The Portrait of a Strict Disciplinarian

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

The night of December 28th, the day on which DD and Brad had finally declared their undying commitment to each other, was spent in DD’s bed and became the gay equivalent of their honeymoon night as an indivisible item. After a night of fervent sex, Brad awoke early on December 29th, bright eyed and bushy tailed, champing at the bit, as the idioms have it, to assume his role as form-master of class 1A and to begin his reign of Chief Disciplinarian of Moulton Midmarsh Reform School. The Headmaster’s classroom introduction had been brief and Brad now stood alone in front of a class of some 30 dissolute-looking 16-year-olds, all of whom were lounging at their desks.

“Gentlemen,” he began, although the group of lads he was addressing looked nothing remotely like gentlemen, “I have a triple role to play in this school;  Firstly, I am your new form-master; secondly, I am also your new mathematics teacher; and thirdly, I am also, as of right now, in sole charge of administering discipline to the entire school. And so, let us start by getting one thing quite clear; I have every intention of carrying out my disciplinary duties to the letter. So, if any of you even thinks of misbehaving, then be in no doubt; that boy will be punished. There will be no warnings; no second chances; misbehave and you will automatically be caned; and make no mistake any of you, I really am very efficient with the cane. So, unless you are partial to not being able to sit down comfortably for several days, I suggest you behave yourselves. There you have it, boys; behave yourselves; otherwise, you will have very painful backsides to contend with; believe me, I am not kidding you.”

“For a start, I will not tolerate your lounging about as you are at present. Whenever I come into the room, you will all automatically stand up and remain that way until I tell you to sit down. And when you are seated as you are now, you will all sit up straight, look ship-shape and pay attention.  I will have no talking in class and whenever you address me, you will always stand up and always refer to me as Sir. I will not tolerate any sloppy forms of address where the word Sir, a mark of respect, is omitted.  You have been warned, so see you always address me correctly; and providing that you all behave yourselves, there is no reason why we should not all get along swimmingly.”

“As I am new to the school and do not know any of you, we will begin by each of you standing up in turn and giving me your name. We will begin with the front row; you, the first boy on the left, please stand up and give me your name.”

Brad laid his plan of the desk-layout on his raised master’s desk and prepared to fill in the names of each occupant. He had, of course, a class register with the names of the entire class in alphabetical order, which he also ticked off as each boy identified himself. The first boy on the extreme left stood up: “Straker, Sir, Roger Straker, Sir,” Things then proceeded in an orderly fashion until the third boy in the third row chose not to rise from his seat and simply said, in a petulant tone of voice: “Collins”.

“I thought I had made myself clear that I wanted each of you to stand up and give me your name. Perhaps you did not understand me correctly. Stand up boy and give me your name as the others have done so far.”

The boy in question remained sitting and in an insolent manner, calculated to annoy any listener, said, in thick northern English: “You heard me; I just told you my name; I just told you clear enough; so for the second time, my name is Collins; now you know; so don’t go asking me again.”

“I just told you to stand up, boy, and you are still lounging around in your seat. Either you are deaf or choose to ignore my order. For the last time, stand up boy and tell me your name.” As the boy he had clearly refused to say that key honorific word of respect: Sir, Brad had chosen to ignore the fact that he now knew that the boy was called Collins. It was clear that Collins was obviously hell-bent in conducting a battle of wills with Brad, which, had he had the slightest common sense, he must have known he was ultimately to lose; to his great regret, as he now saw.

But Collins, to the obvious fascination of the other boys, ignored the order to stand up and ploughed on rudely with his confrontation: “It’s not me that’s deaf; I’ve told you my name twice already; I’m not repeating it for a third time. I’m not deaf, even if you are.”

