The Portrait of a Strict Disciplinarian

New readers should start reading this novel at Chapter 1.  The chapters do not stand alone, but are sequential components of an erotic novel in which there are 36 chapters in all, which are intended to be read in numerical order.el, which you can read at your leisure.

Before Simon’s death, Brad had already decided that his future career would be as a schoolteacher, and he had already enrolled in the post-graduate teacher training-course at Oxford. Simon’s accident had happened in August; the training-course had begun the previous year in September, but Brad found it difficult to concentrate on any form of study due to the turmoil created in his head by Simon’s death. Then, in late November, flicking through a magazine entitled The School Master, he noticed quite by chance one word – disciplinarian - in an advertisement in the Staff Appointments section. It was not that Brad was actively looking for a job; but that one word intrigued him and so he went on to read the advert in full:-

A strict disciplinarian, not afraid of inflicting severe, physical punishment with the cane on boys aged 16 to 18 is urgently required as a master by a registered, government-approved, reform school for boys. In addition to being Chief Disciplinarian in the school, the ideal candidate will have a university degree and will be expected to teach mathematics to the General Certificate of Education ordinary level.  

This appointment is urgent and ideally, the successful candidate will be available to join the staff of the school in January next year.  As time is short, applications should be made by email; interviews for this challenging post will be held during the first week of December and the appointment of the successful candidate will be made before the end of the year. 

Applications should be emailed to: [email protected]

J. B. Harvey

Headmaster

Moulton Midmarsh Reform School 

Moulton Midmarsh, Cambs. 

Brad had been marking time since Simon’s death and on the spur of the moment, still not yet qualified as a teacher, he applied for the job, not having the faintest idea where Moulton Midmarsh, Cambridgeshire was located. The advert offered something which Brad suddenly realised he badly needed: an opportunity, if he were successful, to break away from Oxford and the memories it held for him. But also, the possibility of becoming the Chief Disciplinarian in an approved school with the responsibility for administering of corporal punishment to a group of well-deserving backsides appealed to him. Life in Oxford would never be the same now that Simon was gone. On reading the advert for a second time he asked himself: “Who was more competent than he was when it came to wielding the cane?” And, coming to terms, still rather ashamedly, with what he knew he would ultimately – but not quite yet – have to admit to himself, was the naked truth of the matter: that he took pleasure in beating naked arses.

But despite his own conviction that he could handle the job, he still thought that an application from someone so newly graduated as he was and with no experience of teaching per se, was likely to be rejected out of hand.  He knew that he was attempting to run before he could walk; that he was attempting to fly what was tantamount to a lead balloon; his application would be thrown into the wastepaper basket the moment it was received by the school. But all that was needed was to write a letter of application. And so, in the spirit of nothing ventured, nothing gained, with little hope of success, he applied for the job.

How totally wrong can anyone be? To his immense surprise, he immediately received an invitation to go to Moulton Midmarsh for a preliminary interview; a first class open return train ticket from Oxford to Cambridge followed by post. At Cambridge station, he would be met by a cab and driven to the school some 20 miles away in the fens. Brad, who had no experience at all of job applications, realised, nevertheless, that he was being given exceptional treatment. Date and train times were agreed via that maid-of-all-work, the internet, and within a week of his application, he found himself sitting facing Mr. James Bernard Harvey, the Headmaster of Moulton Midmarsh Approved School for Boys on a two-day visit to the school.

The school premises were well over a century and half old and had been built in the early 1900s specifically to house a reform school for delinquent boys.  (Readers should read my earlier two-part story: Moulton Midmarsh Reform School, posted in June 2015, which gives details of the bleak fenland location of the school buildings and their chequered history.  Suffice it to say that in housing the present modern approved school, the buildings had returned, after more than a century and half of use as a boys’ public school, to their original purpose: that of housing an approved, reform school for boys.)

The Headmaster began: “Well Mr Caine, first allow me to welcome you to Moulton Midmarsh, which as you have probably already realised is a back-of-beyond sort of place. We feel honoured to have had an application for a post of master here at Moulton Midmarsh, from a graduate with a 2/1 in mathematics from Oxford. You do realise, I presume, that this is a government-approved, reform school and that its mission in life is to attempt, and I stress the word, attempt, to reform and provide a modicum of education to number of young miscreants aged from 16 to 18. Most of our boys are repeat offenders who have previously been written-off by other approved schools as unredeemable. They are sent to us as a last resort; so, this school has become a repository for the dregs of humanity, which we are obliged to attempt to save from themselves. Many of them are tantamount to illiterate and can read and write only with difficulty, and most of them have a history of violence: so teaching them anything at all is a continuous up-hill struggle; but we continue to try.”

“So, given your Oxford degree, you may have gathered that you are overqualified for the job, as the mathematics which we attempt to teach these young men is at the lowest level imaginable. Couple this with the fact that most of them do not want to learn anything at all, least of all mathematics, and you will realise what we are up against. They are, in the main, what I define as died-in-the-wool, future, old lags, who on leaving here will revert to their old ways and find themselves, within a very short period, in a true prison for young offenders. From there, having again served their time, they will be released to resume their nefarious activities, which will ultimately lead to an adult prison sentence.  They will continue their careers as professional petty-offenders, in and out of prison, until such time as they commit a serious offence, which most of them ultimately will do, and they then find themselves facing a long custodial sentence.”

