boys here at Rigby.  Let me me enlighten you von Staufen; here at this school when a boy breaks the rules he is beaten; and beaten very hard; there is no soft pedalling here; when we punish a boy for a misdeed here at Rigby, he knows that he has to change his ways; he knows he is being corrected; he knows that he deserves a very sore bottom. And as for your never having been beaten before, I have to say that surprises me for a boy already in the second form here; you really must have been an angel up to now, von Staufen, or is that you have never before been caught in the act of breaking a rule?”

“Well, von Staufen, this will be your painful introduction, indeed your very painful introduction, to the realities of life at Rigby. You were caught breaking the rules and now you have to suffer the consequences, even though I do have a certain amount of sympathy for you; you are going to receive a beating; there is no negotiation possible; the pair of you are going to have your backsides very thoroughly whacked in retribution for your actions. Perhaps, Tomlinson, you would be good enough to explain to von Staufen, as a newcomer to the rigours of Rigby, the etiquette to be observed by boys in your position, which is to say boys who are awaiting punishment.  I suggest you acquaint him with what is now required of him whilst I fetch the implement with which I propose, in the next few minutes to condition your arses before applying the cane.”

Tomlinson was suddenly bereft of words, a most unusual occurrence for him. It was not that he did not know what he had to impart to von Staufen, but that he was alarmed by what Ingram-Lewis had said about “conditioning their arses prior to caning”. What on earth did that imply? Something additional and no doubt painful.

But he said:  “Von Staufen, what Ingram-Lewis wishes me to tell you is that as we are going to be thrashed for fighting; here at Rigby we have to present him our arses completely naked; so what we have to do, you and I both, is to drop our trousers and underpants as he has just told us to do and each of us bend across a chair there, presenting our naked bums to him so that he can whack us with th cane he is bow selecting; an act at which he is a real crack!.  But I am not sure what punishment we are about to receive as Ingram-Lewis is talking about conditioning our arses before caning us. Anyway, von Staufen I think we had better do as is expected and bend over the chairs and wait and see what happens.  Sorry, but that is the way things are done here and I can tell you it’s going to be bloody painful for both of us; I know as Ingram-Lewis has a technique all of his own  and it’s not my first time with him. It hurts like bloody hell when he wields the cane. So grit your teeth my friend; both you and I are in for a horrible few minutes.”

Whilst Tomlinson had been imparting this joyful information to von Staufen, Patrick had gone into his bathroom and taken the long-handled, wooden bath-brush which he kept there. What he had decided to do was to condition, as he had put it, their backsides by giving each of them six sharp swats with the back of the brush before proceeding to apply the cane in the normal manner, So the boys were about to receive an additional six swats with a rather painful implement before being given twelve stinging cuts of the cane itself. They were going to leave Patrick’s study with well-roasted arses and their faces pouring with tears, of that he was sure.

Patrick walked back into the room bearing the innocuous looking brush, which was nevertheless capable of delivering considerable pain when handled correctly, to find the boys each bent across a chair, arses naked and ready to go! Patrick could see that both lads were trembling in fearful anticipation about what was about to happen to them. He surveyed von Staufen’s white, unblemished virgin buttocks and thought to himself of the considerable satisfaction that he would have in giving them the first experience of Rigby Rigour; he determined to make it a memorable first time occasion for the boy and to see that he was well and truly launched into the disciplined life at Rigby. He then saw that Tomlinson’s arse had been clearly beaten very professionally and thoroughly some little time previously. He surmised  correctly, that it was Tomlinson’s father who had had occasion to to correct his son sometime over the Christmas break.

Tomlinson, who was a regular recipient of Rigby Rigour, glanced nervously over his shoulder, saw the brush in Patrick’s hand and said: “Ingram-Lewis sir, as you can see my backside is in a very delicate condition and I am not sure that you should be beating me today at all. You see sir, at the beginning of the Christmas holidays my father…”

Patrick cut him short and said: “Tomlinson, I am not in the slightest interested in what happened between you and your father over the holidays; your arse is in absolutely perfect condition for a good dose of corrective, percussive therapy; so kindly button your lip and keep perfectly still whilst I attend to its needs. Now boys, as a prelude to the cane, I have decided to condition your backsides with a few slaps from this brush; this preconditioning technique will warm up your buttocks, and is very invigorating and I think you will find ensures that you get maximum benefit from the caning which will follow. So boys; six each with the brush to pre-condition your backsides to be followed by twelve each with the cane: that is the menu for this pre-luncheon aperitif, let’s call it. I think you will both leave here with a keen appetite, feeling that justice has been truly done and will not want to repeat the experience.”

Patrick surveyed the plump muscular arses he was about to flog. He had decided to beat the two boys alternately, giving each of them a stroke at a time; so he began by positioning himself with the brush above von Staufen’s enticingly pristine buttocks and brought it down with a firm crack across the upper part of the boy’s right bun. Von Staufen let out a howl of pain which Patrick ignored as he moved on to give the same treatment to Tomlinson. By moving back and forth from one boy to the other, stroke by stroke, he created a pause between each stroke to allow its full effect to be enjoyed (a really bad choice of word, now I reflect on it) by the recipient. To judge from the howls each stroke elicited, the boys, if not exactly appreciative were nevertheless cognitive of the care which was being lavished on their arses.

The brush is itself an implement of limited target area, but after six good, firm strokes, little untouched flesh remained. Tomlinson, ever loquacious, said that he thought that this conditioning phase of the punishment was really sufficient and that is arse was already red hot with the six swats it had received: so perhaps Ingram-Lewis might consider this enough of a punishment.  The unfortunate von Staufen added his voice to this petition. But  as you can imagine, their words fell on deaf ears and Patrick picked up his pre-chosen cane and prepared to take the boys to hell and  back as he made a few frightening swishes of the cane through the air.

“Now boys, you will kindly keep perfectly still until I have finished beating you; it will be twelve strokes each and then when I tell you may stand up and pull up your lower clothes.” 

So both young lads gritted their teeth and waited for the painful painful onslaught which was to follow. Tomlinson was, of course, intimately familiar with the technique used by Ingram-Lewis in flogging boys; but this was a new and horribly painful initiation for von Staufen.  The cane cracked down relentlessly twelve painful times on each waiting arse, as Patrick passed to and fro between the boys.  When he had finished, both boys were weeping copiously and both arses were well and truly striped with the the evenly placed, parallel cuts, which were the hallmark of Patrick’s handiwork. It had to be said that Patrick had, in the six months since being made a prefect, become an absolute crack in his use of the cane.  His confidence had been greatly reinforced by the station in loco domini conferred on him by Mr. Godber, which had made him practically the supreme arbiter in the use of the cane at Rigby; it was a position he much enjoyed,

Surveying his handiwork before he told them to get up, Patrick felt that justice had been done. For von Staufen it had been a truly memorable introduction to the doubtful joy of the cane and the boy looked totally cowed by what had happened. Patrick felt sorry for him as he had been provoked by the remarks made by that loquacious idiot Tomlinson, but having started the fight which had become quite fierce, he had merited the beating he had just received.

But Patrick was not yet finished with Tomlinson, As the boys pulled up their pants, with great delicacy, as every touch on their arses was excruciatingly painful, Patrick looked at Tomlinson and said: “Tomlinson, you and I need to make another appointment as I have not yet finished dealing with you about this business. I suggest that you present yourself here again this coming Sunday, at half past eleven, after chapel, when you will do penance for the offensive remarks you made about von Staufen. On that occasion I will again try, fruitlessly no doubt as ever, to instil some gentlemanly manners into you. So, Tomlinson, there you have it; look upon it as your final painful visit to the dentist; it will hurt but it is for your own good.”

Tomlinson, as ever, tried to argue himself out of what was clearly going to be another beating several days hence: “Ingram-Lewis sir, I don’t think I should be punished yet again for this fight. After all, it was von Staufen who started it and I had to defend myself once he had hit me sir, didn’t I. Surely I  had the right to to self defence, sir So I think you are being unfair in wanting to punish me yet again.”

“My dear Tomlinson let us get the facts straight.  You and von Staufen have just been thrashed for fighting: a fight which von Staufen started and to which you retaliated, but which was provoked entirely by your crude remarks to him about his ethnic origins. In fact Tomlinson, you and your big mouth were the sole cause of this altercation. But fighting like street hoodlums in the street is something we cannot allow to pass here at Rigby and whatever the root cause of the fight, you and von Staufen have just been punished for fighting, which is strictly forbidden at Rigby.”

“On Sunday, after chapel, I intend to punish you, and you alone, Tomlinson for having voiced such an unseemly, unwarranted and totally false slur on von Staufen, which is a completely different offense. I trust that clarifies matters in your mind, boy. So until Sunday at eleven thirty sharp when I want to see you here in my study again when I shall apply another dose of remedial therapy to your arse in what I suspect will be another futile attempt on my part, to set you on the straight and narrow. But that, Tomlinson is part of the burden I have to bear by virtue of my position at this school and I shall bear it with dignity, no matter what sacrifices I have to make.”  Tomlinson thought whatever boys of that period thought about such utter sanctimonious cant from Patrick and said to himself the then equivalent of rhubarb, rhubarb, rhubarb. But for once he was wise enough not to give voice to his sentiments,

Having listened to this conversation  von Staufen left, massaging his roasted buttocks, but feeling satisfied that his basic innocence in what had happened had been upheld, Not to mince words he was delighted that Tomlinson was to get another thrashing,  In a way too, although he would not have volunteered to offer his arse to Ingram-Lewis to thrash, in spite of the pain he felt somehow better that he has now crossed the threshold and had joined the vast majority of Rigbyans; he could now display his battle scarred arse with pride in the showers that evening. He felt he had well and truly arrived and could hold his head up among his classmates, most of whom were well beaten veterans. If only it had not been so hellishly painful! But the young lad held no grudge against Ingram -Lewis, whom he secretly quite admired

CHAPTER 5

Feeling highly satisfied with his morning’s work, Patrick went into lunch. He noticed with a smile, that both Tomlinson and von Staufen were eating standing up: a testimony to the efficacy of his beating arm.  He also saw that most of the prefects had already arrived. So he spoke briefly to them and told them that even though today was not actually in term he proposed to hold hold a Prefects’ Court that evening at eight, straight after supper. He outlined very quickly how he had summoned a dozen or so boys, who deserved to be beaten, to appear before the Court that evening so that the role of the prefects in maintaining order at Rigby would get off to a flying start. It goes without saying that Patrick’s co-prefects were delighted with the fact that they would have a group flogging on their first evening back at school.

Beating a boy’s naked arse was one of the great pleasures in their school life and several of the prefects were already feeling their cocks stirring between their legs at the delicious thought of bringing down the cane with that inimitable crack onto a boys naked arse; they could barely wait; it was a thought to savour all afternoon.  But none of them knew what Patrick had in mind, for he was determined to make a really dramatic occasion of this, the first group beating of the new term.

After lunch, Patrick went and checked out the state of readiness of the prefects’ common room where the Court was to be held that evening; he saw that the requisite implements of punishment were all still there: two bath brushes and at least a dozen nasty looking canes. Patrick then went for stroll around the school grounds where he was hailed by the gardener, Mr. Patterson.   “Mr Patrick sir, a Happy New Year and New Term to you sir, I’m delighted to see you back and even more so to have caught you now before term actually begins.  When you next have a moment free sir, perhaps you would like to come down with me to my work shed as I have a number of things I would like to show you: things which I think might help you in the execution of your duties sir.”

Patrick retuned the compliments of the season to the gardener, noticing his choice of the phrase “in the execution of your duties”. What on earth could Patterson be meaning? “Mr Patterson, if you wish, I could come along with you right now as I am not really doing anything in particular. I was just taking a stroll around the place; so, if you are also free now, let’s go.” and so off to Mr. Patterson’s work-shed the two of them went.

Mr. Patterson had clearly taken the question of corporal punishment to heart since making those three extremely painful maple birches last term; birches which he had first tried out on his own two sons and had then given to Patrick. Patrick had much appreciated the gardener’s ingenuity, and had found that the maple birches were first class. The maple wands were very supple but at the same time strong and dense, so when they landed on a target arse, they made a horribly painful impact: much better than the hazel twigs used hitherto; there was no doubt at all about it; the maple birch was easily the most painful of punishments available at Rigby,

“You will remember the maple rods I  made for you last term, sir,” said Patterson, “Well I was walking around the grounds when I saw that huge weeping willow tree down by the pond; you know the one sir; it droops right over the water. Well sir, looking at the twigs, I saw that they were very flexible and although really rather thin were capable of giving a really stinging cut to any deserving boy’s bottom sir. I know exactly what it would feel like if they were brought down very sharply as I tried hitting myself with some of them – gently of course – and I can tell you, sir, they are really very painful. Anyway sir, to cut a long story short, I experimented a bit with making a bundle of them into what we call a birch; I shortened them back a bit to take off the really wispy ends and well sir, here is the result, sir: it’s a new sort of birch.” And with this, Patterson pulled his latest creation out from under the bench where it had been lying.

The birch consisted of a good number of slender green twigs cut from the weeping willow tree, bound together with heavy string to form a handle; about three feet long, it was a formidable implement of punishment.  Patrick took it into his hand, felt its weight and balance and then, brought it down in a gentle stroke onto the surface of the workbench, where the twigs spread out and covered an area about six of seven inches wide. “Three good strokes of that across a boy are naked arse,” said Mr, Patterson, “And I reckon you’d have more or less covered is entire backside.  Give an errant boy six or so strokes, sir, and the pain will build up to such a level that he’ll be begging you to stop; the pain will be really bad sir;  but the great advantage is that with this new birch you will not break the skin; there will be no permanent damage; just a very, very painful experience for the unfortunate lad being beaten and that I think is what you want sir.”

“It’s not for me to tell you, Mr. Patrick, how to discipline the boys, but I know that since I gave my own two lads a dose of that maple birch last term, they have been as good as gold. So I wonder if this new willow birch let’s call it, might not be an effective way of teaching the younger boys a really serious lesson: more painful than the cane, I suspect, but not damaging at all.” 

