This is the third story in "The College Years" series about the corporal punishment regime endured by a university student - me, Martin, living in an elite, men only residential college, which has strict rules. At the end of the last story I was at dinner, recovering from my first formal college beating (for being drunk and out after curfew) and the follow-up caning which was a test to see if I was "worthy" of joining a special elite society within the college.
Our table was very quiet. We ate dinner slowly, all thinking about the pain in our backsides - me in particular, as I'd had the extra elite punishment. Mcgregor had told me that I hadn't had to take the extra - but I wasn't so sure. I was thinking it may have made my progress into the elite easier.
My musings were interrupted by a clang of a gong. College president Johnstone stood at the head table.
"Welcome !" he boomed "some of you are new, and some of you have already discovered the strictness of our rules here" . At this he nodded to my table with a small smile.
"Tomorrow - you'll begin orientation around the university, and sign up for classes. You'll also begin the initiation process into this college. We'll your initiation begin before breakfast - at 5:30 in the morning, in the main hall."
"You've got to be kidding !" called out one new guy, who hadn't fronted for the cane, and didn't understand what he was getting himself in for.
"If you don't like the rules you don't have to stay in the college" called back Johnstone.
No one else spoke, so Johnstone continued "At 5:30 you will meet your senior mentor for your first early morning work-out - you'll be pulled out of bed if your late. If you resist, you'll be expected to leave the college."
I went up to my room in a sombre room. This "work-out" didn't sound like fun. I slipped into bed carefully, mindful of the stripes on my bum, and fell to sleep on my front. Next thing I remember was being shaken awake, followed by sharp WHACK across my bum.
I woke with a start - "Whaa ?"
"Get up you stupid, lazy slob" barked the guy in my room. He was big and really muscly. He obviously worked out a lot. He had a small swagger stick in his hand, and brought it down on my bum a second time. WHACK. It really stung through my boxer shorts.
"Yeow" I jumped up, and made to get out of bed . Unfortunately, I was lying on my front, so had jumped up onto my knees - presenting my bum for another WHACK, which stung like hell and reignited the stripes on my still sore backside.
"Oww - give me a break mate" I pleaded, as I jumped off the bed, in time to avoid the next stroke. I stood looking up at this big guy wondering what was going on.
"You're late for your work-out" he yelled at me. "You're lucky I don't give you a thrashing here and now for that alone."
"Ummm" I stammered.
"I'm your senior mentor - you may call me Sir, or Mr Ferguson." he interrupted.
"Ok" I mumbled. He suddenly brought the swagger stick across the seat of my boxer shorts. _d_a_m_n_ it stung !
"OK WHAT !!!!" he bellowed
"Ok .... sir !" I said, through clenched teeth. My butt could really do without this!
"Better" he said "now we're late enough as it is - get your butt into these". He threw me a pair of thin cotton work-out shorts and a singlette. I quickly turned my back of my mentor and slipped out of my boxer shorts and into these new clothes. The shorts were so tight they barely covered my whole bum, and they encased each cheek of my bum so tightly that they stood out in sharp relief. The singlette was likewise tight. My physique looked pretty poor alongside this guy.
"Follow me" he barked and turned and walked out of the room and down stairs into the hall. All the new guys were there - or just arriving. Each was shadowed by a tall, well muscled "mentor", equipped with a swagger stick, who stood with his "prob" (probationary member of the college), dressed exactly as I was, on an exercise mat.
There were a total of 40 probs in the room - only 25 - 30 of us would survive to be permanent members of the college.
Mr Ferguson and I look up position on a spare mat. I stood in the military style "stand-easy" position that most of the probs had adopted. He stood just behind me. I was very aware of the clear target my backside represented. I glanced up at the hall clock - it was 5:35.
Suddenly a recorded clarion call echoed through the room. Someone yelled "Atten- shun". Almost by reflex I moved into the attention position. A few guys needed a whack from their mentor's stick to get them to do likewise. I could sense that Mr Ferguson was also standing to attention. I saw Johnstone walk onto a makeshift podium at the front of the room. With him was the second guy who was with Mcgregor when I was interviewed in his office.
"Good afternoon" said Johsntone, his voice dripping with sarcasm "if this group is EVER this late again, you will all receive twenty strokes. Now to take you through your work-out, I want to introduce Group Mentor Phillips".
