The Head-Boy's Fag

by Jason Land

10 May 2018 5940 readers Score 8.5 (13 votes) PDF Mobi ePub Txt


THE  HEAD-BOY’S FAG 

A Homoerotic Story

by

Jason Land

CHAPTER 1

This is a short story concerning the the Head-Boy’s fag at an English public school called Ollerton College, located in a small county in the south west of England.  The time is the turn of the century, before the Great War, swept away in its wake so much of the way of life that the British upper classes cherished. But at the time of our story, Victorian values still reigned supreme in most English educational establishments; and Ollerton as we shall call it for short was no exception.  Indeed it was one of those places where time had more or less stood still and all change, whether for the better or for the worse, had until now been successfully resisted.

This is the setting for this tale, which begins on the first day of term and recounts the trials and tribulations of the fag of the newly nominated Head-Boy. But before we learn about what befell this unfortunate lad on his very first day at Ollerton, let us first familiarise ourselves with the place itself and the idiosyncrasies of its way of life.

Ollerton College was a small, but very exclusive public school which had been founded in the reign of George IV by a joint endowment assembled originally from donations of several aristocratic senior British army officers, who wanted to create school to educate their male offspring.  Initially, a new building, now known as School House, had been constructed in 1815 to house only 60 boys, all of whom were boarders, But given the fact that their parents were often absent, policing, for want of a better word, the then British Empire, the school also offered out-of-term accommodation to those boys who had no home to go to due to their parents’ absences abroad.  The school, therefore, acted very much in loco parentis for many of its boys throughout the year and for many boys became a home from home.

Over time, the school became known as an establishment of high academic standards; but possibly more important than academic achievement in the eyes of the military families from whom its charges were drawn, the school rapidly established a reputation for strictly enforced discipline. In a word Ollerton was a place where the cane and the birch reigned supreme. Even minor offences, if they could be called that, were punished quite severely and the crack of a well directed cane landing on a pair of naked buttocks could be heard on a more or less daily basis during term time.  This was precisely what the patrons of the school thought of as a character building environment in which to educate their offspring. Whether the offspring agreed with this view or not is open to debate, as many of the lads spent a great deal of their time nursing very sore arses. But this was the way life was and the pupils just had to accept it, which of course, having no alternative, they did. Suffice it to say that in spite of incessant beatings, the boys were, in general, not unhappy.

With the passage of time and the growing disciplinary reputation of the school, pupils were attracted from among the lower levels of the British aristocracy. And so, by the early twentieth century, the school intake was split about evenly between boys from military families and boys from the lower reaches of the British upper-classes. Quite a few boys   were known as the Honourable this, that or the other; this honorific indicating that they were the second sons of a lord: a peer of the realm. And with the growing interest of the wealthy, the endowments of the school had rapidly increased so that by the year 1900 Ollerton was a very well finance academic institution, controlled by a Board of Governors who had no financial problems to contend with.

By 1900, Ollerton had grown physically from its original School House of sixty boys, to five separate houses, of which the four additions were named after the southern counties: Dorset, Somerset, Devon and Sussex.  The school governors, in their infinite wisdom, had decided that each house would be of identical size and so the four new houses, as they became to be know, each also accommodated sixty boys. So the full complement of the school was precisely three hundred boys; a yearly intake of sixty, thirteen year old boys from prep-school, being balanced by the outflow of sixty boys from the upper sixth form. All in all, Ollerton was a very Cartesian establishment.

Over the years, the original School House had been extensively enlarged to accommodate all the teaching requirements for 300 boys, who were lodged and accommodated across the five houses comprising the school. The old School House also held the main assembly hall and had the ever obligatory chapel in an annexe; God, like the cane and buggery, was omnipresent. In addition to the five main buildings, the school had built a substantial residential staff bloc in which many of its teaching staff lived; especially those younger teachers who were, for one reason or another, unmarried. In keeping with the prestige of Ollerton, staff accommodation was generous and salaries were high; so the school had no problem in attracting first rate staff in all subjects. Pretty well all the unmarried staff lived on the premises; but a number of married teachers with families preferred to live privately in town.

Finally to complete the inventory of the school’s buildings, there was a separate service block, where the school laundry and other facilities, including the sick bay, were located. The laundry was a very important component in the life of the school; in the eyes of the powers that be, cleanliness was next to godliness (or was it the other way round?)  All boys were expected to wear clean clothes each day, so the laundry was a very busy place.

At the time of our story, there were no plans to enlarge the school any further, although it had over the years acquired large tracts of land surrounding the original School House;  at that time given over to playing fields. Sport was a very important component of the school curriculum; along with regular naked-arse beatings, sport was considered as being another very important, character-building element fostering team spirit and leadership, both of which were considered precious attributes. The Governors saw Ollerton as a unique, educational jewel in the highly privileged world of public fee paying schools. Its endowments meant that it could please itself as to its future development which was not dictated by any economic considerations.

All in all, successive Boards of upper-crust Governors complemented by snobbish Headmasters had created a very exclusive school from which ordinary mortals were excluded. Not for Ollerton, scholarships or bursaries for boys of impoverished families; quite the contrary; members of the hoi-polloi were ruthlessly excluded and given not even a whiff of the delights of Ollerton. It was a place based on excellence; a place of tradition, scholarship and discipline; especially discipline; it was a place destined only for boys whose families knew and understood what an important service it was rendering them; and could afford the fees, which were pitched at an eye-wateringly high level in spite of the very considerable income the school enjoyed from its weighty endowments.

In short, Ollerton was a place for the privileged few; a place where perceptive parents were assured that their sons were subject to a regime of strictest discipline designed to produce the future leaders of the country and its empire; and all of whom were, above all, gentlemen. All in all, Ollerton prided itself in offering an education second to none; and confident in this self congratulatory frame of mind, also pitched its fees second to none. Let it be said that the privileged few paid very steeply for their privileges.

CHAPTER 2

English public schools each have their own individual internal organisations and foibles; and Ollerton was no exception.  The boys were randomly allocated across the five houses on their arrival, where they would be lodged and nourished for their entire school career. All teaching was conducted in School House, but the boys took their meals (the food was atrocious, but again, had that much vaunted character-building quality about it) and enjoyed their free time in their own houses. 

Each of the five houses had a resident Housemaster who lived in very spacious accommodation located in his house.  The Housemasters were sometimes married with their own children and sometimes not; but in addition to their duties in loco parentis, they all taught classes in their chosen subject. The Housemaster was also the ultimate dispenser of discipline in the house; and for any boy to be referred to him usually implied a very painful experience. Successive Headmasters and Boards of Governors had systematically seen that the Housemasters they appointed toed the Ollerton line of strict discipline and were ardent supporters of the cane and the birch; not for Ollerton any new fangled ideas; old fashioned rigour reigned supreme!

Outside of the classroom, the school was basically run by a group of house prefects: both junior, from the lower sixth and senior from the upper sixth forms. A boy who became a prefect started as a junior prefect in the lower sixth and progressed in this final upper sixth year, to the rank of senior prefect. So in all, provided that a prefect did not blot his copy book (a not unknown occurrence as prefects were boys too) he enjoyed two full years during which he could exercise his powers.

The main power which the prefects were given was the right to cane their schoolmates. And like all schoolboys given similar powers in public schools around the land, they exercised this power as if it was a “God given right”; as if there was to be no tomorrow. If ever there was a better example of the old adage: Give a boy an inch and he’ll take a mile it was in the prefects system at Ollerton. Not a day went by but what some unfortunate lad felt the cane across his naked arse in some prefect’s study; and what, for instance, was specified by the Headmaster as a maximum of six strokes of the cane, rapidly became the standard dispensation by the prefects; so any lad – of which there were many – who had the misfortune to be beaten by a prefect, automatically got six stinging strokes across is naked arse.  Oh yes; I forgot to mention; all beating at Ollerton was applied directly to the naked flesh of the unfortunate recipient. Some Headmaster had, long ago, wisely declared that it was the boy and not the trousers which needed correction; and so the cane and the birch ever since that time, been applied “on the bare” as the genteel expression had it; on the bare bum as most of the younger boys put it; onto the naked arse as most of the prefects put it; as ever using the most vulgar of terms as all schoolboys do.

The senior prefect of each house, the House Captain, was assisted in his duties by three junior prefects from the lower sixth and two seniors from the upper sixth.  So all in all there were six prefects in maintaining order over some fifty or so boys in each house. The senior prefects were authorised to beat all and any of their house mates up to a maximum of six cuts of the cane on the bare.  The junior prefects were only allowed to beat the first and second year boys of their house and were limited to four four cuts with the junior cane, again on the naked arse. But make no mistake: in the hands of a well practised seventeen year old lad, four well placed, vigorous cuts, across a well presented pair of naked buttocks could be quite an excruciatingly painful experience for their owner.  Lads being lads, the prefects were ever ready to show their colleagues their own latest technique in applying the cane to ensure that maximum mileage was got out of each stroke.

It goes without saying that when a prefect: any prefect that is,  wielded the cane, moderation was thrown to the winds; so much so that at Ollerton a prefect’s beating was much more feared than one delivered by most of the masters.  It was the masters who disciplined the boys during class times and the prefects who took over at all other times. And so it was the prefects who were the main wielders of the cane at Ollerton; and wield it they did.

One should not, however, forget the Headmaster himself, who at the time of our story was a grim-faced, classicist divine, called Dr. Clarence Mortimer Redvers-Grex. He was a cadaverous, bony man in his early forties who took the lower and upper sixths for ancient Greek. He was a bachelor, with all that that implies in public school life; and in common with many men of the cloth was an ardent believer and practitioner of corporal punishment. He was himself really very nifty with both cane and birch; a beating by him, which was never less than twelve strokes, was something to be avoided. He regularly flogged sixth formers from his Greek classes and relied upon referrals from his teaching staff to provide him with a steady flow of arses from the younger classes to beat; and beat them he did!

Although the senior prefects were limited to six strokes of the cane at any one time, the Head-Boy was allowed to give a maximum of twelve strokes if he thought it justified. It is amazing just how many times twelve biting cuts of the cane the Head-Boy deemed to be justified. But the cream on the cake for the Head-Boy was that he too was authorised to use the birch on what the Headmaster called particularly recalcitrant boys and on those who were clearly recidivists. Ollerton had two types of birch: a senior birch which only the Headmaster used and the junior, lighter birch, which was in the hands of the Head-Boy. But well applied, as it always was, the junior birch was a Head-Boy’s toy to be avoided.

The Head-Boy of the school was chosen on merit by the Headmaster in consultation with his fellow teachers and could be from any of the five houses:  but on his preferment, he had to move to School House, where, as Head-Boy of the school and House-Captain of School house itself, he enjoyed what amounted almost to the status of a master; he  had a suite of two rooms, a study and a bedroom, and a wash room with private lavatory. At the time of this story there was only cold running water in his washroom and the Head-Boy still had to use the communal showers to wash himself.  Hot water, when he needed it, was brought to him by his personal fag: a first year boy who plays a central role in this story.

Reading this today, it is difficult for any of us to realise just how inconvenient life was at the beginning of the last century for virtually everyone except the very rich, who had numerous servants whose job it was to keep their masters and mistresses happy. Electricity was in its infancy; heating was largely by open coal fires and cooking was on coal fired ranges or by gas made in the local gas works.  Electric light had hardly made an appearance and places were still lit largely by candles, oil lamps and gas lamps with incandescent mantles: items which we today consider charming decorators’ pieces but which at that time were essentials of daily life. Transport, other than long distance travel by steam train was still, for the most part, horse drawn.

But to come back from the nostalgia of social history, each sixth former, including all the prefects, had his own study bedroom, but had to use the communal washing and bathing facilities where, thank God, there was hot water on tap. The House-Captain’s study in each house was somewhat larger, but like the others he had to use the communal washing facilities. All other boys from the first through the fifth form slept in one of five twelve bed dormitories which were closely controlled by the prefects. Dormitory beatings were commonplace; all twelve occupants were made to stand at the bottom of their beds, drop their pyjama trousers, bend across the bed and allow the prefect or Housemaster to thrash their naked arses. And so as the reader will appreciate, there was little privacy at all and everyone knew more or less everything that was going on.  Nothing could be kept secret for very long.

CHAPTER 3

We now come to the peculiar British practice called fagging. Each house of sixty boys had six prefects, each of whom had his own fag who was nothing more than an unpaid servant.  You have to remember that the background of Ollertonians was from the upper- classes in whose homes servants were the norm. So fagging did not seem anything out of the ordinary; even to the fags themselves. Again it was thought to have that all important quality: character building; and so it was totally accepted by one and all: fags and fag-masters, as part of everyday school life. All the fags were first year boys who were expected to perform all sorts of menial tasks, free of charge for their fag-master prefects.

Of the remaining sixth formers, only those of the upper sixth, in their final year at school had the privilege of having access to the services of a fag; I say access because these fags were not attributed to any specific person: they had no specific fag-master, but were general dogsbodies at the beck and call of the nine boys in the upper sixth that had not had the privilege of being elevated to the rank of prefect. They were drawn from what can best be described as a fag pool located in what was the the junior boys’ common room. When the call: faaaag was issued in a loud voice by a sixth-former, one or other of the boys from the pool had to answer the call.

Ollerton had been conceived with exceptional mathematical precision. With a total of six prefects per house, (three from the lower and three from the upper sixth) each with a dedicated fag, and an intake of  twelve new boys each year, only six boys of the new intake remained to fag for the nine boys of the upper sixth who were not themselves prefects.  And so the system of the fag pool had been conceived; nine boys from the upper upper sixth had to make do with six fags amongst them. And to add insult to injury, the non-prefect, upper sixth lads could not discipline their fags: they had to pass them on to one of the prefects if they wanted to see their fag beaten for some misdemeanour: real or imaginary; and make no mistake; misdemeanours were both legion and regular so that referrals of pool fags to prefects for a beating were an everyday occurrence at Ollerton. Where Ollerton stood exactly in what might best be characterised vulgarly as the public schools arse beating league” has never been defined; but it certainly would have held its own against most comers.

