It was the first day of the new school year. The Priory was a minor public school which catered for the sons of gentlefolk. Boys aged from 11 to 18 lived within its ivy covered stone walls. The living conditions were spartan but the teaching sound. Rules were enforced by applying a thin, whippy cane to the miscreant's bare buttocks. Carrying out this onerous task usually fell to the prefects, senior boys whose sturdy rumps had often felt the rod during their own junior years.
"I say!" whispered Dawes, "Look at the bum on that one". He and fellow prefect Shiels were checking out the new lads.
"Yes", replied Shiels, "That boy's behind is made for thrashing".
Both prefects considered themselves hetero_s_e_x_ual but in the all-male hot house that was The Priory, they lusted after younger, weaker members of their community. _s_e_x_ual contact was forbidden but beating encouraged. For many prefects the ritual became a surrogate, carnal act - although none would admit it, not even to themselves.
As it happened, Dawes was to have first crack as it were with that bum he had admired so much. It belonged to a lad named Hannah. Dawes had the misfortune to sit on a toasting fork which young Hannah had carelessly left on a chair. That the fork had not injured Dawes did not matter in the least. The prefect was determined to teach Hannah a lesson.
The younger boy watched as Dawes selected a cane from a selection next to his desk. The prefect scythed the wicked looking stick through the air a few times. They were alone in Dawes' study.
The prefect cleared his throat. "Take off your trousers and underpants".
The wretched lad did as he was told shivering with fear. His shirt-tails covered his private parts.
The big prefect gestured towards the chair in front of his desk. "Kneel on the seat". That was the safest position for a junior boy. Making him touch his toes carried the risk of a lad toppling forward and hurting his head. Injuries to the buttocks were to be expected but not a black eye or cut forehead.
Hannah climbed up on to the chair. Dawes positioned the slight body until the boy's bottom was sticking right up. When Dawes gently pushed the the shirt-tail clear of his target he admired the boy's pink mounds. He could see right inside the crease with its tiny puckered hole.
"I will have to give you three" said the prefect, his voice husky with emotion. Dawes slashed the stick across those splendid orbs. The white line it created quicky turned fiery red. Hannah's bottom quivered. The stick carved two more chunks out of Hannah's backside.
"Let that be a lesson to you" said the prefect, putting away his cane. Young Hannah got off the chair and slowly got dressed again. Dawes opened the study door and the youngster escaped into the wide corridor. Shiels who was waiting outside and had heard the muffled thuds of the beating, hurried inside.
Dawes gave a full account to his friend. "I showed him who's in charge around here". Shiels nodded his approval. Little did they know, at that very moment, Hannah was showing off his 'stripes' to the junior dorm.
"He must have hurt you most dreadfully" said one imp, his none-too-clean fingers reverently touching the vivid weals on the other boy's slightly swollen behind.
"Nah!" said Hannah, contempt in his voice. "My Papa has me thrashed with a carriage whip. Now that DOES hurt!"
"You mean he doesn't do it himeslf?" questioned the imp, his fingers still feeling the raised puffy ridges.
Hannah shook his head. "I get sent down to the stables. Our head groom gives me what Papa calls 'a _d_a_m_n_ed good thrashing'. He was with the special forces in Malaya". The boy thought for a moment about the huge, muscular man, stripped to the waist as if he was about to whack the gong for J. Arthur Rank and not the puny buttocks of his employer's son. The boy remembered how he had to bare his bottom and bend over a rail. The leather flayed his twin-globes, not hard enough to cause bleeding but hideously painful, all the same. That memory of home brought tears to the young lad's eyes - something Dawes' cane had completely failed to achieve.
The days turned to weeks. The routine at The Priory continued as it had for generations. However, Shiels was feeling increasingly frustrated because of a new boy called Jones. Being small for his age and bespectacled meant the other prefects left Jones alone. It troubled Shiels to know there was a junior lad who had not been caned. The sight of Jones' virgin bottom tightly encased in its uniform trousers was enough to make Shiels' strong right arm twitch with anticipation. The problem was the slightly built lad was extremely well behaved. Try as he might the prefect was unable to fault the boy and it was driving him to distraction.
Salvation came in the form of a directive from the headmaster who thought the junior boys unruly. He ordered a general beating. The prefects rubbed their hands with glee at the prospect of a mass whacking. Names were drawn out of a hat and young Hannah was assigned to Shiels.
"Who ended up with Jones?" he asked. The young boy was so unassuming the head prefect had forgotten all about him.
"I'll do it" Shiels offered, trying not to sound too eager. The head prefect agreed.
At the appointed hour, two boys waited outside Shiels' study. Hannah was the first to be whacked. Shiels thrashed him well. Six hard strokes which set Hannah's bare bottom alight. The lad was reminded of those whippings from the head groom. It was not the pain being inflicted on him which brought tears to Hannah's eyes but memories of home.
The prefect ushered Shiels out of the study and beckoned Jones inside, slamming the door behind him. He looked down at the trembling boy.
"You understand the headmaster ordered a general beating?"
"Yes, Shiels", the younger boy said, in his clear treble voice.
"You've been caned before?"
"No, Shiels".
The prefect felt his member swell inside his trousers.
"Not even at home?" the prefect asked.
"No, Shiels" the boy replied. "Both my parents are dead and I was raised by an aunt".
"Sorry to hear that" said the big prefect who was starting to feel betrayed by his grossly swollen member. "Better get it over with. Take off your trousers and underpants and kneel on the seat of that chair".
When the boy was in position Shiels pushed the shirt-tails clear. The boy's flawless, alabaster orbs were breathtaking. The prefect could have almost spanned both cheeks with one hand. He raised the cane high and lashed those virgin buttocks hard. Poor Jones let out a wail. That only inspired the prefect to make the next one even harder. The wail became a howl. Four more savage cuts followed. The boy slumped down on the chair.
Shiels inspected his handiwork. Six purplish-red welts stained the pink flesh. There were even pinpricks of blood where the cruel lines had intersected. It was too much for the big prefect. His balls erupted, spraying the inside of his underpants with a huge load of spunk.
Slowly, the beaten boy dragged himself off the chair and got dressed. He looked up at the prefect through tear filled eyes.
"Th-thank you, Shiels". The prefect avoided looking the boy in the eye as he opened the study door for him.
The mood in the prefects' common room was festive as the senior boys described the beatings they had given. Shiels was overwhelmed with guilt at having hurt young Jones. He had got _s_e_x_ual release from inflicting pain to the boy's tiny virgin buttocks. What sort of monster did that make him? His shrivelled up penis was stuck to his underpants making the big prefect feel even more ashamed of himself.
Meanwhile young Jones was the toast of the junior dorm. A critical inspection of each boy's caned bottom had resulted in Jones' 'stripes' being declared by far the best. Now Jones was safely tucked up in bed. The night time sounds in the dorm no longer frightened him. He reached down and felt his corrugated bottom which was still throbbing. 'Now I'm just like all the other boys' he thought. Jones fell asleep, a smile on his lips and Shiels in his dreams.