Master Phillips paced up and down the podium. Muscles bulged all over his body. The huge bulge at the front of his tight work-out shorts suggested he was really going to get a kick out of whatever was to come.
"Ok - give me 60 seconds of push ups - if you can do 80 push-ups you get no whacks, you'll get a whack from your mentor for every one under 80." He looked down at his watch "GO".
I fell towards the mat, as Mr Ferguson had shoved me. I braced the fall and moved into the push-ups. My mentor counted. I hadn't been exercising like this for 4 months and so was out of practice. I only made it to 53 push-ups when the Master called out STOP.
"Twenty-seven whacks you lazy slob" said Mr Ferguson with a malicious gleam in his eye, "Get up".
I stood, and he told me to bend over. I noticed that just about every guy in the room was doing it to. Some were pleading with their mentors, while a couple were actually crying and pleading to be spared. I just took position - accepting the inevitable.
Soon that swagger stick was whacking into my butt. The shorts offered almost no protection. My backside was soon aflame. The 27 came quickly, and I didn't have to count. I was gasping with pain when I was allowed the stand. I noticed that more than half the guys were still bent over receiving more swats. A few were crying and sobbing loudly.
"Just stand-easy while you wait" murmured Mr Ferguson. Within a couple of minutes - every guy was standing again.
The Master then led us through a series of stretching exercises. My mentor occasionally gave me a choice whack across my butt if he didn't feel I was stretching far enough.
We then were led into more strength and aerobic exercises - sit ups were the hardest ! We also used free weights, which were supplied by the mentors. Again, any sign of slacking and my butt was given a good whack. Eventually I was sweating freely. As the sweat run down my butt it stung the weals and stripes. I felt exhausted by the time we warmed down an hour later.
We were told that we had 20 minutes to clean up for breakfast. If you hadn't showered by the time breakfast was served - you'd be getting a caning in front of everyone. The probs were now to have a special breakfast session, with a highly regulated diet.
As I made to leave - Mr Ferguson grabbed my arm " A word".
"Yes sir" I said, having fallen into a school boy like, automatic response.
"You handled that well" he said "I will be riding you hard in everything you do - we all know you should be able to make it into this college easily. Prove it to me. You will report to me every morning at 5:25. If you are ever late again, I'll get the Master to cane your lousy butt in front of everyone. Now go and get ready for breakfast"
With that he gave me one last whack with his stick and I headed out of the room - keen to get out of the way. I showered quickly, dressed and went down for breakfast. Only to be presented a plate of strained prunes. We were told that anyone who didn't finish would be beaten. I was starving and so managed to eat it all. We were then allowed toast and a cup of tea.
I then headed out into the University, and joined the other new students in finding my way around the huge campus and attending lecture. By 5:30 I was finished with formal classes and though t that I probably should get back to the college.
But some of the people I'd met in my classes suggested we all go and have a drink. I thought that one drink wouldn't hurt -so I joined them. I soon settled in with a great group of guys and girls. We shared a lot of interests, and I really enjoyed getting to know them . One of the girls - Rebecca was a total babe and I wanted to get to know her a lot better. The pain from the canings had made me _s_e_x_ually excited and so I was very interested in know this girl.
So, I soon forgot about the rules of St Johns. When I next looked at my watch it was 10:30. "Oh no!" I called out suddenly .
"What is it" asked Rebecca.
"I'm out after curfew" I Said
"You have a curfew? " she said incredulously.
"At St Johns - awww no, I'm in for it now." I bid goodbye to everyone and sprinted across the campus, and arrived at the doors of the college. I tried to open it, and it wasn't locked ! I stepped inside tentatively. I wasn't surprised to see Mr Ferguson standing inside the door, arms crossed, and looking angry.
"Well, well, well" he said "this is a good start !" He grabbed me by the ear and dragged we towards the basement - lecturing me about the rules of the college. We got down to the basement and found a line of guys with their mentors - all awaiting punishment. I could hear the muffled THWACK of the cane impacting the backside of an unlucky young man.
Mr Ferguson continued to lecture me, and told me that in addition to whatever caning the Masrer would give me, he was going to put on college restriction for the next week, so that I will have to spend all my time outside lectures and tutorials in a special supervised study room here in the college - no more drinking, no more socialising. On weekends I would be required to stay within the college.