So, by now the reader will have a good idea of the detailed structure and the pecking order, or more grandly put, the order of precedence of the boys: an order that was strictly maintained and observed by all.  It was just the way things had always been done at Ollerton and everyone accepted it. In fact, in its own way, Ollerton was a faithful reflection of British society of the early twentieth century: everyone knew his place in the hierarchy and, moreover, kept to it: a place for everyone and everyone in his place. And the rules and protocols were as rigid as if they had been engraved, like the Ten Commandments, in tablets of stone; no deviation was permitted more or less on penalty of death; well not quite that bad!

The boys took all their meals and spent their leisure time in their own houses.  There was tremendous rivalry between the houses on the sports field and boys quickly became attached to their own house; they were totally convinced of its superiority and fiercely defended its honour against all comers. Meals served were breakfast, lunch and supper;, but there was a house-kitchen in which the boys could make tea and toast and where the fags could also make breakfast for their fag-masters; tea, that indispensable component of British life, toast and cocoa could also be made in the house kitchen. Afternoon tea parties at which the fags were expected to serve their fag-masters were quite common.

So now let us turn to the fags and their fag-masters and in this case, quite specifically to the newly nominated Head-Boy, one Sebastian Jeremy Mottram, the only son of Colonel Albert Jeremy Mottram.  Sebastian had been accorded the imaginatively delightful nick-name, the Whacking Wanker by those who had known and experienced him as a junior prefect the previous year. I think no explanation is needed as to the significance of this name: suffice it to say that it was totally apposite.  His fag was one, the Honourable Timothy Edward Clive Lattymer-Smith, the younger son of the fourth Lord Lattymer of Adel (rhymes with paddle) cum Eccup in the County of York. So, as you must by now have appreciated, we have here a very upper crust combination of master (Mottram) and servant (Lattymer-Smith). Of course alluding only to the strata of school society, Lattymer-Smith, in spite of his superior social rank, in the position of fag to Mottram, the Head-Boy, was tantamount to a nobody.

But before continuing to explore the relationship between these two boys, the Head-Boy from the sixth form and his fag, a first year recruit, it is worthwhile seeing how the remaining fags were allocated among the prefects.

Firstly in what was the very unequal and stratified society of Ollerton, only the Head-Boy was allowed to choose his personal fag from the entire new intake of sixty boys.  Once his choice had been made, the names of the other fifty-nine boys were inscribed on a series of  numbered lottery ticket, the counterfoils of which were put into a bucket and shaken up. Then each of the six house prefects who was to have the privilege of having his own personal fag, selected blindly a counterfoil thus allocating him his fag.  This was the nearest thing to democracy which existed at Ollerton.  The remaining boys who had not been lucky enough by chance to be allocated to a single fag-master, constituted the members of the fag-pool. But although there was no stigma of inferiority attached to their position as they had found themselves there purely by chance, it was inevitable, given the mathematics of the situation, that they became the dogsbodies of the fagging-class as they served multiple masters.

The allocation of fags had taken place in the afternoon of the day before the official start of the new term.  All the pupils had been told to arrive latest by noon on that day so that everyone could be settled in their lodgings and a smooth start to the term made early the following day.

Head-Boy Mottram had chosen his fag, the Hon. Lattymer-Smith based purely upon the boy’s physical appearance.  Why choose a boy with an ugly mug and generally overall unimpressive appearance, when angelic boys like Lattymer-Smith were there for the picking – and the whacking.  Mottram had hesitated between two lads, both of whom he frankly found very attractive, before finally plumping for Lattymer-Smith, who had won his place in the heart of the Head-Boy by the simple visual expedient of having a delightfully rounded bottom: an extremely important consideration for the Head-Boy, who had a penchant for thrashing arse. So the deliciously rounded, plump globes sported by young Lattymer-Smith were the ultimate factor which clinched the choice. Given Mottram’s other proclivities, a boy’s arse held another interest for him beyond whacking it; but he was sufficiently intelligent to restrict such interests to boys of his own age, in the upper sixth, who, to all intents and purposes, although still at school, were young adult men.

Lattymer-Smith, for his part, had no idea why the honour, which it undoubtedly was – or anyway, appeared to be – to fag for the Head-Boy, had fallen his way.  He knew only that he had to fag for someone in his first year; so it was gratifying to be at the top of the pecking order; at least that was the way Lattymer-Smith saw it before he came to terms with what I suppose we have to call the real Sebastian Mottram. Mottram had commanded (yes that was the word) him to come to his study at eight that evening for what he had called an orientation discussion.  And so, at eight-fifteen, a full quarter of an hour late for the meeting, Lattymer-Smith, having made his first mistake in arriving late, knocked on Mottram’s study door and entered.

“Ah, come in, Lattymer-Smith, I’m delighted that you were able to make it! Our appointment was for eight as I recollect; but, better late than never, as the saying has it; what delayed you?”

Lattymer-Smith was a sensitive sort of character and sensed from the tone of Mottram’s voice that he had made a bad start; so he started to try to explain.  But he really had no excuse other than that he had been talking to his new classmates at supper and had just forgotten the time. He said in response to Mottram’s question: “Well sir, I am very sorry to be a little late but…” only to be cut short by an obviously annoyed Mottram who said: “You don’t call me sir, you know; when you address me; you call me Mottram and I call you Lattymer-Smith or fag; until such time that is I might decide on a nickname for you. Anyway, now that you are finally here, sit down and let’s get to business.” Lattymer-Smith, by this time feeling rather nervous; the words finally here had an ominously menacing overtone to his ears.

The Head-Boy began: “Now you and I, Lattymer-Smith are going to get along just swimmingly provided that you do exactly as I say. I think that that is the first thing you need to understand in our relationship; I demand absolute obedience from you.  Your job as my fag is to serve me and I require no less than perfectly impeccable behaviour from you at all times when you are in my presence. Now, clearly, the first thing you have to come to terms with is punctuality.  When I say I want to see you at eight, I mean eight and not a quarter past.  I hope that that is clear. Now let us go through the protocol which will govern your daily duties with me, as a great deal of what you will be required to do will be on a daily basis and will not change. Therefore, like the Ten Commandments, your daily tasks should be fixed firmly in your mind; think of them as immutable and engraved in tablets of stone; metaphorically of course.”

By this time, Lattymer-Smith was looking a bit mystified for he knew the meaning of neither of the word, protocol nor the word, metaphorically. Things became quite clear, however, as Mottram continued: “Your duties begin at a quarter past seven each morning apart from Sunday, when they commence an hour later. By that time I am back from my morning shower and you will bring me the water for me to shave, which I do every day, as do all gentlemen. At seven thirty you will then bring and serve me my breakfast. Whilst I am eating you will make my bed and lay out on it my clothes for the day.  I wear clean underwear, a clean shirt and clean socks each day. You will also put out my coat, trousers waistcoat and shoes which you will always maintain in a highly polished condition.”

“I have two pairs of school shoes which I wear on alternate days and so you should have no problem in maintaining a pair in perfect condition. The shoes are to be polished in the communal boot room and I will not tolerate any smeary finish whatsoever; a mirror finish on the toe caps is what I shall be looking for; so I suggest that you quickly acquaint yourself with the technique of spit and polish by which such a state of footwear perfection is achieved. I also have two complete sets of top clothes which I wear on alternate days. The set I am not wearing that day you will brush down and sponge off any marks and, if necessary, press my trousers to restore a knife edge crease. The flat iron and board you will find in the boys’ communal kitchen; and remember when you press my trousers to use a damp cloth to protect the fabric; I do not want my trousers scorching with an iron which is too hot; otherwise I shall make it my duty to make your own arse too hot for comfort;  I take it you understand my meaning.”

“Additionally, you will take my soiled underwear to the laundry room each Friday at which time you will recover my clean laundry for the week, which includes seven of everything. This you will place neatly folded in the appropriate places in the chest of drawers in my bedroom. I shall leave it to your undoubted initiative to find the appropriate place for each item. After you have completed these tasks, you may go and get your own breakfast and will then be free until lunchtime, when you will again present yourself here to me to receive any special instructions for the day.”

“Unless I have decided on that day to take tea in the prefects’ common room, I shall tell you at what time I shall require you to serve tea in my study and the number of persons who will partake of that traditional refreshment in my company. I shall also tell you if toast and cake are to be served, in which case it will be up to you to go down to the  baker’s shop where I have an account to fetch a cake.  You will return and clear away the tea things immediately after you have finished your evening prep.  I hope that this is all clear as I expect things to be done exactly as I say and I will not tolerate any untidiness whatsoever. In short, Lattymer-Smith, I shall expect you to perform for me all the duties of a gentleman’s gentleman; I trust that I have made myself clear.  If you perform your duties correctly and on time you will have no problems and your daily life will be comfortable. However, if you deviate at all from the protocol I have just outlined to you (Lattymer-Smith now understood what the word meant) then I shall have to correct you.”

“And so we now come to a second protocol: the procedure you will follow when I feel that you need correction.” Lattymer-Smith now began to feel slightly uneasy at the mention of the word correction, for as he surmised it could mean but one thing, which Mottram now went on his pompous and pedantic and slightly hectoring way to make quite clear to him: “Lattymer-Smith, cast your eyes to the back of the door, where you will see three canes hanging on a hook there, Kindly go over take them down and pass them to me; all three of them, please and I shall acquaint you with their purpose.”

The three canes in question were each about three feet long and were of the straight-handled Malacca type: a superior form of rattan with tighter than usual nodes along their length. For today’s reader unfamiliar with the impedimenta of corporal punishment in use at the beginning of the twentieth century, rattan is not, in fact, a bamboo cane as is frequently thought. It is a flexible tropical vine, from which for many years, English school supply houses, have fashioned what is usually referred to as a cane.  The advantage of an instrument made of rattan over the normal bamboo cane, is that it is much more flexible and is solid, unlike the bamboo which is a hollow stemmed plant; and the rattan vine has the unique characteristic of producing cylindrical stems which are of the same, uniform diameter along their entire length.  The solidity of the rattan confers extra weight on the implement which in turn allows the user to impart greater pain to the buttocks of the unfortunate recipient.  A beating with a Malacca cane in the hands of an expert, which Mottram in fact was, is very painful event indeed and second only to the much dreaded birch; as such it is to be avoided whenever possible

Each cane, which was straight and without the crooked handle of the common rattan, had a leather handle fitted to one end to enable the wielder to get a firm grip on the implement. Just looking at them filled Lattymer-Smith with fear and he was now beginning to tremble slightly at the thought of what might happen, as he took them and handed them to Mottram.

 Mottram was, of course intent of putting the fear of God into his fag which he succeeded in doing as he continued with his somewhat pompous monologue: “As you can see, Lattymer-Smith, there are two thinner canes and one thicker one. The thicker one is what is called a senior cane; it is one I use when I need to correct boys from the third form and above; oh and in case you are wondering, this cane is used to correct errant boys right through to the upper sixth form, including the prefects should they merit it; no one: no one at all, is exempt; at Ollerton, we all live under the threat of the cane if we misbehave; myself included. Now, as you can see, in spite of its thickness the senior cane is still very flexible.” And by way of a demonstration, Mottram bent the cane practically in a complete circle and then swished it a few times through the air: quite a frightening gesture, in front of his new fag, who was now beginning to cringe and show his fear on his face.

“Now we come to the two slimmer canes, which are known as junior canes and are used to correct (Why, thought Lattymer-Smith, did  Mottram persist in using the word, correct when what he actually meant was thrash?) boys such as you in the first and second forms.  But if you look closely at these two objects, you will see that one is slightly different. It carries an inscription near the handle, which reads: Fag’s Cane. This is a brand new cane I have bought which will be exclusively used to correct you, Lattymer-Smith; you and you alone are the only boy in this school to have the honour and privilege of having a cane dedicated to correcting him and him alone; it will never ever be used on another boy; it is reserved exclusively for you; rest assured young man, yours is the only arse on which this cane will ever land.”

Poor Lattymer-Smith listened with increasing fear and trepidation, as this full horror story was unfolded to him by his fag-master. He was already beginning to realise that being the fag of the Head-Boy was unlikely to be a smooth, painless job.  It was clear that the Head-Boy, Mottram, was a keen protagonist of the rod and that his fag’s arse would be one of the key targets.  As far as having a cane dedicated to beating his arse and his arse alone; well Lattymer-smith was not much impressed by this privilege. His worst fears were now to be confirmed as Mottram ploughed on with his wordy explanation.

“So, Lattymer-Smith, now that we have familiarised ourselves with the implements of correction (that hated word yet again) perhaps you would kindly replace the canes on the hooks behind the door and I will outline to you the procedure which I shall require you to follow when I feel that you are in need of correction.  I apply correction to all boys of School House who merit it, each evening immediately after supper starting at eight sharp in my study here.  If I feel you need correcting then I shall tell you during the day or put a note in your pigeon hole and you will present yourself here at eight o’clock precisely.  So, Lattymer-Smith, I would advise you to check your pigeonhole for messages each evening as you would  not wish to miss such an appointment, which could have dire consequences for you. The etiquette is that you knock on my door, enter and stand in front of my desk, at which I shall in all probability be sitting. If there are already other boys in the room then just stand there quietly and wait until I give you my attention.”

“I shall than explain to you why I feel I need to correct you and will ask you to hand me your cane. Make sure that it is the correct cane: the one which is intended uniquely for your backside. You will then, with no prompting from me, take the chair from against the wall over there and place it in the centre of the room. You will next take off your coat and waistcoat and place them neatly on the table. You will then stand behind the chair and drop both your trousers and underpants and bend across the back of the chair, placing your hands on its seat.  I will then instruct you to make any change in your posture to ensure that your bare backside is correctly placed to receive the cane.” 