“So, Mr, Caine, perhaps you would explain to me why a person such as you, with an Oxford degree and a potentially brilliant future in front of you in all  walks of life, has chosen to apply for a job teaching the sort of motley crowd of irredeemable, human misfits we have here at Moulton Midmarsh as inmates?”

“Well, Headmaster, the advertisement mentioned that you wanted not only a mathematician but also a strict disciplinarian, which is what attracted me to apply for the post. I see from the advert that Moulton Midmarsh has adopted the use of the cane to discipline its inmates, an instrument of punishment which had been – misguidedly in my opinion – banned from use in the UK.  You see, sir, since I have been in Oxford, I discovered quite by accident that I was personally endowed by nature with a distinct disciplinary streak, which, quite frankly, once discovered by me, I found I enjoyed exercising. So that, Sir, is what really attracted me to apply; I had already decided that I wanted a career in school teaching, and although I have just started on a teacher training course at Oxford. I think I will easily be able to manage the teaching of mathematics at the level you mention, with no further training; and I know that I can handle with ease the disciplinary side of the job in view of my personal experience.”

In an attempt to judge how his first words had been received by the Headmaster, Brad now paused and was now wondering how deeply he would be questioned on the origins of his declared devotion to, and abilities with, the cane, which would mean revealing a great deal about his personal life as a young, gay man in Oxford. It was not that homosexuality or consensual corporal punishment were illegal, but to expose such intimate details of one’s personal life in a job interview to a man he had just met, was a daunting prospect. However, fate, that unknown quantity which can intervene for good or bad at critical moments such as the one Brad now was facing, on this occasion showed its benign face in the form of a knock on the door of the Headmaster’s study. A master entered and said: “Excuse me, sir, but Evans, Spivey and Andrews are ready for you as you requested earlier and are waiting for your attention outside the Punishment Room.”

“Oh, thank you, Waters; I had quite forgotten that I was due to correct the three young tearaways in question. Please tell the Head Warder that I will be down directly to attend to the urgent needs of their backsides.”  Then turning to Brad, he said: “Mr. Caine, as you just heard, I had completely forgotten that I was due to punish three of our inmates at this hour. However, my oversight (was it really an oversight, Brad wondered) comes at a very convenient moment, for I suggest that you accompany me whilst I beat these three miserable wretches. It will give you a true insight on how severely we deal with disobedience in this establishment, which would, of course, constitute an important part of your duties were you to join us.”

The Headmaster’s study was on the first floor of the building and he led Brad down to the ground floor where the dreaded Punishment Room was located within easy reach of the gymnasium, the changing rooms and showers. Somewhat to his surprise, Brad saw that the three unfortunate young men awaiting punishment were sitting on a bench under surveillance of a real bruiser of a man, the Head Warder, Turner according to his name badge, who was holding a cane menacingly in one hand. But as if that was not enough, two other younger guards were also in attendance, each also brandishing a cane. The three inmates were totally naked other than for a pair of skimpy shorts: shorts so brief that they barely preserved the modesty of their wearers. But as Brad was quickly to learn, little consideration, if indeed any at all, was given to the feelings of the inmates at Moulton Midmarsh; least of all, to their modesty.

The Head Warder said to the Headmaster: “Well Sir, as you requested, the three inmates to be punished are all present and correct. They have all just taken the usual pre-punishment shower, and as you can see, they are all eagerly awaiting your attention, Sir. (It has to be said that eager did not exactly describe the expression on their faces. Fear would have been a better word, in view of what they clearly knew they were about to experience.) Say the word, Sir, and in half a minute, we’ll have whichever one of them you wish to deal with first, arse naked, strapped down over the horse awaiting your pleasure, Sir.”

The Headmaster said: “I think, Turner, on this occasion, I would like to deal with all three of them together. So please get the three of them in the correct positions and firmly strapped down across the horses in the Punishment Room. And put Evans over the horse on the extreme right as he merits and will receive quite exceptional treatment.” 

As the guards prepared to execute the order they had just received, the Headmaster turned towards Brad and said:  “Mr. Caine, I have to tell you that quite by chance you have arrived on a day when it is my painful duty to inflict the most severe corporal punishment practised by this school on these three young men, who are quite the worst inmates I have ever had the misfortune to deal with.  They have all been severely caned three times since their arrival a year ago, but to no avail. In spite of these punishments they have continued to cause mayhem whenever they can, culminating the other day in an incident in class, in which the three of them literally threw furniture around, breaking several desks and chairs and injuring one of their class-mates so severely that he had to be taken to hospital with a broken arm.”

“These three individuals are examples of, and I regret to have to say it, but there is no satisfactory other way to describe them, the lowest specimens of the dregs of humanity with whom we are blessed.  Frankly, they are all beyond redemption and deserve exactly what they are now going to receive, which is a transcendental beating, the pain of which, even in their wildest dreams, they have not imagined possible. Today each of these three young louts is individually about to play the role of Napoleon to my Wellington and experience his own private and extremely painful Waterloo. I intend to make it an experience they will each never forget, by etching evidence of their punishment so deeply into their arses that they will not be able to sit down for a full week.”

