The Honour of the School.

by Glen

In the forties I was a boy at school. It was run by the Church of England and modelled upon the great schools of Britain. Traditionally the boys were regimented beneath a strict disciplinary control. Correct school uniform at all times. At primary school level short trousers and a blazer, at senior school a dark long trousered blue suit. Caps to be worn at all times outside the school boundary and raised respectfully whenever a teacher was met. At senior school, prefects had supreme power over all boys and governed with a veil of fear. The culmination of that fear, in the event a rule was breached, was the inevitability, the absolute inevitability of.... The Cane. Administered with an enthusiasm, which, as I look back after all these years, must have been generated by _s_e_x_ual pleasure. The age range at senior school was from 13 to 18, and prefects - boys themselves, maybe 17 or 18 could hardly be expected to be in control of their own adolescent _s_e_x_ual desires. To have the power of authority at such level over younger boys was certainly likely to stimulate adolescent pleasure. Although this authority was supposed to be limited to administering The Cane over a boy's trousers it was not infrequent that boys, guilty of some serious offence, were blackmailed into submitting to a bare caning by the threat of The Headmaster. The Headmaster was generally believed by every boy (and by Himself too) to have the power and authority of God. Very few genuinely guilty boys indeed would defy a prefect and refuse to take down his pants and underpants.

At junior school I was a frequent visitor in my short pants to the Principal's study, staring with a certain pride at the reflexion of the welts in the mirror at home. But at senior school, as adolescence began encroaching upon me I began to rebel against the stringent discipline which seemed to me to be a cloud over my whole life. By the age of 15 I hated school, and hated being seen as a schoolboy. The school day became a time of unstinting oppression, and when the day was over the feeling of freedom was complete. The school was situated adjacent to the Botanical Gardens and I would walk home through the gardens. In the centre of the gardens there was a fern gully through which the path lead, and as I walked down that path I would remove my cap placing it in a pocket and replace my school tie with another I always kept handy, emerging at the other end of the gully as a young man about town - or so I thought anyway. One day I emerged from the gully and met the school senior prefect. He knew me immediately. Where was my cap ? Where was my school tie ? Report to his study the next day after school !

It would mean six of the best for sure. My bottom tingled all the way home. It tingled as I sat at the family dinner table that night. every time I moved in the chair I was conscious of my bottom. When changing into pyjamas for bed it continued to tingle, I gazed at it in the mirror, wondering what it would be like the next night. I slept very little as I was busy most of the night wanking at the thought of the next day after school. In the morning there was considerable unfortunate evidence which had to be carefully concealed. I looked in the mirror again and then quickly pulled up my trousers. School work that day was hopeless, twice I was hauled out from my desk to receive a couple of strokes each time. There would be welts but nothing like the welts from a prefect - especially the senior prefect, whose reputation with The Cane was legendary. Inevitably the school day came to an end. I reported to the study. To my astonished horror I was ordered to change into football shorts and singlet, I was to be sure to wear an athletic support and definitely no underpants, and then go and wait in the shower room. All canings were traditionally administered in the shower room. It was a large open room with a concrete floor and several showers together, no privacy whatever. After sport it would be crowded with naked boys of all ages, many of whom proudly displayed the welts on their bottoms. When I reported there in the required clothing the room was empty as all boys were out on the playing fields. For twenty minutes I waited, wandering about dejected, the thinness of my brief shorts a constant thought in my mind. The tightness of the athletic support beneath the shorts tempting my hands to stray in nervous anticipation. I was prevented from consoling myself in this way by the arrival of several cronies of the senior prefect, come to watch the procedure. Prefect canings were always popular amongst the senior boys, there was always a gallery of excited cronies to witness the punishments and to discuss them afterwards - the prowess of the prefect concerned and the reactions of the victim, especially the way he rubbed his bottom after it was over. Somehow I think this phenomena had something to do with the way the cronies (and the prefect himself I am certain) rubbed themselves later, but it would not be their bottoms they rubbed.

Eventually the prefect arrived, carrying The Cane. I stood submissively to attention while lectured about the honour of the school and the way in which I had disgraced the school. Then to my horror I was ordered to take off my shorts, I was to have six of the best on my bare bottom. The cronies moved restlessly, there was always something special about a boy pulling down or removing his pants for a caning, the significance of that action was almost manifest. Naturally, at the time, my mind did not consider it, but in hindsight I am certain had I had the ability to look I feel certain most of the boys present would have been erect and probably wanking. My mind however, was at that moment not clear. I had to take off my pants and offer up my BARE bottom for punishment. The prefect swished the cane impatiently, "Hurry up ! Get those pants off !" The matter was decided for me. One of the cronies, beside himself with excitement, rushed up to me and ripped my shorts down. Imperturbably, the prefect snapped, "Step out them. Leave them on the floor. Spread your legs as wide as they'll go, bend over and grip your ankles. NOW !"

"Wider than that !" he ordered as I opened my legs, "Wide as they'll go !" I could see the prefect and his cronies through my legs as I was bending and they could see my naked bottom and my naked boyhood hanging helplessly between my stretched legs. Slowly the prefect walked back to the opposite end of the room. Raising the cane high above his shoulders he ran towards me, leaping into the air as he brought the cane cracking down on to my bare bottom. I have never been one to remain unmoved by severe pain. I was up on my feet in an instant, howling and dancing, hands clapped to my bottom. The cronies must have been delighted and would discuss my reactions lasciviously later. The prefect remained imperturbable, waiting until the first unbearable agony in my bottom lessened. "Bend over again. Legs stretched - wider.........NOW !" Six times it happened like that.

In the mirror at home that night the condition of my bottom was indescribable. Needless to say I did not sleep much, I was far too busy doing other things !

More stories by Glen