“I shall then proceed to apply the cane to your naked buttocks. During the process of correction you will remain perfectly still and keep your hands on the seat of the chair.  After each stroke of the cane you will thank me and ask for the next stroke. The form of the words will be: “Thank you Mottram; please give me another stroke.”  When I have administered the requisite number of strokes, I shall tell you to get up when you will pull up your pants and trousers, put back on your waistcoat and coat and thank me for correcting you.  You will then go to the kitchen  and make two cups of cocoa, one for me and one for yourself, bring them back here and we will enjoy them together. Finally, we shall shake hands and you will again thank me for correcting you; you will then be free to leave. We shall, of course, part as true gentlemen do, with no bad feelings between us and you will resume your duties the following morning as usual.”

Poor Lattymer-Smith listened in complete silence to this clinically chilling explanation of how he should approach the correction process.  The poor lad’s blood ran cold as he listened to his fag-master outline the various steps he had to take; the whole thing left him sick to the stomach.  And as for making two cups of cocoa and being forced to sit and drink his cup with the Head-Boy who had just thrashed his arse; well that was not a very alluring prospect either. But Mottram had not yet finished with Lattymer-Smith, for his whole purpose in this theatrical exposition had been to put the fear of God into his fag; and one has to say that he was had been very successful in achieving his aim.

“So, Lattymer-Smith, do you think that you have completely understood the protocol you have to follow when you are to be punished?  Well  I am sure that it all sounded pretty straightforward, but I expect you to follow the procedure to the letter without any prompting from me,  Should the need ever arise (as if it wouldn’t) for me to be obliged to correct you, I am sure the both of us would want things to pass smoothly.  So, I suggest we now have a dummy run: a sort of dress rehearsal, just to make sure that you have fixed the full procedure clearly in your mind; so shall we begin?”

Mottram went and sat behind his desk and motioned to his fag to stand in front of him; he then spouted a piece of fictive dialogue to add reality to the situation:  “Lattymer-Smith, I have the disagreeable task to tell you that  I have to correct  you for spilling tea all over  my coat this afternoon.”

The fag stood there motionless, not having understood what he was supposed to do. So Mottram repeated his piece, upon which the boy finally realised the part he now had to play in this dress rehearsal of a future beating. So he took his own cane down from the hook on the door and handed it to Mottram, who now stood up behind his desk and nodded in the direction of the dreaded beating chair. Lattymer-Smith pulled the chair into the middle of the room, dropped his trousers and pants, bent across the back of the chair and offered up his naked arse for the cane.

By way of adding a touch of reality to the whole charade, Mottram then went across inspected his fag’s lily-white buns, laid the cane gently across them and said: “Well done Lattymer-Smith; I see you have fully understood how to behave when you are to be corrected.  This is very important as I will not tolerate any hysterical outbursts when I have to correct you; everything will be done in a cool, calm and gentlemanly fashion. But just let me remind you not to forget to thank me for each stroke I give you in a real-life situation; if and when that should ever arise.  A real life situation, by the way, would be one where I was actually going to apply the cane to your arse.”

“You see if you were to forget to thank me after each stroke and request another, then that would be discourteous of you and I would have to repeat the correction process from the beginning: a highly undesirable eventuality for you personally as I am sure you agree. I always feel that it useful to have a clear idea of the ground rules governing any relationship such as ours.  But for now, you can put the cane back on the door and the chair against the wall. Then get dressed and go and make two cups of cocoa which we can enjoy together to celebrate a successful instruction session.  We can also get to know each other a little better; you can tell me something about yourself.”

Although Mottram had done nothing but talk to his fag, poor Lattymer-Smith was already in a high state of tension induced by Mottram’s pedantic utterances.  He now knew exactly what he was expected to do when told that he was to be corrected and the thought filled him with terror.  What would it actually be like to feel the bite of that horrible cane across his naked bum?  And when and for what reason would be his first-time?  When and for what reason would his fag-master apply the cane to his backside? It hardly bore thinking about; but these and other thoughts bounced around his mind as he attempted to make the two cups of cocoa in the boys’ kitchen.

One also has to remember that the aristocratic Lattymer-Smith had never in his life had to do any of the menial tasks which were now to be part and parcel of his daily lot. Even making a cup of cocoa was a taxing operation as that horrible brown powder persisted in floating around on the surface of the hot milk instead of dissolving in it. He returned with the two cups to Mottram’s study where he was invited to sit down and then, in the course of drinking a very unsatisfactory cup of cocoa, Mottram teased out from him some revealing elements of his life before Ollerton.

It turned out that Lattymer-Smith was terrified by the thought of the cane, as he had never in his life been subjected to the much acclaimed, but nevertheless doubtful, character-building properties of a sore arse which that ubiquitous and oft used implement invariably created; indeed, he had never suffered any other form of corporal punishment at all. Mottram, somewhat surprised by this revelation, said: “But surely Lattymer-Smith, you must have been caned at your prep school.  Come on; you were there at least three and possibly four years  and every young lad, even the most angelic, has his arse beaten at least once at prep school.  How did you escape it?”

“Well, that’s just the point, Mottram; you see I never went to prep school. I was educated by a private tutor at home. In fact the same tutor still continues with my two younger brothers. And he is a really nice man and never ever beat any of us.   So I am really very scared when you talk about correcting me with my very own cane. I know it’s a great privilege to have one’s own private cane, (he didn’t really believe that at all, but given the circumstances it seems the right thing to say) but nevertheless I don’t think I could stand being beaten; because if I need correcting that is what you are going to do to me isn’t it?”

All was now quite clear to Mottram. Being a strict disciplinarian as his unfortunate nickname, the Whacking Wanker, implied he was always willing to seize upon the slightest infraction, real or imaginary, to thrash a boy’s naked arse.  This he had done for the past year when he had been made a junior prefect and it is safe to say that he had the best caning average of the entire complement of prefects: junior and senior included. Limited as he had been to giving a maximum of four cuts to first and second year boys, he had nevertheless quickly acquired the reputation being the hardest caner in the school; a distinction of which he was inordinately proud.  A summons to his study for a beating was something the younger boys had quickly come to dread. But now as Head-Boy, with his reputation preceding him, he intended to use his extended powers to the full. You will recollect that senior prefects were limited to a maximum of six cuts with the senior cane; but the Head-Boy, in recognition of his superior status, could give a miscreant up to twelve strokes across his bare arse. Frankly, just the thought of the Head-Boy loose with his cane was something too awful to contemplate; just the thought of how their arses might be beaten raw by Mottram rendered the boys nervous from the first form right through to the upper sixth.

But Lattymer-Smith’s revelation, that he had what might best be described as a virgin arse, was just the most delicious piece of news. for the Head-Boy,  He had seen, during the dummy run, what a splendid pair of buttocks his fag had; and he was already becoming hard at the thought of being able the bring a dose of reality to the boy.  “Well Lattymer-Smith, you are the first new boy I have ever met who has not had an encounter with the cane prior to his arrival at Ollerton School.  And I can tell you that most of your classmates who have arrived here via Ollerton Grange, which is the main prep school for Ollerton, are intimately familiar with the therapeutic benefits of the cane; Ollerton Grange is just as strict as we are here at Ollerton; and the cane and birch are in daily use there as they are here. So young man, unless you are an utter angel and make no mistakes, a highly improbable eventuality, I am afraid that you will have to come to terms with the fact that your hitherto virgin arse is in for a rude awakening as it joins the real world: the real world of Ollerton School that is; where boys’ backsides are frequently subject to, let us call it, corrective therapy.”

“You know, Lattymer-Smith, I think that the sooner you become acquainted with the beneficial effects of a well beaten arse, the better it will be for you. I quite understand your fear of the cane and the first time is always a frightening experience; but rest assured, Lattymer-Smith; I, as your fag-master and Head-Boy of the school, I will be here personally guide you over this difficult first step, if and when the occasion arises; in fact, let me reassure you that it will be I who will administer your first caning, which I will do with care and consideration. Now I don’t want you to get the idea that I would somehow let you off lightly, for that would lead to untold problems with your classmates; and I am sure  you would not wish to feel that being in the privileged position of fagging for me,  you were somehow being let-off lightly for your misdemeanours.  But what I will do is to tell the other prefects that I alone as your fag-master and Head-Boy am allowed to punish you.” Note that the word punish rather than the hitherto correct had crept in and was now being used by Mottram.

“Believe me, Lattymer-Smith, once you have had your arse well beaten, you will feel much more at ease with your classmates and they will accept you as one of them. The longer you maintain your virgin status, the longer your classmates will think you a sissy; what you need is a well beaten arse with some really good stripes of the cane, which you can show to your classmates.  That, you will see, is the best passport to acceptance as a true Ollertonian  Now, it will inevitably be a painful experience for you; it always is for anyone; but you will survive and in spite of your fear, you will live to see another day; and in all probability to experience other beatings during your coming years at Ollerton. The cane applied across a boy’s naked arse is all part of the experience of being educated at Ollerton, which prides itself on turning out true English gentlemen, worthy of the places they will occupy in British society. Yes, Lattymer-Smith, Ollerton is an elitist establishment and is proud of it; and I myself am proud to be able to do my bit to ensure that standards are maintained. I myself was beaten many times as a first and second former and occasionally with the senior cane, right up to the fifth form and I don’t think I am any the worse for it.”

It was unclear what exactly the purpose of this long and pompous monologue was, but it certainly did nothing to allay the fears that the poor fag had for his tender backside.  By the time he had finished listening to Mottram he was inwardly trembling with fear for his arse; fear which Mottram’s remarks had done nothing to allay; quite the contrary in fact as Lattymer-Smith felt totally uncertain about what was to happen next. I think we can safely conclude that after listening to this pompous and spine tingling exposition, Lattymer-Smith thought what I am sure our readers think; in a word Mottram was a right bastard and an utter prick.

Mottram then knocked a final nail into the coffin of uncertainty and fear which he had been building up: “Well, Lattymer-Smith; I think than we can stop there for this evening, which I have found very enlightening and I hope that you have found it the same. So, before you go off to your dorm, let me just remind you of your early morning tasks to start your first full day as my fag. You will bring me my shaving water at seven-fifteen and my breakfast at seven-thirty and then you will make my bed and lay out my clothes for the day.  Now remember I value punctuality so do not be late.  I shall overlook your late arrival this evening, for the time being, (the fag noted the words for the time being; so his lateness was not forgotten; but would it be forgiven?) and also the fact that we have both had to strain your miserable attempt at making cocoa through our front teeth to catch the unmixed cocoa powder.  Both of these mistakes alone justify a little correction; So, just see that you do better tomorrow. Now, unless you have any questions you are free to go.”

CHAPTER 4

The poor fag left and went back to the dorm where he hardly knew his fellows.  One thing was clear; he had a real martinet as a fag-master and as sure as eggs are eggs, his arse would be feeling the gentle caress of the cane before very long; he shuddered at the thought.  Then the twelve young lads who were bunking together, talked for a while to try to get to know one another.  One lad, Bryan Newburn, had already got on the wrong side of his fag-master and pulled his pants down to show his school-mates the six parallel welts, now turning from red to blue, which he had been given across his backside; and this on the evening before the term actually started! It was clear to all of them, that the cane was to be an important factor in their lives at Ollerton.

Lattymer-Smith went to bed feeling very uncertain and fearful of what the next day, his first day as the Head-Boy’s fag, might bring.  He ran over his mind the key points of what Mottram had called the protocol to make sure that he knew what he had to do.  The next morning he was up, washed and dressed very early and went along to the kitchen to fetch the shaving water for his fag-master. Alas the young lad had not realised that he needed to take hot water and he arrived at Mottram’s quarters with a jug of cold water at seven twenty; five minutes late to boot. 

Mottram gave his fag a withering look and said: “I thought I told you to be here at seven fifteen sharp and here you are five minutes late already. Lattymer-Smith; I told you yesterday evening that I expect absolute punctuality and here you are five minutes late on your very first day as my fag.  Not a very good start is it, boy? And what on earth is this you have brought me? Surely you know that a gentleman needs hot water with which to shave. Go and get me some hot water and be quick about it; and then get on making my breakfast as you have to catch up on lost time. And don’t forget when you have served my breakfast you have my bed to make and my clothes to lay out.”

The poor fag felt absolutely awful and fearful of what might happen to him. So he rushed back to the kitchen and came back a few minutes later with the requisite hot water.  A few minutes late only, he arrived with the tea and toast together with two boiled eggs which comprised Mottram’s breakfast. But things were not right for Mottram: indeed they were not:  “Where is the marmalade, Lattymer-Smith; surely you know that a gentleman always takes a piece of toast and marmalade to complete his breakfast. What have you done with it boy? Surely you saw it on my shelf in the kitchen; do I have to spell out absolutely everything to you?”

Now this was the first the fag had heard mention of either the marmalade or its location, so he rushed back to the kitchen found the missing marmalade on what he supposed was Mottram’s shelf and brought it back to him. Mottram, who, of course, had decided to adopt a fault finding attitude towards his fag, as he had every intention of introducing his fag’s arse to the cane that very evening, said:  “Well, go on, boy, don’t stand there looking at me; I know how to eat my breakfast. Get on with things; go and make the bed and lay out my clothes as I told you; and make sure that it is all neat so that I can dress properly. And don’t forget to check my second pair of shoes in the bottom of the wardrobe. I wore them yesterday and they probably need cleaning. And as I told you, I want gleaming shoes; shoes I can see my face in; so make sure that you polish them properly.  Now for goodness sakes; get on with things otherwise you will have no time to go and have breakfast yourself and I wouldn’t want you dropping from starvation during morning classes. Oh, and before I forget, the four other House Captains will be coming here to tea this afternoon at four thirty. So make sure that you are on time with that. And make some decent toast and see that butter and jam are available.”