There was a sharp audible intake of breath by most of the class before an absolute silence descended on the room. You could have heard the proverbial pin drop, as Brad gazed balefully at the truculent Collins, who rudely for a boy of his age, was attempting, unsuccessfully, to stare down his form-master.  The whole class was on tenterhooks as they waited for what was now to happen.  On one hand, they were on the side their classmate, Collins, who was flouting the authority which they all hated, but before which, in their own self-interests they all usually kow-towed.  They all knew that by flagrantly disobeying and insulting their new form-master in his first hour, Collins would inevitably emerge as the loser; the boys always did! They all knew that Collins’s arse was already toast – probably burned toast. But not one of them had the faintest idea of just how much of a loser Collins was to be, or of the severity of the retribution he was to suffer for his rude intransigence.  The boys were to be treated to the spectacle of, and Collins was to be made to suffer, an act of flagellation which no one in the class could ever have envisaged would be taking place before their very eyes, in the first hour after the arrival of their new form-master.

Collins, out-stared by his form-master, finally saw that he had lost the battle of wills and lowered his eyes. Brad took the cane from its hook by the door, pulled the beating stool into the middle of the floor in front of the first row of desks. He pointed the cane, menacingly at Collins, who by this time was feeling less confident of himself as he realised that he had failed in the bras de fer with his new form-master. That simple gesture with the cane told the whole story as to what was about to happen; Collins was to be beaten; but neither he nor his classmates had any idea of the severity that Brad had in mind for the boy.

Still ignoring Collins by name, as if he had not heard, Brad said: “You, boy, kindly step forward to the front the class-room as you and I have some urgent business to attend to before we go any further.”  Collins, still sitting down, did not move. “You, boy,  are you deaf,” bellowed Brad, “I just told you to come to the front of the class, Now, unless you want find yourself on tonight’s punishment parade, when I shall have no compunction in birching you, get off your backside, boy, and get yourself to the front of the class immediately.”  Collins, realising that he was finally beaten, now reluctantly stood up and very slowly edged himself to the front of the class where he stood face-to-face with his new form-master. “Now, boy, I will ask you for your name one last time; you are already in deep, deep trouble, so if you know what is good for you and do not wish to make matters worse for yourself – and believe me, boy, they can get much, much worse – I suggest you give me a full and polite answer. For the last time, boy, what is your name?”

Whether it was the fact that Collins was now practically eyeball to eyeball with his form master, he finally capitulated and said: “Collins Sir, Robert Collins, Sir. So now that you know my name, Sir, can I go and sit down again Sir?”

“There you are, Collins; that was not so hard, was it? However, Robert Collins, you may certainly not go and sit down again, as you have a lot to answer for in view of your appalling behaviour this morning. Quite frankly, Collins, in a few minutes time, after I have finished embellishing your backside with this cane, I think that sitting down may be the last thing you will either wish or be able to do for quite some time. Now, Collins, first take of your sweater and your shoes; then step out of your trousers and take off your underpants.”

“But if I do that sir, you’re going to make me show my bare bum in front of my mates.  Sir, it’s not decent, Sir.”  And then Collins, as if only now realising that the cane was not just for effect, but that his form-master was quite serious about beating him in front of the entire class and that his backside was truly in the firing line, in an attempt to save his arse from a fate worse than death, very unwisely, switched back to his aggressive mode. “And don’t think I’m going to let you whack my bare arse with that fucking cane you’re holding. If you think that I am going to let you touch me with that fucking thing, you can bloody-well think again. Why the fuck don’t you just piss off and go back to where you came from.”

A buzz went around the captive audience of the on-looking boys, all mesmerised by the drama being enacted before their very eyes.  In one way they admired Collins for standing up to a member of the universally hated staff; but they all knew, listening to what Collins had just said that he had gone far too far this time. The whole class knew that however right they might be in any argument with a teacher, they themselves always came off second best. With most teachers, they knew just how far they could needle them, before stopping, out in self interest of sparing their backsides from the only form of punishment the school used: the cane. However, in the case of their new form-master, it was increasingly obvious to all of them, from the way things were developing, that Mr. Caine he had a very short fuse and would suffer no nonsense at all.

