I have previously placed several stories on MMSA Storiess magnificent site under the name of The Headmaster. The stories were removed some time ago for editing and I hope to restore them soon.
In the mean time, I would love to hear from you if you have enjoyed this poem. Those looking to regularly correspond about our particular painful pleasure are most welcome. I would especially love to hear from old friends. I am based in Durban, South Africa, until very recently one of the last outposts of corporal punishment. I travel regularly and would also like to hear from any adult schoolboys or headmasters interested in responsible, discrete and fun role play.
I do not believe in or advocate any form of abuse of children. My stories and poems are expressions of adult fantasy, for adults.
The beaten boy lay writhing across the masters desk, His bare bottom peaking neath upturned shirt and vest. Four red cane stripes their merry way did run, Across the poor little lads tender white bum.
Headmaster paused a moment, his labours to enjoy, Oh how he loved to whip a naughty little boy! With grim smile he watched, as the little chap squirmed, Wriggling his bottom like a naughty little worm!
The cane was long and slender, limber and lithe, It striped a boys bottom as neatly as you pleased. It was the sort of cane to warm a masters heart, For boys it was quite different - it warmed another part!
Headmaster flexed the cane and paused to ponder, Where next to lay a stripe, where to let his cane wander? Perhaps he should lash the naughty lad across his bum, Or sharply whip his thighs, where it so fiercely stung?
He tapped the boys bottom, causing him to start, The boy knew this was prelude to a cut that would smart! Oh, please, sir, please! Dont give me another, Ive learnt my lesson now, theres no need to bother!.
Its no trouble, boy said the master with a grin, Id rather be quite sure that youve learnt not to sin.. Oh, please, sir, no! cried the boy as the cane, Was raised high above the masters shoulder again.
Swish!! sang the cane, swish! and snap!, Whacking the boy with a sharp, stinging crack! The boys bottom bucked neath the cruel blow, Oh the cane bit, oh it bit him so!
Ow! Ow! Ouch!! the naughty boy cried, Feeling as though his bottom was being slowly fried! He jumped from the desk and danced a little jig, Of concealing his privates he cared not a fig!
Bend over at once said the master with a frown, Boys during beatings must stay bent down!. With a last little rub the boy resumed that position, Best for a schoolboy to properly learn his lesson.
You get an extra cut for jumping about, This is a school for boys, not disobedient louts! Impudent lads, who do not learn submission, Regularly find themselves assuming the position!.
So saying the master raised on high, The dreaded instrument, that bane of schoolboy pride. Swish!, Crack! sang the cane once again, Drawing from the lad a yelp of anguished pain.
Six pretty lashes now adorned that nether part, Where naughty little boys learn their lessons off by heart! I must do my homework, stay bent for the cane, Or I will get more, much more of the same!
The boy looked back with tears in his eyes, But master heeded not his piteous cries. He raised the cane on high and let it there linger, Poised above his bum like dooms dreadful finger.
Please, sir, no! Dont give me any more! I have reformed, Ill do no ill, of that Im sure!. The master paused a moment and watched with delight, The caned boys bottom was a very pretty sight!
Remorselessly the cane was twitched in the air, The epitome of every schoolboy fear. Boy, I think Ill err on the side of caution. In future, avoid such rude contortions.
When masters bend you down, in that position stay, Or with extra strokes you will surely pay!. Then with a secret little thrill, The headmaster gave expression to his stern will.
Sweetly sang the cane and loudly cried the boy, For all his strength master had been pleased to employ. Left across the desk, his bottom on display, The little boy cried in deep and dark dismay.
The cane to the cupboard was safely returned, Waiting for another boy with a lesson to be learned. Walking past the lad his chair to resume, Headmaster watched intently as he moved across the room.
When sobs had subsided, and the chastened boy lay, Smarting at the strokes with which hed had to pay, For impudence and naughtiness and other boyish vice, With hot stinging strokes, from a cane - whippy and nice!
You may stand said headmaster, struggling to conceal, The strange sensation he would always feel, When a boy, well beaten, rose stiffly from the desk, And softly massaged his chastened flesh.
See you reform the master said, or next time youll get ten For the senior boys cane, you will have to bend! The boy nodded eagerly, as tears streaked his cheeks, Ill be a model boy, Ill be good and meek!.
Very well said headmaster, dismissing with a wave, The poor well-beaten little knave. The lad bent once more, but not this time in disgrace, Gingerly he pulled his shorts up to their usual place.
Pull up those socks shouted the headmaster, Or do you need some cuts, to help you look smarter?. Oh, no, sir! said the boy hastening to obey, He had had more than enough of the cane today!
As the boy walked stiffly to the door, Headmaster reached into his desk drawer. In a large leather-bound book, ancient and yellow, He noted down the name of the naughty little fellow.
Then his offence: homework undone, Punishment: six strokes, with an extra one. Then he recorded both date and time, Carefully returning that record of schoolboy crime.
Returning to his work, his concentration waned, For in his trousers a sturdy erection raged. His penis was unsettled, it poked against the desk, And every time he moved, it was a real pest!
For headmaster was fortunate, a most happy man, For of schoolboy caning he was an ardent fan, Unlike many men, who much prefer their leisure, He had found in his work his greatest pleasure!