Lattymer-Smith went to get his breakfast feeling very uneasy about his immediate future. So far nothing he had done for Mottram had been right. And to add to this morning’s disasters the fact that he had been late the previous evening and made a mess of the cocoa made him even more nervous.  This nervous state was not in any way helped by the fact that in the very first class that morning, mathematics, taken by a dynamic, muscular young teacher who wielded his cane with vigour, two of his classmates had been called up to the front for talking and given three vicious cuts of the cane across the seat of their pants.  “If I have any more disturbance,”  he said to the class, “The offenders will have an appointment with me in my study at morning break and let me just assure them it will not be three across their pants but six on the bare that they will get.” It was all very frightening for someone who had never experienced corporal punishment in any form, to have the cane, like the sword of Damocles, hanging threateningly over his head.

That afternoon, he tried to be punctual and to make and serve the tea to the five senior prefects; but sod’s law intervened and everything which could go wrong did so.  Poor Lattymer-Smith, who had no idea at all how to do any of the menial tasks which were now his lot, underestimated totally the time needed for the kettle to boil, so that he was already five minutes late in making the tea. Then he managed to burn the toast, which was made on the open fire in the boys’ kitchen, with the bread skewered on a toasting fork.  Another fag, more adept at the culinary arts than he was, suggested that he scrape off the burned bits and put the slices upside down so that no one (a fond but forlorn hope) would notice. Then where was the butter?  There did not seem to be any on Mottram’s shelf, where he found just a jar of strawberry jam. So he had to beg butter from one of his fellow fags.  All in all the whole business was a disaster before he carried the tray, some ten minute late into Mottram’s study, where he and is co-prefects were already installed and waiting.

Does one have to say that from there on, matters went from bad to worse?  Mottram was in a foul mode due to the later arrival of the tea. “I said four o’clock not ten past he growled. Go on, Lattymer-Smith; now that you are finally here, get on and serve the tea.” So the fag poured out five cups of tea only to realise that there was neither milk nor sugar to hand; he had forgotten them.  So off he had to rush back to the kitchen to retrieve the missing items. Then, of course when he added the milk to the by now cooling tea, he discovered that he had filled the cups too full and the tea slopped over into the saucers.  One of Mottram’s co-prefects, the House-Captain of Devon House, said laconically: “You know Mottram, I don’t know what your fag used to cut this toast, but it’s too thick; did he use an axe do you suppose? And to boot the stuff is burned. If he were my fag I’d have him arse naked across a chair right away and give him six stingers; truly I would.  He really is beyond the pale and needs to be taught a lesson.”

With this chilling recommendation, Mottram indicated to his fag that he should leave the disaster area and that he and his guests would serve themselves from there on. As Lattymer-Smith crept miserably out of the room, Mottram pronounced what amounted to the death sentence. “This evening, Lattymer-Smith, I want you back here at eight sharp and I when I say eight I mean eight; you and I will review your performance to date and decide on what action is called for. Have I made myself clear, boy?” 

Lattymer-Smith’s heart fell through his boots at this pronouncement. What action is called called for! One did not have to be a genius to read between the lines; he knew full well that his arse was on schedule for its first beating. The rest of the day was ruined for the fag; he was unable to concentrate on the afternoon classes and was twice told to pay attention. He hardly managed to eat his supper, thinking about what what was in store for him a short time later. He was, in vulgar modern parlance, what we would describe as almost shitting bricks.

Punctually at eight he knocked on the door of Mottram’s study and entered; he was bracing himself for the dreaded review and its inevitable sequel, but he found himself witness to a totally unexpected scene.  He decided that he should withdraw and let Mottram finish the task in which he was presently engaged; but Mottram said to him: “So finally, Lattymer-Smith, you have managed to arrive on time; come in and join us; this will be a very instructive moment for you.”

Lattymer-Smith found himself confronted by a pair of muscular naked buttocks bent over the very chair over which he himself had bent in his dummy run the previous evening.  This arse belonged to a member of the upper sixth,  a boy in his final year called Harris; and one did not need not need to be a clairvoyant to see what was about to happen. Mottram was already brandishing the senior cane in his right hand and it was quite clear that this inviting pair of well rounded young buns as yet in totally pristine condition, were about to be subject to a dose of what is pompously called corporal chastisement; in a word, Mottram was going to thrash the living daylights out of the boy; but for what reason?

“Lattymer-Smith; what you see before you here is the naked backside of a sixth former, one William Harris, whom I personally caught smoking in the lavatories this afternoon; just after that disastrous tea, which I am sure you will recollect you had served. Now, for your information, the Headmaster has decreed that all smoking, even by boys who are aged eighteen, to which category our friend Harris here counts, is forbidden and has vowed to eliminate what is considered a foul habit. He has therefore made it mandatory for any boy, including boys in the upper sixth, caught smoking, to be given twelve strokes of the cane across their naked bottoms. And that, Lattymer-Smith, is what you are now going to have the pleasure of witnessing: Harris taking a twelve cut arse beating.”

Now schoolboys being schoolboys, although never ever wishing to feel the cane on their own flesh, have, nevertheless a morbid curiosity and take a certain erotic pleasure in watching their schoolmates being punished. While they would never dream of splitting on one of their classmates and land him a beating, nevertheless if there is an opportunity to watch one of their members have his naked arse thrashed, then given half chance, there are always plenty of willing onlookers. The German concept of Schadenfreude – pleasure at the discomfort of others – is ever latently present and it does not require much to arouse it. It is a fact that watching someone else get his arse shredded with the cane is a very erotic experience for the observers who more often than not find that they are moved by what they see; well to call a spade a spade, they find that their cocks, over which they have no control whatsoever, become aroused by the spectacle; and that goes for lads as young as twelve.

Now what Mottram was offering, or better put, obliging, Lattymer-Smith to witness, was a truly rare occurrence.  Here was a new boy on his first day at the school, being give the chance to witness what was clearly going to be a serious thrashing; and Lattymer-Smith being human  with all its associated failings, would probably have enjoyed enormously watching this senior boy being beaten.  But the occasion was completely spoiled for him by the fact, as he knew all too well, that once this thrashing was over and done with and the delinquent youth sent on his way to lick his wounds, he would, in all probability, find himself, arse naked across that very same chair, waiting to be treated to a dose of his own personal cane. Personal cane or not, this was not a very appealing prospect and it certainly took the edge of any vicarious pleasure he might have had in watching Mottram thrash someone else’s arse.

But there he was; obliged to stand and watch Mottram, his fag-master, beat William Harris’s naked arse black and blue.  Although it was clear that the pleasure he might have experienced watching a sixth former get his arse shredded would have been greater had the circumstances been different, watching Mottram in action was really very instructive; it showed him the truly brutal and sadistic side to Mottram’s character. Once Mottram had finished beating his present target, it was quite clear to Lattymer-Smith that his fag-master belonged to that category of men who are not as nice as they look.

Mottram had taken off his coat prior to commencing the beating.  He started his task by positioning the cane in the exact centre of the two invitingly pristine globes he was about to thrash. He then tapped a few times gently on the expectant flesh before moving up and down the boy’s naked arse, as if marking out where he would deliver the twelve  strokes.  He moved right down the buttocks to the sensitive sit-spot, for which he reserved three cuts.  Finally, satisfied with his preparatory labours, he returned to the centre of the target, raised the cane well above his head and brought it down with unerring accuracy and force.  The victim drew a sharp breath but otherwise remained silent and immobile. Lattymer-Smith himself winced as the cane mated for the first time with the naked flesh, with its inimitable sound; a sound with which in the coming months he would become horribly familiar. 

The stroke had been delivered with maximum force and a clearly marked red welt appeared almost immediately.  Mottram paused for some ten seconds before applying the second stroke, which was placed with parallel precision just above the first welt. Then he proceeded to apply the cane alternately below and above that first central stroke, each time achieving great accuracy. As the caning continued, the protests of the victim became ever more strident until, after the sixth stroke, he cried out in extreme pain begging Mottram to stop; but his pleas were to no avail and Mottram went steadily on; as stroke after stinging stroke cracked down on Harris’s bare arse.

He finally paused and said to his fag: “Lattymer-Smith, there is a great art to beating and I am now going to show you the final strokes, which I always reserve for the lower buttocks: the place on which you  sit. This is the most sensitive place on a boy’s arse and I usually give it three strokes to ensure that the miscreant cannot sit down comfortably. I can tell you that well applied, as I now intend them to be, Harris will find it painful to sit down for at least two and possibly three days. The objective in punishing Harris for his misbehaviour is twofold; too teach him a painful lesson; but also to leave him with a very sore arse which will remind him for several days of why he has been punished. What you are now looking at Lattymer-Smith is what we in this school call a well beaten arse.”

With this, Mottram indicated to Harris, who was by now, in spite of his age, in tears, to get up from the chair and dress himself. He indicated to his victim that he should replace the chair against the wall and hang the cane again on hook on door. He then shook hands with a very tearful boy, who, knowing the required form said: “Thank you  Mottram, for correcting me.” He then left.

This unexpected bloodbath completely unnerved Lattymer-Smith who now was standing in front of Mottram’s desk behind which the Head-Boy, his coat now replaced, was formally sitting.  The room was neat and tidy and the beating chair and cane had been replaced in their normal positions.  It was clear that Mottram loved the formality of the entire procedure.  Lattymer-Smith, stood trembling with fear before his fag-master. What he had just witnessed had been a frightening experience and he prayed to himself that Mottram would not be as vicious with him as he had just been with Harris. But like many lads before him, Lattymer-Smith had been aroused by what he had seen;  he now found himself in the embarrassing position of been having to stand in front of his fag-master sporting a real which was pushing the crotch of his pants forward in what is usually referred to as the tent postion.

“Now to you, Lattymer-Smith; I presume that you have divined why I have called you here this evening.  To say the very least, your fagging has been most unsatisfactory: indeed, not to put too fine a point on it, totally unsatisfactory, in fact. I know it’s your first day, but I am afraid I believe in quick corrective action. To leave things as they are, is to see them go rapidly from bad to worse; that has always been my view.”  Lattymer-Smith’s already sunken heart sank still further, if that was possible. “Now I think can say that I am a fair man, (a qualityc which many who knew him did not share) but looking at your efforts to date, I have to say that I am disappointed; in fact, very disappointed in you. You are unpunctual and everything you have done so far apart from laying out clothes has been a disaster.”

From then on, Mottram went on to list in minute detail all the points on which which we know Lattymer-Smith had failed in his duties.  By the time he had finished berating (it was not a review, but a verbal battering) Lattymer-Smith, naming all the errors he had made, the poor boy was almost in tears. “And so, Lattymer-Smith, I am left with no alternative but to – and  here now came that hateful word –  correct you, as things cannot be allowed to continue on their present path.  Pass me your cane, if you please.”

The terrified fag went across to the door and took down a junior cane, which he handed to Mottram, placed it on his desk and looked up at his fag. “Lattymer-Smith; can you ever get anything right the first time? What exactly is this you have given me? I showed you yesterday your own personal cane, labelled with the words, Fag’s Cane. Now what you have handed me here is the general purpose junior cane. Lattymer-Smith you really do have to pay attention and get things right. Now, replace this cane and please and pass me the correct one; your own personal cane!”

The fag, did as he was asked but now was in such a state of shock that he was outwardly trembling with uncontrollable fear, which increased in intensity with each passing moment.  “Lattymer-Smith, as you saw earlier, I am authorized to give twelve cuts of the cane, but as it is your first day I am going to be lenient with you and give you only six strokes.”

The fag stood motionless in front of the desk. The sentence had been passed; his arse was going to be beaten and there was nothing –  nothing at all –  he could do to avoid it. It was a horrible moment; he just remained motionless.  “Lattymer-Smith. why are you still standing here in front of me? You know the protocol; you know exactly what is required of you now; so just get on with it.”  But the fag was in such a state of shock after all that he had just witnessed and the thought of what was about to happen to him, that Mottram had to remind him of the next steps. “Get over there boy and put the chair in the correct position as I showed you yesterday evening. Then take of your coat, drop your pants and let me see your naked arse across the chair.  Come on, boy; get on with it before I lose my temper.”

Finally, Lattymer-Smith was in position, his naked buns offered up for sacrifice with Mottram standing over him, the cane now at the ready.  Mottram looked down at the white untouched flesh of his fag  and said: “You know, Lattymer-Smith, this is a unique occasion;  you are going to experience the first beating of your virgin arse and it is going to be given by a virgin cane: your own personal cane: a cane which will be used uniquely to correct you during this, your first week and your first year at Ollerton; this is indeed a unique honour.”

Lattymer-Smith cared not one iota for the honour which was so graciously being bestowed on him; and it mattered not at all to him what cane was to be used to beat his arse. All that worried him now, as he remained bent across they chair with his naked bum sticking up into the air, was whether or not he would he be able to stand the pain which he was about to suffer and not break down in front of his bullying fag-master; for let’s be quite clear about this; for all his fine manners, Mottram was an inveterate, died-in-the-wool bully.

Mottram looked at the backside he was about to thrash and thought what a delicious prospect this was. Much as he had enjoyed (and yes; enjoyed was the right word, though really inadmissible) thrashing Harris, the sixth former, there was something supremely erotic about initiating a young, virgin arse to the discipline of the the cane; additionally, this delightful pair of young buttocks were his and his alone to thrash for the rest of the year. There was no way that Mottram had any intention of sharing the delights offered by Lattymer-Smith’s arse with anyone else; except of course with a master, who could thrash (and did) any boy whenever he wished.  And make no mistake; Mottram was now intent on giving that tender white mound a gloriously vigorous initiation to the rigours of the cane. 

When Mottram beat arse, there was no question of holding back; Lattymer-Smith’s naked arse was about to have a baptism of fire. Mottram was acutely aware as he stood there, cane in hand, that his cock was already becoming quite hard between his legs.  Looking at Lattymer-Smith’s naked buns raised other longings way and beyond the pleasure that thrashing his arse was about to give him; but he banished such thoughts from his head as far as exercising them on Lattymer-Smith’s arse was concerned. 

