'Look out, Mike - here comes Ankerson wanting that essay he set you yesterday.'
Michael Curtis turned to Colin Dimmock, his fellow fifth-former at Welhampton College, and grinned. 'Well he can wait for it! I had enough homework to get through yesterday evening without having to waste time labouring over a prefect's impot.'
'He's bound to be annoyed, Mike...'
'_d_i_c_k_ Ankerson's a bit of a soft touch where prefects are concerned - take my word for it. He won't mind waiting another day or two. Anyway, I think it's ridiculous to be given an impot merely for not having my school cap on at the bus stop. I'm not some silly little junior in short trousers, after all. It's alright for sixth formers like Ankerson - there's no rule making them wear caps.'
'Well, I'd rather wear my cap than have to spend an hour knocking out an essay,' said Colin. 'By the way, what was the subject of Ankerson's impot?'
'THE IMPORTANCE OF CORRECT SCHOOL UNIFORM would you believe! What thoughts am I supposed to have on that particular subject? As far as I'm concered, correct uniform is of NO importance.'
The college prefect, who had stopped to upbraid a group of juniors for dropping sweetpapers in the school yard, was now hurrying towards the two friends.
'I think you know what I want from you Curtis - the essay I set you yesterday afternoon. I expected you to drop it off at the prefect's room first thing this morning. Well, its lunchtime now - so where is it?'
'Er...the trouble is I had rather a lot of homework to get through last night and I haven't had time to finish the essay. I'll have it ready for you soon - I promise.'
'I'm afraid that's just not good enough! We went through this rigmarole with the last essay I set you - and the one before that as well, if I remember. When you're given a prefect's impot you must hand it in on time. I'm sure Greene may have something to say on this matter...'
'But why should you tell Greene? It was you who set the essay, after all.'
'Because our esteemed head prefect is fed up to the back teeth with boys like you who think they can run rings around authority. Don't be surprised if Greene requests the pleasure of your company in the prefect's room later today. Oh, and by the way, you can write me an additional essay on the subject of good timekeeping - and I shall want BOTH efforts first thing tomorrow morning!'
'Well, that's telling you,' said Colin to his friend, who was looking rather taken aback. 'I thought Ankerson was supposed to be a soft touch. I wouldn't want to be in your place when you're summoned to the torture chamber.'
Michael Curtis was visibly trembling at the prospect of a visit to the prefect's room. He had been summoned to the 'torture chamber' a couple of times before during his school career and on both occasions had emerged with an unpleasantly sore backside. The head prefect at Welhampton College enjoyed the right to slipper recalcitrant boys, although it was rare for a pupil of Michael's age to find himself bending over for a whacking. Such slipperings were more commonly meted out to fractious junior boys as a way of demonstrating to them that prefectorial authority was not to be trifled with. It was a couple of year's since Michael Curtis had last felt the sting of a head prefect's size 10 plimsol, but the recollection still made him wince.
At afternoon registration Michael's form-master told him that he had received a communication from James Greene: he was required to attend at the prefect's room directly after school. Although he had been anticipating this news, Michael still felt butterflies in the pit of his stomach. His friend Colin attempted to console him.
'Maybe Greene will just give you a talking to. You're a bit old for a slippering, after all - it's usually troublemakers from the junior forms who get a prefect's whacking.'
'I just wish I'd spent the time last night doing the first essay! It's my own fault - I was watching TV when I should have been writing the impot. But I thought I'd be able to get around Ankerson lik eI did the other times.'
'Well, now it looks as though you may be up for the high jump,' said Colin. 'It might be a good idea to pad up just in case.'
Although Colin had said this jokingly, it actually struck Michael as a good idea. A few extra layers of clothing might serve to dull the sting of the slipper. The class had been in the gym that day and Michael determined to put on his PT shorts under his trousers. And come to think of it, two pairs would be even better...
'Could I borrow your PT shorts Colin? That's a good idea of yours about padding up.'
As soon as the bell sounded for the end of school Michael went to the toilets and locked himself in a cubicle. After removing his grey worsted school trousers he donned both pairs of white cotton gym shorts over his underpants and then dressed. Now he felt slightly more confident of surviving the coming ordeal. Leaving the cubicle, the fifth-former walked across the quadrangle to 'old school' - the historic original college building where the prefects' room had been located from time immemorial.
Michael took a deep breath to pluck up his courage and then knocked at the ancient oaken door. A voice boomed from within, directing him to enter, and he shuffled into the high-ceilinged chamber with its high gothic windows and thick stone walls. Generations of Welhampton prefects had done their best to make the room reasonably comfortable, furnishing it with armchairs, rugs and tables.
'I bet they have a good time in here well out of the way of masters,' Michael thought to himself as his eyes wandered around the room. Some half-dozen prefects were in attendance, lounging at ease in armchairs and sipping coffee. Some were reading newspapers or magazines whilst others were chatting. However, the head prefect, James Greene, was standing with his back to the chimneypiece and Michael noted with dismay that he was holding a large black plimsol.