As he lectured me the line shortened - guys would walk in uncertainly, and stumble out teary eyed and in considerable pain. I knew my bum would feel the cane again.
Finally it was our turn. Mr Ferguson shoved me through the door, and I saw the Master standing by the big desk taking practice swings with the big cane.
"Ahh Martin" he said "I was wondering how long it would take you "
"Master" said Mr Ferguson "I'm submitting Martin for a severe thrashing. He returned to college after curfew, having missed dinner. This is the second time in his brief time here that he has done this. I recommend 18 strokes"
"I agree Mr Ferguson" said the Master, as he motioned to the desk. I was shoved forward and took position by lying across it. My jeans tightened around my butt. I was glad I'd chosen to wear a good pair of jeans, rather than the Bermuda shorts I'd also considered. The pain of my previous punishments had subsided to a dull throb. I was about to have a very sore bum again !
"Count Martin" barked Mr Ferguson.
The cane whistled through the air, and thwacked into my bum: "one " I grunted. Two, Three, Four, Five, Six, Seven, Eight, Nine, Ten, all whacked into me. I was crying quietly, but hadn't mis-counted or cried out. Eleven and Twelve were agony, and I could barely croak out the number. Then the master said "Look don't bother counting these last six- they'll come quickly".
"Whack, Whack, Whack" This was hurting a lot "Whack, Whack, Whack" as the last stroke hit me I cried out. I was in agony. The pain built-up with the rapid fire of the strokes so the pain was almost unbearable.
I was then lectured by the Master and my Mentor about the rules of my "College Restriction". I remained stretched over the table at this point- sobbing quietly. Mr Feguson gave me a couple of extra whacks with his swagger cane just to reinforce his message. Finally I was allowed to stand, but had to put my hands on my head - so that I couldn't rub my buns. I was then marched up to my room, and advised to go straight to bed - I had to be up early in the morning. I complied with the advise, but not before setting my alarm clock, and checking out the new stripes on my arse. _d_a_m_n_ my bum was red- effectively one giant bruise.
I slept on my front again, and woke frequently - worried about missing my alarm. So when the alarm did go off I was already up, and headed down for the work out in plenty of time. Again we were exercised hard, with whacks from the swagger cane for an "slacking". I then had breakfast and attended a couple of lectures before returning to college in time for my study session. I had no time to stop and talk to anyone after class - Rebecca clearly thought I was a weirdo. So I duly had lunch and dinner in the college, and earned no bad behaviour demerits. I was in bed early again, ready for the next day.
So the week continued like this. I occasionally heard tales of other guys getting caned for being out after curfew or disobeying or being impertinent to their mentor whereas I'd already learnt not to do any of those things! It wasn't long before very prob was in the college restriction sessions.
Every morning I was given a pretty good thrashing at exercise time. But avoided any other punishment.
Time flew - soon it was the weekend.
On Saturday - we were told we had to go through trials for sports. To do this we would play 20 minutes of Rugby in 7 aside squads, against each squad 7 mentors. We went through the usual early exercises and whackings, followed by breakfast. We then made our way to the sports field. The trials were to be observed by members of the St Margaret's college for girls - we would be having a huge party with them at the end of the probationary period.
We were given Rugby training gear. It felt good to be going out onto the field. We were to wear training shoes. The mentors were given proper cleated shoes. We were told that the mentors were allowed to cheat. If WE cheated we'd get a beating in the locker-room afterwards, with a fraternity paddle that had been brought over from America. I could guess that this experience would hurt.
My squad was selected to go first. We ran out on the field. I looked around the faces and was surprised the see Rebecca in the St Margaret's seats. I waved to her. Mr Furguson scowled at me - I had a feeling I'd be feeling his stick later !