“Collins, what is that you did not understand in what I have just told you to do?  I, and I alone, boy, will, decide what is decent or not; and there is nothing indecent in making a boy who has grossly misbehaved, in this case you, Collins, bare his buttocks for a beating in front of his classmates. It is retribution for you and a warning to your classmates, that your new form-master needs careful handling! Pay attention all of you boys; if you value your backsides, do not even think of emulating Collins. Make no mistake, I will have no hesitation in beating any or all of you in the same way I am now going to beat Collins; and as you will shortly see, I really do know how to make a cane sing. You, Collins, are, without doubt, the rudest and I think possibly the stupidest, young man I have ever met. Before you protest further, reflect on this. You have already accumulated the school basic standard punishment of 12 cuts of the cane due to your impudent intransigence in refusing to address me politely when giving me your name; to that you have now added a further, richly deserved, six cuts for swearing at me.”

“So as even your feeble brain can doubtless see, you are now already facing an 18-stroke caning.  Now, unless you wish me to add further cuts to your punishment, which I shall be delighted to do if you continue to disobey my orders and argue with me further, I suggest that within the next 30 seconds you do as I have just told to do or face a 24-cut beating in front of your classmates here and now, with an additional inscription for tonight’s  punishment parade, when I shall give myself the great pleasure of birching your bum, as you so charmingly refer to it.  Your 30 seconds starts right now, Collins; so, if you value your arse at all, boy, get your pants off and bend across the beating stool.”

By this time, all Collins’s resistance and braggadocio had melted away and he did as he had been ordered. “Stand with your back to the class, Collins, so that your form-mates get a good view of your backside and can admire the artistic pattern I shall shortly give myself the pleasure of etching onto it.”  After pausing to admire Collins’s as yet unmarked buttocks, which were already twitching with the fear of what was to come, Brad pointed to the lad directly behind Collins: “You, boy, stand up and give me your name and the step forward to the front, as I think our friend here is going to need some support to withstand his ordeal.”

The boy stood up: “My name is Collins, Sir, Alan Collins, Sir,” Then, by way of an explanation, he went on to say: “You see sir, it’s my twin brother, Robert, you are about to cane, Sir. I know Sir, we don’t look a bit alike sir; and that’s because we are fraternal twins; but we are twins, Sir. Robert is my younger brother as I was born two hours before he was, Sir.  And Sir, after Robert’s birth, our mother died, Sir: so we never even knew her, Sir; and then our father just abandoned us and we were brought in an orphanage, Sir.”

There it was then; Brad found himself with a pair of fraternal twins in his class.  With any luck Alan would turn out to be less of a problem than his brother, Robert:  “Well, Alan Collins, Collins senior as I suppose I should call you; it is most appropriate that it falls to you to support your misguided brother in what I suppose we must think of as his hour of need.  So, boy, come forward to the front of the class and stand in front of your brother to give him the support he is clearly going to need.”

Alan Collins came quickly to the front of the room and stood facing his brother, who was bent across the beating stool, his backside awaiting the oncoming onslaught with the cane.  He had no idea what assistance he was to give to his brother and waited for Brad to speak.

“A little further over the stool, Collins junior, if you please. Stick your arse well up into the air boy, hold onto one of the crossbars of the stool and then stay perfectly still in that position, which your elder brother will help you to maintain, until I tell you otherwise. I feel sure that you will welcome the comfort of the proximity and the steadying hand of your  brother, which will help you endure the pain you are about to experience, for which the only person to blame is yourself. Make no mistake, boy, this is going to be a very painful experience for you; of that I promise you. Just one other thing before I begin; if you move from the position you are now in and try to stand up or attempt to use your hands to massage your bottom,  I shall start your punishment again from the beginning; and I don’t want to see you clenching your bottom muscles at all whilst  I am caning you. If you do that, the cane will bounce, and that stroke will not count and will be repeated. So boy, if you do not want to receive extra cuts over and above the 18 which you are to receive, keep perfectly still, keep your hands off your backside; and relax the muscles in the cheeks of your buttocks.”

Brad then carefully folded back the tail of the lad’s shirt fully to expose his back and soon-to-be-roasted buttocks. He was pleased to see that Robert Collins sported a good, meaty pair of buns which he intended to thrash as hard as he could as he had been particularly incensed by the foul language the lad had used on him.  But he also intended Collins to act as an example to the rest of the class that their new form-master meant business and was not to be trifled with.

