NO TALKING AFTER LIGHTS OUT !
At my Prep School ( A bording School for boys aged 7 - 13) we slept in dormitories housing between 6 and 12 boys per dorm. Bedtime was always at 7 pm for the yunger boys and 9 pm for the seniors, "lights out" being 30 minutes later in each case.
In my dorm, we always tried to keep our dorm's lights on as late as possible to read our comics and the like.
There was a "Dorm Patrol" each night, usually one of the teachers or sometimes our Matron, a buxom lady whose powers with her heavy hairbrush were well known to us all.
On this occasion, Matron was on the "Dorm Patrol" and we at first thought better of doing anything wrong as she "had it in" for us ever since we had soaked her with a bucket of water some weeks earlier. That episode had cost all of us a bare-bottom caning from our very irate Headmistress-- her right arm was also well respected.
One of our boys, Peter, had recently returned from an interview with Miss Sanders, our Headmistress. This inevitably had meant a whacking and Peter confirmed that he had had the strap whilst over Miss Sander's ample knees. Thirty spanks had been his sentence, not an unusual amount for a 12 year-old (the juniors would only have received about 10).
He entered the dorm with hands on his bum and red eyes, and though he didn't look as though he'd actually been crying, he was clearly very close to so doing. Naturally, we all wanted to see the results of the Head's handiwork on Peter's bum. Rupert, the most mischievous member of our dorm and the eldest at 13, said that the marks wouldn't be as good as the ones he himself had got the previous week, when he'd had a ten minute session with the hairbrush, leaving him in floods of tears (which he of course denied!) and with a well bruised set of hindquarters.
Once we thought the coast was clear, Rupert grabbed a torch from his locker and Peter got out of bed and dropped his pajamas to allow every-one to see his cherry red bum. "Wow, that was some strapping" was Rupert's comment. "Look at those red stripes!"
Indeed, Peter's bum was very red indeed, tinged with the purple bruising always present after a strapping.
Rupert placed his hand over Peter's still hot rear end and said, "That was a really hot whacking Peter-- as good as mine"
"You will be able to find out right now, young man!" boomed a strong female voice.
We looked round in horror to see Matron standing in the doorway, silhouetted by the light in the corridor beyond, which made her look even more terrifying than usual. In her hand she carried the dreaded Mason-Pearson hairbrush which we all hated as much as any strap.
"Right, young man", Matron said to the shaking Rupert as she switched our dorm lights back on. "Over here at once!" Rupert obeyed immediately, knowing the consequences if he didn't. "You, Peter, pull up your pajamas. You will report to me tomorrow afternoon for your punishment." Peter did as he was told and got back into bed to watch the proceedings. "The rest of you boys will each receive 30 with the hairbrush. We shall start tomorrow morning with you four on that side of the room," she said, pointing to my side of the dorm. "The others will come with Peter tomorrow afternoon. Understand?"
"Yes, Matron" we all mumbled, very unhappily. Matron then turned to the hapless Rupert, grabbed him by the arm and pulled him over her knee as she sat on his own bed. In one movement, she pulled his pajamas down, and after folding up his jacket out of the way, addressed him.
"You seem to enjoy breaking rules and crowing about your punishment, young man. Let's see if you find this spanking enjoyable!" With that, Matron raised the brush up and brought it crashing down on Rupert's bottom with a loud "SPLAT!"
Rupert grimaced, but to his credit, didn't yell out straight away. In English schools the "stiff upper lip" is always the rule. You shouldn't cry during a whacking, impossible though it inevita-bly proves!
After the first 10 to each cheek, Rupert was whimpering and his bottom was getting a very nice glow. The second set of 10 to each cheek had him crying openly, and he was beginning to wriggle in a vain attempt to avoid that brush.
"It's no use wriggling, young man. It won't save your bottom from getting its just desserts!" Matron said grimly as she continued to heat up Rupert's now extremely hot bottom.
By the end of Matron's normal 100 with the brush, Rupert was in floods of tears and his bottom was very red indeed, (I think you call it blistered in the States). But still she carried on to, "make an example of you, young man", until the poor boy had had no less than 150 with that brush. When all was said and done, Rupert was left with a black & blue bottom, which we all called a "Blue Bottying" to signify an exceptional whacking.
Rupert was dismissed to bed with orders to report to Matron in the morning for inspection of the marks, along with the rest of us who were to be whacked at the same time. He was sobbing for some time in bed that night, I can assure you!