'I'm sure you know why you're here Curtis. Ankerson thinks that it's time you were taught a lesson and I must say I agree. Do you have anything to say before I beat you?'
'I think I'm too old for a prefect's slippering. I'll be a sixth-former myself next year, after all.'
'So you think you're too old to be slippered at sixteen! I beg to disagree. The only difference your age makes is that you deserve a stronger dose of slipper than a junior boy would receive. Now, bend over and touch your toes. Take off your blazer first, please.'
The prefects who had been reading put down their newspapers and magazines and prepared to enjoy the show. Michael hung his striped college blazer on a hook by the door and reluctantly assumed the touching toes position. He resented being made to bend over in this fashion like some pipsqueak junior, and the humiliation was made worse by the leering gaze of the watching prefects.
'Bend right over - that's the way. I want to see your trousers stretched really tightly across your bum,' said Greene, rhythmically tapping the smooth rubber sole of the plimsol on the palm of one hand. Just then the door opened and another prefect entered the room. Michael had an inverted view of the doorway through the opening between his legs and he noted with embarrassment that the new arrival was none other than Ankerson.
'You're just in time, Richard,' said James Greene. 'This good-for-nothing is about to receive the sore backside he deserves.'
Richard Ankerson sauntered towards the bent-over form of Michael Curtis. 'How does it feel bent over like that, Curtis? None too comfortable, I expect. This backside of yours is in for a very hot time.' As he said that last sentence, Ankerson tapped his fingertips on the tightly stretched grey worsted of the schoolboy's trouser seat. The surface felt oddly spongy.
'Hold on a minute, James,' said Ankerson, frowning. 'I think our friend here may have padded himself.'
'Is that true? Have you padded your behind, Curtis?'
'I...that is...I may have left my shorts on after PT today...'
'Let's take a look, shall we? Stand up and drop your trousers.'
The entire company of prefects grinned as Michael lowered his trousers to reveal not just one but two pairs of PT shorts covering his underpants.
'You cheeky young rascal, Curtis,' exclaimed Greene. 'Take off those shorts at once. There's nothing beneath your underpants, I hope.'
'No Greene,' Michael muttered. He felt really humiliated standing before the chuckling assembly of prefects in his skimpy Y-front briefs and began to step back into his trousers.
'You can leave your trousers off for this slippering, Curtis. It will teach you a lesson for attempting to deceive me.'
'B-But Greene...p-please...' Michael stuttered, but the head prefect was not to be mollified.
'Get yourself bent over again. Take a tight grip on your ankles. That's the way. Now, Ankerson here ought to have some say in your punishment. How many shall I give him, Richard?'
'Six of the best ought to do,' said Ankerson, smiling. 'Did you hear that, Curtis? I've prescribed a dose of six for you. You'll be resting on a sore backside when you sit writing those essays for me this evening.'
James Greene flexed the outsized plimsol between his hands and sauntered towards the trembling fifth-former. Michael Curtis' thin cotton Y-front briefs were tightly stretched over his well-rounded buttocks, presenting an inviting target.
'WHACK!' The big slipper cracked down hard, sending a spasm of burning pain through Michael's behind. James Greene had used all the force he could muster, and the hefty blow almost caused the schoolboy to lose his balance.
'You'd better get a firm grip on those ankles, Curtis. We don't want you falling over, after all,' said Greene, sarcastically.
'WHACK!' Michael grunted as a further wave of fiery pain swept through his poor backside. 'WHACK!' Now the wretched schoolboy groaned, desperately fighting back the tears that wanted to flow. He would give anything not to let these disdainful prefects see him blubbing. 'WHACK!' The pain was now just too much to bear and Michael Curtis began to sob uncontrollably. 'WHACK!' 'WHACK!' The tortured schoolboy felt as though the flesh had been flayed from his buttocks: if only the horrible smarting pain would go away!
''You can get up now, Curtis.' Michael rose somewhat unsteadily to his feet and pulled on his trousers. His face was wet with tears and he fumbled in his trouser pocket for a tissue to dry his eyes. The slippering had been a terrible ordeal and his injured backside was still throbbing as he donned his blazer and turned towards the door to leave.
'Aren't we forgetting something, Curtis?' said James Greene. He was holding the two pairs of PT shorts Michael had been obliged to remove before his slippering. The schoolboy pushed the garments into his blazer pockets and left the prefects' room, pulling the heavy oaken door shut behind him. He was very much aware off his well-slippered backside as he took his seat on the bus home and later that evening, as he sat at the kitchen table writing no less than two impositions for Ankerson, he continued to feel twinges from his injured rear.
The Welhampton College prefects' 'torture chamber' had certainly lived up to its reputation.