“Now, Collins senior, if you would be so kind as to give your younger brother a comforting hand to help him through what is to be a very painful few minutes of his life; in fact it will probably be the most painful experience of his life to date, although if he continues on his chosen path, there will be much worse to come. All you need to do is to put your hands on your brother’s shoulders to prevent him from involuntarily jumping up whilst he is being punished.”

Alan Collins looked uneasily at his form-master and said: “But, Sir, what you are asking me to do is to hold down my own brother whilst you skin his backside with the cane, Sir. Sir, I don’t think that you should ask me to do that, Sir as I just don’t think it is right to ask me to hold down my brother whilst you beat him.”

“Collins, unless you do exactly as I have told you, then after I have finished beating your brother, I will invite you to adopt the same position and beat your backside for refusing to obey my simple order; and just let me remind you that the standard tariff in this school for any beating is a minimum of 12 cuts of the cane. One way or another, Collins, your brother will have to be restrained whilst I am beating him if you do not wish to do it as a gesture of solidarity with him, then I am sure another one of your classmates will oblige me; that is, if he values his own backside.”

Then addressing the entire class, Brad said: “You others, all take note. You have all been incarcerated here because of the crimes you have committed.  This place is not a holiday camp, where you can do as you please, but an approved school where your teachers attempt to reform you. As such, whilst you are here, you will all obey the rules and follow any order given to you or face the consequences such as Collins junior here, is now about to experience.”

Brad then turned to the elder Collins brother and said: “Well young man, have you decided? What’s it to be? Either you hold down your younger brother or you take twelve cuts across your own bare buttocks. You have to learn that I mean what I say.”

“Sir, I simply cannot do it. I don’t think it is right of you to ask me to me to do such a thing.  I know my brother deserves his punishment as he has been stupid and extremely rude to you.  But I cannot and will not take any part in his beating, Sir. So I will not hold him down whilst you cane him, Sir and I will take 12 with the cane across my bare bum, for disobeying you, Sir.”

Brad was astounded by the lad’s decision as he had never thought that anyone would ever volunteer to have himself caned. And what a beating the lad was to get; no less than 12 swingeing strokes of the cane across his bare arse. Brad found himself secretly admiring Alan Collins for his courage and his decision to stick to his principles. Whether or not he should have ever asked Alan Collins to hold his brother down whilst he was being beaten was a moot point. At the end of the day there was no right or wrong about it.  But the lad clearly had backbone; he had said, politely, it has to be added, that in his view what he had been ordered to do was wrong and was now prepared to suffer for refusing to carry out an order given to him by his form-master; and moreover, in front of the entire class.  And therein lay Brad’s unsolvable problem; his words had been heard by the entire class, had become, like the Ten Commandments; tantamount to being cast in solid stone.

Brad really did not want to beat the lad, whom he knew did not deserve such a severe punishment and he now cursed himself silently for what he had said. But what he had said had been said and could not now be unsaid. So now not to carry through on his threat, which was precisely what he would have liked to do, would be to back down and mean a loss of his authority. It would be that first chink in his armour: that first inch the boys were surely looking for, which would then allow them to take the proverbial mile. He would have lost any respect and fear the boys might have for him on his very first day as their form-master.  So, alas, poor Alan Collins would have to suffer in front of his classmates; there was absolutely was no alternative.

“Collins, are you sure that you want to take a 12-stroke beating on the bare? Believe me, Collins, when I beat a boy, it is no light matter; it really is a very painful experience for the receiver. I suggest you reflect on your decision which will, if you stick with it, cause you a great deal of pain.  Think hard again, Collins before you answer me; you can still change your mind.”

“No sir, I do not wish to change my mind, Sir. Sir, I do not want to participate in any way whatsoever, even passively, in my brother’s punishment, even though I know that he deserves it in the light of his bad behaviour. So, I will stick to my decision, Sir, even though I know I will suffer for it; I will take the 12 cuts, Sir.”