“But while I was at it, making the birch, I thought to myself sir, that if the young gentlemen need to be corrected, then it should be done properly, in a style, reflecting their status in life. So just look over there and see what else I have made, sir; it’s a proper beating stool;  you see sir; it’s made of wood and has adjustable steps to suit different age groups, but the novel idea is the way the desk part slopes steeply away, sir. You see when a boy is stretched over the stool he more or less makes an upside down letter V, with his backside across the top of the stool, in perfect position to apply the rod. And, sir, with his hands and legs held fast in the straps, he will not be able to move or resist so that you can really give him a thorough beating without any resistance; he will be in the perfect position for the application of the cane or birch, sir. Oh and there is another thing, sir; unlike the maple wands which are not in plentiful supply, there are as many willow twigs as you could wish for and I can make you up a fresh couple of rods every week with no problem, That way, sir, you will always have a proper fresh rod to hand to deal with any problem boy.”

Patrick listened in amazement to Mr. Patterson’s exposition. He failed to see the connection between the Rigby boys’ social standing and the special beating stool, but clearly the gardener thought that putting a boy naked arse across a chair was for the hoi-polloi and not for those whom he considered to be “young gentlemen”. Mr Patterson was also as clearly devoted to the corporal chastisement  the Rigby boys as was Patrick himself; he clearly saw it as an integral, regular and necessary part of their education.  But Mr. Patterson’s ideas of what was suitable for young gentlemen aside, the new birch he had invented and the beating stool looked very promising. So Patrick asked him to deliver the stool and the birch to his study as soon as possible, with a promise to try out both the rod and the stool at the very earliest opportunity. Mr. Patterson was delighted and said that the delivery would be made later that day.  Already when he had seen the new implements of punishment he had a boy in mind on which to test their efficacy: that veteran trouble maker: Tomlinson major. However, as we shall shortly see, things did not quite work out like that.

It was now late afternoon and before the shops closed Patrick made a quick sortie into the town centre and purchased an additional four bath brushes, which he had decided would be needed for that evening’s Court of Prefects “entertainment”. He tried in his head not invoke that word, but he knew full well that after supper he and his fellow prefects would have a very entertaining time thrashing the arses of the twelve or so lads who had been told to present themselves to the Court for punishment. Like senior boys and prefects throughout the English public school system. Rigbyans were no different; given the power to beat their younger schoolmates, they did so with vigour, as often as possible and enjoyed every minute of it.

As he emerged from the hardware shop, carrying his purchases Patrick happened to see three first form boys window shopping; not one of them was wearing his school cap, which was a mandatory requirement for all boys outside the school grounds; even Patrick was wearing his Head-Boy’s black mortar board with its gold tassel, for that rule applied equally to him, in spite of his elevated position in the school hierarchy.  Moreover, junior boys were not allowed down town in term time except for two hours on Saturday afternoon. So here was another God-given opportunity to beat another group of young arses.

How could things have turned out so very lucky for Patrick on the day before term officially started? The Gods were truly with him that day as he was accumulating backsides to beat at an unprecedented rate. The boys knew they were in for a thrashing as soon as they saw Patrick, who quickly helped them crystallise their worst fears as he said: “You three; my study at five o’clock today and don’t be late; I shall have pleasure in giving you a lesson in what happens to first formers who break the rules; and make no mistake gentlemen, you three are in deep trouble.”

To Patrick’s great surprise, when he returned with his purchases to his study, he found that Mr. Patterson had already delivered the beating stool and two freshly made willow birches; so he was already in business, so to speak. Of course, as he had three boys to beat immediately after supper, he decided, and who could blame him, that he would try out new implement of punishment on their tender backsides.  It was a prospect which made him harden just thinking about it and five o’clock, the fatidic hour of reckoning for the three lads was only a short wait away. So he picked up one of the two birches and tried a few forceful strokes on the padded arm of his easy chair. The twigs landed and splayed themselves out with a very satisfying dull thwack, raising quite a cloud of dust.

He thought with anticipative pleasure of the sound the birch would make as it mated with a boy’s bare buttocks.  The pleasure was just too exquisite to bear, so arousingly homoerotic, that he had to retire quickly to his bathroom and relieve his throbbing cock by jerking off. It was hard to believe that just thinking about the pain he was about to inflict on the boys’ arses was so utterly homoerotic: but it was.

Five o’clock arrived and a knock on his closed study door announced the arrival of the three suppliants.  The three young lads entered Patrick’s study looking extremely nervous, trembling at the thought of what was in store for them. Patrick knew all of the boys by sight but only one of them, a boy called Parker, by name. During the previous term when Patrick and the Court had been endeavouring to meet Mr. Godber’s goal, to beat at least at least half the new intake before the end of term, these three boys had escaped hitherto unscathed.

Addressing Parker by name, Patrick said: “Well Parker, what do you three have to say for yourselves? Here we are, the day before the start of the new term and the three of you are already breaking the rules; going into town without either your caps or an exeat authorising you to leave the school precincts; that my lads is a double infraction.”

Parker replied very timidly: “Please Ingram-Lewis sir, we didn’t realise that we needed either your caps or an exeat to go into town today.  After all, sir, it is before the official start of term, (echoes of Tomlinson’s logic here) so surely school rules do not apply until tomorrow when the term officially starts. So perhaps, Ingram-Lewis sir, you could be lenient with us on this one occasion and overlook our mistakes, which are just due to a misunderstanding.  And sir, none of us has ever broken rule before, sir, and we have never been beaten since our arrival at school last term.”  Parker ended his little speech for clemency, by painting a penitent look on his face.

Of course, we all know that the word lenient was not in Patrick’s vocabulary; had no intention of letting slip such a tasty catch of whackable arses; and before supper into the bargain. So he explained, as he had done earlier to Tomlinson and von Staufen, the ramifications of the in loco parentis position in which the school staff and prefects found themselves. So no; there was no possibility of any clemency; the boys had broken two cardinal rules (cardinal as defined by Patrick himself, of course) and so they had to pay the painful price for their delinquency.  By the time Patrick had finished berating the three lads, they were trembling with fear of what was about to happen to them and were already practically in tears; tears which would flow copiously once Patrick started on their arses with the birch.

“So, gentlemen, there you have it; you have broken the rules and you have to be punished and it unfortunately falls to me to have to carry out this unpleasant task.” He really should have said “fortunately” and “pleasant”, but in this as in many things, a decent sense of hypocrisy of “doing his dut” was maintained at all times.  He then went on: “Well, gentlemen, as this is to be your first beating at Rigby, you will learn what is meant by the expression, Rigby Rigour: it’s the way we maintain order and punish misdeeds here at Rigby.  So the three of you; take of your trousers and underpants and put them neatly on the side over there. Then bend over and hold your ankles and present me with your naked bums so that I can apply the necessary correction.  And let me warn all of you now, if you do not want extra strokes, as I beat you, must remain quite still and keep hold of your ankles until I tell you that I am finished,  when you may stand up and replace your clothes.”

Patrick watched as the three lads adopted the position, spacing themselves well apart in a line one behind the other.  Patrick surveyed with eager anticipation, the three white, virgin arses he was about to roast and then said: “Gentlemen, for your first beating at Rigby, which may well be the first of many, I suspect, I have the honour to tell you that you are to be the first boys to experience the newly introduced junior birch, which will henceforth be known as the willow birch.  This will doubtless give you something to recount to your classmates when you show them your arses in the showers this evening. So, you will remain quite still whilst I give each of you nine cuts of the rod.”

Patrick picked up the birch, swished it through the air a few times for effect, and then brought it down with a resounding crack on Parker’s arse.  Parker let out a howl of pain. Patrick then passed on to the other two waiting backsides and gave each its first stroke of the birch, eliciting much the same response; And then, in his steady methodical, way stroke by stroke, he applied a further eight cuts to each awaiting arse. The boys were soon in tears and yelped at each stroke; but Patrick, as was his custom, ploughed on in total disregard of the obvious distress of the boys.

When the last strokes had been delivered, Patrick inspected his handiwork and saw, as Mr. Patterson had said, that this new lightweight birch had clearly imparted great pain but there was no visible damage; the boys were clearly in agony but nothing more; it seemed to be the ideal new implement with which to beat younger boys; or any boy for that matter. Patrick felt very satisfied with his handiwork so far that day as he went along to supper and made a mental note to tell Mr. Patterson of the success of his new product and to thank him for his inventive diligence.

CHAPTER 6

Supper passed uneventfully but Patrick had the satisfaction to see that Tomlinson and von Staufen still preferred to eat standing up and that three boys he had just beaten had also chosen to remain standing.  Things were going absolutely swimmingly and Patrick could hardly wait for what he thought, wrongly as it turned out, and would be the grand finale to the fight as the onlookers presented themselves that evening to the Court of Prefects to be thrashed for their part in the affair.  So, supper over, Patrick went immediately to the Prefects Common Room to check that everything was in order for what he thought of as a bloodbath of arse beating.

All the prefects were now back at school so there were thirteen of them present at the first meeting of the Court that evening as Patrick recounted how he had come upon the fight, how he had thrashed the two combatants, Tomlinson and von Staufen that morning and how he now proposed that the Court should beat the twelve onlookers together, in what he described as a sort of blood-bath. As he outlined he scenario he had in mind for the evenings’s event, one of the senior prefects whistled and told him that he had a vivid imagination.

Patrick then said: “Well then, gentlemen as we are all agreed, I suggest that we proceed to arrange the chairs in the appropriate way so that we are ready to receive this evening’s punishment detail.  Ideally I would have liked to have arranged the chairs in a large circle, but as there are twelve of them I think two rows of six each is perhaps more practical.” 

So the chairs were lined up back-to-seat with a good space between them as a boy had to bend across each of them and present his arse for punishment, with his hands flat on the seat of the chair.  The backs were arranged to be on the right facing the row, so that each boy’s arse was offered up for punishment on the right. That was the way that most of the prefects habitually applied the cane. Any left handed prefect would have to beat his target arse backhand.

Promptly at eight, the boys who had been caught watching the fight trooped into the the room, wearing only their gym strips as Patrick had ordered. A quick visual count of the group showed Patrick that one boy seemed to be missing, He glanced at the list of names which Tomlinson had made for him and saw that there were indeed twelve names on the list; so who had not turned up?

Patrick said: “Gentlemen, there were twelve of you watching the fight this morning and there are only eleven of you here now; so who is missing?” As might well be expected this question was met with a blank silence, so Patrick went on: “Very well then; I shall take a roll call and each of you will answer present as your name is called out.”

By chance the absent boy was the second on the list: a boy called Cromarty. Cromarty was not yet aware of it but he was now in deep trouble, for to defy an order from the Head-Boy was tempting fate; to ignore an order form the Head  Boy in loco dominii was suicidal; Cromarty’s  arse was condemned to a very special roasting. Atkins, one of the six senior prefects and House Captain, looked at Patrick and said that Cromarty was in his house and suggested that once the Court was over and the evening’s business finished, Patrick and he seek out Cromarty together and deal with him there and then. To this Patrick agreed as he was not prepared to let the boy off the hook; indeed not, for he had every intention of punishing Cromarty very severely for having disregarded his order to attend the Court.

Patrick began the evening’s proceedings: “Gentlemen, you all know why you are here but in case you need reminding, you were all part of the group egging Tomlinson and von Staufen on this morning as they attempted to to beat each other’s brains out. And for that reason, which is a breach of school rules, you are now going to do penance: you will now be beaten.  And no, gentlemen; appearances are deceptive but we are not going to play a game of musical chairs.  Gentlemen, take off your shorts completely, select any chair, and bend across the back of it to present your bare arse for punishment.  I will then check that each of you has adopted the optimum position and after that, until we have completely finished correcting you, you will all remain quite still. And let no one even think of putting his hand to his arse or he will receive extra strokes.”

By now the tension was palpable; you could have cut the atmosphere with a knife. The boys were all in a very frightened state and trembling at the thought of the undefined punishment which was now imminent. All was now to be revealed to the eleven suppliant lads, each bent over the back of a chair, naked arse twitching, awaiting the first stroke.

Patrick now informed them of the programme that evening: “Gentlemen, the six junior prefects are now going to pre-condition your backsides ready for the subsequent application of the cane. They will give each of your arses six swats with the back of a bath brush, a technique which is designed to warm you up and render your buns more receptive to the caning which will follow. We have found that a well conditioned warm pair of buttocks,  benefit enormously from the subsequent application of the cane; and we would not wish to deprive any of you of the full dose of Rigby Rigour as the cane mates with your arses, would we?”

We have no record of what the boys thought about this idea; but we can but surmise that they were not particularly enamoured by what they had so far learned. But they could do nothing to avoid what was about to happen to them; and it was truly very unpleasant, for Rigby Rigour, in any of its forms was a concept designed to be very, very painful. As Mr. Godber had said, boys should be beaten as severely as possible without breaking the skin and this is exactly what was now about to happen; Patrick had really taken this to heart and imparted Mr. Godber’s thoughts to his co-prefects.

What Patrick had now planned was that each of the six junior prefects, armed with a bath brush, would now beat the arses of the boys bending over before them; But to add drama to the action, the six strokes would be synchronised so that each boy experienced the agonising pain of the brush simultaneously; and well applied, let it be noted that the back of a bath brush is a very painful implement in its own right. It may not produce the well defined welts which the cane does, but nevertheless, applied with vigour, a beating with the back of the brush was an unpleasant experience, which few ever wished to repeat.

So the first six boys received one stroke each, applied simultaneously by the six prefects who then turned their attention to the remaining five. And so stroke followed stroke, given individually, until all eleven boys had received six good hard swats of the brush, three to each buttock. The boys were in agony already as the brush, well wielded as it had been by the junior prefects, intent as ever, on imparting the maximum pain possible, had laid on their strokes great force.  By the time they had finished this warm-up phase, the so-called preconditioned arses were already on fire. But worse was still to come for Rigby Rigour as conceived on this occasion by the imaginative Patrick, was a relentless process which was always taken to the bitter end once it had been started.