“Well I see  that Turner is signalling that everything is now in place; so Mr, Caine, allow me to show you the Moulton Midmarsh Punishment Room, which has remained essentially unchanged since it was conceived in the early 1900s to house the original Reform School for which this place was originally built. The accoutrements of punishment are, of course, new, but the room, apart from the electric lighting, is otherwise as it was originally conceived with three beating horses side by side.”

The Headmaster ushered Brad into a surprisingly large room with only one window, high on the outside wall. It was, for Brad, a somewhat breathtaking introduction to the room in which, if he were to get the post for which he had applied, he would evidently be expected to exercise his disciplinary functions.  The first sight of the room was rendered even more dramatic, as the three louts to be punished had been bent and tethered, totally naked, across the three beating horses, with their bare arses held well into the air, awaiting the not-so-soft caress of the cane. It was not that Brad was unaccustomed to seeing a naked arse waiting for the cane, as that was part and parcel of the meetings of the Brotherhood in Oxford. But he had never before seen a set of three young studs constrained to present their naked buttocks together, waiting to be beaten as they now were. That erotic power, which seems to be indissociable from the act of corporal punishment in most men, was already exercising its magic on Brad, as he felt his cock stirring in his pants just at the thought of what was to come.

The Headmaster waved across to the wall on which was hanging a large selection of straight handled rattan canes together with what Brad took to be several birches.  But what surprised him was to see several implements which he was not at all familiar, which looked very like table tennis bats but with longer handles. 

“As you can see, Mr. Caine we take the implementation of discipline very seriously in this school. We have to do so because our inmates are in the main all potentially dangerous and we feel that the threat of corporal punishment for even the slightest misdeed hanging over their heads, like the Sword of Damocles, restrains them from giving vent to their worst traits; that, at least, is the theory. But as you can see from the present trio awaiting their fate, even the thought of a painfully shredded arse is not always sufficient of a deterrent; all three of them have already been beaten several times this year, apparently to no avail. So here they are again, with their backsides calling for urgent attention from the rod of justice. Although our efforts have, so far, been unsuccessful, we shall now put into practice the exhortations of the motto: if at first you don’t succeed, try, try again, in an attempt to reform them. However, before we do that, first let me familiarise you with the three essential accoutrements of corporal punishment which are more or less in daily use in this establishment, and which, should you be offered the post for which you have applied, will become your tools of trade.”

“First, we have the tried and trusty rattan cane, which, in my view, no school worth its salt should ever be without. I am sure that you are already familiar with the cane, which, in well trained hands, is capable of delivering the most excruciating pain and reducing the most recalcitrant and inured receivers of its bounty to tears. However, what you see before you here is not a selection of the usual run-of-the-mill rattan punishment canes, which can be found in every school supplier’s catalogue, but a specially enhanced range, which is capable of delivering greater pain. The rattan plant, from which the punishment canes are made, is a climbing vine whose stems are, quite unusual, being of constant diameter varying from 5mm upwards.  The reason for its choice for school punishment canes is that, unlike bamboo which has a hollow structure and tends to be rigid, rattan has a quasi-solid structure made up of many parallel hollow fibres, rendering it more flexible and adaptable to that lower part of the anatomy to which it delivers its message.”

“The canes you see on the wall here are specially enhanced by impregnation with a polymer. After their initial drying out, the stems are then laid in a bath of liquid polymer in a vacuum chamber. The vacuum extracts the air in the micro fibres, which on return to normal atmospheric pressure are flooded with the polymer. They are then gently heated to set the polymer which becomes an integral part of the structure, adding about 25% to its original untreated weight. They are then fashioned into the familiar punishment canes you see here. So, Mr. Caine, I do not have to tell you as a mathematician, that as the force delivered when beating a boy’s arse is governed by Newton’s Second Law of motion and is the product of mass multiplied by acceleration, the enhanced rattan cane we use in this school is, by virtue of its increased weight, distinctly more painful than the normal cane. And as we use a cane with a speaking length of a full metre excluding the handle, I think it is safe to say that in this school we do our inmates proud when we beat their arses. Oh, and in case I forgot to mention it, there are no limits under the present law, as to the severity of the punishments we are permitted to administer.”

The Headmaster looked over at the three trembling lads, all of whom, strapped immobile and naked over the beating horses, were forced to listen to his exposition of the superiority of the canes, the bite of which, they would shortly feel across their naked buttocks. They all just wished he would get on with it and whack them. But it was not to be, as the Headmaster was intent on explaining the virtues of the School’s corporal punishment battery to Brad, but which also was serving as a means of putting fear into the hearts of the three lads who were shortly to be flogged. “Did you hear that, you three young delinquents? Nothing but the best for the likes of you in this School. You should all be grateful that we are willing and able to give such high quality, painful attention to your buttocks in an attempt to save you from your own worst traits!”