“Very well Collins; if that is your last word on the matter, then so be it.”

Pointing with his cane at Roger Straker, the boy in the front desk on the extreme left, he said:  “Straker, stand up boy and come to the front of the room. I take it that you are not in any way related to the Collins twins, so I presume that you have no objection putting your hands on the shoulders of Robert Collins to restrain him whilst I beat him.  You have the same two choices, yes or no; but if you refuse to do as I say, then you will suffer the same fate as the unfortunate Alan Collins, who as a matter of principle, as you have just heard, has chosen to be punished himself.  So, Straker; the choice is yours; what’s it to be; yes or no?”

“Oh no, Sir, I have no objection at all to holding Collins whilst he is being caned, Sir.” And then, as if to justify his decision, he added obsequiously:  “You see, Sir, the way look at it, I’ll be doing him a favour in helping him to keep still whilst he is being beaten, Sir. Because, Sir, as you have said, if he does not keep still, he will get extra strokes. . So, as I see it, Sir, I am really giving him a helping hand.”

Brad said: “Well, Straker, I’m very pleased that you see your assistance in such a positive light. So please stand in front of Collins, put your hands firmly on his shoulders and we shall be ready to begin.”

Brad advanced and stood to the left of the trembling Collins, laid the cane gently across the lad’s bare arse, leaving his elder brother, Alan, standing there to witness his sibling being punished, knowing that he too was soon to meet the same fate. For a young man in a vaguely analogous position to those unfortunates of the French revolution, who calmly waited their turn at the foot of the scaffold, watching Madame La Guillotine, with her voracious and seemingly insatiable appetite, devour head after head, before finally succumbing to her embrace themselves, Alan Collins showed remarkable composure as he watched his form-master prepare to shred his brother’s arse.

Roger Straker, meanwhile, was now leaning over Collins, with his hands firmly on his classmate’s shoulders, thus holding him immobile over the beating stool.  But now, just looking at Straker filled Brad with disgust. Crouched there over Collins as he now was, Brad saw that Straker was practically salivating in anticipation of what he was about to witness from what was a ring-side seat. He was in what might best be described as a full, prurient Schadenfreude mode, looking forward to watching Collins suffer and enjoying every moment of it, as their new form-master roasted his arse. Brad detested the fawningly obsequious manner in which Straker had responded to his request; and his remarks about giving a helping hand to Collins were quite beyond the pale.  He already saw in Straker, a boy who always stroked those in authority the right way, and who, to put it at its crudest, would, metaphorically, piss up a master’s arse if he felt it to his advantage. In Brad’s eyes Straker did not measure up to the knees of Alan Collins, and he heartily wished it was Straker standing there waiting to be beaten. But he knew it was not to be. The die had been cast – unfortunately, by his own hand – and although he now deeply regretted it, there was no going back; there was no way out of it; Alan Collins had to be beaten.

All the above thoughts flashed through Brad’s mind as he was standing there with the cane laid across Robert Collins’s naked backside. However, what none of the boys knew at that moment was that their form-master was about to perform what was his maiden beating of a boy. True, he had, just a few weeks ago, assisted the Headmaster in beating three boys. But at the time he had not been a member of the school’s staff and he did not know the boys personally.  So although he was an absolute master with the cane, it was a mastery which had been acquired as part of his earlier sex life, about which the boys knew nothing – anyway, at least not yet – and at the Brotherhood, his patients, as he thought of them, had craved his attention to their arses. 

But today, here he was, for the first time, about to beat a boy, whom he had decided to punish for his bad behaviour, not only on his first day as a schoolmaster, but within the very first hour of his first meeting with his class; that surely had to be a world record!  It was the first time Brad would use the cane punitively, in his position of authority and as Chief Disciplinarian in the school; it marked the beginning of his chosen career. As he prepared himself to administer the first cut, he reflected on the advice he had been given several times: not to give an inch and not to let the boys ride him. Well he certainly could not be accused of letting the grass grow under his feet, in establishing his authority at the school, as a force – literally – to be reckoned with. He knew that by the end of the morning break, his reputation as a killer would be made.

