SUMMONED BY THE HEAD
Part 3
'Taylor, Johnson,' said the Head, 'I note from your records that I have never had cause to paddle you before.'
'No, Sir,' we replied in shaky unison.
'You may count yourselves very lucky to have such exemplary records,' continued Mr Humphries, 'otherwise I would have to have given serious consideration to expelling you from this school. As it stands, however, you need to understand that you are expected to take your punishment like men. Which means... Hopkins?'
'No flinching or yelping, Sir,' replied the beefy-faced boy with surprising confidence.
'Correct,' continued the head. 'You are to remain in position until I grant you leave to stand. You are not to cry out like babies. Failure to comply with these instructions will earn you an additional swat for each infraction. And... Hopkins?'
'Er... we must count each swat out loud, Sir.'
'Well done, Hopkins!' The biting sarcasm brimmed over his words. 'I will take each count as an indication that you have composed yourself sufficiently to receive the next swat. Do you understand, boys?'
'Sir,' we replied once more.
'Well then, Hopkins, shall we show these two how it's done?' The smiling executioner extended the paddle to an area to our right where, I now noticed, the carpet was slightly worn by the feet of many years' worth of small reprobates as they sqiurmed beneath the blows inflicted on them, battling inwardly to maintain their position, not to cry out, to keep count of the swats. Already trembling, I felt an inward shudder in fearful anticipation.
Obediently, Hopkins took his place and bent down to touch his toes. His podgy belly prevented him from reaching his shoes and he bent his sturdy legs slightly, his fingers still dangling tentitively above his feet. His backside was tight inside his grey shorts and I thought about how it must still be stinging from the swishing he had taken before his cowardice had led him to inform on us; I don't like to admit it, but the thought gave me a feeling of satisfaction.
Ceremoniously, Mr Humphries walked over to the boy and pulled the shirt out of his shorts. This was standard practice before any corporal punishment, partly to lessen the protection and partly to check for any padding which a boy may have placed down his trousers. But even Hopkins would not have been that stupid. I saw Hopkins wince as this ritual was performed. Yep, his ass was sore already, that was for sure.
The Head raised his paddle, took aim for a moment then CRACK! Down it came on the boy's fat backside.
'One, Sir,' came the almost instantanious response.
He'd taken it well after his swishing. I wondered to myself whether three swats aafter a caning would be easier or worse than the six which we would shortly be receiving...
CRACK!
I saw Hopkins' body lurch, but he managed to stay in position. It had obviously been an effort to do so, for his hands grasped his ankles and he began to make a pained throaty noise.
'Two... Sir.' His voice cracked on the second word. That one had really knocked the confidence out of him. Hopkins, I knew, had been here many times before for the standard three swats, but on top of that swishing he was finding this difficult. I saw his stocky frame brace itself for the final blow. And CRACK! Down it came, to a gasp from the stocky victim. Did that count, I wondered? Was that yelping?
'Threesir,' he whined, all as one word. Jeez, I was almost beginning to feel sorry for him.
'Put your hands on your head and stand with your nose, knees and toes touching the wall,' ordered Mr Humphries.
Slowly, Hopkins stood as instructed and walked with a staid gait to the wall, his belly pushed flat against it as he assumed the prescribed position.
The Head then regarded Matty and me in turn. Much as I was dreading my punishment, I just wanted to get it over and done with, so I felt relieved when he called me next to receive my dose.
Heart still thumping like crazy, I took my position and bent myself double. I could touch my toes with ease in those days: I'd had enough practice when receiving the housemaster's slipper. That was scary enough, but at least I knew what to expect on those occasions. I rarely cried out when I got slippered, though sometimes when the gym shoe landed directly on top of a preceeding blow it was hard not to. Never had I been under pain of an extra whack for doing so, however. And this, I knew, would be harder to take, much harder. Though quite how hard, I had no idea.
I felt the shirt being pulled from my shorts, tight against my buttocks. From between my knees I could see Matty's feet, socks and knees and noticed that he was trembling. Then I felt the paddle brush lightly along my buttocks as Mr Humphries lined up his aim. I jumped at the touch.
Come on, I told myself, pull yourself together! It will all be over with in a minute!
The first swat fell on my ass with a resounding BANG like a gunshot. No way had the swats delivered to Hopkins been that loud. For the moment I felt nothing, my backside anaethetised by the severity of the blow, but this, I knew, would be a temporary reprive. I thought of all the smears and jokes at the Head's expense which we had printed and published in Epsilon... Oh, God, was I going to pay the price now...