James Aspinall settled back into his comfortable leather armchair and purred with satisfaction. Whatever heights he might achieve later in life, he knew that few moments would bring the pleasure he was experiencing now. Head boy of Anstey's House! How he had longed for that distinction, never really believing that he would attain it. He had entered Fairmount School as an insignificant pipsqeak of 13, joining from a rather unfashionable prep school, and only through somewhat distant family connections had he managed to secure a place in the most exclusive house.
Right from the beginning he had stood in awe of the head of house: a strapping, athletic youth of 19. How fine he looked in his elegant tail coat and wing collar, so much more becoming than the Eton suits the juniors had to wear, with the rather demeaning 'bumfreezer' jackets. In his first two years James Aspinall had fagged for a sixth-form prefect, along with his fellow juniors, and had felt his fagmaster's slipper across his backside on occasions when he had been lax in carrying out his duties, which were many and onerous.
James felt fortunate that he had never been chosen to fag for the head of house, for while ordinary fagmasters were empowered only to use the slipper to discipline their charges, the head boy had the right to use the cane. He also had the privilege of 'owning' no less than three fags and these boys usually lived in constant fear of their master's rod.
After one of his pals had been caned particularly severely by the head boy, James resolved that if he were ever elevated to the exalted position of head of house (a very unlikely event at the time) he would abolish the use of the cane. Ordinary fagmasters were limited to inflicting three whacks with a gym shoe, yet for the same sort of offence a boy fagging for the head of house was likely to suffer four real stingers with the cane - and even more if the crime was deemed to be particularly serious.
James was relieved of fagging duties after his third year and in the fourth year was able to discard the juvenile bumfreezer and uncomfortable Eton collar and graduate to tails. He began to shine in athletics and since his academic work was of a good standard found himself made a prefect. He would now have his own fag at his beck and call and remembering the miseries suffered by himself and his friends, resolved to be as liberal as possible in his rule.
But alas, it was not to be, for his fag, a first-year boy by the name of Dawkins, merely took advantage of his master's good nature and became more and more problematic. In the end James had to warn him that, much as he disliked the practice, he would slipper the boy if he did not buck his ideas up.
This threat did being a temporary improvement, but Dawkins soon fell back into his indolent habits and the time came for a reckoning, One morning, when Dawkins had been late on duty yet again, James went to a drawer and took out the study slipper. The youngster was busy brushing down his fagmaster's tail coat, although he was not making a very good job of it; the boy had his back to him and James could not help noticing how the short bum-freezer jacket emphasised his pert behind.
'You can stop brushing my coat now Dawkins. I want you can bend over and touch your toes...' 'I'm sorry Aspinall, I didn't quite hear what you said.' 'I said that you are to bend over and touch your toes. At once!' 'But why, Aspinall?' 'Because I am going to slipper you.' 'But why do you want to slipper me? I always do my best for you....' 'I am going to slipper you because you are a lazy little good-for-nothing! Now get yourself bent over! 'Please Aspinall...if you let me off this time I promise I won't let you down again...I promise...please... ' 'I'm telling you for the last time - BEND OVER!'
With a deep sigh, the boy bent over in the punishment position as ordered. His striped school trousers were now stretched tightly over his well-rounded bottom, presenting an inviting target. 'Don't slipper me too hard, Aspinall...please...' James had no wish to inflict sadistic hurt upon his young fag, but he knew that if he did go easy on the boy, he would show him even less respect in future. So he resolved to give him the full three whacks permitted, and to lay them on as hard as he could manage . 'THWACK!' The rubber-soled size ten plimsoll struck the 13-year-old's bottom with considerable force, and the lad jumped up clutching his smarting behind. 'Get bent over again! 'B-but you've slippered me now!' 'You're getting two more, Dawkins!' 'Please, I've learnt my lesson I promise..' 'Bend over, Dawkins!' Reluctantly, his backside still burning from that first almighty whack, the frightened youngster resumed his punishment position.
'THWACK! !' Another demon whack, and once again the boy jumped up, massaging his injured rear. James took a firm grip of his fag's ear and, giving it a painful twist, forced the squealing junior back into position. 'THWACK!!!' The worst one of the lot, or so it seemed to Dawkins. His poor little bum felt as though it was going up in flames, so intense was the heat. 'Get up. Now I hope we understand one another a little better. Step out of line again and you'll get more slipper. Is that clear?' The boy's eyes were now tearstained. When would the horrible pain in his bottom go away? 'IS THAT CLEAR?' 'Er...y-yes Aspinall. I won't let you down again - I promise.'
From that time on Dawkins proved to be one of the most diligent, conscientious fags in Anstey's House, and although there were times when his boyish backside needed once again to be soundly slippered, those occasions were few and far between. More importantly, James Aspinall found himself converted to a belief in the efficacy of corporal punishment - at least when applied to lazy fags - and when, to his great joy, he found himself made head of house he forgot his previous resolution to abolish the cane. After all, with three potentially rebellious fags to keep in line the cane was a very necessary sanction.