He then turned back to Brad and said: “You see that we also have a number of birches available. But not the old style freshly cut bundle of twigs of days gone by, which had, to use a modern-day expression, a very short shelf-life and were truly only satisfactory for just one application to one boy’s backside. Those days are indeed long gone; today we have a very satisfactory, synthetic birch made of semi-rigid, extruded, nylon filaments of various calibres held together in a convenient handle. The synthetic fibres simulate, but are infinitely superior to, the natural twigs of days gone by. When applied to the cheeks of a pair of deserving naked buttocks, of which we have many in this school, this modern version of an old, tried and true implement of punishment is capable of giving the recipient that uniquely painful experience of an old-time, public school birching: a flogging where the pain gradually builds up as stroke follows stroke and increases to levels which are unbearable but which, nevertheless, has to be born in retribution for his sins by the penitent subject.”

“But I see that your gaze is focused on the third of our implements of fustigation, for which I must humbly claim personal credit.” The object to which he was referring and which had captured Brad’s attention was akin to a tennis bat on a stout handle about eighteen inches long. The bat itself was oval rather than circular and was made of oak about an inch thick, through which number of holes had been drilled. “This, my dear Caine, (Brad noticed immediately the form of address, which had suddenly become familiarly collegiate as distinct from formal, which he took as a good omen) is what I call my patent conditioner.  It is inspired by the hair-brush, the back of which, many years ago, parents used to spank their young offspring’s little bottoms when they misbehaved. I suppose it is our equivalent to what out American cousins would call a paddle.”

“But the conditioner is not a device for spanking: a mild, superficial form of punishment for young children, not at all comparable to the severe floggings which we visit on the backsides of the dangerous miscreants we are faced with in this establishment. I firmly believe that a few good whacks of my conditioner applied with vigour to the naked buttocks of teenage miscreants prior to administering the birch or the cane – or, on occasions, even both – adds considerably to the overall effectiveness of the subsequent beating. It renders the flesh of a lad’s buttocks more receptive to the full power of the cane or birch, which the recipients then appreciate all the more.”

“But enough with all this talk; let us (Brad noticed the use of the word us rather than me) get down to dealing with these three young delinquents. Spivey and Andrews are each to receive six conditioning strokes followed by twelve cuts of the cane. Evans, who as ever, is the ringleader of this band of merry men, is, however, to receive a much more severe punishment. He will receive twelve conditioning strokes, followed by eighteen cuts of the birch; and to conclude we will top him up with six cuts of the cane. If that lot does not keep him in check for quite a while, then nothing ever will. Oh, and by the way, we always give all inmates, who are being beaten, six introductory whacks with the conditioner before proceeding to the cane or birch.”

The implied complicity of the word we in what was about to happen was confirmed as the Headmaster took down two of his patent conditioners and handed one to Brad. He had not asked Brad, as a non-staff member, if he would like – or even be willing – to be involved in punishing the three lads.  But his gesture in handing Brad one of his patent conditioners said it all; like it or lump it, Brad was to assist in the shredding of three naked arses belonging to young men whom he did not know and whose faces he had barely even seen. I suppose his contribution as a newcomer could be considered as dispassionately impartial, as he had no personal grievances against the unfortunate trio.  Even though it was never spelled-out loud to him, Brad knew instinctively that he was on trial for the job he wanted; he saw that the Headmaster, feigning forgetfulness, had, all along, arranged the punishment of the unfortunate trio to take place in the middle of the job interview. And so, with the Headmaster’s conditioner in hand, he steeled himself to play the part of a well-experienced, professional arse beater, which was clearly the key qualification for the post in question.

The Headmaster first positioned himself to the right of the recumbent Andrews, whose arse was first in line. He raised his implement above his head and brought it down at great speed to land with an almighty crack on the left buttock of Andrews’s waiting arse. The holes drilled in the wood ensured that all the air between the bat and its target was expelled as it mated perfectly with the lad’s arse. Andrews let out a loud cry of pain and Brad saw that the place where the stroke had landed at the top end of Andrews’s left buttock was already bright crimson.  The Headmaster then went on and placed two more strokes on Andrews’s left buttock. Andrews did his bit and gave his vocal approval to what was happening to him. The Headmaster then moved to Andrews’s left side and proceeded to pre-condition, as he called it, the lad’s right buttock with another three swats.

By the time the Headmaster had finished with Andrews, Brad realised that this so-called pre-conditioning process was itself a very painful punishment in its own right; perhaps not with the biting intensity achieved with a cane, but agonising nevertheless. The main difference was that as the force of each blow was spread across a larger area than that reached by a cane, no skin was broken. But from the sobs emanating uncontrollably from Andrews showed quite clearly that the lad was already in great pain.

Obviously satisfied with his efforts, the Headmaster said: “Well, Caine, there you are; I am sure that you must be dying to have a go yourself. So why don’t you try your hand with my little invention and pre-condition e Spivey’s arse for the cane which is to follow and which, I might add, he richly deserves? If there is one thing I have learned in my days as a schoolteacher, there is no surer way to influence a boy’s mind than via a well-beaten arse.”