Like many young men at public school, cut off from female company, Mottram regularly indulged in officially forbidden homosexual acts with many of his contemporaries.  Ollerton was no different from other public schools.  Buggery, anal intercourse, butt fucking, call it what you will, was officially strictly forbidden but quietly tolerated. It was rife among the final year boys, all of whom were eighteen years of age, but who took great care not to get caught in the act, which inevitably led to a severe public birching by the Headmaster, Dr. Redvers-Grex.  And Head-Boy, Mottram was not in any way immune from the temptations of illicit male sex, which he enjoyed with a number of different partners in the upper sixth.

So, Mottram after giving his fag one final piece of advice to relax his buttocks and sit back and enjoy the experience, began the pleasurable task – for himself that is – of  showing his fag exactly how a well beaten arse was created. The beating may well have been a pleasure for Mottram, but poor Lattymer-Smith really did not get much enjoyment out of having his arse shredded.  Mottram did not hold back at all and when he had finished, Lattymer-Smith’s hitherto virgin arse, in every sense of the word, was sporting six, beautifully applied, parallel cuts and looked pretty impressive.  Impressive it may have been to the beholder; but the owner of the arse himself was in absolute agony. Even the junior cane, when wielded by an expert, which Mottram most certainly was, delivered the most excruciating pain.  To his credit, Lattymer-Smith had managed to retain his composure until the very last stroke and had made all the right responses after every stroke, asking repeatedly for another. When he finally was told to stand up, and pull his pants back on, he shook Mottram by the hand, thanked him for the correction and left the study without a single tear showing in his eye.

Once outside the study however, he broke down and wept, massaging his flaming bum to try to ease the pain. It was ten times worse than anything he had been able to imagine, but it was finally over. He tried to think how he would face his fag-master tomorrow morning, when he again was confronted with tasks at which he was not really adept. But he would learn. The thrashing he had just taken had already taught him that he had to be tough to survive in the cane happy environment of Ollerton and he was determined to do so; so now to the totally hypocritical cocoa drinking ritual with his fag-master. Lattymer-Smith’s most fervent hope was that he would make that wretched coca powder behave and dissolve correctly in the milk and not give his fag-master another cause for complaint.

That evening in the showers before bed, his arse attracted the admiration of all his class-mates. Mottram was a very proficient but also artistic wielder of the cane, and Lattymer-Smith’s six stripes were perfectly parallel and even, and were already turning a rich reddish-purple. Suddenly he realised that the pain apart, which had been truly awful, he had now somehow arrived at Ollerton: he felt he belonged there; he now felt completely at ease. And so ended the first tumultuous day at Ollerton School for our friend Timothy Lattymer-Smith.

But just to conclude this part of the story; the act of thrashing  Lattymer-Smith’s virgin arse had so aroused Mottram, who true to his nickname, the Whacking Wanker, now desperately needed to relieve the sexual tension that an evening of beating boys’  arses had built up inside  him.  His cock was now rock-hard and in a stage of precum and he was just  about to lock his study door and retire to his bathroom to jerk himself off, when a knock came at the door and his closest friend  David Cromby, a Scots lad, entered. Like Mottram, Cromby was in the upper sixth and aged eighteen.

“I saw your new fag limping away down the the corridor in tears a moment ago so I guess you have just thrashed him. So knowing how you get when you have been wielding the cane, I thought you might just be in need of, how shall I put tactfully, a little stimulative therapy yourself.”

Cromby and Mottram., it has to be explained, were regular sex partners: in fact very regular sex partners; their relationship went well beyond the one of just buggering the other.  It had developed into a deeply affectionate superficially homosexual relationship, with neither boy really knowing what his exact sexual inclinations were. But for the moment, stuck together as they were in a boys’ school with no female company around, they each enjoyed the other’s bodies and fucked one another very regularly. So Mottram’s nickname might well have been more appropriate had it been the Whacking Buttfucker, for it was, of course, for sex that Cromby had come looking for Mottram.

“Cromby, you arsehole of a friend,” laughed Mottram, “Let me put it you bluntly rather than tactfully; at this moment you are a gift from heaven as yes, I am really in need of a good hard fuck as I am sure you are too; but then, when are you ever not? So if that’s what you want; just lock the door and let’s get started; but let’s get one thing quite straight; I get first fuck.” And that is is precisely what the two young men did.

CHAPTER 5 $$$

As already mentioned, the  Headmaster of Ollerton in the year 1900, was a man called Clarence Mortimer Redvers-Grex DD. Dr. Redvers-Grex was a classicist from Oxford who after graduating from The House (Christ Church College) in Greats (Greek and Roman history, and literature and philosophy), had then gone on and taken a Doctorate in Divinity. He had never been ordained, however, and consequently did not wear the customary dog collar of that calling.

Redvers-Grex had been appointed Headmaster of Ollerton at the very young age of thirty, in the year 1890; so that at time of our story he was now forty years old. In the ten years as head of the school, he had ruled with a rod of iron; or more exactly put; with a fine selection of best quality Malaccan rattan canes, complemented by a weekly supply of fresh birches, fashioned to his very precise specification by one, Mr. Travers, the head gardener.  So it can be said that Dr. Redvers-Grex was a great believer in the old adage: Spare the rod and spoil the boy. And so, since his appointment, the rod had reigned supreme at Ollerton. All the masters and senior prefects were authorised to thrash their charges and Dr. Redvers-Grex himself was one of the greatest exponents of the fine but not-so-gentle-art of beating boys’ arses; not only did he thrash boys on a regular basis, but he was generally reckoned by those who had had the benefit of being corrected by him as being a bloody killer with the cane. It has to be said that the Headmaster enjoyed this part of his job immensely, finding it homo-erotically very satisfying.  Dr. Redvers-Grex was a bachelor and, unless you have not already guessed, was like so many men of his profession, a practising homosexual.

His friends wondered what his motivation had been to enrol in the Divinity School; for in spite of his present status as a Doctor of Divinity, he was not a particularly devout man.  Ollerton, like all schools of its type, had a chapel, where Redvers-Grex took the service on Sunday mornings, which all boys were obliged to attend. And, like pretty well all schools in the United Kingdom at that period, he conducted the daily school assembly, Monday to Friday, at which the boys said a prayer, sang a hymn and listened to – and sometimes, but only rarely, understood the significance of – the biblical text for the day, which was followed by the day’s announcements. For some reason between Friday and Sunday, Saturday had somehow been forgotten in the religion stakes and there was, therefore, no outward manifestation of worship that day.

Our friend, Lattymer-Smith, having been educated at home by a private tutor, arrived at the school in autumn of 1900 and was, at first, somewhat of a lost soul at Ollerton.  He had no experience, at all, of any form of communal life. To be thrown in, as he had been, at the deep end and find himself sleeping in a dormitory with eleven classmates had been as agreeable as jumping into a bath of ice-coldwater. Knuckling down to the academic discipline, of sitting in a classroom with a group of other boys, all of whom had previously experienced the joys and rigours of a prep school education, was not an easy task either. The omnipresent threat of the cane, which was in regular use in all classes at Ollerton, did not make for an easy life for young Lattymer-Smith. But to top it all, his undoubted good looks had earned him the glance of the Head Boy, who had chosen him as his fag. And so he had found himself plunged into a world hitherto completely foreign to him.

As the Head Boy’s fag, he had found himself, from the very first day  at the beck and call of his fag-master, expected to perform any  number of menial tasks; tasks with which he was totally unfamiliar and had really no clear idea how to execute properly. To top it all, his fag-master, Mottram, the Head Boy had turned out to be somewhat of a bully; he had very exacting demands and standards which he expected his fag to carry out both punctually and correctly.  It is not surprising, therefore, that on the evening of his first day at school, having passed what can but be qualified as a disastrous day attempting to satisfy his fag-master, he had found himself, arse naked across a chair, taking a six stroke beating from his lord and master, Mottram.

For a boy aged thirteen who hitherto had never ever felt the tender caress of the rod against his naked flesh, this was a baptism of fire into the realities of life at Ollerton. The only positive thing coming out of his was that when he went to bed that evening, his room-mates had commiserated with him and greatly admired his stripes. The beating had raised him to a sort of heroic level and he was, from that moment on, one of them.  That the beating had had a profound effect on Lattymer-Smith, of that there was no doubt. For the next few weeks, he managed to perform his fag-master’s tasks to his satisfaction and avoided any further encounters with the cane.  But the dreaded cane was always lurking somewhere, looking for victims; it was a completely insatiable animal and one way or another it had to be fed.

And so it was that at the end of his first month at Ollerton that Lattymer-Smith, to his profound dismay, found himself with an invitation (actually it was an order) to deliver himself one Friday evening at eight to the Headmaster’s study. Such invitations meant only one thing: a beating from the Headmaster himself.

The Headmaster, Dr. Redvers-Grex, as has already been remarked was a great believer in the beneficial effects of corporal punishment on his charges and an invitation to visit him in his study was considered by the boys as something to be avoided like the plague. His interventions with the cane and the birch on the naked arses of those summoned to attend were legendary. Limited only by the school regulations, which restricted the maximum number of strokes to twenty four, Dr. Redvers-Grex rarely gave less than twelve cuts, which was a figure he himself considered as par for the course. However, when dealing with older boys, he frequently upped his offering to eighteen, eye-wateringly stinging strokes of the cane.  It is safe to say that any boy who had visited the Headmaster’s study always left there with a well roasted arse.

Although the prefects were generally considered to be harder caners than the masters, Dr. Redvers-Grex was the exception which proved the rule. By common agreement among the boys, Redvers-Grex was considered in a class of his own when it came to doling out punishment. In his own way, he could have been considered like that great, sweet, French wine, Chateau d’Yquem, which, when in the nineteenth century the top wines of Bordeaux were classified in the order of their quality, was considered so divinely sublime that it was given the title of “Grand Cru Hors de Classe”. And that is exactly what Dr. Redvers-Grex was; hors de classe: in a class of his own. He had so perfected the art of delivering intensely excruciating pain with the cane and the birch, that no one was his equal.   He had, over his years as Headmaster, with constant application and devotion, developed techniques for handling the cane, which were quite unique and are worth describing before we actually see him in action.

As an Oxford undergraduate, Redvers-Grex had been a blue. He had been his college’s finest lawn tennis player and in inter-college matches he almost invariably beat his opponent. In his final year, he was considered as being one of the top two players at Oxford.  And it was precisely from his skill at tennis, where he was equally at home in making smashing deliveries both forehand and backhand, that he had gone on to develop a very special style with both cane and birch, when he indulge in what was to become one of his favourite pastimes as Headmaster: beating boys’ naked arses.

When a boy is to be beaten, he is usually bent over the back of a chair or special punishment horse, or stretched across a desk. A right- handed tormentor then positions himself at his victim’s left side, so that he can address his target, to wit the lad’s backside, from the right. On the other hand a left-handed person would normally stand to the right of his target so that he could, being left-handed, address the target arse from the left.  In both cases, the most comfortable position allows the person wielding the cane to place his cuts accurately on the target arse.  If the average, right-handed person tries to adopt the reverse position he usually finds it awkward, as an effective stroke can really only be delivered back-hand; and back-handed strokes are notoriously more difficult to place accurately.  And make no mistake; the accurate placement of the strokes coupled with the force of application are the keys to producing that much desired result, a well beaten arse.

Now Redvers-Grex, thanks to his prowess at tennis, was equally at home in delivering  strokes either forehand or backhand, which had led him to two variants on the normal beating procedure, both of which produced superior, more painful results. As an inveterate flagellator, he had studied very closely, the way a cane impacted on a boy’s naked buttocks. With the objective in mind to inflict he maximum pain with each stroke, he had reached the conclusion that the best results were obtained by using fairly thin Malacca rattan canes with closely spaced leaf nodes so that there were lots of inter-nodal knobbles – always a desirable, pain-enhancing feature – visible along its length. The free end of a junior cane, some thirty three inches long, when brought down smartly on a boy’s awaiting arse, would wrap itself around the far side of his side of his buttocks, thereby ensuring that not only the backside but also that flank benefitted  from the chastisement. Then by addressing the target arse from the other side, the same effect could be achieved on the other buttock.  A beating by Dr. Redvers-Grex always ensured that a boy’s buttocks and flanks were richly striped with painful welts.

For the senior cane, he had decided to remain with the same slender calibre but to increase the length to thirty six inches. The additional three inches provided the required extra force when cane landed on its older, more muscular target.  As it was only the buttock globe further from the person wielding the rod, which received this wrap round effect, to achieve what the Headmaster considered a well beaten arse, he administered six strokes from each side: six forehand and six backhand. And this is where Redvers-Grex scored above other masters. Thanks to his skill at tennis he was equally at home in either mode. When he had finished with a twelve stroke beating, the unlucky recipient left his study with a flamingly painful backside wondering if he would ever be able to sit down comfortably again. With twelve well-placed strokes, Redvers-Grex could deliver an excruciatingly painful arse to its owner over its entire surface; there was no point free of pain by the time he had finished. No one was his equal, as many boys who had had the doubtful pleasure of experiencing a beating from the Headmaster could testify.

CHAPTER 6

It was the Friday morning assembly at the end of the first month of term; the hymn was sung; the lesson for the day was read; the prayer was said and Dr. Redvers-Grex was making his announcements.  Now at every Friday Assembly there was a moment of tension when the Headmaster announced the names of those boys whom he wished to see that evening at eight o’clock in his study, These innocuous sounding words sent a frisson of fear coursing through the veins of pretty well every boy listening, for they meant that the those summoned to attend were to receive a beating that evening in atonement for whatever sins, real or imaginary, they had committed during the week.  Now on this particular Friday, Timothy Lattymer-Smith was not perturbed as the announcement was made for he thought he had a completely clean slate. 

