Summer term, Robbie , now aged 14 and (a very) important 3 months, panted his way up the steps rushed inside and knocked on the door of his house master's study. He was bidden to enter.
"Mr Collingwood-Wilson, I suppose you can tell the time ?"
"Oh yes sir - it's ah 19-03"
And what time were you told to report here?"
"Seven O'clock sir- but my music lesson ran on late and it would have been rude to ask to leave."
"No doubt it would have young man - but it is also rude to be late for an appointment, and especially unwise when it is with your housemaster, who already has a list of grievances to discuss with youBend over and touch your toes- that's right"
Three almighty whacks with a size 11 plimsole had warmed Robbie's behind and knocked even more breath from his lungs.
"Good , stand up- now that I've got your attention there are some other things we need to talk about. First of all your end of year exams. I've got your results and report here. And it's not good reading. , there are 12 subjects and in eight of them your masters have said that you are not trying hard enough. What do you think your father will think when he reads this report ?"
The housemaster pushed the report form across the desk to Robbie
English Effort B Achievement B
Literature C C
Mathematics C C
Physics A A
Chemistry D D
Biology D D
Latin B B
German C D
History B C
Classics C B
Music A A
RE D C
Robbie read the report and groaned inwardly
" He'll go ape sir then give me a beating - he did so at Christmas,- he did the same for my brother as well- and this report is worse"
(The housemaster found the idea of the captain of Hockey who was also one of his sixth form prefects being beaten by his father rather interesting, and was dying to know more, but this was not the time to pursue such diversions).
" What do you think I'm going to do about it ?"
"Give me a lecture sir ..... and maybe the cane ?"
"No C-W lectures are wasted on you, you think with your backside- I think actions speak louder than words. Nor am I going to cane you- that limits me to just six strokes and that's not enough- I am going to use the slipper -two strokes for each C in the effort column and four for Ds. In the achievement grades. it will be 1 for a C and 2 for a D , now please add that up for me."
Robbie did some mental arithmetic , blinked in disbelief and horror, then recalculated - the answer was no better, " Thirty two sir " he croaked.
"Precisely, is there any reason why this is inappropriate or harsh?"
Very wisely Robbie remained silent
" I believe you know what to do next "
Robbie took off his coat and gingerly touched his toes.
" No C-W, trousers off and over the desk-if you please- that way you won't be able to move so much".
Grateful for the small mercy of being allowed to keep his briefs, Robbie pressed his thighs against the desk and leant forward, then he wriggled a bit to try and get comfortable (- a pretty in-appropriate term but at least the edge of the desk was no longer digging into his dick).
The housemaster folded Robbie's shirt tails out of the way and for a couple of moments savoured the tantalising sight of a largely bare back, the seat of snowy white CK briefs plumped into fulsome curves and the backs of two down covered shapely thighs which were already shaking slightly in anticipation of an imminent ordeal.
SMAAACK, the first of the blows from the plimsole roared into Robbie's behind - five more like it were placed in the middle of both arse cheeks and it was an effort for the boy to stay down. Big though a size 11 plimsole is, it does not cover the whole of the seat of a well developed 14 year old; in order to address this problem the teacher had grouped his blows into sixes and moved the target zone for each group. Firstly to the middle of both cheeks then concentrating on first the right and then the left buttock, groups 4 and 5 were the most painful and were delivered to the tops of the thighs just below the protective covering of the legs of his briefs. The final two strikes were savagely and perfectly superimposed on the first six.
Robbie left his face buried in the desk top and stayed in place. He heard the house master moving around the room and when he was at last told to stand he found he was being offered a tumbler of water. The plimsole was now parked on the desktop , next to an evil looking four foot rattan cane. The pedagogue sipped from a cut glass tumbler of malt and re opened the conversation.
"You took that well, but in a school like this you are expected to work It would be better if you settled down and made some effort so we don't have to do this again"
( pause for another sip from the tumbler )-
" But if you want your backside flayed every - week I'll be happy to oblige."
Robbie was disappointed, this seemed to be the beginning of (yet) another lecture, he was also disturbed that it was not only his behind which was throbbing, the front of his calvin-kleins felt heavy and distended- this could be very embarrassing.
"Sadly for you C-W thats not all, other masters and prefects tell me that you've had at least six formal canings this term. I presume that this is correct? ( No answer - just a pregnant silence and downcast eyes) -In that case, I have no option but to give you a housmaster's caning. But it's your choice , you can either have it now, or comeback tomorrow evening. Which is it to be?"
Robbie's backside already felt like an old cracked china plate, one fart and it would probably shatter into a thousand parts, how could he take a healthy dose of the cane? Conversely waiting another 24 hours for the inevitable was not an attractive option either.
Robbie heard the words, but did not recognise them as his own
" Let's carry on sir and finish things "
"A sensible choice young man, undies off and touch your toes"
Three minutes later, Robbie felt as if his backside had been on the receiving end of a flame thrower- the pain was indescribable and he thought that he would never be able to merely touch his behind again, far less sit on it ( any hint of an erection was by now history).
After fifteen minutes in a cold shower he still felt as if he'd sat on a volcano. When he'd looked at his arse in the mirror he saw a spectrum of mottling reds from cherry to crimson, all traversed by six purple welts. It flashed across his mind that it could reasonably entered into an exhibition of modern art- entitled something like "purple tracks at sunset".
Back in his room, having regained his composure Robbie was full of good intentions- more work, less cheek and keep out of trouble. This would be his new mantra. He did not want to face any more sessions like this evening's.
The other boys were full of good natured banter. SHEPARD, in jest, accused him of being a prefect's toy boy and even suggested that Robbie's late appearance in the dorm was attributable to a love tryst with an older boy !. Robbie managed to accept even this inane comment in good (ish ) humour. But when invited to join in a quick game of Jenga all resolve weakened and Robbie decided that remedial algebra prep could wait- sufficient to the day was the evil thereof and boy did his backside feel evil?
Twelve ( and indeed 24 ) hours later, Robbie still remembered his lesson. His backside was now (just) smouldering but it caused enough pain to ensure that sitting still on a hard seat was painfully difficult.
Comments are invited.