Almost framed as a question, but obviously intended as a command, Brad had little option but to go ahead and swat Spivey’s trembling buttocks with the Headmaster’s toy. And as he placed stroke after stroke, Brad began to feel increasingly ashamed of just how much he was enjoying what he was doing. And even before he delivered the unfortunate Spivey his final, sixth stroke, Simon’s words came back to him: “That he might, as many men do, have a hidden sadistic streak, which given half a chance would make itself manifest.” Well, how true that observation was now proving to be. Brad was beating someone whom he had never met. But the fact that he was actually administering a beating to a young miscreant who truly merited the retribution, which was being exacted from him for his sins, made the act of punishment totally different to that which he had practised at the Brotherhood meetings.

This thought considerably assuaged Brad’s conscience for what he was doing. As he landed the final, pre-conditioning stroke on Spivey’s arse, he mentally made peace with his conscience and finally admitted to himself that, in spite of some lingering misgivings, he had thoroughly enjoyed the role he had played at the Brotherhood meetings. But now that he was beating, for the first time ever, a young man whom he did not know but who richly deserved to be punished, he knew that he had found his metier; one with which he felt totally at ease. Despite feeling ill at ease initially with the impromptu role which had been thrust upon him by the Headmaster, he had quickly undergone something akin to a Damascene Conversion.

He found that he was mentally at ease with the fact that he could inflict severe pain on an individual, who really deserved to be punished, without that nagging pang of conscience ever raising its disapproving head. And, to dispel any doubt that he might be wrong, his cock was thrusting hard against his trousers, in the way a dog, even though restrained on a leash, scenting a bitch on heat drags its owner in the direction of its potential mate. So much for the sexual arousal uncontrollably brought on by the act of administering corporal punishment.  At that moment, Brad knew that he would have liked nothing better than to fuck Spivey’s arse, which he had just conditioned with a quite different purpose in mind. But there it was; as ever, fustigation and erotic sexual arousal were reliable and regular bedfellows.

So if he gained satisfaction from – no, being brutally honest with himself, he was enjoying enormously what he was doing – where was the wrong? Why should one’s work, however distasteful, but necessary to preserve order in a place like Moulton Midmarsh, not also give pleasure to the performer? So, as he landed that last stroke on Spivey’s arse, he found himself praying that the Headmaster would ask him to continue to participate in what had all the makings of a fully fledged fest of flagellation. He suspected now that he had found his immediate future place in life and that the chance to exercise it was his and his alone, to lose, which he was determined not to do.

As Brad had been thrashing Spivey’s arse, the Headmaster had been watching him perform the task, which he had, as Brad had correctly divined, forced on the young man as part of a pre-arranged plan to test his claim to being a strict disciplinarian, in spite of his youth.  But as the Headmaster had seen, Brad, thrown in at the deep end without any prior warning, had, so far, acquitted himself very well: “My dear Caine, allow me to congratulate you on the splendid job you have just made of preparing the wretched Spivey for the cane. Now, I suggest that we proceed to the preparation of our third candidate, for the birching which he is shortly to receive. He is called Michael Evans and is an utterly incorrigible young man, and, in my view, a character totally beyond reform. So if you could begin (another order, in fact) by giving Evans the benefit of a six-swat beating with my little toy, I will then follow you with a further six, which should bring the lad’s backside into perfect condition to appreciate the birch.”

Brad swallowed hard as he listened to the Headmaster, who clearly was a force to be reckoned with.  He was relieved that he would beat the unfortunate Evans first and not have to administer a second six swats to an arse already in agony. But this was not the moment either to be squeamish or even to hesitate or to reason why, but to do as he was bidden, if he wanted, as he desperately did, to secure the job for which he was now quite clearly being tested. The Headmaster congratulated Brad on his contribution, and then totally undeterred by raw state of Evans’s arse, went on to give the lad six more swats with his deadly weapon.

“Well, Caine, I think we are now ready to show these three young miscreants what strict discipline in this school is really all about. Whether we shall have any long-term effect on their behaviour, I have considerable doubts; but at least we shall have had the satisfaction of having done our duty in making them answer painfully for their latest misdemeanours.”  The Headmaster went across to the wall where the canes were hanging, selected two and handed one of them to Brad. “As you can see, my dear fellow, I favour relatively slender canes even for these senior boys. The added weight of these enhanced canes means that they make a sharper bite when they mate with their target. Allow me to assure you that after a dozen cuts with either of these canes, both Andrews and Spivey will wish they had never been born. I think I can safely say that one may qualify the pain produced by these canes as exquisitely awful and well-nigh unsupportable; but as they have no other choice, support it they will!”

“So, shall we begin? I suggest that I start by giving Andrews six parallel cuts, starting at his lower back and finishing on the crown of his buttocks. You can then take over from there and give him the balance of six cuts starting where I leave off and finishing low on his backside, on the so-called sit-spot, which, as I am sure you are already well aware, is the most sensitive part of a lad’s posterior and as such deserves special attention. That way we shall ensure that he benefits from a truly well-beaten arse, on which he will find it impossible to sit comfortably for several days. Pain, as the saying goes, is the name of the game when it comes to beating arse. Oh, and by the way, the secret of a truly satisfactory beating, as I am sure you already know as an old hand at the game, is to make haste slowly.  Leave a ten second pause between each cut to allow the receiver, in this case, the unfortunate Andrews, to fully appreciate the quality of the attention we are lavishing on his arse with a view to making him a reformed young man.”