Cromarty’s absence had slightly spoiled the symmetry of what Patrick had had in mind so he suggested to Atkins that he and himself restrict their own action to one final stroke of the cane across each of the eleven suppliant arses and leave the rest to the other prefects. Patrick was acutely aware that in the Court of Prefects, every member would wish to participate in any multiple beating. And so, when there were just a few boys to be dealt with on an occasion, referred to the Court by a master, then there was a beating rota so that no member of the Court felt that he had been left out in the cold. Patrick was well aware that all his co-prefects took a certain mildly sadistic pleasure, as did he himself, in inflicting punishment on a boy’s naked arse. Not one of them would have confessed to such a feeling; but it was there; and Patrick knew it.

So each prefect, junior and senior alike, each armed with a cane, aligned himself to thrash one boy’s arse. It had been decided that they would together each give their targets five good parallel cuts.  But here was a dramatic touch which Patrick had devised. Each prefect would gently lay his cane on the backside of his target and then at the word, the prefect on the extreme right at the beginning of the first row of chairs, would bring his cane down smartly on the arse waiting before him. As soon as the first stroke had found its target, his neighbour would do the same and so on, prefect by prefect in a non-stop sequence.  As each stroke landed, the prefect would then reposition his cane on the boy’s arse where he intended the next stroke to fall and wait for the next wave. The effect of this was quite electric as each stroke fell independently but in quick succession.  As the canes rose and fell, the visual effect was similar to a ripple developing across a pond or to a pianist playing a descending scale on the piano, one note after the other. It was a highly theatrical effect and served to heighten the drama of the moment. each round of eleven strokes took several seconds, so the suppliant lads had ample opportunity to savour (bad choice of word) each stroke before the dreaded cane landed again on their arses.

By the end of this round, each boy had taken five hard cuts, and they were truly hard, make no mistake about it, as none of the prefects held back with the cane. The boys had howled and yelled and were now mainly in tears as the pain was excruciating.  Patrick handed Atkins one of Mr. Godber’s well seasoned canes and he and Patrick gave each boy one additional very severe stroke to close the evening’s business.  Again, Patrick and Atkins, who stood facing each other across the two rows of chairs, synchronised their strokes so that two canes descend simultaneously across their targets.

“Right,” said Patrick, “You have all taken you punishment as young gentleman should. The affair as far as you are concerned is now over. You may put back on your shorts and go to your dorms.”

CHAPTER 7

The boys who had attended the punishment parade, let us call it, had now left as had the prefects other than Atkins.  Patrick turned to him and said: “Well, Atkins, shall we now give ourselves the additional pleasure of dealing with the wretched Cromarty.  I have never before had a boy not appear before the Court or in my study, when he has been summoned there for punishment. This reluctance or refusal to obey the rules will have to be nipped in the bud before it becomes widespread and I suggest that you and I do the nipping right now.  Now you said that Cromarty is in your house, so where precisely might we best find him at this hour?”

“No problem, Ingram-Lewis; he will almost certainly be in his dorm by now so let’s pick him up there. Have you, how shall I put it, a clear course of action in mind, Ingram-Lewis; although after your admirable arrangements this evening I suspect that I am wasting my breath asking you as you have almost certainly already decided exactly what this young miscreant’s fate is to be.  I know him only slightly, but his behaviour this evening is simply beyond the pale; I think he deserves the severest of sanctions to bring home to him the unacceptability of his actions, which frankly, smacks of cowardice. In a word, if you ask me, I think that we should come as near as possible to skinning his arse for him as is acceptable. He deserves to be left with an arse so painful that he cannot sit down comfortably for the best part of a week.”

“My sentiments exactly, Atkins; and yes, you are quite right; I do already have something interesting and, dare I say it, novel, in mind for our friend Cromarty, so shall we trot along and try to find him.”

As Atkins had surmised, Cromarty was in his dorm and as the two senior prefects entered the hum of conversation suddenly stopped. Several of the boys were intent on examining the backsides of three of their roommates who had been at to the mass beating which has just taken place. By now, several minutes after the last strokes had been delivered, the recipients backsides were colouring up splendidly and were a great attraction to those boys who had had the good fortune not to participate in the bloodbath. The wretched Cromarty sat in bed, basically ignored by his classmates who clearly felt that he had been a rat not to go along and take his punishment with the others and for the moment; he had was clearly being ostracised, if not being sent fully to Coventry.

Patrick and Atkins went up to Cromarty “Out of bed and your feet, young man.” said Patrick.”I do not know what you thought you were doing this evening in ignoring my order to attend Prefects’ Court for punishment with your classmates, all of whom I am quite sure are totally disgusted with you. You joined in the crowd watching the fight this morning and then were not prepared to take the punishment for that action along with the others, which you richly deserved.  So, Cromarty, get your backside down to my study on the double, for believe me boy, your arse is in dire need of some urgent attention.” 

The other boys were dead silent whilst they listened to what was happening. Cromarty ventured a tremulous: “Ingram-Lewis sir, do you mean right now in my pyjamas sir?”

“Well, Cromarty, unless you wish to make your way to my study starkers, I suggest that you keep on your pyjamas – for the moment, that is! However, Cromarty, have no fear, we will have them off once we get to me study as they do just get in the way of dealing with deserving arses; arses which are crying out for punishment; in your case, one might say, severe punishment. So, yes Cromarty I do mean right now and I do mean on the double if not faster;  and I suggest that you now get on your way if you do not wish to make matters worse for yourself than they already are. And just to confirm to you, Cromarty, I can tell you that from my vantage point, matters look pretty bad for you; indeed one might well say, very bad; on a scale of one to ten, let’s say you’re already nudging nine. Now get on your way and your House Captain and I will be along shortly and believe me, Cromarty, we shall do our best to help you come to terms with some of your failings. Yes. Cromarty, I think I can safely promise you that when you come back to your dorm later this evening, you will be a changed man: hopefully for the better.”

Cromarty, trembling with fearful anticipation of what was clearly in store for him left his dorm and made his way to Patrick’s study to be followed shortly afterwards by Patrick and Atkins.  Patrick settled himself behind his desk and berated Cromarty for his actions that that day, laying particular emphasis on his flagrant disobedience.

“Cromarty, when I, the Head-Boy of the school in loco domino, with all that that implies, give you an order, I suggest that you follow it exactly.  I simply cannot allow you as a first former, to flout my authority and for that you are now going to be punished. So, Cromarty, your punishment this evening is related to two separate delinquencies; the first is the retribution for your part in the crowd scene this morning and the second for your apparent refusal to appear before the Court of Prefects this evening to take your punishment for your earlier misdemeanour along with your classmates. What they think of your behaviour I can only imagine, but I believe, young man that you will have to make a great effort to avoid being sent to Coventry for your actions. You saw just now in the dorm what form their punishment had taken and had you attended Court; your arse would have looked like those of the three boys in your dorm who were snowing off their battle scars.”

“But Cromarty, you did not appear before the Court this evening and for the moment no doubt your arse is still lily-white and unblemished, Well, Cromarty, Atkins and I are going to change all that right now as we bring you into the real world of Rigby School. Yes Cromarty, in a few moments time, we shall give ourselves the pleasure of putting some colour into your cheeks: the cheeks of your arse that is. Cromarty, you see that thing over there; (referring to Mr. Pattersons’s newly delivered birching stool) do you know what it is? What purpose it serves? Well Cromarty let me enlighten you; it is a new birching or or caning stool over which young miscreants such as you can be strapped for punishment. It suits boys of all ages and ensures that their backsides are held in the perfect position for beating. And Cromarty, you are going to be the first boy to have the honour of being put across this magnificent artefact.”

“So Cromarty, enough with the talk; step out of your pyjama trousers, bend across the stool and let’s take a good look at your naked arse and decide which of our many options should be visited upon it. Atkins, take would you please do the honours and attach the wrist straps to our friend Cromarty, as we want him to be perfectly comfortable as we attend to the pressing needs of his bum.”

By this time Cromarty, having been subjected to Patrick’s pompous rhetoric, was in total fear of what was about to happen to him and almost in tears from what  he had heard. Patrick, of course,  had purposely gone out of his way to build up the tension and frighten the boy. This was common practice in public schools by senior boys endowed with the ability to punish their junior brethren. They went frequently berated the younger boys, who were powerless to object. Prefects tended to be much more brutal than any master and, by the same token, they usually gave the maximum number of strokes allowed by the regulations imposed upon them. It is safe to say that a beating by Patrick Ingram-Lewis was a darned sight more painful than anything Mr. Godber had ever administered himself.  But that was public school life in general and Rigby school was no exception  In fact, Rigby was up there with the best of them in the caning stakes; Rigby Rigour as it was know, was a truly painful experience, as Cromarty was now about to find out for himself.

Patrick surveyed what appeared to be a virgin pair of buttocks displayed by Cromarty. “Cromarty,” he said, ”Your arse does not seem to have seen any action recently; am I right?”

“Oh. Ingram-Lewis sir, I’ve never ever been beaten in my life and I am just so scared. Will it hurt horribly sir? And please could you just be a little bit gentle as it is my first time sir and I don’t think I could stand too much sir; so  Ingram-Lewis sir….”

Patrick cut Cromarty’ entreaties short:  “Cromarty, first time or not, you have a lot to answer for and I am afraid that you are going to leave here with a very well roasted arse, as it is so often vulgarly put.  I am afraid Cromarty, that when we beat arse here at Rigby, it is meant to hurt; it is retribution for the sins of  the miscreant, in the present case you;  and it is going to be very unpleasant as all beatings invariably are.  So, Atkins, shall we begin; I suggest we give Cromarty a little warm up with the brush, say three swats on each bun for starters before moving onto a proper thorough beating with the cane. Perhaps Atkins, as his House Captain, you would like to have the honour of the first three strokes on, say, his left bun and then I will follow with three on his right.”

By the time Cromarty’s arse had taken six hard swats from that innocuous looking implement, it was already livid red and Cromarty himself was howling with pain.   The two prefects now moved on to the cane. They had decided to give Cromarty exactly the same punishment they had given to the other miscreants at Court earlier that evening. But they applied the rod with as much vigour as they dared without actually drawing blood, by which time Cromarty was in utter agony and weeping profusely.

“Cromarty,” said Patrick, “What you have just endured is exactly what we gave to your classmates Court this evening; but you now have to answer for the fact that you did not appear at Court as ordered, And so we are now going to give you twelve cuts with the junior birch to teach you to obey instructions when they are given to you by me as Head-Boy or by any other prefect for that matter.  Do I make myself clear boy? The Rigby tradition is for absolute obedience; disobedience will always be severely punished, as you are now discovering.”

Patrick surveyed their handiwork so far. Cromarty was now sporting a bright red backside across which six well defined welts of the cane were clearly visible.  He picked up the willow birch and proceeded to give Cromarty’s arse six biting cuts with the implement. Cromarty sobbed profusely and begged him to stop. But he was wasting his breath, for as ever there was no relaxation in the schedule: Patrick pressed on regardless. After six cuts, Patrick handed over the birch to Atkins and allowed him to finish the punishment. A completely crushed Cromarty was finally told to get up from the bench put back on his pyjamas and return to his dorm for the night.  If ever there was a woeful figure, it was Cromarty as, with the fire of hell raging in his backside, he limped his way back to bed where he was to spend a very uncomfortable night.

CHAPTER 8

Cromarty had left Ingram-Lewis’s study and the two young men stood looking at each other.  It was foolish to pretend otherwise, but both Patrick and Atkins, had enjoyed the last half hour with Cromarty. He had deserved to be punished, but whether quite so severely, was a matter of opinion. But what was done and could not be undone and both young men had had great satisfaction in wielding their power over the unfortunate Cromarty, in what has been for both of them a highly homoerotic experience.  Patrick’s cock, a quite formidable tool in its own right, was already rock hard in his trousers and he could already feel himself starting to leak cum. Atkins’s crotch revealed that he too was in the same state of sexual arousal; or possibly even more so than Patrick himself

As we all know anal sex, buggery, sodomy, love, call it what you will, was rife among most of the older boys at Rigby. Strictly forbidden but nevertheless omnipresent, it offered the only way in which English public school boys, cloistered  away from all female company, could relieve the sexual tension normal to young men of their age.  Patrick knew Atkins only slightly and although he had himself been sexually very active before his nomination as Head-Boy, he had, since then, restricted his sexual activity to his friend Roderick Pennington, augmented, of course, by his weekly session of anal stimulation which he gave to Mr. Godber, the Headmaster. Ideally, Patrick would have liked Roderick to come to his study like a knight in shining armour and offer him his arse to fuck, but that was not on the cards this evening. So, why not make the best of what was available and that is exactly what Patrick now determined to do.

Now Patrick was not a close friend of Atkins and knew him really only slightly; but that was no obstacle to the two young men indulging their passion on each other if that was what they desired. It was not in any way the sort of liaison as that between Patrick and Roderick, where feelings had developed between the two young men: it was simply raw sex: Patrick was aroused and wanted a good fuck. Looking at Atkins, Patrick thought that he might be feeling exactly the same and was not at all averse to the idea of letting Atkins ream out his own hole. So rather than let Atkins go and then retire himself to his own bathroom and jerk himself off, he decided to test the temperature of the water with Atkins and see how warm it was; nothing ventured, nothing gained was the motto of the moment.

As Patrick had quite correctly surmised, Atkins was also in a state of high sexual tension after an evening of beating naked arses (what red blooded young male would not be?) and was himself wondering whether Patrick might be agreeable to a quick fuck. Before his nomination as Head-Boy, Patrick had enjoyed a formidable reputation among his classmates as being one of the schools best studs; but since then, as he had kept a low profile, no one even knew about his close relationship with Roderick Pennington or of his service calls to Mr. Godber.  So the question running through both young men’s minds at that moment was who was going to make the first move.  Etiquette, so important in all aspects of life at the turn of the nineteenth century, dictated that it should be Patrick as Head-Boy to make the first overture. So both young men stood looking at each other, having pretty well identical thoughts and desires, but unaware that they were in fact shared by the other.

