The following story is based on fact. However the author is totally opposed to non-consensual corporal punishment, and totally opposed to adults abusing children. Adults should play with adults ONLY.
As the Headmaster of an English boys school now prohibited by law from administering corporal punishment, I often find my thoughts drifting back to that time, not so long ago, when I was one of the greatest advocates and practitioners of spanking within the English schools system.
Spanking ? I am not talking about tawses, belts, paddles and all the other weird and arguably not so wonderful instruments that feature within the field of corporal punishment, I am talking about the only two instruments I consider to be appropriate, and effective at all emotional levels, within the traditional schools system: the cane, and the instrument of choice: the hand.
I am a teacher of tradition. I made my way up the ranks of my profession teaching history: the history of power and law and rebellion. I am a believer in standards, conservative values, smartness of dress, punctuality, self-control and right thinking. I believe a boy's hair should be trimmed well above his collar, that his ears should be well scrubbed within and behind, and that his shirt and underwear should be fresh each day. I believe and require that shoes worn to my school be polished. I have no time for boys' cheekiness, talking back or familiarity with adults.
I am not a sadist. I am not a cruel man. I am a compassionate family man, a well regarded pillar of my community and simply a firm believer that any boy who infringes my code of common sense values, values that make for a structured, efficient society, should be subject to such punishment as reduces them to a state of total loss of the control they seek to exercise over me and their society.
I have no wish to inflict pain; all I wish to do is to guide a boy, through the medium of spanking, to a state of reunion with me and with the rest of society, and by the soundest thrashing to exhault him, by gradually increasing the intensity of his thrashing, to reach new heights of understanding. This journey the boy and I undertake together, across my knee.
My typical day would feature an array of erring boys, usually aged between 11 and 14; although occasionally a 15 year old would knock upon my austere door and show his Note to my secretary, before waiting on the chair by the inner, sound-proofed double-door to my large wood panelled study.
Such was my reputation that any boy presenting for punishment at my study knew that he would be a changed boy by the time he left.
My methods were tried and tested. Paul, a typical 11 year old first year student, beginning to test our school rules as he grew more confident towards the end of his initial year, is a good example to illustrate my methods. Nervous and pale in his short trousers and blazer, he would present his Note then wait for me to summon him to my study. Upon his entrance I would ask him to close the inner door and come and stand before my large mahogany desk. I would then ask him for his Note. Young Paul would hand me his Note accompanied by a rush of explanations and excuses, well knowing the fate that awaited him if his efforts did not succeed.
Of course they did not succeed. For having read the boy's Note, all I was doing during his little speech was deciding upon the nature of his corporal punishment. Now with a boy such as Paul my choices were limited, and also I had no wish to have him run away from school after only a few months attendance ! No; my tried and tested methods came into play immediately. I rose from my desk and brushed back my black academic gown, then walked to the centre of my study, lifting a straight backed wooden chair from the side of the room on my way. I sat down in the chair and beckoned the boy to my side. I then lectured him on the school rules and the conduct I expect at all times from my charges. I told him to stand up straight when I am talking to him and to push his shoulders back and his stomach in. I emphasis my lecture by slapping his bare legs hard: hard enough to make the boy sober up from his fantasy of excuses and being let off punishment, and his fantasies of innocence. Having got his attention and having established the propriety of what was to follow I then take the boys' arm and guide him firmly across my knees.
Many a first year boy probably wonders at this moment whether his short school trousers are to be taken down by his headmaster. And only his short trousers ? Certainly I would pause at this moment to make the boy contemplate this matter and whether such undress was deserved. But then it is time to clarify my position to the boy, and establish for him the nature of my authority in this school, and the caring environment which will nurture him for the next five or seven years of his life. Immediately I take down his shorts and then his underpants; right down to his ankles in fact. I then take back his blazer and shirt until both are half way across his back.
My hand is placed firmly upon his young bare buttocks. And so, at last, master and pupil have established clearly the true nature of their relationship. I pause again, to let the message sink in and then I commence the soundest spanking of the 11 year old's life.
Bare bottom: slapping, spanking and thrashing his bare buttocks, I lift his young buttocks high and then slap them until they descend to my knees; up and down, raising those buttocks to my thrashing hand, establishing a rhythm of punishment that echoes around my study: the sound of learning at its most essential level - schoolmaster and bare bottomed boy in physical and spiritual harmony.
In the middle of our session I stand up, lifting the boy with me and placing my foot upon the seat of the chair and draping the boy over my raised knee, then soundly spank those bare buttocks and the back of his legs, until he is howling in his ecstasy of learning and instruction.
My bawling charge is only half way through this his first true school lesson. Once again I resume my seat and have the boy stand in front of me. His trousers and pants are remain at his ankles and his penis and testicles droop and hang forgotten before me. Again I lecture him, and punctuate my lecture with slaps to his bare buttocks.
Finally I turn the boy over my knee once again and spank him soundly once more. Many minutes pass of the hottest hardest spanking that this young bare bottomed schoolboy could ever have imagined. His young buttocks are so hot and so red that now I am satisfied that my 11 year old charge has learned his lesson.
I do not hear his tears or apologies; I am satisfied that his naked thrashing, striped and spanked before my eyes, has established between us a private bond of trust and respect that will benefit this young lad for years to come. I pull up his underpants to below his bare buttocks, and before I ask him to pull up his trousers I give him the hardest spank of all to his hot red spanked bare buttocks as a reminder of the wonders that lie in store should he ever appear at the great austere door of my study with a Note.
The phone rings, back in the present day, and I have to speak to government Social Services about the truancy of an 11 year old pupil from my school; I am to offer him counselling and special classes to establish empathy with his special needs. Hmmm.
This story is for fun ONLY. Don't approve of non-consensual cp ! But heck this TURNS ME ON BIG TIME imagining both roles !
If anyone likes this October 2000 story and would like me to write more and share your thoughts, and/or send me some similar stories of dreaded headmasters and quivering 8 - 14/15 year old boys - yestimesyes@hotmail. com.