“Are you listening, Andrews, to what I am saying? By the time Mr. Caine and I have finished correcting you, your arse will be so hot that you will wish you could unzip it and put into a bucket of cold water to cool off. And you other two, you also should pay attention to what I am saying, as after we have packed Andrews off to heaven, or more probably, the other place, we shall lavish the same tender loving care on your respective backsides to etch this occasion indelibly in your memories.”

Brad was amazed at the use of the word, arse, by the Headmaster and saw that the man was an absolute tyrant, who took obvious pleasure in correcting, as he put it, the boys in his charge. But Brad realised that he was mentally the pot calling the kettle black, for he too had increasingly enjoyed beating the naked arses of his friends at the Brotherhood, who freely offered their naked backsides to the pain of the cane. But here, at Mouton Midmarsh, if he were to land the job, he already knew that beating died-in-the-wool, miscreant boys to correct them would be infinitely more satisfying.  He would, or so he tried to convince himself to assuage that nagging doubt, which was still lingering there, be beating young men, not for his own pleasure, but to rehabilitate them to take their places in decent society. But he knew, deep down inside that he would take great pleasure in inflicting pain on any deserving arse before him. Like it or not, Brad was finally coming fully to terms with his true self when it came to administering corporal punishment.

Brad was suddenly brought back from the reverie, into which he had slipped, by the first sharp crack of the cane which the Headmaster had now brought down with considerable force on Andrews’s arse. As he watched the Headmaster systematically work his way down the boy’s backside, laying on stroke after swingeing stroke, etching a series of deep parallel welts into his victim’s flesh, Andrews obligingly confirmed his appreciation of the care being lavished on his backside, by letting out a loud howl of pain as each stroke demonstrated to the lad the agonising pain, which a serious beating could impart to his already painfully pre-conditioned buttocks. The Headmaster had observed to Brad a few minutes earlier, that pain was the name of the game when it came to giving a boy a beating. Well, as Brad now saw, the Headmaster was himself an expert player of the game; he certainly knew how to beat arse and inflict serious pain!

“Well there you are; over to you, my dear Caine; it is now up to you to finish off what I have started as we cannot allow Andrews here, to feel he has been cheated out of his rights and send him on his way without ensuring that he takes with him that prize trophy, a well-beaten arse, to show his friends and to keep him warm in bed on what promises to be a cold night.”

Brad, cane in hand, approached Andrews and gazed down at the six, strictly parallel, deep red, livid cuts which the Headmaster had just inflicted on the lad’s already bright pink backside. It was an impressive example of the damage which can be done with six strokes of a simple rattan cane. By the time the lad’s arse had been embellished with a further six strokes, he would be in absolute agony. Brad was seriously impressed by the Headmaster’s obvious prowess and saw that he would be a hard act to follow. But follow him with a bravura performance he must. He now knew just how desperately he needed – no, wanted – the job for which he was obviously being tested.

Brad gently laid the cane on the half-beaten buttocks before him, exactly below, but parallel to, the Headmaster’s sixth stroke.  He raised the cane over his shoulder and then brought it down with the greatest force he could muster. He was rewarded for his effort by the loudest cry of appreciation yet from Andrews. After the obligatory pause, he gave him a second cut, strictly parallel to his first, and then moved much lower down the lad’s buttocks and gave him four closely placed parallel cuts on that most sensitive part of a lad’s lower arse, the sit-spot, where his buttocks join his legs. That his efforts had been a success was confirmed by the continued sobbing of Andrews. 

As Brad stood back to admire his handiwork, he was greeted by firm approval from the Headmaster. “Oh well done, Caine, I see that you really do know how to handle the implement, which is your homonym and are not afraid to lay it on, which is exactly as it should be.” And now repeating his mantra he added: “As I always maintain when it comes to beating a boy: pain is the name of the game; and that, my dear Caine, is a concept which you seemed to have understood and espoused totally. The placing of those four strokes lower down, towards the top of his legs, well, that is the mark of a true professional; someone, who knows how to give a boy a beating and send him away in agony, but at the same time, sporting a handsomely-striped arse he can be proud of.” 

Whether the poor, sobbing Andrews, the unwilling beneficiary of their joint ministrations, was proud of the artistically well-striped arse with which he had so bountifully been endowed, is, to say the very least, extremely doubtful. The lad was gently sobbing and wondering if he would ever be released from the beating-horse over which he was still stretched, to attempt to alleviate his agonising pain. As the unfortunate Andrews had just experienced, an insignificant looking cane, when well applied, had devastating consequences for the receiver and is an implement to be avoided like the plague.  But release was not yet to be granted, as Andrews was fated to rest over the horse and witness aurally, if not visually, his two partners-in-crime punished. And, as we shall see, when the arse of the ringleader of the trio, Evans, was finally placed on-line, what had happened to Andrews and Spivey was like a summer breeze across their arses, when compared to what was in store for the unfortunate Evans.