The Headmaster intoned the first two names: “I wish to see Thompson and Cartwright, both of the upper sixth; together please, in my study at eight sharp this evening. And I see that I have today, only one other name on my list. (Was there a note of disappointment in his voice?) Lattymer-Smith I would also like you to attend at eight this evening. You would oblige me, gentlemen, by being punctual and it would facilitate the proceedings if you would wear just your gym strips; please comply with this request.”

As he heard his name announced, a release of adrenalin shot immediately through Lattymer-Smith’s body; he went hot and cold all over, started trembling with fear and suddenly had an urgent need to take a pee. It is quite amazing the shock that those few simple words gave to his system. As far as he was aware, he had done nothing to warrant a Friday evening visit to the Headmaster’s study; a visit which everyone understood meant a thrashing administered by the good Doctor himself. Even after only one month at Ollerton, Lattymer-Smith was already acutely aware of what was likely to happen to him that evening. But what had he done to be summoned to see the Headmaster?  He had no idea: none at all. Could it be that it was all a horrible mistake and that he would receive a message telling him not to attend?

But no; he spent a very uneasy day wondering what was going to happen to him. He barely ate his lunch and supper as he had totally lost his appetite; it truly was a very nerve-wracking day for him. Things were not made any easier by the gratuitous “encouraging” remarks he received from his classmates:  “Old Redvers-Grex takes the skin of boys’ bums once he gets them into his study.”  Or: “He just goes on and on until he draws blood.” Or: “Sometimes he uses the birch if he thinks that the cane is not enough.” Or: “He rubs salt into the wounds he has made to avoid infection.” 

You can well imagine the sort of effect that remarks like these had on the poor lad.  If the aim of his classmates was to terrify him, then they had succeeded admirably.  There was nothing particularly malicious in these remarks; like most boys of their age, they had a morbid curiosity to know what was to happen to their classmate; and there was always that ever present undertone of Schadenfreude which prompted them to make matters psychologically worse for the victim, by their unwarranted remarks; none of which had any basis in fact. By the time he had picked at his supper, Lattymer-Smith saw the Headmaster in his mind’s eye, as a beating machine; someone who took in the likes of him and used them as cannon fodder.  Not surprisingly, therefore, he was quaking in his boots as he donned the requisite gym strip and made his way to the Headmaster’s study.

As he arrived at the door of the Headmaster’s study, he saw that the other two condemned men, Thompson and Cartwright were already there, waiting to be called inside to meet their fate. Thompson asked him what he had done to be on the Headmaster’s list that evening, to which Lattymer-Smith had to say that, in reality, he honestly did not know. To this Thompson replied: “Well don’t worry; it doesn’t really matter what you’ve done. The fact is that you are here for some reason or another, which the old boy will make apparent to you before he takes the skin off your naked arse with his cane.”

At that moment the door was flung open and a severe looking Dr. Redvers-Grex invited the two older youths to enter, saying to Lattymer-Smith:  “I’ll deal with these two offenders  first and come to you later.  Just stay where you are and wait until I tell you to enter.”

Lattymer-smith had no option but to stand around, increasingly nervous and await his fate.  The door was closed but he could hear the muffled voice of the Headmaster droning on for several minutes to be followed by a few moments of complete silence which were suddenly broken by the very audible and unmistakable sound: the crack of a cane mating with naked flesh, accompanied by a sharp yelp of pain.  But there is no need for the reader to be kept eavesdropping at the door, for we can go inside to see exactly what was taking place between Dr. Redvers-Grex and the two sixth formers.

Dr. Redvers-Grex looked grimly at Thompson and Cartwright as they entered the room. Unlike Lattymer-Smith, they were both fully aware of the offence which had brought them before the Headmaster. They had broken, and for Thompson it was the second time that year, one of the Headmaster’s most strict commandments: Thou shallt not smoke”.  Redvers-Grex lectured the two lads about the evils of smoking and drew Thompson’s attention to the fact that he had already been beaten, late the previous term, for having indulged in that same forbidden pleasure. And no, the fact that they were both eighteen and had a legal right to the fragrant weed played no part in what was allowed at Ollerton: smoking was strictly forbidden to all boys,  including those in the upper sixth;  and for those boys caught in flagrante: in the act,  it brought in its wake the severest of punishments. Thompson was also alert enough to realise that he was possibly in deeper trouble than his partner in crime as the Headmaster had already mentioned that this was the second time that he, Thompson, had broken the rule: an ominously menacing augury.

“And so, gentlemen, I have no alternative but to ask you to step out of your gym shorts and to ask each of you to bend across the back of one of the two chairs I have prepared for your attention.”  Dr. Redvers-Grex had placed the two chairs in a rather unusual arrangement.  It was not at all uncommon for masters and prefects at that period to punish two or more boys together, by making them bend over the backs of chairs placed in a row: seat to back. The caner than passed up and down the line, thrashing each arse as he did so. But today Redvers-Grex had placed the two chairs well apart, with their backs facing each other.  So when the young miscreants bent over for punishment, the observer was presented with a unique homoerotic spectacle of two sets of two muscular buttocks facing each other.

The moment of truth had finally arrived and the two young men, for upper sixth formers were already young men, did as bidden, stepped out of their shorts to display their well developed genitalia to the good Doctor.  Dr. Redvers-Grex went behind his desk to where he kept his canes in a tall antique oriental pot. After a slight hesitation he selected a well seasoned senior cane, richly knotted along its full length and very, very supple. It was precisely the sort of cane with which an experienced user, which he most certainly was, could impart, to any well presented arse, the most excruciatingly exquisite pain. He stood between the two lads; Thompson to his left; Cartwright to his right. He then swished the cane a few times through the air for effect and then applied himself in earnest to the job at hand: whacking the two naked arses presented to him.

The use of the cane in public schools of the period was a commonplace event, taking place more or less every day, as some poor lad bared his arse, bent across a chair and presented his buttocks for chastisement.  But in the hands of Dr. Redvers-Grex this was no ordinary event; for his skill at tennis was now transferred to the addressing of the awaiting naked flesh.  Standing as he was, between the two boys whose bare arses were awaiting the first stroke, he raised the cane well above his head and brought it down with great force, to land dead centre of Thompsons’s buttocks; and this without the usual tapping around at the target to decide where to start the onslaught.

As the stroke landed, Thompson felt as though he had had a red-hot poker laid across his naked flash and let out a howl of pain. But Dr. Redvers-Grex did not wait a second as he raised the cane again into the air and with exactly the same precision, brought it smashing down, this time in a backhand stroke, on the naked flesh of the unfortunate Cartwright.  Between each, let us call them twin strokse, he paused for some ten seconds to allow the delinquents fully to appreciate the effect of each cut. And then he continued with the next five strokes. Thompson took the full force of the cane forehand whilst Cartwright had the doubtful pleasure of appreciating the backhand skill of the Headmaster.

But neither lad was to be deprived of  experiencing the manuel dexterity of their Headmaster. After the sixth stroke, he repositioned himself in the opposite direction between the two lads, who were now both in absolute agony and had been reduced to tears. He then continued in exactly the same way, except that now with the new orientation, it was Cartwright who took the forehand and Thompson the backhand strokes.  I suppose we should consider this a subtle example of democracy and equality in action; but by now the two penitent young men were feeling too sorry for themselves to take note of any such delicate considerations. 

Any observer watching Dr. Redvers-Grex wielding the cane would have realised that this was a completely virtuoso performance of flagellation. When he had completed the twelve strokes, each lad sported what had to be described as a perfectly beaten arse.  With no special fuss, the Headmaster had achieved such perfect aim with each and every stroke that the lads each sported twelve, identical, evenly spaced, deep red welts across their backsides.  Dr. Redvers-Grex was in a class of his own when it came to using the cane and he and both the beaten young-men knew it.

“You may get up now, Cartwright; your punishment is now is finished.  But you, Thompson, kindly remain exactly as you are; I am far from done with you yet.”  Thompson shuddered inwardly wondering what on earth was now going to be visited upon him. He had not long to wait; the Headmaster went into a side-room off his main study, where he in fact kept the professionally made beating horse (of which more later) and emerged just a few moments later, a birch in hand. Cartwright was still standing there, naked from the waist down, his cock now more or less fully erect, looking down at his friend’s welted backside and wondering if his own raging arse looked the same; which, of course, it did, of course.

“ Cartwright; as you are before me for the first time this evening for a  first offence, I have been lenient with you and let you off lightly with only twelve cuts, as I did Thompson the first time. (Only twelve cuts; lenient? What then did “severe” look like?) I hope that you have learned your lesson and realise that the school rules are made to be obeyed; a fact which seems to have escaped your friend Thompson here, as he has gone on and repeated the same offence, which he knows is punishable by a beating.  And so, Thompson, as you are a recidivist, I have decided to bring home to you, in a very painful way, exactly what happens to boys who repeatedly break the rules. I am now going to give you six strokes of the birch to consolidate and reinforce the basic lesson which I hope you have this time learned via the cane.”

“Cartwright, if you would be so good as to help me, kindly put your hands on your friend’s shoulders and restrain him in his present position whilst I administer his additional punishment.  Normally when I birch a boy, it is in the room next door, where the proper birching stool has the necessary straps to restrain the unfortunate boy being punished; but as you are here, I think we can dispense with that on this occasion  So, if you please, Cartwright; hands in place and hold down your errant friend. And you, Thompson, kindly keep perfectly still whilst I finish your punishment.” 

Picture if you can the extraordinary situation. Two half naked young men; one, Thompson, bent over a chair, being held down by his close friend, waiting to have his already throbbing arse birched; and his friend, Cartwright who was bent over his  head, with his cock rock-hard and starting to exude precum due to the extremely homoerotic overtones of his extraordinary situation, more or less sticking in Thmpson’s face.  If Dr. Redvers-Grex had noticed any of this (which he had, of course) he gave no outward sign to either lad. He then said “Thompson; as I said; I am now going to give your six strokes of the birch, which by its very nature will ensure that the totality of your buttocks are evenly wracked with pain; an act I hope will finally teach you a lesson that the school rules are there to be obeyed.  If I have to deal with you yet again for a smoking offence, then I shall give you eighteen strokes of the birch. I hope that have made the situation clear to you.”

The Headmaster then went ahead and gave poor Thompson six severe cuts of the birch.  He rapidly turned what had been a pair of buttocks bearing twelve distinct stripes of the cane, which were already turning a rich purple colour, into a uniform field of small red cuts where the spreading fronds of the birch filled in the hitherto untouched areas clearly delineated by the precise strokes of the cane.  The Lord alone knows (and as we all know, the Lord is not a very communicative type) what Thompson felt as this horrible implement of punishment landed mercilessly on his already flaming arse. The poor lad was in utter agony; he wept like a child; and frankly, who could blame him? The punishment he had just received would have been qualified as thorough by Dr. Redvers-Grex, had he been asked his opinion.  Many others would have said that it had been brutal and excessive, which, frankly, it had.  But in that day and age, corporal punishment was often excessive. But the recipients just grinned and bore it; or possibly, which on reflection seems more probable;  just bore it without the grin.

But back in the corridor outside the Headmaster’s study, where Lattymer-Smith was still waiting whilst the two sixth formers took their punishment; he could hear through the door, the muffled sound of voices and then more clearly the thwack of the cane landing across naked flesh. He counted the strokes: twenty-four in all, in bouts of two rapidly applied cuts. This was followed by a short pause, with some more talking, after which here was a different sound accompanied again by cries of pain from whomever was receiving the punishment.

 Lattymer-Smith became increasingly nervous as he wondered what was in store for him; and he still had no idea why he was there. Suddenly the door opened and Thompson and Cartwright emerged, both furiously massaging their arses in an attempt to dissipate the pain which had clearly been inflicted on both of them.  Thompson looked at Lattymer-Smith and said: “You poor little sod! Redvers-Grex is on the warpath so God help you.” And so it was with these encouraging words that Lattymer Smith was left standing alone, waiting to be summoned before the Headmaster.

He waited alone, for about ten minutes more, before being called into the study. What had been the reason for this long delay? Well the simple fact of the matter was that Dr. Redvers-Grex himself was so sexually aroused by what had just happened in his study that he had had to retire for a few minutes to his bathroom to ease his own raging erection.  In a word, he went and jerked himself off to calm himself down before addressing the problems of young Lattymer-Smith; a task to which he was quite looking forward.

Lattymer-Smith finally found himself standing before the Headmaster who was sitting behind his desk. To put it bluntly, Dr. Redvers-Grex had what might best be described as that wrath of god look on his face: a look which boded ill for the boy.  In his hand was a monthly report sheet.  The boy stood trembling in front of the Headmaster, whom he had never, until this moment, actually met.  Redvers-Grex began: “Well Lattymer-Smith, I suppose you know why you are here in front of me this evening,” to which he received a negative reply. “Do you know what this is I am holding in my hand?” Again a blank response from Lattymer-Smith.  “This, my dear sir, is a copy of your first month’s progress report, put together by your teachers. You are, I suppose, aware that in this school, we follow each boy’s progress very closely on an individual basis as we are intent in providing all our pupils with a first class education; an education such as befits young gentlemen.  I suppose that you are familiar with the contents of this report.” Again he got a blank look from Lattymer-Smith.

“Well, then, as you clearly know nothing about anything let me enlighten you. This report, my young sir, makes depressing reading: very depressing reading indeed.  Let me read out to you a few of the many negative comments made about you by your masters.”  And he went ahead and read out to Lattymer-Smith a series of disparaging comments about his lack of application, his lack of attention, his written work, his timeliness and so on and so on.  No one, or at least so it seemed, had a good word to say about Lattymer-Smith’s work in class. By the time Redvers-Grex had finished berating the boy he had practically reduced him to tears just standing there. “Have you any explanation as to why you have made such a miserable start at this school, Lattymer-Smith? If so. I would like to hear it.”

