Night Class at St Barnabas

by Naughteboy <>

(Dear reader: this story is not meant to be taken seriously. It was fun to write).

The year was 2010. The old stone buildings of St Barnabas were shrouded in darkness for it was night time. Boys were asleep in their dormitories. There were lights still shining from a few rooms where teachers marked essays or prepared for the next day's classes.

A solitary light could be seen coming from the gardner's cottage. Behind the thick curtains, in the bedroom, Rod McKenzie was pummelling his huge penis into the tight anus of the slightly built male under him. Rod was a ruggedly handsome man. His naked body glistened with sweat. His partner was Jonathon Player the school's male nurse. He enjoyed being joined to his lover in the most intimate way any two men can ever be together but Rod's staying power was great and his beercan thick penis was starting to hurt Jonathon.

A muted beep and the 100" television screen suddenly switched to a picture of the headmaster, Toby Giles. Jonathon liked it better when people communicated by telephone or email. Rod extended a foot and yanked out the cord without missing a stroke. The picture faded to a pindrop. The thrusts became harder almost brutal until the gardener finally shot his load up Jonathon's chute. Rod lay for a moment on top of his friend before pulling out and rolling off him.

Jonathon got out of the queen-size bed, wrapping a towel around his middle. "I'll just get us a bite to eat".

Rod grumbled: "Why are you always hungry after we do it? I'm the one who does all the work - besides I just gave you an injection of healthy protein - right up your bum".

"Yes", replied the nurse, "And your 'needle' was as big as ever". He was hungry because he usually self-administered an enema before _s_e_x_ so as to be clean for Rod. He quickly nuked two dinners in the multi-wave cooker and then took the dishes through to the bedroom.

Rod now had another companion in bed with him, Mangler the school cat. He was a big old tom whose _s_e_x_ual prowess was something of a legend among the local felines. He sat between the two men and watched them eat their curry.

"Wonder what the headmaster wanted?" Jonathon asked.

Rod sighed. "Better play the message. It will be stored in the DVD hard-drive".

Jonathon slurped up the the exotic dish and gave Mangler the left overs. The cat turned up his nose at them. The nurse pushed the plug back into the television set and hit the 'stored messages button' on the DVD menu. In a second an image of Toby Giles the headmaster filled the screen. He coughed, an amazingly lifelike sound, thanks to the nicam quadro stereo system.

"Er, Mr McKenzie, Can you please come to my study tomorrow after assembly? I need to see Mr Player as well. He appears to be out so I left a message. Goodbye". The picture of the Headmaster faded.

"Wonder what the old boy wants?" said Jonathon. "It has to be something to do with corporal punishment because that's the only thing we do together".

"Oh yes?" said Rod. "And what do you call t-h-i-s?" He pushed the nurse facedown on the bed and prepared to enter him again. Mangler had the good taste to leave the bedroom at the point, and so shall we.

Readers familiar with this chronicle will know that the government that year had reintroduced corporal punishment into schools. This had proven very successful. Boys attended classes instead of being given the holiday of 'suspension'. Thus, their one chance at getting an education was not lost. In accordance with the St Barnabas tradition, beatings were administered by the gardener. The nurse supervised the ritual. When the stick first returned there was a queue of a dozen or more boys waiting for punishment. Now there were only one or two. School morale was much improved and the performance in external exams the best for 50 years.

The headmaster looked at the two men seated in front of his desk and smiled. "The reason I asked you to come and see me is the government wants to extend the use of corporal punishment into homes. Their concern is that fathers who themselves were never beaten have no idea how to go about it". The headmaster patted his jacket pocket, forgetting nicotine was now a banned substance. "We can't have any boy being brutally thrashed and badly hurt because of his father's ignorance. This is where YOU come in".

Jonathon shifted from one cheek to the other. Rod looked impassive. Mangler the cat, occupying the most comfortable seat, ignored them all.

The nurse spoke: "Headmaster, how can we help?"

"Well", Toby Giles replied, "The government is prepared to generously fund night classes. I had hoped you two gentlemen, being so intimately acquainted ...." Rod and Jonathon looked at each other "...with the corporal punishment at St Barnabas", the headmaster continued: "..would be the ideal men to take the class". He walked over to a curtained alcove. "The government has issued us with this teaching aid". Toby Giles who had a sense of the dramatic, pulled back the curtain.

Rod and Jonathon gasped out loud at a truly amazing sight. A lifelike mannequin of a teenage boy was bent over a chair. The men got up and inspected the thing. Rod promptly pulled its pants down revealing two remarkably realistic looking fleshy mounds. In its buttocks' crease was an open orifice. Jonathon looked at the thing's front and saw a fleshy penis and tiny balls. The nurse touched it. "Forbidden! Take hand off now. Illegal. Call police!" - a disembodied voice demanded. Jonathon turned scarlet with embarassment.

"We have to give it a name", said the headmaster. The men thought for a moment.

"Well", said Rod. "The first boy to be beaten under the new order was the Head Boy. Remember how he offered his bum for me to try the cane out on? Right here in this very room. Dropped his pants bent over and took six of the best".

"Indeed he did. We will call the dummy 'Adrian'".

A cane was propped against the chair. The headmaster picked it up and flogged the artificial buttocks. Amazingly, a red stripe appeared across the flesh. Its voice said: "Thank you daddy, please can I have another?" After the sixth stroke, Adrian said: "My bottom is very sore. Sorry I was naughty, daddy. Please give me a hug".

"Pity Adrian has an American accent" said the headmaster who was a stickler for accuracy.

A screen above the model lit up. Text appeared: "Strokes too low. Dangerously close to upper thighs. Score 1(10)".

Rod picked up the stick and administered six perfectly placed strokes. His performance rated 10 out of 10.

And so, Monday evenings at St Barnabas were never the same again. Alongside classes in Computer Science, Applied Psychology was 'Beating Your Boy'. Every week 12 fathers thrashed the non-living daylights out of Adrian the mannequin, under Rod's guidance. The nurse had a role to play as well.

"Sometimes, a post-pubescent boy will develop an erection while being beaten. This is perfectly normal but can be un-nerving for the father and also embarrass the boy. There is a de-tumescence medication available without prescription. It comes in the form of a suppository".

The class which had gasped after the dummy sprouted an erection, watched while Jonathon, wearing a disposable glove, lubricated Adrian's anus before skillfully inserting the suppository. The erection promptly subsided.

"I recommend you always give your son the Diagra before a beating", the nurse concluded. He then supervised each father in turn. From the tent-poles which grew in the front of most of the men's trousers while thrashing Adrian, Jonathon thought that the government had chosen to medicate the wrong participant.

Each course ran for six weeks. On the last night the fathers had the bonus of thrashing a real boy. Adrian, the Head Boy had volunteered for this assignment. Each dad penetrating Adrian's live anus was surprised at how easy it was to get a finger through the Head Boy's sphincter. The reason for this was Adrian had occupied the Gile's marital bed after the headmaster's wife had run off with Ms Fracque, the French language tutor.

Each father administered one stroke to Adrian's youthful buttocks. Unlike the dummy, Adrian reacted to each stroke and by the time the twelfth dad had thrashed him he was sobbing out loud, so severe was the hurt to his bare backside. He had recovered enough in time for the headmaste's speech followed by the presentation of a certificate, a sample of suppositories courtesy of the drug company, and a rattan cane, to each father.

All over the town boys were kept in order with the age-old method. Their fathers were confident in applying the stick which each boy respected for its awesome power to inflict serious hurt. Once again the school which had stood on the same ground for more than a century had met the ever-changing needs of the community it proudly served.

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