“Well, Caine, I think you have acquitted yourself really well with the cane; so I suggest you now go ahead and give Spivey his quota of twelve cuts entirely on your own, that way you will have the satisfaction of seeing a well-beaten arse produced entirely by your own hand; an achievement which I think you will find personally very satisfying, as I myself always do.  I think it is very important that one has satisfaction from one’s daily toil, even though it may be as distasteful, as what we are now doing is, in discharge of our duty.”

As Brad prepared himself to address Spivey’s trembling arse, it flashed through his head what a hypocritical remark the Headmaster had just made. He knew full well that he and the Headmaster were both enjoying skinning the arses of the three miscreants. Duty yes; distasteful no! As he prepared to apply the first stroke of the dozen which had been ordained by the Headmaster, Brad hesitated for moment and then made up his mind; he would treat Spivey’s well deserving naked buttocks to a different type of beating. Spivey knew he was about to be given a 12-cut beating, but unbeknown to him at that moment, it was to be a beating with an important difference to that inflicted on Andrews. The 12 cuts would be delivered as a double six parallel, rather than as twelve parallel. As each cut was placed on his arse, Brad would follow it by delivering a second cut in exactly the same place.

A 6 parallel, two-on-two beating was the first more painful variant on the straight parallel 12-cut The other even more painful variants of a 12-cut beating, each more agonising than the last, were progressively: four parallel, three on three:  three parallel, four on four: two parallel, six on six:  culminating in the most hideously painful of all arse caning’s where all 12 cuts were applied in exactly the same place, each overlaying the others. Hardly ever used, it left the recipient with a single, bleeding furrow, in almost unimaginable, excruciating agony, wondering if his arse would ever feel right again.

What Brad was proposing to visit on Spivey’s arse did not even begin to approach the level of pain of some of the more complex beatings, but it was still, nevertheless, a lot worse than Andrews had just suffered.  But Brad was motivated by the desire to demonstrate to the Headmaster what a consummate master of the cane he was; a desire, which was reinforced by the Headmaster’s comment that when it came to beating a boy, pain was the name of the game. Brad knew that to pull off this tour de force, he had to be extremely precise in placing the cane twice in exactly the same place on six different spots on the as yet, unsuspecting, Spivey’s arse. Poor Spivey’s buttocks were to be an impromptu guinea pig, to provide the vehicle by which Brad would convince the Headmaster that he was the person to be appointed to the post of Chief Disciplinarian of Moulton Midmarsh Approved School for Boys.

After but an instant of hesitation, the decision was made in Brad’s mind; do or die, he committed himself mentally to go through with his plan. Brad had never before beaten any of his Brotherhood volunteers other than with a series of nine parallel strokes, but he was sufficiently confident of his own prowess that would leave Spivey with an unbelievably painful arse with six welts, each the result of two strokes, the second of which was precisely overlaid on the first. Brad prepared himself for his first cut and brought down the cane with tremendous speed, high on Spivey’s meaty arse. Spivey signalled his approval by emitting a howl of pain.

So far, neither Spivey nor the Headmaster knew anything about Brad’s plan, until he applied the second cut, which landed precisely in the welt he had just created. Spivey showed his appreciation of the special attention he suddenly realise he was receiving, by doubling the volume of his vocal contribution to the proceedings. Brad glanced across at the Headmaster, who was clearly amazed and impressed by what he had just witnessed and with a smile and a nod indicated that he should continue.  Brad finished his six swingeing, painful double cuts to Spivey’s pre-conditioned arse with the lad begging, to no avail, for mercy after the second cut. By the time he had finished he left a hopefully repentant Spivey wracked with pain and sobbing freely.

“Well, Caine, that was a turn up for the book; I did not expect you to use such a sophisticated series of strokes on Spivey’s backside. But congratulations; that, young man, was a stellar performance, which I am sure Spivey fully appreciated. Now, it still remains for us to focus our attention on the ringleader of these three miscreants, our friend, Evans, who, if I am not mistaken is eagerly awaiting what he surely considers to be his due.” Looking at Evans’s bare, twitching arse, Brad thought that in view of what Evans had just witnessed his two partners-in-crime receive, anxiously rather than eagerly would have better described the lad’s frame of mind at that precise moment. After all, it is not every day that a boy is strapped down naked over a horse, has his arse beaten with a paddle and is then made to wait ten minutes whilst he watches his friends being thrashed, in the knowledge that his own arse is in line for the same or, even worse. 

However, the Headmaster continued with his version of gallows humour: “Yes, I am sure Evans, as the leader he mistakenly perceives himself to be, is looking forward to being able to flaunt his soon-to-be-freshly-embellished arse in front of his underlings. So, my dear Caine, it falls to you and me, not to disappoint him.” Brad noticed again the inclusive way in which he, not yet a member of the school’s staff, was included in the Headmaster’s remark.