Brad raised the cane, with which had had been tapping Collins’s naked arse, well above his head. He had decided in view of the sullen, stubborn recalcitrance of the boy that he would begin as he meant to go on. And so, repeating the order to Collins to relax his buns and keep them that way, he brought down the dreaded rod with maximum force on to land the middle point of the lad’s trembling arse. The cane mated with the naked flesh with a crack like that of a starter pistol.  It is difficult for anyone, who has never himself experienced the bite of a well-seasoned length of rattan applied to his own naked buttocks, to imagine the utterly excruciating agony which this innocuous-looking instrument of punishment is capable of delivering when in the right hands. And today as Collins was finding out, to his deep and painful regret, the cane was in a very competent and experienced pair of hands. Try to imagine, if you can, how Collins felt as the first stroke landed on his naked arse. To his intense satisfaction, Brad saw develop within seconds, that angry, red welt, the first of 18 which were to embellish Collins’s arse within the next few minutes.  Collins let out a scream of pain; a token of his appreciation of what was happening to him.

Brad made haste slowly as he applied successive strokes at intervals of some 10 to 12 seconds – and absolute age for the receiver of the punishment – to ensure that the full, painful effect of every single cut was appreciated by Collins. He systematically placed each successive cut strictly parallel to the previous one, progressing first with four cuts upwards towards the bottom of the lad’s back and then downwards towards the more sensitive area of his lower anatomy; to the crease, where the buttocks join the tops of the legs. Having placed 12 cuts in this manner, leaving Collins, now in great pain, crying like a baby, he waited some 30 seconds before completing his agonisingly painful masterpiece of flagellation with six crossed diagonal strokes.

It is doubtful whether Collins appreciated the tender, loving, artistic care, resulting in the undoubted, if but temporary, visual masterpiece of flagellate art which had been lavishly etched by his form-master on his naked arse. So it was a blubbering and contrite Collins, with the last remnants of his arrogant braggadocio beaten out of him and his normal arrogance completely tamed, who was finally told to stand up from his ordeal – and make no mistake, what he had undergone had been an ordeal – and go and sit down again at his desk. As he hobbled the few paces to his seat, he looked imploringly at Brad and through his tears, managed to ask: “Please, Sir, can I stand up as my bum is just too painful to allow me to sit down, Sir.”

Brad, totally unrelenting towards a boy who was, by his confrontational attitude and his failed attempt at a trial of strength with his form-master, the sole architect of his present painful state and who would be a monitory example to his classmates, said:  “Sit down, Collins, unless you want a further dose of what you have just had. The pain you are suffering, Collins, is the just retribution for your deplorable behaviour. You will just have to try to grin and bear it and learn a lesson from the painful consequences of your own making. Sit down, boy.”

“But Sir …”

“Collins, are you deaf? SIT DOWN, BOY! You have already caused enough disruption for one day. Do as you have been told or face another dose of the cane; and believe me boy, if I have any more trouble from you, you will find yourself inscribed for tonight’s punishment parade. Oh, and all of you pay attention; in case you had not realised it, I am not only your new form-master and maths teacher, but also the new, Chief Disciplinarian of this school. From now on, it is me you will find in the Punishment Room attending to the needs of your backsides. Our friend Collins, has served as an example and warning to you all of how I handle the cane. But allow me also to tell you all that I am equally proficient with the birch.”

Turning now to Straker and Alan Collins, both of whom were still standing there, he said:  “Straker, thank you for your assistance. You may now also regain your seat, boy, as I doubt that the elder Collins will require restraint whilst receiving his punishment.”

Roger Straker had clearly enjoyed drooling over Robert Collins savouring every single stroke, as Brad had thrashed the lad and was clearly disappointed when he saw that he would not be required to give his helping hand to Robert’s brother.  Brad had observed the calm and impassive way in which Alan Collins had stood there and watched his much less composed brother being punished.  Brad knew that even though Alan understood that his brother had deserved what he had just received,  he had not felt himself able to lend a hand in his brother’s punishment, although he knew he was himself going to suffer for his decision. 