The two prefects had not said anything to each other since the departure of Cromarty. Atkins broke the silence: “That was one hell of an evening you organised, Ingram-Lewis;  although I suppose I shouldn’t  say so, as we are not supposed to be enjoying ourselves as we correct our younger brethren, but I had a great time; I enjoyed every minute of it, and you know it’s left me really horny.”

And with this one word, Atkins gave Patrick his opportunity.”I feel exactly the same, but then I always do when I’ve flogged a boy’s naked arse.  Look here Atkins, I don’t know whether it’s appropriate on this occasion but I am desperately in need of some of some relaxation (not the word he should have used; for relaxation was the last thing he needed; but Atkins knew what he meant) and so I was just wondering how you would feel if we, well you know, sort of get together,  if you see what I mean.”

The reader has to remember that a great deal of the buggery which went on in public schools took place when the protagonists were naked under the shower or in some form of undress in the dorm and were thus more open to sexual advances from one or other of their school mates, But here the situation was quite different. This was the Head-Boy and a House Captain, fully dressed, both wondering how to advance to the goal they both wanted.

Atkins knew full well what Patrick meant and as an eager party to what he knew was to follow he said: “Ingram-Lewis, might I suggest that you lock the door and that we take things from there?”

Patrick turned, went to the door and locked it, went to his bathroom and took down the small bottle of lubricating oil he kept there and returned to find Atkins in the act of stripping off his clothes. Both young men looked at each other and Patrick said laughingly: “Well Atkins, after all that verbal footwork, things seem to have worked out the way we both hoped.” and stripped off himself.

The two young studs, for they were both muscular and well equipped young men,  stood there, their cocks already rigidly erect, each admiring the other and thinking what a terrific partner he had found. Patrick said: “Well Atkins, here we are; it’s our first and possibly only time together and we both seem eminently ready for it, so let’s make the most of it; I’ll toss you for the first fuck.” 

Patrick won the toss and led his newly found partner to his adjacent bedroom, pushed him face down on the bed, spread his legs, lubed up his arse and then descended upon him and thrust is large, hard member deeply into Atkins’s anus. Atkins let out a low moan of pain and pleasure as Patrick who was a truly experience butt fucker, gave his partner a vigorous workout, which left both of them breathless as he climaxed deep inside Atkins. He rolled over onto his back and looked enquiringly at Atkins: “ Come on Atkins, your turn now: how do you want it?”

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

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

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

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

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

CHAPTER 9

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

CHAPTER 10

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

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

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

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

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

CHAPTER 11

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

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

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

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

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

But Turnbull could not let matters rest and treated Patrick to a stream of invective. “Ingram-Lewis, who the fuck do you think you are, ordering me to appear before the Prefects’ Court. I am in the sixth form and every bit as good as you are and you don’t boss me around. And as for punishing me like a first former at the Prefects’ Court, well just forget it; it just ain’t going to happen my friend.” And so he ranted on, digging himself ever deeper into the hole in which he already found himself. 

Patrick turned to Atkins who had been listening to all this and said: “You know Atkins, I think our friend Turnbull here is going to need some very special care this evening: don’t you?   So Turnbull, we look forward to welcoming you to the Court this evening, when you will find that you are not an exception to the rule; indeed not, Turnbull. You will either toe the line and appear before the Court or I will haul you before the Headmaster and you will go straight to the punishment room and the worst birching of your life;  don’t try me Turnbull; I mean what I say. And in case you are wondering; you are right; let me assure I am not at all as nice as I look; eight sharp at the Prefects’ Court, Turnbull. And by the way, as you are wet, just put on your gym strip for your appearance this evening it will suffice admirably.” And with that Patrick and Atkins turned away and left Turnbull, livid with rage and cursing under his breath.

This encounter was the beginning of what might be called the “Affaire Turnbull” who’s gross and uncouth actions did not stop there in the snow, but were to go from bad to worse as term progressed.

That evening, in spite of all his bluster, Turnbull arrived at the door of the prefects’ common room where the Court was held to find himself waiting behind two fourth formers, also in their gym strips and waiting to be called to account. As they waited together, Turnbull heard the unmistakable sound of a cane landing on naked flesh accompanied by a howl of pain.  He and his two companions had to wait there and listen to stroke after stroke accompanied by cries of pain as the prefects did their duty by the present miscreant, eventually, the door opened and a tearful first former emerged, rubbing his raging arse.

Turnbull was forced to wait outside and listen to the sound of the cane as the two fourth formers successively entered the study and took their punishment.  It was a salutary moment for Turnbull as he finally came to terms with the painful fate which awaited him when he was called to enter the Court.  Any truculence he had had, had by now disappeared in a wave of apprehension. It was not the first time that Turnbull was to have his arse beaten; but he somehow divined that this would be no ordinary beating; and he was shortly to be proved right.

Turnbull was again left waiting a further five minutes before the door reopened and he was summoned into the room.  He found himself facing a frightening scene. Sitting at the central desk was Ingram-Lewis, the Head-Boy who was presiding over the proceedings;  arranged around him in an arc were, to the left, the six junior prefects each brandishing a bath brush and to the right, even more menacing,  the six senor prefects each with a cane in his hand.  Turnbull then saw that in the middle of the room was what was clearly a beating stool, replete with padding and wrist straps.

Patrick opened the proceedings and said: “Turnbull, you know why you are here. You, sir, were caught in the act of bullying a first former in the snow earlier today.  You were behaving like a lout and certainly not like a Rigbyan from whom much better manners are required.  Mallet, the boy you were bullying, is only half your size, which makes your offence even worse. Moreover, Turnbull, although this is the first time you have been caught in the act, you have acquired the reputation among your classmates of being a bully, a quality which you have to be made to lose entirely.”

“In addition, Turnbull, you chose to be verbally abusive to me personally, using language of the gutter: language ill-suited to someone of your background.  You questioned my authority to summon you, a sixth-former, to appear before this Court, under the mistaken impression that you were somehow not subject to the rules of the school. Well let me tell you that sixth-former or not, you are subject to the rules of this school as are we all, myself included.  Turnbull, you are now going to pay a very painful price for your actions as we, the Prefects, are going to beat you; indeed Turnbull, we are going to give you probably the hardest hiding you have ever had at Rigby by way of retribution for your actions, in the hope that when you leave this room with a very, very sore arse, you will realise that you have to change your ways.  If you do not take heed of this warning, then let me assure you Turnbull, we shall have no hesitation of calling you to account again, with all that that implies.”

“Turnbull, you are to receive six strokes of the bath brush across your naked arse. These will be given one stroke each by the six junior prefects by way of an introduction to the main event: six strokes of the cane, given again one each by the six senior prefects. Thus in retribution for your bullying of Mallet, you will have received twelve strokes in all and have experienced the punishment capabilities of the full complement of prefects. We have found that by pre-conditioning a boy’s arse with the brush prior to passing to the traditional cane, that the strokes of the cane are much more effective; put more simply, Turnbull, they are much more painful for the unfortunate recipient,  which brings home to him, in a more immediate manner, the error of his actions.”

“But then Turnbull, you have to answer to me for the unfortunate verbal abuse you heaped on me personally. Turnbull, your manners were quite inexcusable; you may not speak to any prefect and least of all to the Head-Boy in the way you addressed me.  And for that, Turnbull, you are to be punished. I shall myself give you three additional stroke of the cane.  So, Turnbull , if you would kindly step out of your gym shorts and bend across the beating stool  which is standing behind you, one of the junior prefects will help you adopt the correct position and make you comfortable and we shall commence.”

Turnbull, who had entered the Court looking somewhat penitent, had listened to all this in complete silence but was by now seething with anger and indignation. “Ingram-Lewis, you don’t mean to tell me that I am going to be beaten by six junior prefects all of whom are a year younger than me.  What the fuck do you think you are playing at? It’s bad enough to be beaten by a group of stuck-up schoolboys who are playing God; but to have to suffer the humiliation of being beaten by six guys who are younger than me is downright indecent; it’s just not done.”

“Turnbull; allow me disillusion you and to bring you back to the realities of life at Rigby. We the prefects, junior and senior, are charged with maintaining order outside of class times. Under my leadership as Head-Boy, we are totally responsible for enforcing the rules and punishing wrongdoers, to which unfortunate group you belong today. And so it is not for you to tell us who should administer the punishment. I and I alone decide that and I and I alone decide on its severity; and in your case Turnbull, you will receive twelve strokes from the prefects,  junior and senior combined , followed by an additional three strokes from me personally.   Do I make myself clear?”

“Ingram-Lewis, you’re a fucking megalomaniac; obsessed by your power and you are bloody-well out of your mind if you think that I am going to submit to being beaten by you lot. The lot of you; you can bloody-well fuck off.”

“Turnbull, as I told you when I caught you bullying Mallet, if you choose not to obey me, and I would remind you that I am in loco domini, then we can go immediately to the Headmaster and believe me, Turnbull, you will get the most horrendous birching and will possibly be expelled. So, Turnbull: what’s it to ne, us or the Headmaster?”

Turnbull, seething with rage, finally dropped his shorts and bent across the beating stool where a junior prefect attached the wrist straps to stop him getting up, during the punishment. At first sight it might seem that to have one’s arse beaten with the back of a bath brush is no big deal; but think again; in the hands of the junior prefects, this long handled brush brought down with force against the naked flesh of a well muscled arse, which is exactly what Turnbull had, is a very painful experience.  By the third stroke, Turnbull was already howling and by the time the last of the six strokes had fallen, he was in tears. By the time the junior prefects had finished their part in the beating his arse was already bright red and that he was in agony, was plain for all to see.   But the worst was yet to come.

The brush, painful though it is, by its flat shape spreads the pain across a large flat surface and does not actually cut into the flesh. The cane, on the other hand, does exactly that; correctly and vigorously applied, the cane produces intense pain; and when applied to an arse well preconditioned by a good dose of the the brush, as had been Turnbull’s, the pain is well nigh unbearable.  The great art in administering the cane is to know one’s implement and to know just now hard one can flog a boy’s arse without breaking the skin and drawing blood. And this is exactly what Turnbull now had to suffer. And as you might have guessed, the prefects did not hold back on the force and Turnbull was begging for the punishment to be stopped after the first two strokes both of which raised deep furrows in the burning arse.  But of course, there was no leniency and all six strokes were delivered.

There was then a slight pause. Turnbull was left bent across the stool, his naked and roasted arse sticking into the air, whilst Ingram-Lewis himself selected a cane for his part in the flogging.  Brandishing one of Mr Godber’s mature, mahogany coloured Malacca canes, he stood surveying Turnbull’s burning arse and said: “Turnbull, in view of the way in which you have, despite several warnings, continued to use foul and unseemly language to me, I have no alternative but  to increase the severity of your punishment.  So Turnbull; brace yourself for six more strokes of the cane.  This will mean you will have suffered a total of eighteen strokes in all, a total well within the maximum of the two dozen cuts authorised by the school governors. You will finally fully understand the meaning of the expression, Rigby Rigour.”

Patrick went ahead and applied six vigorous strokes of the splendid old cane across Turnbull’s already flaming arse.  Turnbull was completely quelled and did nothing but weep as blow followed blow. When it was all over, he was released from the wrist straps, told to put back on his shorts and leave. You might have thought that anyone who had just suffered such a severe flogging from his peers would have crept away in silence to lick his wounds in private; but you would have been wrong.

Turnbull, full of resentment and seething with rage and humiliation, could not hold his tongue. He turned to Patrick and said:  “Ingram-Lewis, you are a fucking sadist.  Just look at what you and your bloody acolytes have done to my arse; I’ll not be able to sit down again for a week. You’re a fucking maniac Ingram-Lewis; you all are; so just bloody well bugger off the whole miserable lot of you!”

“Turnbull; you have clearly learned nothing in the past few minutes and even after a severe beating, you cannot hold your tongue and continue to direct your utterly insulting remarks at the prefects in general  and at me in particular.  Kindly drop your shorts again and resume your previous position across the beating stool; you are clearly in need of some additional correction, which I have to say I shall be delighted to give to you”.

 “Atkins; would you be so kind as to go to my study and fetch me the birch? I think our friend Turnbull here will welcome a change in the implement with which his punishment will be completed. Turnbull, I am going to give your arse six strokes of the willow birch. I think that you will find this a very satisfactory complement to your punishment this evening. In fact Turnbull, it will bring the total number of strokes applied to your well deserving arse to the maximum allowed by the school rules: twenty-four in all.  It is the first time  I can ever remember any boy being given the maximum number of strokes allowed; but frankly Turnbull, I cannot think of a backside which more deserves it than does yours.  Ah, here is Atkins with the birch. Brace yourself again Turnbull; this is going to be very painful.”

At the mention of the birch, Turnbull had blanched and suddenly become sullenly quiet. Most of the prefects had never seen the willow birch made for Patrick by Mr. Patterson; nor for that matter had they ever seen a boy’s naked arse being birched.  A few of them had suffered the birch themselves in their earlier years at Rigby; but none of them had ever watched someone else having his backside thoroughly roasted.  And Patrick with consummate skill laid each of the six strokes with as much force as he could. 

Turnbull’s cane welted arse was very quickly covered with the small marks produced by the fine twigs of the birch and by the time he was told to get up, his arse was bright red and the welts of the cane were already turning to purple. If ever a boy had had a thorough beating it was Turnbull this evening. And he finally left the Court with his tail metaphorically between his legs; all his braggadocio had been beaten out of him and he went off to bed with what was truly a well beaten arse. But he still could not resist making yet more derogatory remarks to Patrick.