“Now, in view of the role he has played in this drama, Evans is to receive an exemplary punishment; a punishment much more severe than that of his two sidekicks, in the hope, however faint, that he will finally change his ways and reform. In this school the severity of any punishment is limited to a maximum of thirty-six strokes of the birch and/or the cane, for any one offence. Well, in light of Evans’s continued and persistent disobedience and in view of the bad influence he exercises on easily-led boys like Andrews and Spivey, I think that the time has come for him to receive what I call the double whammy: the birch followed by the cane. I appreciate, Caine, that you may not be familiar with the use of the birch, which, more’s the pity, is essentially confined to magistrates’ and juvenile offenders’ courts. But in this school, if you agree to join us, (Brad wondered if this new turn of phrase, in which the Headmaster had used the word, agree, implied that he had already got the job without, as yet, having been formally offered it) you will be legally obliged to use the birch on certain boys, who arrive here with a court order specifying that they be birched.”

“Many of the boys sent us by the courts have committed crimes of a very violent nature, and although the courts may have sentenced them to an immediate birching, administered on the spot by an officer of the law, the judges feel quite often that one dose of corporal punishment is not sufficient. Thus, many boys arrive here with a court order in their baggage for one or more further birchings, which, by law, we are obliged to carry out to the letter. And so, my dear Caine, if you decide to join us (Brad now saw that he had the job; it had become his decision to make) I am afraid you will have to learn another skill: the traditional art of birching a boy. But given your prowess with the cane, this should not prove difficult for you. In fact, you can try out your hand on Evans almost immediately.”

The Headmaster now again went across to the wall and took down one of two birches from its hook. “You will see that the birch consists of a bundle of semi-rigid fibres, originally twigs of some tree or other, but today of finely calibrated nylon fibres. This is a senior birch, with 4mm diameter fibres, which the other is a junior birch with 2mm fibres. And this, the senior one, will shortly mate invigoratingly and painfully with Evans’s expectant buttocks. Now I doubt that you are aware of why the birch was always considered in public schools as the ultimate punishment for boys. On the first stroke, in view of the lightness of the twigs as they fan out and mate with their target, the power of the stroke is dissipated over a larger area than that of the cane. And so, although not exactly a pleasant experience for the recipient, the first taste of the birch is not very painful. However, as stroke after stroke is applied, the pain gradually builds up until after the third or fourth stroke it becomes excruciating.”

“The birch, by virtue of its spreading nature, allows every square inch of a recipient’s arse to be reached, which it leaves covered with a large number of fine, indescribably painful welts. In my view a well birched arse requires a minimum of nine strokes, but today, in view of the seriousness of Evans’s behaviour and continued misdemeanours, we shall not spare ourselves and he will be given the benefit of an 18-stroke birching with the senior birch. As you have never before handled this splendid implement of fustigation, I shall be delighted to show you how it is done.  What I suggest, is that I give Evans the first 12 cuts and that you then complete the punishment with six more.”

What the unfortunate Evans thought of this long-winded explanation we shall never know. But the Headmaster certainly did not stint on the power of the strokes which he landed on Evans’s bare buttocks. And as stroke followed stroke, Evans played his part and added his vocal obbligato to the proceedings, to show that he was appreciating the Headmaster’s efforts on his behalf. By the sixth stroke, the lad was in tears and pleading with the Headmaster to stop. But as we all know he was wasting his breath; mercy was not a word in the Headmaster’s vocabulary. The first 12 strokes having been administered, the Headmaster turned to Brad, handed him the birch and said: “Well, Caine, there you are; as you have just seen, birching is not a very difficult technique. The only difference between the cane and the birch is that the birch must always be laid on with maximum force in view of the light weight of the twigs. But as you can see, as Evans is confirming with his tears, it is a very effective form of punishment. So, away you go young man; treat Evans to his final six cuts; and don’t hesitate to lay it on as hard as you can.”

Brad realised by now that the Headmaster was an unrelenting and ruthless martinet, which he probably needed to be, in view of the potentially violent, difficultly reformable boys with whom he had to deal. So, Brad, who had had a twinge of conscience as he had watched Evans being punished, brushed what remained off his scruples aside and completed Evans’s birching with six resounding strokes. As he looked down on what was a thoroughly punished arse, he saw that the birch had left lad’s backside red-raw and covered with hundreds of tiny welts; birching truly was the king of punishments and something to be feared.  Evans was weeping freely as Brad turned to the Headmaster and handed him back the birch.

“Well, Caine, you really did make a splendid job of your maiden birching.”  He now handed Brad a senior cane and said: “Now kindly give Evans the coup-de-grace of his punishment: six strokes of the cane across his backside. Lay it on well and make sure that he gets six deep welts across his arse.” Evans attempted to protest, but his pleas were ignored as Brad went ahead and gave the lad six swingeing cuts across his already well-birched buttocks. It is hard for anyone who has never felt the bite of the rattan cane, not to mention the birch, across his bare backside, to imagine the agony which Evans was in, as his beating finally came to an end.  The Headmaster said: “Caine, don’t even begin to think of feeling sorry for Evans or his two friends. They are all unredeemable specimens of humanity and are dangerous inmates of this institution.  They all deserve exactly what they have just received. Now that our task complete, I suggest we leave these three irredeemable reprobates to the care of the guards and return to my study.”

Continued in Chapter 13