But then with great courage and with no prompting from Brad, Alan Collins took off his shoes, stepped out of his trousers, pulled off his underpants and bent across the beating horse, offering his naked arse to Brad for punishment. Brad’s esteem for the young man increased enormously and he wished with all his heart that he could somehow avoid what he was about to do.  But there was no way out that would allow him to maintain his authority over the class. He regretfully resigned himself to giving the lad a beating which he knew he did not truly deserve.

“Brace yourself, lad, as these are going to be a few very unpleasant minutes for you.” Brad then went ahead and gave Alan Collins an identical set of 12 parallel cuts as those he had just given to his brother. Much as it pained him to do so, he knew that with the eyes of the entire class upon him, to preserve his authority, he had to carry through properly, with no soft pedalling, on what he had promised the boy.  True to his character, Alan Collins, uttered not a single sound as Brad vigorously brought down the cane 12 times on the lad’s naked arse.

When it was all over, he offered his hand to Brad and said: “Thank you Sir; I know you had to do what you just did, but I just wanted you to know that I harbour no hard feelings towards you, Sir. It was my own choice, Sir, and I deserved to be punished for refusing to obey your order. But you see, Sir, I just could not bring myself to have any hand, even passively, in my brother’s punishment, even though I know he deserved what you did to him. Sir, although Robert and I are twins and we are not at all alike; in fact, Sir, we do not get along with each other at all; but we are, nevertheless, brothers and together we are the only family either of us has ever known. And at the end of the day, Sir, there is a saying that blood is thicker than water. I hope you will understand my attitude, Sir.”

And then, with no fuss at all, Alan Collins went back to his desk and with a slight wince, lowered himself gently onto his seat.

Brad looked at the two brothers and thought how totally different from on another they were.  Given what he had seen of Alan Collins, he asked himself how a lad of such sterling character could have finished up in a place like Moulton Midmarsh.  But the whole incident was now over. Brad had established his absolute authority over the class and Alan Collins, unbeknown to him, had gained an enormous admirer.

Brad now resumed his identification process, which had been disrupted by Robert Collins. “Now, boys, unless any of you wish to emulate the Collins brothers and come to the front of the class to experience first-hand my prowess with the cane, we will continue where we left off before this unexpected disturbance.” And so, Brad completed his detailed desk plan of the form-room, on which he entered the name of each occupant. This was completed without further disturbance. But any question of giving the boys their first lesson in elementary mathematics, was postponed until the next time by the sounding of the bell announcing the end of the first period that day.  Brad, however, felt satisfied with his first contact with his form of 30 boys. He knew he had established his authority well, thanks to hiatus caused by Robert Collins. 

In a way the lad’s recalcitrance had been a blessing in disguise, as it had enabled Brad to impress upon the class that their new form-master would brook no nonsense from anyone and had no hesitation in using the cane, with which, as the boys had now all observed, he was obviously an expert. The vigour with which he had beaten the two Collins boys, especially Robert – 18, wretchedly painful cuts on the lads’ bare arse – had made a profound impression on their classmates and had struck fear into most hearts. The boys of form 1A saw that in their new master, they were faced with an absolute martinet. In fact, Brad’s soon-to-be, universally accepted nickname was coined by one of the boys in that very first hour: Killer Caine. The boys had already learned that life under their new form-master would not be a bed of roses.

Brad made his identification inventory of the boys in each of the two other classes, which took up the rest of the morning. By the end of the mid-morning break, the fact that the new master had severely thrashed two boys in his form within the very first hour of his arrival had ricocheted around the school and had already, sight unseen, so to speak, pre-established Brad’s reputation as a force to be reckoned with and one to be avoided like the plague. This was reinforced by those boys who had been privileged to view Robert Collins’s roasted arse in the lavatories during the break that morning.  The verdict was that Robert Collins’s backside, in particular, had been well and truly shredded in a way never before seen in the school. A new era of punishment had clearly begun, and nobody’s arse was safe from the implacable scourge which Brad would quickly become.

Continued in Chapter 19