I suppose one ought to feel a certain sympathy for Turnbull, as he truly had undergone a very severe beating. But he was a bully and had such gross manners which were totally alien to the way boys of his background were expected to behave.  

Patrick looked at him and said: “Turnbull, it is clear that what we have done for you in the last few minutes has not taught you enough of a lesson; you still think that you can verbally abuse me and my co-prefects with impunity. Well, Turnbull let me disabuse you of that idea: it simply is not so. And so, Turnbull, working on the principle that repetition is the essence of learning, I think you need another appointment with me; an appointment at which we will conduct a refresher course in what we have been attempting to teach you today.”  

“Today is Tuesday; so shall we say immediately after Chapel next Sunday?  By that time your backside will be in a state to receive and I might add, to require and benefit from further corrective instruction.  So, Turnbull, my study at eleven thirty next Sunday morning; oh and by the way Turnbull, don’t forget to bring your backside with you; it’s going to play an important part, in fact the key part, in the proceedings.”

Turnbull made as if to protest, but Patrick cut him short: “Eleven thirty sharp next Sunday. Don’t be late Turnbull. I’m already looking forward to the refresher course I intend to give you.”

CHAPTER 12

Following chapel the next Sunday morning, Patrick went straight to his study and awaited the arrival of the odious Turnbull. He had asked Atkins the senior prefect, together with whom he had found Turnbull bullying the young Mallet in the snow, to join them by way of a show in solidarity. As Atkins had been present from the start, it seemed only polite to invite him.  But there was an ulterior motive in Patrick’s mind. As we already know, he and Atkins had had sex together, which both had enjoyed and Patrick was wondering if here was any hope of renewing that liaison.  Atkins had indicated at the time that he would not mind another session but since that first time neither of them had made any advance. 

Patrick had had the beating stool moved to the prefect’s common room for the beating of Turnbull earlier in the week, but it was now once again in its permanent place of residence: Patrick’ study. He wanted to be sure that Turnbull was firmly tethered as he intended to give the boy another hard thrashing that morning. Patrick had no intention of letting Turnbull get away unpunished after the rude remarks he had made leaving Prefects’ Court earlier in the week.  Retribution was once again to be exacted and Turnbull’s arse was again going to pay the painful price for his foul mouth. Promptly after chapel, a surly Turnbull presented himself at Patrick’s study.

“Turnbull; I think you know why you are here; but to make matters quite clear, after we had beaten and birched you on Tuesday evening, you decided once again to direct a stream of abusive remarks at the prefects in general and at me in particular.  I would have thought that someone who had just been given a severely painful beating, firstly for bullying a smaller boy,  but also for making foul mouthed comments, would have learned by then to hold his tongue. But no; I was wrong and you chose to dig yourself still deeper into the hole in which you found yourself. Turnbull, your behaviour was totally unacceptable and for that reason I propose one again to punish you.  As I said at that time, repetition is the essence of learning and I think a further thrashing is in order to try to make you understand that your behaviour will not be tolerated. Do I make myself clear?”

Turnbull stood there silent for a few moments and then said: “Ingram-Lewis, I think that I have been punished enough for one week.  My backside is still very sore and I don’t think I should be beaten again; as I said I think that you are obsessed by your position as Head-Boy and any further punishment by you could be seen as sadistic. Anyway, I’m sure your mind is made up and without any justification you are going to beat me, so do your bloody worst. Ingram- Lewis you are a right bloody bastard.”

“Turnbull, once again you have a way with words; you simply cannot hold your tongue and refrain from using foul language towards me. Turnbull, you deserve all that you are going to be given this morning.  I can think of no boy who deserves a beating more than you and it is my painful duty to give it to you. So kindly drop your trousers and underpants, bend across the beating stool and Atkins will make you comfortable, I have to tell you that today I am again going to use the birch. You will take twelve cuts with the junior birch, the green birch, with which you familiarised yourself earlier in the week and which will provide a suitable refresher for your jaded arse.”

At the mention of the birch, Turnbull started trembling at the thought that this hideously painful implement was again to be applied to his naked arse.  The thought of the birch filled every school boy with horror and Turnbull was no exception.  He quailed inwardly at the thought of what was now about to be inflicted upon his still painful arse; but he was still not capable of holding his foul tongue as he said: “You really are a sadistic sod, Ingram-Lewis,” as he now obeyed the order and bent over the stool for punishment.  His arse was still suffering from the ministrations it had received earlier that week.

Patrick surveyed the target area in front of him. The whole buttock area was still inflamed where the brush, cane and birch had, but a few days ago, worked their magic. But having listened to Turnbull’s latest remarks, Patrick had no qualms whatsoever about giving him another dose of the birch.  He picked up the dreaded implement,  swished it down through the air a few times for effect; the fine twigs made a higher pitched noise than the normal cane, which gave an added dimension of horror to the whole proceeding. Then with low and deliberate, well placed strokes, he proceeded to give Turnbull’s arse a very thorough and painful second birching: twelve cuts in all. By the third cut, Turnbull was howling with pain and was soon in tears. It might well be called the junior birch but it was a very, very painful experience for any boy who had the misfortune to merit it. And of course Patrick was an absolute pro. at extracting he maximum potential from this very painful implement.

“Turnbull,” he said when he had finished, ”I hope that this has been a salutary lesson to you and that by now the message has got through to you that you cannot go on making abusive remarks to the prefects. I am afraid you have to keep such sentiments to yourself and not give voice to them; for if you do, then time and time again you will find yourself being ordered to offer your naked arse for correction to one or other of the prefects. So Turnbull; let this be an end to it and try in future to behave like a gentleman. Rigby’s aim is to turn out young gentlemen who are a credit to the school and their country. Turnbull, you may get dressed and leave.”

When Turnbull had left, Atkins turned to Patrick and said: “Ingram-Lewis, that was one hell of a beating you gave Turnbull. You know it made me quite horny just watching you; I’ve not seen anyone birched since that business with Cromarty, but it really was quite something to see you in action again;  you’re a real pro when it comes to beating arse, you know; I was so aroused that I almost shot my wad just watching you wield the rod; You know Ingram-Lewis I could really do with a good hard fuck after that; how about you?”  Atkins and Patrick had, of course, had sex with each other following the birching of Cromarty some weeks earlier and Atkins clearly felt bold enough to ask his Head-Boy if he fancied having sex again with him.

Patrick turned and locked the door and led Atkins to his bedroom. There he stripped off completely and Atkins without a word did the same. The two young men looked at each other, their cocks standing hard to attention demanding immediate attention. Patrick went to the bathroom and fetched the oil he kept there, handed to Atkins and then knelt on his bed with his naked arse in the air. Atkins, still silent, applied some oil both to Patrick’s anus and his own cock and then knelt behind his partner and with one firm stroke thrust his hard man-meant deep inside Patrick.

Then, as horny as hell, he began to pound Patrick’s   arse with ever longer strokes and increasing force until after a few short minutes he climaxed and sprayed Patrick with his sperm.  It was a testimony to the level of arousal that Atkins had voiced a few minutes earlier that he produced such a quantity of sperm and in such a short time. To say as he had, that had become quite horny watching the birching was a gross understatement; the young stud was in a high state of arousal which had led to such a euphoric climax.

He then rolled over onto his back aid spread his legs to give Patrick access to his own anus, to which Patrick quickly applied the lubricant, pulled his legs over his own shoulders and within seconds gave Atkins the pleasure of his own massive tool.  And as with his partner few minute earlier he pounded his target relentlessly until they both came again in a second climax.

When they had relaxed a few minutes and regained their breath, Patrick said: “Tell you what and I know I ought not to say this, but I really wanted to fuck Turnbull’s arse after I had finished birching him. I’ve always had a desire to beat a boy’s butt and then to go on and fuck it; but, of course, it’s never happened and I don’t suppose it ever will. But you are a great fuck Atkins: one of the very best; and you give as well as you take. I really enjoy it all.”

“Well, Ingram-Lewis, don’t be so negative about beating arse and then fucking it,” said Atkins. “I might be able to help you see your desire fulfilled.  You see. Ingram-Lewis, there is something you don’t know about me; well it’s actually something that nobody knows about me; well to be frank, it’s not the sort of thing one shouts from the rooftop.  You see to tell you the truth, I am a bit of a masochist; I actually enjoy having my naked arse beaten. In fact I haven’t felt the cane across buttocks for nearly two years now.  Now in view of the fact that I both enjoy having my arse beaten and I equally enjoy having it fucked perhaps you can see what I am getting at. I watched you with the birch today and you’re real expert and I already know that you are pretty nifty with your cock, so what do you think?  Shall we try it out? You birch me and then fuck me; then  I fuck you. Of course, if you want, I could also birch you prior to fucking your butt, but I guess that may not be exactly to your taste;  Now I come to think about it, I don’t know anyone other than myself who actually enjoys having his arse roasted.  So how about it? Shall we suck it and see?”

Patrick had listened to this in amazement for he had no idea that Atkins,  a very proper looking young man, had any such kinky ideas. That he enjoyed fucking butt that was for sure; but to enjoy having his arse roasted, that was really something else.  Patrick said: “Atkins, are you having me on; pulling my leg; you can’t be serious. Let me tell you that even this so-called junior birch is bloody painful; worse than the cane in fact. You can’t really be serious, can you? You actually want me to give you thrashing.”

In fact, Patrick recalled that his assistant gardener, Tom, back at Ingram House, that past summer, had enjoyed having his arse thrashed as well before enjoying anal sex.  But last summer when Patrick, Roderick and the footman, Geoffrey had got together with Tom, he had persuaded them all to have their arses thrashed by way of a joke and then to indulge in a sex orgy; but it had not been a one-on-one occasion where one guy had offered up is arse for a flogging and then remained in position whilst his tormentor went on to fuck him.  What Atkins was proposing was a different game entirely; but it was a game which appealed enormously to Patrick as it would allow him to fulfil his personal fantasy.

Atkins continued: “Believe what you want Ingram-Lewis; but I am serious; deadly serious in fact. So, does just contemplating the prospect not give you an instant hard on?  And as what I am proposing would enable you to realise your dream;, if you are up for it, then all we need to do is to decide when and where and then we can really enjoy ourselves.”

The conversation went to and fro, until finally Atkins finally managed to convince Patrick that he was serious. Once convinced that it was not all just a joke, Patrick found his mouth watering at the prospect of birching the arse of a sixth former and then fucking it. So the two young studs decided that they would carry out this bizarre act the following day: Monday, after supper, locked in Patrick’s study, well away from prying eyes and ears.  Atkins had suggested that they do it that very evening, but as it was Sunday and Patrick had his meeting, his glass of port and doubtless his “service call” with Mr. Godber, Monday it had to be. Patrick, of course, made no mention of his “assignment” with Mr. Godber to Atkins.

Patrick suddenly looked at the clock and said: “Listen lover boy; we’ve got to get our skates on or we shall be late for lunch. Come on, Atkins, let’s get cleaned up and dressed and present a dignified appearance at table.” 

They then both laughed at the idea of being dignified as they walked separately into the dining hall. It is worth nothing that having just had the most intimate relationship which two men could have with each other, a certain formality was observed: it was still Atkins and Ingram-Lewis.  It was not at the same level of intimacy as that between Patrick and Roderick Pennington, where Christian names were used: a subtle point but one which puts the two liaisons on different levels.

Monday evening arrived and the two protagonists were locked in Patrick’s study. The atmosphere was electric as at Atkins’s suggestion the two young studs had both stripped naked for the action. An observer would have seen two young men, both with excellent muscular physiques and with cocks already rock-hard in a state of precum brought on by the thought of what they were about to do.  Patrick, ever cautious, asked Atkins one last time if he was sure that he wanted to be birched.

Atkins, without a word, went and put himself across the beating stool and pushed his naked buns into the air ready to accept the punishment. “You need not bother to strap me down, Ingram-Lewis.” He said. “I shall not move until you have given me twelve good strokes of the birch. So please can we get on with it? Oh and don’t hold back; lay on the rod as hard as you can, I really want to feel the pain. And when you fuck my hole I want you really to hammer at me as hard as you can, I want a really masochistic experience. It’s something I have been dreaming about for months and here we are, both of us about to realise our wildest, but very different dreams: it’s truly an arrangement made in heaven.”

Patrick picked up the birch, swished it around a few times and then brought it down across middle of his partner’s arse with a resounding crack. Atkins drew a deep audible breath and said: “That’s it, Ingram Lewis; that was a terrific beginning; just go on like that and don’t hold back; it’s exactly what it want; it hurts like bloody hell but it is absolutely divine; so go on; beat me as hard as you can; don’t worry about breaking the skin; I don’t care; just make it as painful as you can.”

Patrick could hardly believe is ears. Being honest with himself he acknowledged that he always enjoyed administering any form of corporal punishment, but this took the enjoyment to a totally different level. Here was someone who positively wanted to be thrashed as hard as possible; and then, the cream on the cake; he had a good hard fuck to look forward to. Could things ever get any better?  The homoerotic pleasure he experienced when he beat a boy for a misdemeanour was due to the fact that he enjoyed inflicting pain on the target arse and that the owner of the said arse did not welcome his attention. But today it was different; the pleasure was blunted slightly by the fact that his target was also enjoying the experience. But what the hell; he was giving a well muscled arse the hardest flogging he had ever administered in his school career as Head-Boy.

The twelfth stroke was finally administered, by which time Atkins was moaning, not with agony but with pleasure at the excruciating pain which the beating had given him. His arse looked red raw, but the so-called junior willow birch, although excruciatingly painful. had not broken Atkins’s  skin anywhere. By this time the birching was over, both Patrick and Atkins, still with solidly erect cocks, were both oozing precum in abundance. Patrick gently pushed Atkins’s legs apart, opening up the valley between the roasted buttocks giving access to his partner’s anal pucker. He then gently poured a little oil well above the all important port of entry and allowing it to trickle down onto the anal sphincter, where he massaged the oil into the surrounding flesh and into the anus itself.  Then without a word, he thrust his cock deep inside Atkins and gave him what was possibly the hardest fuck of his life.  Atkins moaned with pleasure as Patrick pumped him harder and with longer and longer strokes until both studs reached orgasm together. Patrick had just withdrawn his tool from Atkins’s hole as he climaxed, shooting his load all over Atkins’s buttocks.  Atkins, with his tool hanging there below the beating stool, shot his wad all over the floor.