James Aspinall settled further back into his comfortable leather armchair and surveyed his spacious study. There above the mantlepiece, arranged like crossed swords, were his two official canes, his 'fag-tanners.' It was still only the first week of the new term and he was about to administer his first tanning. Soon there would come a knock at the door and the erring fag would present himself for chastisement.
One of James' fags was a new boy whilst the other two were old sweats from the second year. That morning the boy deputed to wake him and serve him tea in bed - one of the second-years - had been ten minutes late and had therefore been ordered to report after evening prep for a swishing.
James could have punished the boy there and then, but it was undignified to administer a caning when dressed in one's pyjamas, besides which he knew that having to wait all day for the punishment greatly intensified it. The prospect of that evening's whacking had preyed on poor Bobby Farrow's mind all that day and the same questions had kept repeating themselves.
'How many? How hard? How much would it hurt? Was there any chance of being let off if he pleaded? Oh, if only he had not overslept that morning and been late with Aspinall's tea!'
Exactly at the appointed hour a hesitant knock came at the study door and fag Farrow was ushered in looking pathetically juvenile in his bum-freezer jacket and starched Eton collar.
'You were late on duty this morning Farrow, and I'm sure you know how an unsatisfactory fag is punished. Remind me.' 'He gets whacked, Aspinall.' 'And if the head of house's fag is unsatisfactory he gets whacked with the cane, doesn't he?' 'Y-yes, Aspinall. I'm very sorry I was late. It won't happen again.' 'Pull that chair out from under my desk and place it in the centre of the floor. Then get yourself bent over it.
James Aspinall went over to the fireplace and armed himself with one of his pliant fag-tanners. He had never used the cane before, although he had received some valuable instruction from the previous head of house. Indeed, he had asked that office-holder to give him one hard cut of the cane just so that he might know exactly how it felt and had been astonished by the sheer intensity of the stinging pain. And that was just one cut! Now the unfortunate Farrow was, going to suffer three such nasty cuts for being ten minutes late with his tea.
'THWIP!' Bobby Farrow gasped as the whippy cane landed on his tightly stretched trouser seat. The pain was terrible. 'THWIP!!' Another nasty stinger, making him squirm and wriggle. 'Keep still Farrow! You're getting one more.' 'THWIP!!!' The coup de grace. Bow Bobby Farrow was the possessor of three lines of fire branded across his schoolboy bottom.
'Get up! I hope you won't fail in your duties again Farrow. And I suggest you warn your two fellow fags of what they can expect if they don't toe the line. 'Y-yes Aspinall.' Farrow stood rubbing his smarting behind, wishing the tingling pain would subside. 'I shall be giving a study tea on Saturday. All three of you will be on duty and heaven help you if you are not up to the mark. If any one of you lets the side down you will all get tanned, is that clear?'
It was Saturday afternoon at Fairmount School and work had finished for the day. Those boys who weren' t involved in sporting fixtures were free to do as they pleased and since the weather was fine many took the opportunity to take a pleasant stroll out of school gates.
Life was not so pleasant for many of the fags. Some were out on errands for their masters, others were busy sweeping and dusting senior studies, cleaning muddy rugger boots, or bulling their fagmasters' cadet corps kit.
The three fags detailed to serve the head of house were especially busy. James Aspinall was giving a study tea for his closest cronies and the juniors were expected to purchase and prepare all the food, get the study spic and span and wait upon the guests. The two second-year fags, Bobby Farrow and _d_i_c_k_ Garrard, busied themselves with the all important task of getting things ready in Aspinall's study, sweeping and cleaning, polishing the cutlery and shining the tea plates. Every now and then they caught a glimpse of the 'fag-tanners' hanging above the mantlepiece and Bobby Farrow trembled as he remembered his painful whacking of a few days before. It was important that everything in the study was perfect. That was why the two experienced second-years were devoting themselves to the job and had left Ian Henderson, the new boy, with the relatively simple task of fetching the provisions from the village.
By the time the school clock struck half-past-two, Barrow and Garrard began to worry. Tea was to be served at three: it was about time Henderson arrived with the food. At a quarter-to-three they were very worried and at five-to-three, when the first guests arrived to face an empty table, the two second-years began to curse the absent new boy.
At three sharp Aspinall himself swept in, blinking with amazement when he saw the complete lack of provender. 'Where on earth is the grub? I gave you fags the money this morning!' 'Er...we sent Henderson to fetch it ages ago while we got the study ready. He hasn' t come back yet. I'm sure he'll get here soon though...' 'How canwe start tea with nothing to eat? It's the fault of you two giving that new boy the job of fetching the food. One of you should have gone. Well, I did warn you. I shall tan all three of you good and hard!' 'B-but it's not our fault, Aspinall. We don't know what's happened to the little idiot.'
It was not until half-past-three that Ian Henderson finally put in an appearance. His excuse was that he had forgotten to take the money and, not having enough cash even for the return bus fare, had had to walk all the way back to school before going back to the village to collect the provisions.
The three unhappy fags were on their very best behaviour as they served tea to Aspinall and his guests. All the time they were aware of the sentence hanging over them and now the crossed canes on display above the mantlepiece seemed even more ominous.