Lattymer-Smith now spoke for the first time: “Well sir, I truly didn’t know that I was doing so badly; but I have to tell you sir that this is the first time I have actually been in a school.  You see sir, until arriving at Ollerton, I had always been educated at home by a private tutor. So you see, sir, I really have no experience of being in a class with other boys and working as a group together; so perhaps that is the reason I am performing so badly.” And then hoping against false hope, Lattymer-Smith went on to try to convince the Headmaster that as of now he would pull up his socks and knuckle down and work hard and make the grade. In fact, Lattymer-Smith would have promised the Headmaster anything to avoid what he knew was the inevitable conclusion to the present meeting. But, of course, Redvers-Grex was having none of it. He was already salivating inwardly at the thought of what he was about to do to the boy’s arse: a pleasure he was not prepared to forgo.

“Lattymer-Smith; talk is cheap and promises are easy to make but, in the practice, often much harder to keep. I have to be sure that you are on the right track and I cannot and will not allow matters to coast along as they clearly are doing at present. It is my duty to take things in hand and to make sure that you improve your efforts immediately.  Now, I am a firm believer that education and learning are best acquired in the classroom via the ears and the eyes, which in your case seem to have been singularly feeble. But there is another way to a boy’s brain and that is via his bottom.  Lattymer-Smith, I am a great believer in giving boy who is slacking and allowing himself to slip behind purely by his own lack of effort, a short, sharp shock to help him better see and define his future and his objectives.

I am sorry to say, Lattymer-Smith that I find you fall into this category and accordingly I am going to correct you, Lattymer-Smith. I am very sorry to tell you that I am going to beat you; in the hope that the pain which you will suffer will bring you to your senses and that you will realise that your present attitude is untenable and unacceptable and that you will, accordingly, change it. But let me tell you that if you continue on your present path, then what you are now about to experience will become a regular feature of your life at Ollerton.  I will not tolerate having a boy slacking; and certainly not a boy like you who was been born with a silver spoon in his mouth.”

Lattymer-Smith finally realised that the die was cast and that there was no point in any further argument; the Headmaster’s mind was made up and his arse was going to take a hiding. Of course, Dr. Redvers-Grex had had every intention of thrashing the young lad’s arse, but he had felt that he had somehow to justify his action. And it was quite true; Lattymer-Smith had been slacking and deserved to be corrected; but did he deserve what was now about to happen to him? The boy was already in a high state of nervous tension and fear; he had heard through the door what had happened to the two sixth-formers and he was terrified of what the Headmaster was going to do to him. His only previous encounter with the cane in his entire life had been on his first day at Ollerton, when his fag-master, Head-Boy Mottram, had given him six stingers on the bare, which he had not enjoyed at all. But now, it was the Headmaster, a notoriously harsh caner who was about to take him to task; he could hardly bear to think about it.

“Lattymer-Smith, kindly follow me, if you please.”  It was all so gentlemanly and polite. Lattymer-Smith wondered what would now happen if he said that it did not please him to follow the Headmaster; but he quickly thought better of the idea as he was already up to his neck in trouble. Redvers-Grex led him into the adjoining room where he looked for the first time in horror at that professional beating horse which was mentioned earlier. “Drop your shorts lad and step out of them, commanded the Headmaster and bend across the horse.” 

Lattymer-Smith had no option but to do as he had been told and the Headmaster quickly strapped his wrists to the legs of the horse. The Headmaster then applied himself to a wheel on the side of the horse and Lattymer-Smith, felt himself being lifted up as the padded rail over which he was bent was raised into the air.  The Headmaster stopped as boy’s feet were just about to leave the floor leaving him more or less suspended with his naked arse in the air, stretched and in a perfect position to be beaten. 

“As you can see, Lattymer-Smith, this piece of equipment is very versatile, as it can be adjusted to the perfect position to suit the height of any boy.  So I can and do put boys from the first form, aged thirteen, right through to the upper sixth, where the boys are really young men, aged eighteen, over this splendidly versatile piece of Victorian school equipment. So, young man, now that you are comfortable and in the perfect position to enjoy your correction to the full. I must  now ask your indulgence for a moment, whilst I go to my study next door and select a cane suitable to apply to your naked buttocks.”

“Enjoy your correction!”  “I must ask your indulgence!” what on earth was Redvers-Grex talking about?  This was politeness and good manners carried to a ludicrous level; it was so totally unreal.

The Headmaster was absent of a couple of minutes, sorting through his various canes; selecting precisely the one which he felt would do justice to Lattymer-Smith’s arse.  Of course, by making him wait to take his punishment, he heightened the fear and horror rattling around inside the young lad’s head. Finally he re-entered the room where his victim was waiting, holding in his right hand a three foot long, thin and very flexible Malacca cane. “Well, Lattymer-Smith, I think we are ready to begin”

But before the cane began to descend on Lattymer-Smith’s naked arse, Redvers-Grex treated him him to a longwinded homily: “I have to tell you, that before I apply the first stroke, I am very particular about the choice of the cane: I always select the implement which I feel will best complement the boy I am going to correct.  In your case, a preliminary glance at your bottom has told me that you have not been caned recently, if at all, as no traces of a precious caning are visible. However, I gather from the Head-Boy whose fag you are, that he did have occasion to correct you, on your very first day as it happens, as you showed a distinct lack of punctuality and were somewhat deficient in the tasks he had set you.  He was, of course, quite right to take immediate corrective action as he, like me, does not believe in letting things drag on and go from bad to worse. We both have the same approach which is to nip any problem in the bud, which is precisely what I now intend to do.”

And on and on droned the Headmaster as poor Lattymer Smith, his naked arse stuck in the air awaiting the first stroke of the cane, grew ever more afraid of what was finally going to happen to him; Dr.  Redvers-Grex, in his various observations, had not even told him how many cuts he intended to land on his victim’s arse.

But he had still not finished his interminable monologue and went on: “Lattymer-Smith, I have selected a finely seasoned Malacca cane which I have been using for several years now on boys such as you,   who hitherto have had little experience of correction.  I think you will appreciate the care I have taken in choosing this particular cane, which also just happens to be one of my own very favourites.  Your bottom is in a totally unblemished state, in spite of the earlier beating you took from Mottram; so I want you to leave here this evening with what is commonly and vulgarly referred to as a well beaten arse. Now just to set your mind at rest, I will explain to you what, in my view, constitutes such a state of perfection.”

“Starting with a pristine field of battle, of which your buttocks are a prime example, it will be my aim to place the twelve strokes I am going to give you, in the form of a series of neat, parallel welts across both of your buttocks; a set of welts which you will be able to show with pride to your classmates in the showers later this evening. Another characteristic of a well-beaten pair of buttocks is that they are so painful after the caning itself, that their owner: in this case your good self, finds it very uncomfortable to sit down for at least two days.  In fact, I shall endeavour to leave you with a lasting memory of this evening, which will be with you for a third day as a reminder to apply yourself better to your class work.”

So finally, there it was; Lattymer-Smith now knew that he was about to have to endure twelve stinging, biting cuts of what was obviously, from the Headmaster’s long winded monologue, a viciously efficient cane applied across his bare arse.  He heartily wished that the Headmaster would get on with it; but no; the Headmaster still had a few more words to say: “Before I begin, Lattymer-Smith, let me explain to you precisely how I propose to administer the cane to your bottom.”

“It is my aim to distribute the strokes and the pain they provoke, evenly across your two buttocks; and I might add, across the flanks of each buttock.  As you can see, I have chosen a very flexible cane, which not only ensures the fine, closely spaced welts I am aiming for, but when well applied, wraps itself around the side of the remote buttock of the moment, But then, to ensure that each buttock and its flank receives an even distribution of the cane, I adopt a unique double approach;  I give the first stroke forehand standing to your left and then move to your right and given the second stroke backhand. Then I return to my original position and repeat the procedure five more times.  Thus you will receive twelve cuts, all of which I can assure I shall apply with extreme accuracy, so that you will finish up with backside you will be proud to show to your classmates, whilst each of your flanks will have received six cuts.”

“Thus, as you will appreciate, Lattymer-Smith you will have benefitted to the maximum from my efforts to correct you and set you on the right academic path. Oh, and just one more thing before I begin; I shall pause for about ten seconds between each stroke to allow you to appreciate the full benefit of each successive cut. I have to tell you, Lattymer-Smith, that I am the only person in this school who can apply strokes with extreme accuracy either forehand of backhand to produce the effect I have just described to you; so you can count yourself lucky that you are consigning your bottom to such expert care.  This will truly be a memorable occasion for you!”

Lattymer-Smith, strapped across the beating stool as he was, his naked arse stuck into the air, could do nothing but listen to this horribly sadistic monologue from the Headmaster.  He realised now that, in common with Mottram, here was someone of the same mentality: someone with a strong sadistic streak who just loved to beat a boy’s arse.  He just wished that he would get on with the job, whack him and let him go. But twelve cuts; and twelve cuts applied in such a sadistic fashion that he finished up with not only his arse but also his flanks, striped by the bite of the cane, was a horrific prospect.  He knew from his first experiences with his fag-master, Mottram, just how much the cane hurt; but something told him that what was now coming was going to be much worse.  He gritted his teeth and waited. Surely Dr. Redvers-Grex was now ready to begin; surely he had said everything that could be said to put the fear of god into any young boy.

Dr. Redvers-Grex swished the cane through the air a few times just to heighten the tension, before placing it gently across the middle of his victim’s arse.  He stood facing the left side of his victim, with the lad’s arse on the extreme right and prepared to make the first forehand stroke. Unlike most prefects and masters who tap around with the cane, trying to decide on the exact place they wish to place the stroke,   he immediately raised the cane well above his head and brought it down with unerring aim and precision, landing it directly across the midpoint of the boy’s backside. The cane mated with the naked flesh with a resounding crack and its free end wrapped itself over the right buttock prolonging the cut as he had explained to the boy.

Lattymer-Smith could not believe how painful that first stroke had been. He felt as though his bottom had been cut in half by a red-hot knife. He emitted a howl of pain, as tears welled up in his eyes. It was much, much worse than he had ever imagined; much worse than what Mottram had inflicted on him. But now there was the pause between strokes to contend with; ten seconds seemed like an hour, as he waited there in agony for the next onslaught.  During this time the Headmaster repositioned himself to the right of his target and then brought done the cane with a vicious backhanded swipe. Again the precision was extraordinary, as the second cut was closely placed parallel to the first. And from then on, always observing what might well be called the appreciation pause, stroke followed biting stroke from left and right until twelve excruciatingly painful cuts had left Lattymer-Smith with an arse covered with an impressive display of twelve bright red, evenly spaced, parallel welts.

 Lattymer-Smith was in utter agony; his arse felt as though he had sat on a fire.  He thought to himself that this must surely be the most well-beaten arse of all time.  He had never imagined that a caning could be so awful; he asked himself if he would ever be able to sit down again, so agonising was the pain which Dr. Redvers-Grex had delivered. He wondered whether any of the strokes had drawn blood, but doubtless is classmates would tell him a little later. Poor Lattymer-Smith had just undergone the worst experience in his entire life. He had been beaten because he had not performed well in class; that much he knew quite clearly. But not in a month of Sundays could he have imagined just how painful his punishment would be. As of Monday he vowed to himself that he would work hard in class, as he never wanted to go through what had just experienced ever again.

Philosphically, (it easier for the observer to be philosophical than for the one who has just been subjected to a severe punishment) one has to suppose that the treatment had cured the problem. But equally any sensitive observer would have had to conclude that Lattymer-Smith had been subjected to an excessively severe beating. That he merited a beating; that much was sure; but Redvers-Grex had allowed himself to act with too much vigour, to put it at its mildest. But this was typical of what happened in English public schools at the turn of the last century. And if what had just happened to Lattymer-Smith was classed as severe, how on earth did one classify the beatings handed out in in approved schools and reformatories? Could they have been any worse? Well yes they could; and they were.

Finally, however, the ordeal was over. The Headmaster told Lattymer-Smith that he could get up and put back on his shorts. He extended his hand to the boy who shook it and crept away, rubbing an aching backside. He went straight back to his dormitory where his classmates were waiting expectantly to learn what had actually happened.  In no time at all Lattmyer-Smith’s naked arse was being examined intently by his classmates.  No one had ever before seen a boy who had taken twelve cuts bare and if ever there way of encouraging boys to behave, then this was it: a real-life case of teaching by example! It was obvious that Lattymer-Smith had undergone an exceedingly severe ordeal and none of his classmates wanted to follow the same path. Inevitably, some, of course, would! 

That night, Lattymer Smith slept without his pyjama bottoms, on his face, with his flaming rump exposed for all to see.  He could not even bear the touch of the bed sheet on his flesh; the poor lad was in utter agony. He had truly been taught a lesson in a way in which he would never forget. Alas, although he did not know it then, his problems were still not over.

CHAPTER 7

The next morning was Saturday: a day without classes and a day devoted largely to sporting activities at Ollerton. Lattymer-Smith, due to his hitherto private education, had not participated in any team sports prior to entering Ollerton.  But he had, during his first month at Ollerton, discovered that he really enjoyed rugby and had become an enthusiastic member of the junior team of his house. In spite of a sore backside, he was looking forward to Saturday afternoon, when his team would have a friendly match with the homologue from another house.  So preoccupied was he with his own thoughts, that Saturday or not, the fact that he still had his duties as the Head-Boy’s fag to discharge had gone completely out of his head.  It was not until he glanced at the dormitory clock and saw that it was already almost seven-thirty, that he was brought back to earth with a bang. He was himself not yet dressed and he still had to fetch the hot shaving water for his fag-master, which he had completely forgotten and which he was supposed to take to Mottram by seven-fifteen sharp. And then, of course, there was the question of Mottram’s breakfast and laying out of his clothes and so on and so forth.  The poor lad’s heart sank as he realised that he was probably, once again in deep trouble.