Patrick collapsed over his partner’s back, re-shafted him and left his cock in place whilst the two of them relaxed after the effort.  Then Patrick stood up, helped Atkins to his feet and then, without a word led him into the bedroom where he himself knelt on his bed and offered his own arse to Atkins, who then proceeded to give Patrick a long slow fuck which again culminated in sperm laden orgasms for both young men.  When it was all over, Atkins said to Patrick; “You know Ingram-Lewis that was just about the best sex I have ever had in my life. You are a real pro with the birch and you are great with your cock; you really are a super stud you know.”

After cleaning themselves and mopping up the mess from their copious ejaculations , Atkins left and went to his room which all sixth formers had. As a died-in-the-wool masochist, he was in seventh heaven but took care not to expose his arse to his classmates. As for Patrick; well he had enjoyed every moment of what had just happened and was still in a sort of a daze by the unreal nature of the events.  It was a milestone in Patrick’s sex life which he would remember forever. But as the saying goes: there is no accounting for taste. Both lads had thoroughly enjoyed what they had done: so why not? At the time of this story, had they been caught by the police, both lads would both have finished up in gaol. Today, with more enlightened views on homosexual behaviour, thier act would be seen for exactly what it was: konky sex between two consenting adults.

CHAPTER 13

It was some two or three weeks later, immediately after the last class of the afternoon, that Patrick received an urgent summons brought to him by a first former to see the Headmaster immediately.  Mr. Godber was in a high state of agitation. “Ah Ingram-Lewis; an incident has been brought to my attention- which I am afraid means that I am obliged to birch two senior boys.  Mr. Whitelaw, the sports master has surprised the two boys in question, alone in the showers, with the one in the act of copulating with the other.” Mr. Godber avoided using the word “buggering” which sound so brutal and had taken on the connotation in non sexual contexts to mean breaking, wrecking or destroying.

“Now you know my personal thoughts on such matters (he gave a meaningful look at Patrick, but elaborated no further on that point) but Whitelaw insists that the boys be birched; now as I had announced to the school that such misdemeanours would be so treated, I am afraid I have no option but to carry out the punishment, which I have set for this evening at eight o’clock in the punishment room. Now Ingram-Lewis; I need you to assist me as I am not sure that I still have the strength to wield the birch myself and so I need you on hand to help me through what is going to be, for me,  a very unpleasant task.  Whitelaw will, of course, be present and so things will have to be done by the book; but I shall not allow him to handle the birch, which I am sure is what he would really like to do.”

Patrick was, of course, delighted to learn that he might have the opportunity to birch a couple of sixth formers as there was really little he enjoyed more than beating a boy’s arse unless it be fucking it. And here was an opportunity to thrash two young men rather than two boys; an act which would certainly give greater erotic pleasure to Patrick.  So he said: “I shall, of course, be delighted to assist you Headmaster and to see that the job is carried out to Mr. Whitelaw’s satisfaction. Might I know whom we shall have the honour to flog, sir?”

“Oh, of course, I forgot to mention the boys’ names; Turnbull and Pennington.”

At this revelation, any pleasure at the thought of wielding the maple birch, which Patrick had been entertaining was extinguished, in the same way that the flame of a candle is snuffed out. His worst fear, which he had voiced many times to Roderick Pennington, his best friend at school, had come to pass.  In all probability he was going to have to apply the birch to his friend’s naked arse.  It was just too awful to contemplate.  He tried to think of some solution. Perhaps old Godber would find that he could, in fact manage the whole affair himself; surely he was not so frail as not to be able to thrash a boy’s arse;  or failing that perhaps he could first birch Roderick and leave Turnbull to Patrick.  But in his heart of hearts, Patrick knew only too well, that Godber would probably not even touch the rod himself; he would hand the birching of boys, lock stock and barrel, to Patrick.  The horror of the situation churned around in Patrick’s head and did not cease until the fateful moment arrived and the beatings were administered.

Patrick went in search of his friend, Roderick Pennington, to find out what had happened between him and the odious Turnbull and to break the news to him that he, Patrick Ingram-Lewis and not the Headmaster himself, would, in all probability, be called upon to wield the birch.

 “Roderick, you are a fucking idiot; what the fuck were you doing having sex with that oaf Turnbull; and in the showers to boot? I know you fuck around with other guys, but with a turd likeTurnbull; how could you even think of it? And in the showers; you might as well have done it on the stage at a morning assembly. How could you be so stupid? How many times have I told you that you had not to get caught in any act which would lead to a birching, for as sure as eggs are eggs, it would me who had to handle the birch. Godber appointed me in loco domini precisely because he did not want to be bothered with beating boys himself anymore.  He reckons he is going to wield the rod himself tonight, but just wait and see; it’ll I who have to do it to both you and Turnbull; just wait and see. How do you think I am going to feel, Roderick, thrashing the living daylights out of my best friend’s arse; it’s just to awful to contemplate, even right now. What he fuck am I going to do?  I can’t avoid it; if you have any idea tell me.”

Roderick had listened to his friend’s impassioned speech and then replied: “Listen, Patrick; I wasn’t consorting with Turnbull, who is, as you say an utter oaf.  I was alone in the showers. I’d been working out alone in the gym and was just cleaning myself up when Turnbull arrived. Why he needed a shower, I don’t know; but as I was soaping myself up, he suddenly jumped me from behind and shafted me. He must have been desperate for a fuck. Anyway, a split second later Whitelaw came in and caught us. For him we were committing an act of buggery and he was not interested in any explanation. So he hauled us off to see Godber and rest you know.”

“So, my friend, I know it’s going to be hard on me, someone, either Godber or you, is going to roast my arse this evening. I see no alternative and I am not going to try to explain the circumstances to Godber or Whitelaw, who would not believe me, anyway. So, Patrick, as I’m going to have my arse thrashed, it may as well be by you.  But Patrick don’t think that this will in any way change our relationship or destroy our friendship: it won’t. Look, try to be philosophical about it; we are both victims of circumstance; so just let’s accept it and make the best of it.  Patrick I’m not one to volunteer to have my buns birched, but come on, I’ll survive the beating; it’s not the first time, you know; and you’ll survive the act of doing it and we shall still be the best of friends.  So until this evening.”

Well, Roderick’s words did bring a modicum of comfort to Patrick, but he was not all happy about what would surely be called upon to do.  However, he did wonder how he could lay the birch on with added zeal when he thrashed Turnbull, with whose arse he was already very familiar. 

At eight that evening , Turnbull, Pennigton, the Headmaster, Mr Whitelaw and Patrick were assembled in the punishment room. The Rigby Horse stood menacingly ready to welcome its first victim of the evening.  Patrick had arrived a little early and had checked to see that the dreaded maple birches were to hand.  He picked up one and brought it down on the leather padding of the horse with a resounding whack. He winced as he saw what a potent instrument of punishment this creation of Mr. Patterson the gardener truly was; there were going to be two very sore arses that evening, whoever wielded the rod. Then suddenly Patrick remembered that Mr. Patterson had made three maple birches and that one of them was quite a bit longer than the other two, All three rods were immersed in pails of water where they looked identical, So Patrick carefully noted where the longer rod was positioned and decided that if he were called upon to perform, he would select the longer, more painful rod for use on Turnbull. Unfair? Yes; but an infinitely satisfying detail, given the circumstances.

Mr. Godber uttered a few platitudinous remarks and then said: “Pennington, will you kindly step out of your trousers and underpants and mount the horse to take your punishment.  Ingram-Lewis; perhaps you would be good enough to fix the straps.”

Pennington said: “Straps will not be necessary sir. I do not need to be held down; I will take my punishment like the gentleman that I am.” He emphasised the “I am”, at the end of the sentence and looked pointedly directly at Turnbull.

Patrick was relieved that his friend would be punished first; he selected one of the two shorter birches, shook off the water and handed it to Mr. Godber who looked at the implement for a few seconds and then handed it back to Patrick saying: “Ingram-Lewis, if you would be kind enough to take over the rest of the proceedings; I do not feel I have the strength to administer the necessary strokes myself.  Mr. Whitelaw, if you would kindly call the strokes as Ingram- Lewis applies them.  There will be twelve in all.”

And so, Patrick laid on stroke after biting stroke with the horribly painful maple birch. His friend’s naked flesh very quickly started to colour up and by the time he was finished, Pennington was clearly in agony.  But he remained perfectly still and totally stoic throughout the entire process, maintaining that stiff upper lip so beloved of the ruling classes at the turn of the century; he never let out a sound; the word  “emotion”  was not part of his vocabulary. As he had said, he took his punishment like a gentleman.  Patrick took care not to descend too low on his friend’s buttocks to avoid beating that very sensitive area where the buttocks join the legs: the classic “sit spot” as it is called.  He made a mental note that when it came to Turnbull there would be no such clemency.  Finally it was all over and Pennington replaced his clothing without a word.

“Turnbull: if you please; bare your buttocks and mount the horse.  I presume you will emulate your partner and that you will not need restraining.” Said Mr. Godber.

As Turnbull said nothing, Patrick selected the longer birch which no one had noticed and set about giving Turnbull’s arse the hiding of a lifetime. Turnbull let out howls of pain from the third stroke onwards and by the time it was all over, was weeping profusely.  Only Patrick realised that he had succeeded in giving Turnbull a worse (better?) hiding than he had to Pennington. Had he been fair? Possibly not; but Patrick felt, that in a small way, justice had been done.  Had he enjoyed wielding the birch? On this occasion no. The fact that he had had to thrash his friend had quite ruined what would otherwise have been a splendid opportunity to give Turnbull’s arse yet another thorough beating.

When it was all over, Mr. Godber made a few remarks, recommending the two young men to adhere to the straight and narrow path dictated by the school rules or risk another visit to the punishment room. They all left and went their separate ways.  A little later in the evening, Patrick sought out Roderick and took him to his study. There, behind a locked door, he applied some antiseptic ointment to his friend’s burning buttocks and then the two of them retired naked to Patrick’s bedroom and spent a pleasant hour fucking each other. “Patrick,” said Roderick, “You really are a great guy. There are no hard feelings at all and it’s amazing what a good fuck can do for you, even though my arse is bloody sore. I already feel a lot better; and with at he left and went to his bed. The awful Turnbull affair seemed finished. But was it? Well as we shall shortly see, it was not.”

CHAPTER 14

About a week after the birching of Turnbull and Pennington, Patrick received a visit after supper from Jeremy Redmond-Kennedy, a member of the upper sixth and, like Patrick, in his final year at Rigby. The Redmond-Kennedys were a wealthy Anglo-Irish family who had sent their sons to Rigby for the past three generations and Jeremy was a very well built young man: a stalwart of the school rugby team and with a reputation of being one of the leading studs of his year. He was, all in all, a very attractive and virile looking young man, who could pull members of either sex with incredible ease.

“Ingram-Lewis, could I have a private word with you about a somewhat delicate affair which I myself and other members of the upper sixth for whom I am acting as spokesman, would prefer to remain confidential.  In fact, Ingram-Lewis the whole matter is really so delicate that I hardly know where to begin. So may I take it that everything I tell you will go no further than this room?”

Patrick was obviously immediately intrigued by this opening and said: ‘Redmond-Kennedy, shall we say that this meeting is not taking place? So, what is it that you do not wish to say to me, which I shall, of course, not hear?’

Redmond-Kennedy laughed and said: “Ingram-Lewis, you have an interesting way of putting it; so I will now not tell you what you are not about to hear.  You are possibly aware that one of our classmates, Turnbull, is an utter pain in the arse. To put it mildly, Turnbull is an oaf and a bully. Moreover, he has a foul mouth and treats all of us with unconcealed contempt.  But, you may not be aware, that Turnbull feels he can simply bugger anyone any time he chooses. In fact, it is not only that he feels he can do as he wishes, but he goes ahead and does it. He simply hits on a guy anywhere and anytime it pleases him and fucks his arse. Now Ingram-Lewis, we all know the school rules about sex and we all know, you included, that they are broken on an almost daily basis by the older boys who simply have to release their sexual tensions.  So we all accept that there is a lot of sexual activity which takes place and, quite frankly, most of us, me included, enjoy it; but frankly we have all had a belly, not to mention an arse, full of Turnbull.”

“The thing which has brought it all to a head is what he did to Pennington. You must know that he and Pennington were hauled before the Headmaster. The upshot was that Godber gave both of them a birching. Now any of us caught in a similar situation and and given a birching would have taken it as retribution for what we had done, which we all know is against the rules. But Pennington got thrashed by Godber for something he did not actually do; he was the innocent party. Turnbull jumped him in the shower and had just started to bugger him when Mr. Whitelaw came upon them and that was that. So you see, Ingram-Lewis, Pennington was a totally innocent party; but he go this arse skinned nonetheless.”

Patrick said: “Just so you have the facts straight, Redmond-Kennedy, it was I and not Godber who finally wielded the bloody birch on both their arses;  Godber did not feel physically up to it, or so he said;  and asked me to take over; so I had no option but to thrash the pair of them.  And I had also learned about the circumstances of how it all came about; but Pennington had not wished to split on Turnbull in spite of everything and took the punishment, which was horrific. By the way, the latest incarnation of the birch, made of fine maple twigs, an invention of Mr. Patterson, the gardener, is devilish  painful; you should take care to avoid it like the plague.  Anyway, do go on not explaining things to me; it’s all not very interesting.”