I soon got engrossed in the game, playing hard, but carefully in the rules. I really wanted to be in the team and so wanted to impress the selectors. I was kicked in the butt a few times after tackles, which was making my well striped bum very sore. In most tackles the mentor would grab my nuts and squeeze hard. I didn't respond, until Mr Ferguson actually kicked me in the nuts, and then racked my back and butt with his boots. It really hurt and made me mad, so I got up and gave him a shove. He turned and scowled
Soon the other probs held me back, before I could really hit him. Mr Ferguson just looked at me and said "Locker room beating Martin" and jogged off. The 'game' was soon over. The mentors had 'won' by cheating, but I think I'd impressed with my playing skills - now I just had to face this beating .... I was engrossed in this as I walked towards the changing rooms when a female voice called "Benny !"
It was Rebecca. I stopped and said "Hi" and was set to keep talking by Mr Ferguson grabbed me by the arm and said "We need you for your post match review mate" and pulled me away. The look in his eye made it clear that the review would be at the end of a paddle.
The guys had formed a semi-circle around the central bench in the locker room. I was marched in and told the straddle the bench and lean over to hold its base. This put me in the perfect position for beating. The shorts stretched tight on my bum. The next game at started outside - so none would hear these strokes.
"Just can't help your self can you Martin" said Mr Ferguson.
"No Sir" I said glumly
He told me to hang on, and pulled the heavy looking paddle back before splating it into my butt., Yeow that hurt ! Not as sharp as the cane or swagger stick, but a deeper pain, which enflamed all the stripes I already had. The 12 came quickly. My butt was on fire. Yeoww it hurt !
I didn't cry out, but was in tears by the end. I finally stood, and was told to put my hands on my head, and stand at the end of the bench with my shorts pulled down so all the guys could see my red butt.
It was very humiliating, standing there. Some guys took the opportunity to flick my butt with their towels, or give me a quick slap., So once all the games were over, I was grateful when I was told I could shower and get dressed. I made my way back to the College and read quietly for most of the day - lying on my front !
On Sunday morning, we had exercise as usual - at which I was given a pretty harsh whacking for not trying hard enough, I suspect that Mr Ferguson was worried that I wasn't receiving enough beatings. I spent the day reading and studying quietly. At 3 that afternoon I went to Mcgregor's door to report for my elite session.
I walked through his room and up the stairs. Mcgregor was sitting in an armchair, alone. There was the same stool in front of it. He pointed at it, and I sat down uncomfortably on it.
"Hello Martin" he said.
"Hello sir" I said back.
"Interesting week ?" he asked.
"Umm, I guess" I responded
"You guess huh - since you were last up here you were severely beaten twice, as well as getting beaten each morning for slack exercising ! "
"Yes sir" I mumbled.
"Was it fair ?" he asked.
"Yes sir !" I said, not wanting to get myself in more trouble.'
"Good" he said "do you think you should get caned by me for any of those offences".
"No sir " I said
"Excellent - you're learning" he said "I agree your slate in clean. What we need to talk about are things the regular college doesn't judge you on. Specifically your dress and appearance".
"Sir?" I enquired - I was better dressed than most f the guys in the college.
"You need to be much better presented if you are to be in the elite" he said as he stood and walked over to me. "Stand up" he barked . " I mean look at yourself - in these scruffy clothes" as he pointed and pulled at my comfortable old shirt and well worn jeans with a hole in the pocket. "Clean pressed, crisp clothes boy ! That's what you must have".
"Yes sir" I mumbled.
"So you agree that what you are wearing is substandard?"
"Mum, I guess so sir"
"Well you'll know by the end of this session. Now I'm going to give you twelve strokes across your butt now for your inappropriate clothes. And I'll give you until Tuesday to prepare your wardrobe so that it only contains clothes in a condition suitable for you to wear. All other clothes will be given to the poor. If you haven't complied by then, you'll receive more beatings"
I gulped. It sounded like I would have to be busy doing laundry and ironing so that I was ready for Tuesday. He told me to stand and stretch over the desk. My jeans stretched over my backside presenting the perfect target.
THWAACK !!!! "Yeowwww - that's one sir"
THWAKKK "Oh god sir, that's two"
Each stroke rained down harder than the next. I counted each with difficulty.
By Four I was whimpering. By 8 I was begging him to stop. By 12 I was sobbing uncontrollably. The cane he used re-fired my butt so that every stroke I'd received seemed to haunt me again. I could hardly walk afterwards, as I made my way down t my room.
I opened my messy cupboard and wondered how I'd be able to get my clothes organised to Mcgregor's satisfaction in three days !
To be continued......