Mottram did not have a very forgiving nature; in fact he did not have a forgiving nature at all and was a stickler for punctuality and precision on the part of his fag. Lattymer-Smith remembered Mottram’s exact words to him at their first meeting: “You and I, Lattymer-Smith are going to get along just swimmingly provided that you do exactly as I say.” He shuddered inwardly as nearly a half hour behind schedule, he finally delivered the shaving water to Mottram’s study.

“Well, Lattymer-Smith; very nice of you to put in an appearance; better late than never, I suppose. Do you realise that I have been sitting here twiddling my thumbs for half an hour, waiting for you to arrive with my shaving water?  Where the hell have you been until now? When I say seven-fifteen, I mean seven-fifteen and not quarter to eight. What have you been doing and why are you so very late? Oh don’t bother trying to explain now. You’ve got a lot of time to catch up so you’d better get on with my breakfast otherwise it’ll be lunch time before you bring it to me.”

Any hope that Lattymer-Smith had had that Mottram might be in a forgiving mood because it was Saturday was clearly not going to be realised as the Head Boy was in a bad temper. As he had feared, when he arrived with his fag-master’s breakfast, the atmosphere had not improved; if anything it had got worse; Mottram was obviously out for blood.  He looked at the toast which had been slightly charred around the edges and said:  “Lattymer-Smith, I don’t know what are playing at, but this toast is burned. I am not in the habit of eating charcoal. Take it away and make some fresh and don’t burn it this time.”

The fag scuttled away to rectify his mistake, to be greeted on his return with more toast by yet another complaint:  “Lattymer-Smith; after a month of fagging for me, I would have thought that you knew how to boil an egg. I like my eggs soft-boiled.; that is to say boiled for four and a half minutes. These eggs are hard-boiled and are not the sort of thing a gentleman expects to be served at breakfast time.  It’s becoming increasingly clear to me that you need extra guidance in your duties. Now, whilst I finish this totally unsatisfactory breakfast, kindly go and lay out my clothes for today; and when you have done that, you had better go and get your own breakfast otherwise you will be too late for that. But I want you back here by eight thirty sharp as you and I have certain business to transact before the day grows much older.”

Lattymer-Smith’s heart sank as he listened to the catalogue of errors thrown in his face by his fag-master.  He knew only too well what business Mottram intended to transact with him on his return and the thought of what was likely to happen to him was not a pleasant prospect; especially not on a Saturday morning and even more so in view of the delicate state of his arse.  However, his master’s word being law, he was back in Mottram’s study punctually at eight-thirty.

“Lattymer-Smith, I am very disappointed in you and your performance. I have noticed for quite some time that you are becoming more and more careless in the attention to detail which is the hallmark of a good fag. I have refrained until now from saying anything, in the hope that things would improve; but your performance this morning has left a lot to be desired; indeed to be frank, it has left let everything to be desired. Not only were you late but you made an absolute mess of my breakfast; and after that, in the full knowledge that I was displeased, or at least I imagine that you were aware of my displeasure, you laid out my clothes for today without brushing down my coat and the crease in my trousers had not been refreshed with the iron as required. You are well aware of the fact that I expect a knife edge crease in my trousers every day; that is the way I like them and that is the way you must keep them.”

“As Head Boy, it is up to me to set certain standards at this school and I will not tolerate your sloppy attention to detail preventing me from maintaining them. That is what a gentleman’s gentleman does. He ensures that his master is always impeccably turned out in public. And then there were my shoes; the polish you had achieved was far from satisfactory. So all in all, Lattymer-smith, you have a lot to answer for today. What do you have to say for yourself, before I ask you to pass me your cane and take corrective action?”

Poor Lattymer-Smith listened with an ever more sinking feeling to this diatribe from his fagmaster. Mottram was a fault finder par excellence, if ever there was one; he had that key fault-finder’s attribute of being able to find faults where none existed.  Lattymer-Smith did not have any idea what to say in his own defence. He knew that part of the reason why he had been late was that he was still in a state of shock and pain after his encounter with the Headmaster the previous evening; so he attempted to explain to Mottram what had happened to him; how much pain he was still feeling; and how he felt he could not take another beating. 

But Mottram, as ever, was having none of it: “Lattymer-Smith, what the fact that you took a beating from the Headmaster yesterday evening has to do with your lateness this morning and your general poor performance of your various tasks, I totally fail to see. As I remember it, I personally have beaten you only once and since then have watched your steadily declining standards.  Clearly my hope that you yourself would realise that things had to improve was misjudged and I can but blame myself for having allowed things to slip. Pass me your cane, if you please and let us get on with things. I presume that you still remember what is now required of you.”

Lattymer-Smith remembered all too well what he had to do when his   fagmaster proposed to beat him. And so it was with  a heavy heart he boy took down his personal cane from behind the door handed it to Mottram, went across the room, pulled out the hated chair, dropped his trousers and pants,  bent across the chair and presented his naked arse to his tormentor.  By now, Lattymer-Smith’s corrugated backside had turned a reddish purple. The welts left by the Headmaster’s cane were all clearly defined and it was clear to any observer that the boy had recently undergone a monumental beating. 

As Mottram looked at his fag’s arse, even he realised that there was no way that he could use the cane on what he saw.  He whistled audibly as he took in the state of his fag’s anatomy; and he gazed in secret admiration at what Dr. Redvers-Grex had achieved with his cane; no skin was broken but the good doctor had clearly gone to the limit with the severity with his strokes. If ever a boy’s arse could be described as well beaten, then this was the definitive example of that painful state. Lattymer-Smith’s arse was a showpiece of virtuoso cane work which few could achieve to such a degree of perfection. Mottram stood in awe of his Headmaster and prayed to God that he would never have to submit his own arse to the ministrations of Dr. Redvers-Grex.

“Lattymer-Smith, I see that the Headmaster truly went to town on your backside yesterday evening.  I am not sure what you did to deserve such a thorough beating; but clearly Dr. Redvers-Grex thought that you merited a very severe correction. But as I say, last night’s beating does not in any way excuse your performance this morning. Now I am a great believer in striking whilst the iron is hot and, metaphorically speaking, I am sure you will agree with me when I say that your “iron” is now not only hot, but red-hot. I am very loath to put off correcting you to another day, but being nothing if not a realist, Lattymer-Smith, I am aware that in your present state I cannot administer the normal punishment I would give you with your personal cane.  I shall therefore content myself with giving you a simple refresher with the back of my bath-brush.”

Lattymer-Smith, his naked arse stuck in the air, had listened to this monologue. Clearly Mottram was out for his blood and nothing was going to stop him taking it there and then.  And so, the poor lad said nothing, closed his eyes, braced himself and waited for the refresher assault on his arse with the bath-brush.  Philosophically he thought, it could have been worse, for Mottram who, as he now realised, was a sadistic bastard, could have thrashed him with his cane, which would surely have drawn blood given the present data of his buttocks. So the brush was what one might consider a soft option. But the back of a brush, especially a long handled bath-brush, when applied with force, as it surely would be, was also a very painful implement.  He asked himself as he waited what Mottram was doing with a bath-brush, for he had no bathroom and took his showers with the other boys. Clearly he had this added implement of torture in reserve for such such occasions when the cane was unsuitable. Was his motto be prepared, Lattymer-Smith wondered.

Mottram returned with his brush and Lattymer-Smith soon felt the full horror of the back of a brush against his still throbbing arse.  The brush, a time honoured implement of punishment in many countries, does not have the cutting qualities of the rattan cane, but due to its superior weight can produce considerable bruising when applied with force.  And as Lattymer-Smith now found out, Mottram did not spare him as he applied the brush with considerable force to the boy’s buttocks.  The pain he delivered was excruciating, as the target was already raw and painful from the previous evening.  Lattymer-Smith cried out loudly with pain as each of six blows landed on his arse. He had thought that the caning by Redvers-Grex had been the worst moment of his life to date, but now he was no longer sure.

When he was finally allowed to leave Mottram’s study every step he took was agonising. His arse was just so very sore, he could hardly bear to walk. Any thoughts he had had of an afternoon of sport, on the rugger field had disappeared; he was just too sore even to think of it; the poor lad could barely move.  Relentless as ever, Mottram said to him : “Oh just so that you know, I shall require tea for five in my study  at four-thirty this afternoon; and I’ve ordered and paid for a cake at the baker’s in my name so just pop in there and get it. Try not to forget; and Lattymer-Smith, and please try not to, burn the toast this afternoon; there’s a good chap!”

As ordered, Lattymer-Smith went and fetched the cake, and served tea and toast (not burned!) to Mottram and his four guests, punctually at four-thirty as ordered.  He was somewhat surprised to see that one of of the guests was Thompson, who along with Cartwright, had had the doubtful pleasure of undergoing Dr. Redvers-Grex’s percussive therapy the previous evening, whilst he himself had stood in the corridor awaiting his own fate.  Thompson said to him as he served the tea: “I had not realised that you were Mottram’s fag. How did you make out with the old boy last night? I hope that he didn’t beat you as hard as he did me.”  Lattymer-Smith made as if to reply only to be cut off by his fag-master who told him that he could leave to get his own tea in the junior common room and come back later to clear away the tea things.

It was around six o’clock, after the guests had left, or so he thought that he went back to Mottram’s study to remove the tea things.  He knocked on the door and entered what was ostensibly an empty study. He was in process of loading the dirty crockery onto his tray when he heard a strange sound, someone moaning, coming from the bedroom.  Mottram had a suite of rooms as Head Boy; from the main room led off a short corridor, off which was the wash room and lavatory and at the end of which was the door to his bedroom.  Lattymer-Smith’s curiosity was aroused; but then whose would not have been? So he crept very quietly down the corridor to find the bedroom door partially ajar. Without touching the door he gazed upon what was for him a scene he had never before witnessed; a scene, the significance of which, he did not at all understand.

His fag-master, totally naked was on the bed on his knees with his arse sticking up into the air. Behind him crouched over Mottram, also naked, with his well beaten backside on full display to the Lattymer-Smith’s gaze, was Thompson. As he watched, fascinated by what was happening, he saw Thompson thrusting and withdrawing his body from Mottram with ever increasing force and amplitude. Mesmerized by what he was seeing but without in any real understanding of what was happening, Lattymer-Smith finally saw Thompson make one last, huge thrust as he shot his load into his partner.  He had no idea at all of what the two young men – for at eighteen going on nineteen they could no longer truly be called boys – were doing.  Thirteen year old boys in 1900 were rarely showing signs of sexual maturity and what they knew about sex was practically non-inexistent. They were still children in those days and the precociousness of today’s teenagers, who know everything there is to know about sex by the time they are twelve (or less!) was then quite unknown.

For Lattymer-Smith, this was the first time he had seen a sex act between two young men; or for that matter a sex act at all. In the coming months he was to mount the learning curve very rapidly so that by the end of his first year at Ollerton he would be as fully aware as anyone of what adults, both men and women, did together.  But for the moment it was all a mystery to him; he was completely innocent. He had witnessed an act of anal sex between the two young men: an act of buggery: an act punishable as a crime under the then law; but he had neither the slightest idea of the significance of what he had seen nor of why the two of them were so clearly enjoying themselves in this strange position.  But nevertheless his instinct told him that whatever the significance of what he had witnessed, it would certainly be against the school rules; of that he felt quite certain.

As he watched the aftermath of the coupling, he saw that both men were sweating from their exertions and that they remained immobile in that strange embrace for several minutes. Then suddenly, as if startled they rolled over and Mottram’s eyes alighted on the enquiring face of his fag: “Lattymer-Smith, what the hell are you doing snooping around in here; get out immediately and I will deal with you later. Finish getting the place straightened up after tea.”

In spite of Mottram’s superficially imperious manner, Lattymer-Smith detected an undertone of panic in his fag-master’s voice.  Something was not quite right; what precisely, he did not know; but he divined that something was wrong and that he now somehow held power over the sadistic Mottram.  It was just a feeling; but it was there and he did not now feel afraid of what might happen at his next encounter with the Head Boy.

His suspicions were confirmed when he received no further orders from the Head Boy that day. The next time he saw him was on Sunday morning when he brought him his hot water for shaving. “Lattymer-Smith,” began Mottram, emolliently, as the fag brought in his breakfast, “I think it might better if we both forgot the incident you saw yesterday afternoon, don’t you?  After all, we don’t want any tale-telling running around the school, do we? So, can we say that the incident never happened?”

Lattymer-Smith realised that he was right. Mottram was embarrassed to have been seen by his fag and wanted the matter to go no further. He did not know the significance of what he had seen, but he now knew for sure that it was something which was clearly forbidden and if broadcast and picked up by the wrong ears, Mottram and Thompson would be in trouble.  Of course, what Mottram, in his eagerness to kill the incident stone dead, had not comprehended was that his fag was totally ignorant of sexual matters. And so by his own overt eagerness to set the matter aside: to have it forgotten, he had reinforced his fag’s view that he had witnessed something which broke one of the cardinal rules of the school.

“So, Lattymer-Smith, can we say that matter is forgotten.” said Mottram; the undertone of desperation was now clearly detectable in his voice.

Lattymer-Smith now realised, though he did not really understand why, that he had somehow got a hold over Mottram and sensed that as of now things would be different between them; no longer would Mottram be able to bully him; and so he replied: “Mottram you need say no more; the matter is forgotten; you have my word. And gentlemen do not break their word; nor do they indulge in tale-bearing; and I am a gentleman.” 

Mottram winced inwardly as he took note of that last phrase in which his fag had gently emphasised the pronoun “I”. He clearly understood all that that simple inflection implied; the implication cut its hearer to the quick; it was mentally as painful to Mottram as had been the thrashings he had given his fag.  In one well turned phrase, with one emphasised word, Lattymer Smith had changed their relationship forever.

 “Thanks very much, Lattymer-Smith. I knew you were a sport!”

THE END

  

by Jason Land

Email: [email protected]

Copyright 2024