Redmond-Kennedy continued: “Well, Pennington knows nothing at all about this, but a number of us have decided that it is time Turnbull met his Waterloo so we have decided that we would take some action and give him a dose of what does to others; it’s by way of avenging what he did to Pennington.  So what we have in mind is to jump Turnbull, blindfold him, strap him down naked somewhere, give his arse a really good dose of the bath brush and then fuck him really hard.  You know, Ingram-Lewis, we all suspect that Turnbull, in spite of  his own aggressive sexual activity, is still an anal virgin himself; he buggers others left, right and centre, but as far as we know, no one has ever had access to his hole. So we thought that it was high time he entered the real world of give and take; and this is going to be very much a take occasion for him.”

“So, the reason I have been delegated not to tell you all this is to find out if the punishment room is, by any chance ever left unlocked as we want to strap Turnbull onto the Rigby Horse for his initiation into the real world of sex life at Rigby.”

Patrick said:”Let me get this straight; you are proposing to thrash Turnbull and then fuck his arse, But who is going to do that?”

“Oh, let me make things quite clear. Those of us who are involved in this business have drawn lots and six of us are going to fuck Turnbull sequentially, as we want him to know what it feels like to have another guy’s cock stuffed up his own hole without any invitation, which is exactly what he does to others.  So we thought that we would each give him a dozen or so hard thrusts to to teach the guy a lesson; he really does deserve it you know.”

Patrick was impressed by the idea, which would truly knock Turnbull off  his high horse, but of course, as Head-Boy, basically with the task of enforcing the school rules , of which the present  project was in flagrant disregard, he could not express his approbation of what, as he put it, he had not heard. “When is this unlikely event scheduled not to take place?” he asked.  “It may well be that I forget to lock the punishment room on some occasions.”

“Well, Ingram-Lewis we had thought that this Sunday night sometime after ten might not be a good time for such an unlikely event not to take place.”

So there is was; in an idiotic conversation full of nonsensical double negatives; Turnbull would receive his just deserts late on Sunday night, in the punishment room when no one would be around to disturb the proceedings. Patrick ended the meeting by saying: “Well, Redmond-Kennedy, I am delighted that we have not had this little chat and that I am totally uninformed as to the creative and imaginative thoughts of certain boys from the upper sixth.  Shall we leave matters there?”

Redmond-Kennedy smiled as he rose to leave: “I thought that it was as well that you should not be apprised about an implausible event which will not take place late this Sunday evening.  This non-discussion has set my mind at rest as to the utter ignorance and non- interference of any authority in this non-event.”  And with that, the two young men shook each other by the hand; laughed and parted company.

When Redmond-Kennedy had gone, Patrick , the Head-Boy in loco domini, thought the unthinkable: “What a brilliant idea to take that oafish lout, Turnbull  down a peg;  I wouldn’t mind being there myself; in fact, being completely honest with myself, I would really enjoy shafting him myself;  he truly deserves all that is coming to him.” But he knew that as Head-Boy, the idea was unthinkable and attempted to banish it from his mind.

Sunday evening came and at about 10:30, driven by extreme curiosity, which he could not resist, Patrick very quietly went and stationed himself outside the door of the punishment room. As he listened he heard the unmistakable crack of the back of the bath brush against naked flesh: Turnbull’s naked arse no doubt.  This was accompanied by loud protestation and howls of pain from the recipient.  Evidently the punishment had only just started for Patrick counted no less than ten more strokes of the brush as they landed on Turnbull’s backside, and as time progressed the howls of protest became ever louder and more stringent. But Turnbull’s voice was the only one to be heard as his tormentors worked in complete and utter silence.  After a short pause during which nothing at all was heard, Turnbull suddenly let out an oath: “What the fuck do you guys think that you are doing?” Clearly the first of six rock-hard cocks had just been thrust up his arse.

Patrick stood silently outside the room listening as the punishment continued. He found himself getting harder and harder just listening to what was happening to Turnbull until finally, unable to stand the tension and longer, he flung caution to the wind, opened the door and entered the room to see an amazing sight of homoerotic justice in progress. Turnbull, blindfolded and totally naked had been strapped to the Rigby Horse. His legs had been carefully strapped well apart so that his fundamental orifice was fully exposed and accessible; or it would have been, but for the fact that as Patrick entered, Turnbull was already in the process of receiving an extremely vigorous fuck from some burly sixth former, whose own (highly attractive) arse was clearly visible and incredibly enticing, as he thrust his cock deep into Turnbull.

Turnbull was emitting a stream of obscene invective against the ministrations of his tormentor.  Patrick, unobserved for what seemed like an age, but was, in fact, but a few seconds, stood there marvelling at what was happening to Turnbull and thinking that this utter lout was truly getting a serious dose of what he had inflicted on so many of his unsuspecting classmates.  But the scene was made even more phantasmagorical by the fact that the assembled boys had all stripped off completely and were all in a high a state of arousal by what they were witnessing. Picture, if you can half a dozen muscular young men,  all members of the school rugby team, totally naked and sporting their man-meat rock hard, just waiting for their turn to give Turnbull’s arse the pounding that it so richly deserved.  Apart from Turnbull’s vociferous complaints, no one said a word; there was total silence from the assembled lads.

Suddenly Redmond-Kennedy turned and saw Patrick standing there; his face fell as he thought that he had an understanding that Patrick would not interfere with what had been foreseen for Turnbull.  Patrick put a finger to his lips and smiled. He motioned to Redmond-Kennedy to remain silent and then, by a simple lewd gesture indicated to him that he too, the Head-Boy, would like to join in Turnbull’s punishment.  Redmond-Kennedy immediately understood Patrick’s intention, Patrick dropped his own trousers and underpants, thereby freeing his already bone-hard cock for action.

And so it was that Patrick was able to give Turnbull’s arse a truly monumental fucking to avenge his friend, Roderick Pennington.  No one really knew why Patrick had turned up so totally uninvited; but then, no one knew of the close bond which existed between Pennington and him.  Everyone watched amazed as Patrick pounded Turnbull with unrelenting vigour.  Unlike the preceding performer, Patrick, once started, could not stop himself and went on with ever increasing force and stroke length until he climaxed and shot a huge wad of sperm into Turnbull. When it was all over, he quickly dressed and withdrew, leaving the assembled company to complete its chosen task. As he left he bowed deeply in gratitude to Redmond-Kennedy.

Patrick returned to his study feeling extremely contented. He knew he had played with fire in involving himself in an action which went well beyond the bounds of what could be considered a youthful prank. After all, all the participants were over eighteen year of age and what they had done to Turnbull was strictly against the then law of the land. If found out, they could all finish up in gaol.  But Turnbull was one of those people who manage to make everyone’s blood boil with rage and the result had been the act which he had witnessed and participated in. But there was not much chance of there being any sequel as Turnbull had been left totally blindfold and not a word had been spoken. So who had participated in this orgiastic act to which he had been subjected?

Patrick went out into the corridor a little later when he thought the affair would be over. He was right, for he found Turnbull half dressed and wandering around, totally alone. Once  they had finished with him,  Turnbull had been left completely alone just with his wrist straps undone, but still blindfolded  and with his legs still firmly strapped to the horse. They had then, like will-o-the-wisps, vanished from the scene, leaving him to free himself and find his own way back to bed.

But the affair was still not quite over, for there was to be a painful sting in the tail of the evening’s proceedings for Turnbull, which was the cream on the cake of what had been for Patrick a highly exhilarating evening.  “Turnbull, what on earth are you doing wandering around at this time of the night half naked in the corridor.” Patrick asked.

“Oh’ it’s you Ingram-Lewis; if you knew what I have just been through you would not believe what they have just done to me.”

“Who exactly are “they” as you put it and what have they done to you?” enquired Patrick, feigning total ignorance of what had just happened.

But here again Turnbull made the cardinal mistake of allowing his abusive tongue to pour forth a stream of obscenities and invective on Patrick.  “Oh fuck off, Ingram-Lewis; why don’t you just fuck off and go and try to bugger yourself. You would not even understand if I tried to explain things to you. You just would not give a damn; so just piss off and leave me alone.”

“Turnbull, I care not one iota for what has happened to you this evening whatever that may be, but knowing you, I am sure that you have brought your present misery upon yourself  and you had better make the best of it.  However, whatever it was, it most certainly does not give you the give you right address me, the Head-Boy, in the way you have just done.  Turnbull; I have told you several times to curb your foul language, all to no avail.  However, in loco domini as I am, it falls to me as part of my onerous duties, to try yet again to set you on the straight and narrow. And so, Turnbull, I regret to say that I have no alternative but to exact retribution from you in the time honoured method used her at Rigby. In short Turnbull, I shall yet again find myself obliged to apply the cane to your naked buttocks. So Turnbull, I suggest that we retire to my study where I can deal with you properly.” And with that, Patrick concluded his rather pompous remarks.

In spite of the grave situation in which Turnbull found himself, seething with rage, aggravated by what was bis very sore backside and now with the inevitability of a beating to boot, he was still not able to hold his tongue:  “Jesus Christ, man, what a pompous, pumped-up prick you are, Ingram-Lewis; you lord your power over all and sundry as if you were God.  Why don’t you just piss off and go and fuck yourself.”

“Turnbull is there to be no end to your foul language and insults? I would have thought that someone in your in your position would have felt a little humility.  Drop your trousers and underpants and get across that stool there and let me see your naked arse, boy. I am going to give you yet another beating Turnbull, one which you will not forget in a hurry. I do this in the faint hope that it may finally teach you to watch your tongue.  If you ever make such remarks to me again, then I shall take you straight to the Headmaster and you will again be beaten with the senior maple birch birch as you and Pennington were the other day. Now boy, brace yourself, for this is really going to be very painful. The normal tariff is twelve cuts, but as you have persisted in your foul mouthed invective, I shall give you three extra: fifteen cuts in all. So get across the beating stool as I have told you to do and let me see your arse.”

Patrick left Turnbull, arse naked, bent across the stool whilst he took his time and selected his favourite Malacca cane, the most painful implement in his collection. He surveyed with a certain sense of joyful anticipation, the two globes of fiery red flesh presented by Turnbull before proceeding to give him fifteen, evenly-spaced, hard cuts.  The bath-brush had clearly done its work in “preconditioning” Turnbull’s arse for the next phase of his punishment. It was with a certain feeling of personal satisfaction that Patrick viewed the target globes of flesh, which were already bright red and would soon be enhanced by welts raised by the vicious strokes of the cane.  Yes, there was no doubt at all about it: Turnbull was about to understand the meaning of the word “retribution”.

As we all know, Patrick was by now a past expert in applying the cane and he held back not at all,  as he carefully applied one stroke after the other to Turnbull’s arse. Turnbull howled and cried out and after the the third cut was weeping like a baby. When he had finished, Turnbull’s arse was a uniform bright red ground, ornamented by a series of parallel welts of the cane.  If ever there was a case study in a well- beaten backside, then this was it; Patrick felt very proud of his achievement.  He said curtly: “ Get dressed and get back to your dorm; let us hope that this is an end to your bad manners.”

Patrick finally went to bed, feeling very, very satisfied indeed. Should he have taken such severe action against Turnbull? Well it was a bit debatable, but given Turnbull’s history, he probably got what he deserved. And one has to remember that public schools at that time were never shy to use the cane to correct even the slightest infraction: sore arses were part and parcel of the daily life at places like Rigby. But most importantly, Patrick felt he had truly avenged his friend and lover, Roderick Pennington. He would dearly have liked to tell Roderick about the whole Turnbull saga, but held his tongue until their very last day as pupils at Rigby it fact it was not until the night before the final day when the two young men were, for one last time in bed together enjoying one last orgy of copulation, that Roderick finally learned how his closes friend and lover, Patrick Ingram-Lewis had batted for him. And there finally ended once and for all the sad business of Turnbull.

CHAPTER 15

The end of the spring term was approaching, The Court of Prefects had kept itself busy several times each week as it punished those boys who had been awarded punishment slips by the masters.  As for Patrick personally, after the affair with Turnbull, with his birching and subsequent severe beating, things proceeded at a much more leisurely pace.  But on the last day of term, an incident occurred which led to quite a blood-bath of beating.

Patrick was walking along the corridor outside the first formers’ dormitories, which you will remember consisted of a series of rooms each accommodating twelve beds, when he was suddenly became aware of a rumpus going on behind one of the closed doors. It was approaching ten in the evening and the junior boys were all supposed to be in bed by now. He paused for a moment and listened and sure enough there was some sort of fight going on behind the door. Shrieks of laughter were punctuated by a series of schoolboy oaths.  Patrick opened the door and found himself in the middle of a pillow fight. At least one pillow had split open, or possibly two, for there were feathers floating around everywhere and the floor was covered in fallen plumage.

“What exactly do you lot think you are playing at?”  The question was met by a sheepish silence as the young boys knew that they were in for the high jump.  “Step forwards the boys who started this fight.” Again no reaction from the miscreants. “I said step forward those of you who started this.”  Patrick repeated.  There was a slight pause and finally two boys stepped forward and admitted their guilt. Not that they were alone in this affair as all twelve occupants had clearly been enjoying the “battle” to give it a name. Patrick smiled inwardly to himself. It was really a quite harmless piece of fun, but it had caused an utter mess and at least two pillows were ruined.

Patrick put on his most serious face and looked at the two originators: “As if I couldn’t have guessed.”  He said as he looked down on Tomlinson Minor, Thomas Tomlinson by name, the younger brother of the ever errant Colin Tomlinson, whose naked backside Patrick felt he knew like the palm of his own hand: a backside which had been subjected to numerous sessions of serious percussive therapy from Patrick’s cane. “And who is your partner in crime here?” Patrick asked, gazing at the other boy. 

“Please Ingram-Lewis sir, I’m William Roberts.”

Well, Thomas Tomlinson and William Roberts, why don’t you just cut along smartly to my study and wait for me at the door. I shall be with you in a very few minutes so I shan’t keep you waiting long.

“Ingram-Lewis sir, do you mean as we are sir?  I mean in our pyjamas sir? Are we to go down to your study just wearing our pyjamas,” said Tomlinson.

