The chaplain peered through a hole in a wall of the ablutions block. He watched intently for some minutes while 15-year-old Adam Pringle fisted his erect penis until his balls drained, splattering his seed onto the floor of the toilet cubicle.
"Tsk!" muttered the chaplain under his breath and hurried off to see the headmaster.
At the age of 35, Dominic Sunderland, B. A., was young to be headmaster of St Cuthberts. The year was 1947 and the Board of Governors, faced with a shortage of experienced men as a result of the war, had turned to Sunderland to lead the school. He was more than equal to the task.
The headmaster gazed with disfavour at the Rev Sid Hedges. The unworldly chaplain was in his early twenties, slim and still a bit boyish whereas the headmaster was a masculine, ruggedly handsome looking man.
"But headmaster, I insist you do something about it! The boy was committing the sin of onanism. He allowed his seed to fall onto the ground!"
The headmaster had no time for religious zealots.
"Where was this? In the quadrangle? On the steps of the Great Hall?" he asked, sharply.
"No. In the latrines".
"Pringle was standing in full view of every other boy using them?", the headmaster challenged the chaplain.
"No, Headmaster". The Rev. Hedges was forced to admit. "He was in a locked cubicle".
"Were you in there with him?"
"Of course not!" The chaplain blushed brick-red at the implication. "I happened to be looking through a small hole in the wall and saw Pringle spill his seed".
"This is a very serious matter". The headmaster made a church steeple with his long fingers.
"I knew you'd understand", the chaplain said, pleased.
"I am not talking about an adolescent boy seeking release in the privacy of a toilet cubicle". The Head said, sternly. "What concerns me greatly is a man in the employ of the school spying on a boy in that manner".
The chaplain shuffled his feet.
"Tell me", the headmaster continued, "If I had gone along with your absurd notion, what penalty should I have imposed on young Pringle?"
"A thrashing", replied the chaplain. "Beat the devil out of him".
The headmaster stood up and gathered his black academic gown around him. His imposing figure towered over the chaplain.
"I have a good mind to ask the Board of Governors to dismiss you. However, if you are prepared to take the penalty you wanted me to inflict on young Pringle, come to my study at 8.00pm. Until then, no more spying on the boys in our care".
The chaplain found himself forcefully propelled into the corridor. The headmaster returned to his room and slammed the door shut. He badly wanted rid of the man but the chaplain had a powerful friend, the chairman of the Board of Governors. What was he to do?
The Head strode over to the open window and shouted to Hoskins the caretaker who was busy replacing a broken window.
"Whan you've finished doing that would you please repair any spy-holes you can find in the walls of the ablutions block".
"Right you are, Guv'nor", said Hoskins.
Adam Pringle came along bouncing a ball on the footpath.
"Here!" shouted the caretaker with righteous anger. "That's the little bleeder who smashed this glass".
"Pringle!" the Head bellowed at the boy. "My study, now!"
A few minutes later the boy stood in front of his headmaster. He admitted breaking the window.
"Unbutton and bend", instructed the Head, not unkindly. The man selected a thin whippy cane. When he turned around, young Pringle was bent over the desk, his flawless pink buttocks bared and ready for punishment.
Thud!
The cane left a white line in the boy's squirming flesh. Immediately it bloated into a fat, painful-looking, purplish-red weal.
"Ow!"
The cane struck Pringle's firm bottom three more times. The noise carried outside, delighting the caretaker.
'Serve the little blighter right', he thought with a grin. 'He'll have a really sore little arse. No more than he deserves'.
Afterwards, Pringle slowly pulled his underpants and trousers up over his battered behind. He was no stranger to the Head's study. 'The Old Man hasn't lost his touch', he thought ruefully, wincing as he accidently touched fiery flesh.
"Next time it will be six", the Head said amiably as he let the boy out the door.
The caretaker walked over to the ablutions block where he soon found the chaplain's spy-hole. He looked through at a red-faced junior boy who was straining on the toilet.
'Stodgy school food", thought the caretaker sympathetically. He then made so much noise mending the hole it greatly frightened the boy and gave nature a helping hand.
The school clock had just chimed 8 o'clock when the chaplain entered the headmaster's study. The Head picked up a cane.
"Unbutton and bend".
The chaplain's fingers clumsily undid his trouser buttons.
"Across the desk. Legs apart".
The Head inspected the cleft in the man's soft white buttocks and felt a familiar stirring in his groin. He retrieved a tub of petroleum jelly and greased the middle finger of his left hand.
The chaplain who was expecting the cane to bite his fleshy bottom was very surprised to instead feel a finger penetrate his virgin anus. He hated the uncomfortable, bloated feeling until the tip of the invading finger began gently massaging his prostate. Then his penis responded by becoming rock hard.
"You might like to bite your knuckle", the Head suggested, companionably. Then the big man rammed his six inch flesh-poker up the chaplain's incredibly tight fundament. It felt like a big log was taking posession of the cleric's fleshy chute. He bit his finger. The man reached under and squeezed that still hard penis. The 'log' started thrusting into the chaplain's warm, moist tunnel until the submissive man felt wetness splatter his rectum. Simultaneously, his own weapon discharged into the palm of the headmaster's big hand.
Afterwards, the man cleaned them both up and they got dressed again.
"Now you can add 'sodomy' to your vocabulary", the Head said equably.
The little chaplain had never known a sin could be so pleasurable and longed for the headmaster to do it to him again. Instead, he found his cleric's voice and threatened: "I'll have you for that".
The following morning there was a most distressing scene in the headmaster's study. The chairman of the Board of Governors, a big burly man of Commerce, listened to the chaplain's complaint. Incredulous, he looked at the big, masculine headmaster and then back at the little chaplain.
"Sodomy? Him? You have to be stark, raving mad", the chairman told the cleric. After a bit. the little man REALLY did go mad. An ambulance was called and he was taken away, practically frothing at the mouth.
"It's always the quiet ones", the chairman observed. Both men watched as the ambulance disappeared down the long drive. "To make such accusations against YOU, of all men". The chairman shook his head again. "Mad. Quite mad".
The headmaster escorted the chairman to his Jaguar motor car and waved as it purred down the drive. 'It's all turned out rather well', he thought. As he walked towards the school he heard the sound of breaking glass. Pringle, ball in hand, was caught red-handed.
"You better have an asbestos backside", the Head told the trembling youth. "My study. Now!"
(Plot idea 'borrowed' from the immortal American writer Jsmes Thurber. I hope his wonderful stories are still required reading in all schools).