Im going to my room. You have five minutes. If the two boys who were talking dont own up to me, then Ill come back and beat the whole dormitory. A little peer pressure does no harm when one cannot identify the miscreants by other means. If needs be, thrashing ten 12-year-old bottoms will be strenuous but not without its rewards. More likely, two sorry little figures will tap softly on my door (its amazing how softly boys tap on my door when a beating is in the offing!). If I were a betting man Id say Peter and Oliver.
I check my watch: three minutes. I put the kettle on for my evening cocoa (always washed down later with a tumbler of Famous Grouse). The soft tap occurs and I call come in!
One of the banes of a housemasters life is that certain boys present their bottoms for punishment with monotonous regularity, while others (craftier or better-behaved?) appear seldom or never. Statistics (which I keep religiously in the Ledger) show that invariably 8 or 10 boys of the 65 in my care account for 75% of the beatings I deliver. That is why I suspect Peter Dickens will be one of the culprits.
Im quite wrong: Ricky and Robin walk in guiltily, avoiding my eye.
What can I do for you, boys? I prompt them.
We were talking after lights-out says Ricky, staring intently at the carpet. Ricky (Ricardo in full) is an Anglo-Brazilian boy of flawless beauty. He was a bit of a tearaway when he arrived at the school about a year ago but quickly learnt the simple equation bad behaviour equals sore bottom. It must be nine months since his backside has felt my anger. Robin I last spanked in the bathroom a couple of months previously. I have two blonde 12-year-olds to thrash at my leisure!
Why didnt you own up straightaway?
Robin answers this time. We were afraid.
Why?
We though wed get the slipper.
Youll certainly get the slipper, boys, but that much harder for wasting my time. I think Ill waste a bit of your time too – theres no reason that I should postpone my cocoa. Lets get you ready for a slippering first, though. Pyjamas off!
The two boys remove their pyjama jackets and hand them to me. Theres a moments hesitation, then Ricky says Shall we...., not finishing the sentence.
Hurry up, please. Youre wasting my time again, I say, rather unpleasantly. Fingers pick at the buttons of pyjama trousers and the garments slide to the floor. The boys pick them up and hand them to me, still warm from their naughty little bodies. I fold them neatly and put them onto my desk. I put a hand on each boys shoulders and propel my naked little victims to face the wall.
Ill deal with you when Ive had my cocoa. There nothing like a bit of waiting to increase the tension in a misbehaving child!
Sitting in my chair with that estimable beverage to hand, I am about six feet away from the two young bottoms I am soon to discipline. I drink slowly, sizing up the two little backsides I will soon be thrashing: both are pale compared with surrounding flesh. Ricky of course spent Easter at home in Rio, and Robins parents have a villa in Tenerife, so both boys are well tanned.
Finally I decide that the time for some vigorous arm-exercise has arrived.
Go and fetch the slipper, Ricky. Even though it is nine months since the leather last lashed his backside the boy remembers the drawer I keep it in. He returns and hands me the implement I will punish him with, and I place it on the arm of the chair. These two boys are really a bit too big to go across my knee, but that is how I intend to position them.
Over my knee. The boy climbs over my left knee and allows me to fine-tune the exact orientation of his small white buttocks. I gently clamp him in place with my right thigh – I remember that the boy is an incorrigible wriggler when being spanked. I run my hands over the buttocks: the skin is soft and warm, the underlying muscle tense in anticipation of the pain it must take. I am just about commence my attack on the nearer bottom cheek when I hear a creak outside the door. I have worked at the school for 19 years and know every inch of every corridor – there is no creak there without human agency. I indicate to the slightly confused child to get up again, and move swiftly to the door and pull it open sharply. In a comical scene Peter and Oliver almost tumble into the room in a state of shock and disbelief. Clearly they had thought it would be fun to listen to the thrashing of Ricky and Robin!
Come in, boys. Always room for two more! I say genially, watching with amusement the various looks being exchanged between the participants. I place them in the middle of the room, and, in a calculated humiliation, undress them myself. I remove both their pyjama jackets then drop their trousers. I now have four bare young bottoms to deal with. Peter and Oliver I place against the wall – yes, they may listen to the beating of their two friends, but with the poignant knowledge that their turn is next. I decide I will allow Ricky and Robin to watch their punishment – its rare to find a boy who does not take a macabre pleasure in watching another child getting a thorough bottom-spanking.