“Exactly, Tomlinson; you have totally understood me. Your pyjamas are absolutely perfect for the short walk to my study. Don’t worry; you won’t have time to catch a chill. But when you get there you will see that pyjamas are a perfect garment to be wearing as they lend themselves admirably to giving every easy access, very easy access indeed, to a vital part of your anatomy which is going to play an important role, indeed the most important role, in the immediate future proceedings. So get on your way, the pair of you and wait outside my study until I join you.” 

Having finished this circumlocutive oration with an inward smile to himself, Patrick then turned to the other lads, all of whom were standing in silence and trembling with fear, wondering what he had in store for them. It was clear what was going to happen to the ringleaders, but what about them?  

“As for you lot,” said Patrick, “You have fifteen minutes, exactly, to pickup every single feather and put them all back into the pillows.  I want this entire place fully cleared up; I repeat: you have fifteen minutes; I trust I make myself clear.” He turned to see that neither Tomlinson nor Roberts had moved in spite of his instructions so he said, adopting an angry tone of voice: “I thought I told both of you to go an wait outside my study several minutes ago; you are beginning to try my patience to the limit; so I suggest that you get along to my study right now. Go on boys; get moving on the double, we have a lot of important business to transact together; so I want you there in less than a minute’s time.”

There was a faint sigh of relief from other lads, who somehow thought that by cleaning up the room, they had somehow escaped any farther sanctions.  Alas, had they known Patrick better, they would have known that they were wrong. They were living on a false hope. Their time would shortly come!

Patrick left the dorm went down to his study where the two ringleaders were standing shivering in the corridor. He opened the door and ushered them in. Neither lad had ever had the doubtful pleasure of entering the private sanctum of the Head-Boy before and both were scared and trembling at the thought of what was about to happen to them.  And let’s face it, knowing Patrick’s prowess with the rod, they had good reason to be fearful of their immediate futures.

“Well, gentlemen, now that we are finally here, you will see how convenient the wearing of pyjamas is as you can very quickly step out of the trousers giving access to that all important part of your anatomy, you respective arses. I am sure that you have realised that your  backsides are going to play an important part, indeed a totally indispensable part in what is now about to happen to you; they are going to be the stars of the show, so to speak.” 

Patrick was such a past expert at the verbal build up to the beating he was about to administer that the he two young lads were, by this time, almost pissing themselves with fear. He went on: “Now boys, I am going to give each of you twelve cuts of the junior willow birch as a punishment for your outrageous behaviour. So there are two options: I can birch each of you one after the other using the birching stool you see over there or, if you prefer, as you are what might loosely be described as “partners in crime” you can pull those two chairs over there into the centre of the room and I will beat the pair of you together.  It’s an option you may prefer as you will each be offering up your naked bum for punishment side by side and I will apply the strokes one at a time alternating between the two of you. So you see that you will have the mental comfort of knowing that you are not undergoing your punishment alone. It’s all the same to me; so it’s up to you; which option do you prefer?”  Again Patrick had chosen rather pompous language to heighten the drama and strike the fear of God into the boys.

“Ingram-Lewis sir,” said Tomlinson, looking at Roberts for support, “I think we would like you to beat us together; but please, sir, don’t be too hard on us; neither of us has ever been birched before and it’s all very frightening for us, sir. And sir, Roberts, has never even been caned before at all and so if you could perhaps not be too hard on us, sir…please sir.”

Roberts then spoke for the first time: “Ingram-Lewis sir, as Tomlinson says I have never ever been caned and I am really so scared sir. I don’t know if I will be able to stand it. Will it be very painful, sir?  And as Tomlinson said, sir, could you please perhaps not be too hard on us sir…. please sir, not too hard.”

“Roberts, if a boy deserves to be punished, as you two miscreants most certainly do, then I believe in punishing him properly. I am not one, Roberts, who subscribes to the more modern notion of a few gentle taps of the rod. Indeed not; when I beat a boy, as you two are now about to find out, I beat him so that he knows that he has been punished and feels the pain of retribution. It is always my aim to leave boys I punish with a backside so sore that they cannot sit down comfortably for at least two days. It is, in my view that that is the only way to teach an errant boy a proper lesson; it has to hurt; and hurt a lot. So, yes Roberts, to answer your question, a beating from me is very painful and I have to tell you that the birch is really a very effective implement of punishment. If I do my job properly, which I intend to do, the pair of you will have a very uncomfortable train journey home tomorrow. In fact, Roberts, with a well birched arse, which is what I shall leave you with, you will find that it will not be very comfortable to sit down for at least three days, which will give you ample time to reflect and repent upon the error of your ways.”

“So lads, quick about it; out of your pyjama bottoms and each bend across the back of a chair. I need to see a pair of well presented bare bums which I will treat to a good dose of corrective therapy with the birch. As I said; twelve strokes each and I expect you as young gentlemen to remain perfectly still whilst I apply the rod.  And yes, I know from my own personal experience just how much it is going to hurt. It may be of some consolation for you to know that I myself was birched several times in my earlier years here at Rigby, so I know exactly what I am talking about.”

It goes without saying that learning about Patrick’s own experiences did nothing at all to comfort the two lads who were, by this time, each bent over the back of a chair their hands on its arms with their arses exposed awaiting the first onslaught of the dreaded birch.  True to his word (and when was he ever not?) Patrick applied Mr. Patterson’s excruciatingly painful confection of willow twigs systematically and forcefully to the buttocks of each boy. As ever he paused for some ten seconds – an age when you are bent over a chair, arse naked, and waiting for the next blow – before he laid on the next stroke. As we all know the first stroke of the birch does not seem too bad, but then the pain builds up rapidly so that by the third stroke the recipient is in agony; an agony which simply gets worse and worse as stroke follows stroke.

In no time at all, the two boys were reduced to tears as the pain in their buttocks built up to excruciating levels. After four strokes, with eight still to come, Roberts was begging Patrick to stop; but he was, of course, wasting his breath, as Patrick continued with stroke after painful stroke until each lad had taken the twelve cuts promised. He examined his handiwork and saw that, as ever, he had succeeded in beating every square inch of each boys arse and that with the twelve strokes he had achieved a uniformly bright red appearance complemented by myriads of small bruises where the individual twigs had bitten deep into their target flesh. As ever, when finished the boys each had arses which were a testimony to Patrick’s professionalism.  It was clear that the two lads were in absolute agony and they could not hold back their tears.  Finally, Patrick told both lads they could get up from the chair and put back on their pyjama bottoms.

Tomlinson then said, his words coming out with difficulty through his tearful sobbing: “Ingram-Lewis sir; it’s not at all fair what you have done. All right; Roberts and I started the pillow fight, but all the others joined in right away and helped make the mess in the dorm. So why are we the only two to be beaten for this? All the others are escaping scot- free; all you have told them to do is to clean up the room.”

“My dear Tomlinson, you two have been punished as the ringleaders:  the initiators of the fracas; but let me assure you that your classmates are not getting off the hook unscathed: scot-free as you put it; indeed not! Whatever gave you the idea that they were not going to be punished much as you two have been?  I never told them that the matter was closed when we came down here to my study and left them to clear up the mess. So it will possibly make you feel better, if I tell you that I am now about to select one of my very best junior canes and that we are going to go back upstairs and all your classmates are going to experience a few very painful minutes as I beat their bare bums.”

And with that, Patrick went over to the large oriental pot near the door where all his canes resided and withdrew a very wicked looking straight Malacca cane, which he flexed and swished through the air under the noses of the two boys. Just looking and hearing the sound of the evil implement swish through the air, sent a further shiver of fear (or was it now excitement?)  down the spines of the two boys.

“As you can see, boys, a taste of this admirably flexible cane across a bare bum is not something to volunteer for.  So, shall we go back upstairs to the dorm and break the glad tidings to your fellow classmates? There are ten of them, unless I am mistaken; so it is going to be what might best be described as a blood bath.  It will anyway bring the school term to a suitably dramatic close.”

Now that they knew their classmates were about to be beaten, Tomlinson and Roberts both brightened up. The pain in their arses seemed somehow to diminish as, like schoolboys everywhere, they prepared to enjoy watching their classmates being made to jump through the hoop.  Tomlinson and Roberts, like most lads, had that hidden streak of sadism in their makeup that conditioned their reflexes when they learned that some of their classmates were to be beaten.  The Germans have a marvellous word for how the boys felt. It is called “Schadenfreude”  – pleasure in the misfortunes of others.

Although the two lads would never have split on their friends, now that they knew what was going to happen to them, they exhibited that typical prurient interest of onlookers at such exhibitions of corporal chastisement. And moreover, this was clearly going to be what might well be described as a  “gala  occasion”  Just think of it; they were to witness ten of their classmates take a naked arse beating from the Head-Boy, whose mastery with the cane was legendary in the school.  Had they been a little older, they would have realised that what they were about to see was a totally homoerotic spectacle: ten boys, arses naked, cocks and balls dangling there, waiting with apprehension for that deadly weapon, the Malacca cane, to descend on their naked buttocks.  Could it ever get any better for the observers? Of course, from the point of view of the dramatis personae, the boys who were to be obliged to bare their bums for this scene, things appeared much less happy.  But we are not yet there and the moment of action, when the cane comes thrashing down onto the waiting flesh, is still a few minutes away. The ten boys who are soon to pay the price for their misdemeanour, are still blissfully unaware of what is about to descend on them.

Patrick and the two boys entered the dormitory to find all the occupants already in bed and attempting to look innocent, as if butter would not melt in their mouths.  The room had been totally cleaned up and not a single feather was in view and the boys clearly thought that they had done their bit and that was it. The ringleaders had had a beating and they themselves were in the clear. But they were so very, very wrong for the heavens were about to open up on them as they now learned.

“Tomlinson and Roberts; get into bed. The rest of you gentlemen kindly get out of bed and stand to attention facing the bottom end of your own bed.” By now the feeling of panic and fear was setting in as the boys saw the cane which Patrick was brandishing. The moment of truth had finally arrived as Patrick said: “Now gentlemen, kindly step out of your pyjama trousers, put them on your bed and then each of you bend across the bottom of your bed and stick your naked butts into the air for my inspection, prior to beating.  Quick about it now; I want to see ten naked arses presented for punishment.”

The boys could do none other than obey Patrick. Once in place, the ten arses presented an amazing sight. Ten boys bent across their bed in two rows of five boys each, with their backside totally naked stuck into the air awaiting the cane.  Patrick passed slowly down the row inspecting each boy’s arse in turn. He noticed that a few of the lads had evidently been beaten by one or other of his co-prefects during the recent past,  but for the most part he saw that he was going to have the pleasure of beating completely unblemished flesh.

“Gentlemen, I am going to give each of you twelve cuts of the cane. I shall pass from boy to boy, giving one stroke at a time and then return to the start of the row and give the second cut and so on.  I shall do my very best to give each of you a magnificently welted bum to take home with you tomorrow: a bum of which you can be proud, as the strokes will create a work of art in their own right.  So if you would all brace yourselves, I will begin. Oh, just one other thing; I expect all of you to remain perfectly still until I have give the last stroke. I want no hysterical jumping up and down. And to be quite clear, anybody who does not obey this rule will receive extra strokes.  This is not only to be a punishment for your misbehaviour, but also an essay in self control for all of us; for you in remaining still and taking your punishment as young  gentlemen should and for me as I try my very best to lay on the cane evenly and equally across all of you.  I want no boy to feel that he has been badly treated. Now you will all kindly remain perfectly still and I will carry out my arduous task of teaching you all a very painful lesson.”

The cane rose and fell with a swish through the air and a crack as it mated with its target of naked flesh.  There was an intake of breath on the first stroke as the boys struggled to maintain his composure receiving what was a very painful cut of the cane. But as Patrick progressed and delivered stroke after stroke, most of the boys were soon yelping as the cane laded on their naked arses, reducing them to tears. When he had delivered the final stroke he stood surveying ten bright red bottoms all with well aligned parallel welts which were already turning purple. Patrick thought to himself that he had produced what had to be a prizewinning show of well beaten arses to bring the term to its end.

He then told the boys to get up and to put back on their pyjamas and get into bed.  All in all it had been for him a glorious ending to the term; 120 strokes of the cane in one evening; he felt quite exhausted with the effort. Whether or not the boys would have agreed with him if they had been asked, was very doubtful. but of course they were never asked to give their opinion. What was sure was that Patrick had laid on the cane as severely as he could – as  he always did – and the lads had a very uncomfortable night before them as they attempted to massage their flaming buttocks.

Everyone left Rigby the next morning for the spring vacation.  The two Tomlinson brothers; Colin the senior and the freshly  birched Thomas , the younger, were met at their local station by the footman with the dog cart. Thomas, whose arse was still excruciatingly painful and was finding it hard to sit comfortably on the hard leather seat of the dog-cart said to his brother: “Colin you won’t tell father that I got birched last night, will you? You know what will happen if you do, don’t you? He’ll have me straight to his study and I’ll get my naked bum beaten again with his cane and you know what that’s like don’t you?  So please, please don’t tell him about my birching as I don’t think I could stand another thrashing right now.”

“Mum’s the word, Sprog” said Colin, using his brother’s personal pet nickname. “ I won’t breath a word to father.”

“Oh, thanks so much Colin; you’re a real sport.”

Patrick Ingram-Lewis also took the train and went back for the spring vacation to Ingram House in Northumberland.  In the train he mused over the term just gone, his penultimate term as a pupil and Head-Boy at Rigby.  He had enjoyed every minute of the elite status conferred on him as Head-Boy which was made even more prestigious by his nomination in loco domini. He tried to tot up in his head the number of different arses he had thrashed and the total number of strokes given, but he soon lost count and gave up trying: “I must really go back to the punishment book next term to see what my batting average was. It would be great to think that I had broken the school record, if such exists. If not, then perhaps my innings could be the base of reference for all future Head-Boys.”

TO  BE  CONCLUDED IN  PART 6