After tea the head of house and his cronies departed from the study laughing and joking, leaving the miserable fags to clear up the mess . 'I'm really sorry you two. It was stupid of me to forget to take the money. I'll tell Aspinall it was all my fault...' 'He's still going to whack all three of us - that's what he said.' 'It's not fair. Just because a stupid new kid makes a mistake.' The door opened and a breathless junior appeared. 'Farrow, Garrard and Henderson. I've got a message for you from Aspinall. He wants to see you here in his study after prayers.' 'Well that's it, muttered _d_i_c_k_ Garrard. 'Sentence of execution.' 'We could always hide his canes,' ventured young Henderson. 'Don't be stupid. He'd know right away who had taken them and it would be even worse for us.'
The remainder of the day was ruined for the trio of hapless juniors and they shuffled about the school grounds with their heads bowed. After prayers they walked with heavy hearts to Aspinall's study and stood in a line before him. 'You silly fags jolly well ruined my tea party. Well now I'm going to beat the lot of you.' 'Please Aspinall, it was all my fault really,' confessed young Ian Henderson. 'Who told you to fetch the provisions?' 'Er...F-Farrow... 'Is that true, Farrow? Was it your idea?' 'Yes Aspinall. I though it would be best if Garrard amd myself concentrated on getting the study ready. After that whacking you gave me the other day I didn't want to take any risks.' 'So it was your fault that tea was late?' 'In a way I suppose. But I didn't know that Henderson would forget to take the money with him.'
'That's enough talking. Its about time justice was done. Henderson, step forward and bend over the chair. Right over boy - I want to see your trousers stretched really tight. That's the way. I am going to give you four strokes. You two watch very closely; and remember - your turn will come soon!' James Aspinall took the thinner of the two canes and flexed it. It was a medium-length whippy rod, capable of inflicting the sort of sting that any but the most stoical of junior schoolboys found extremely disagreeable. He pinched the seat of Henderson's striped school trousers to ensure that he had not attempted to introduce any padding and then applied the first cut. 'Oweee!' Henderson howled with pain, his little bottom wriggling and writhing. Cuts number two and three were equally vicious, making the schoolboy gasp and squirm - these were real stingers! By the fourth and final stroke Henderson was crying his eyes out and at the end of the punishment he had to be helped up from the chair. 'Alright, dry your eyes and then cut along. And watch your step in future.' 'Yes Aspinall. Thank you Aspinall,' sobbed the chastened junior fag.
Garrard and Farrow had watched the caning as if mesmerised. The four strokes had been laid on well - a very harsh punishment for a 13-year-old's first offence. 'It's your turn now Garrard. Since you are old enough to know better I propose to give you six-of-the-best. Bend over the chair.'
Feeling very sorry for himself indeed _d_i_c_k_ Garrard positioned himself for the cane. It was rotten luck to be chosen to fag for the head of house. In his first year he had served a benevolent fagmaster who had never inflicted more than a single whack with the slipper - just enough to warn and encourage. Now here he was bending over for six stingers with the cane, and it wasn't even his own fault. Life could be very unjust.
'THWIP!' The same thin cane whizzed down at supersonic speed, inflicting a terrible, stinging pain. Five to go. THWIP! ' The agony intensified. ' THWIP!' The burning was becoming unbearable. 'THWIP!' 'THWIP!' 'THIIP!' Somehow _d_i_c_k_ Garrard managed to stay down as the agonising cuts of the cane landed one after another - and then at last it was all over. 'Get up! I trust that you have learnt your lesson Garrard.' 'Yes Aspinall. Thank you Aspinall.' 'Alright, you can clear off.' The boy made a quick exit, feverishly rubbing his smarting behind.
'Now it's your turn Farrow. I thought you would have learnt your lesson from the tanning I gave you the other day.' 'I'm sorry about what happened this afternoon, Aspinall. I should have fetched the food myself.' 'Well, it's too late for regrets now. Since you must bear much of the blame I am going to give you eight.' 'P-please Aspinall...not eight...it will be murder... ' 'You're getting eight. Now bend over the chair!' The next few minutes were much the worst to date in Bobby Farrow's young life. Aspinall was a well-built, muscular young man and he was now well into his stride. He selected the heavier of the two fag-tanners and proceeded to lay on the strokes with a will, raising the dust from the seat of the boy's striped trousers and inflicting terrific punishment. Despite all his best efforts the pathetic fag began to sob and cry, and soon the hot salty tears were rolling down his cheeks in a steady flow. Eight strokes was the sentence and eight strokes were duly administered, following which Bobby staggered out of his tormentor's study, his eyes still red from crying. His friend _d_i_c_k_ Garrard was waiting at the end of the corridor. 'The rotten bastard gave me eight - EIGHT! It hurt like hell.' 'My bum's still tingling from the six. It's going to hurt to sit down,' 'Let's go and look at the marks. See what sort of aim he's got.' The weals and bruises were duly inspected and the two fags concluded that Aspinall possessed a very good aim indeed. Fagging for the head of house was going to be no bed of roses.