The time was the early 1980s. Sean Bourke was thirteen years old. His brother, James, was eleven. They both went to the same London secondary school. They were particularly close brothers. Of course, they occasionally fought. Of course, Sean usually won. But no serious injuries were ever suffered. Most of the time they got on exceptionally well. Neither would hear a critical word spoken of the other. Each was fierce in his support of the other. When one was in trouble the other always provided consolation. There was nothing they wouldnt do for each other.
Both boys were good looking. Sean's face was lightly freckled. His cheeks were perfectly dimpled when he smiled. His hair was dark. He was tall for his age, but not yet taller than his father. He was a keen and able sportsman, with long, slim, but muscular, limbs.
James also had dimples when he smiled and the structure of his face was very similar to Sean's. Indeed, it was obvious from their faces that they were brothers. But James's hair was blond, his face was not freckled and, not surprisingly, he was not as tall. He did, however, share his brothers athletic physique.
It was a Monday morning. After an action-packed weekend, both boys had difficulty in getting up to go to school, but they managed to leave the house on time. What they should have done was to walk straight to the underground station to catch the train which would take them to school. The service was reliable. They knew that a train nearly always arrived punctually at 8.10 and that it would get them to the station nearest the school with enough time for them to get to morning assembly before the 8.40 deadline. If they missed that one there was usually another five minutes later which, with a good sprint at the other end, would still get them to school in time.
It was the thought of that second train which led James to suggest a diversion. Both boys had been woken in the early hours by the sound of fire engines in the next street to theirs. James suggested that they should go there first, in case there was anything worth seeing. Sean had his own particular reasons for not wanting to be late for school that day, but curiosity overcame him too. He readily agreed to the plan. And they were not disappointed. When they got there they saw that three fire engines were still there. A terraced house had been gutted by fire. The boys did not actually want anyone to have been hurt, but their morbid curiosity got the better of them. They rushed forward to join the small group of spectators being held back by white tape which had been strung across the road. Apart from the ruined house, there wasnt that much to see. But they were determined not to miss anything. They craned forward, oblivious of the minutes ticking by. Suddenly Sean looked at his watch.
"Oh no", he exclaimed, "it's ten past already. Quick James, weve got to run".
And run they did, as fast as their legs could carry them. As they rushed down the stairs to the platforms, they saw the doors of the 8.15 train closing. They had missed it and now they would be late for school.
"What will happen to us?" James asked as they stood panting on the platform waiting for the next train.
"Don't worry, I'll think of a way of taking the blame on myself. Youll be OK."
"No, Sean, it was my idea not yours. I'm not going to chicken out of it. Will we be whacked?"
This was James's first term at the school and, so far, he had escaped corporal punishment. He felt his heart beating rapidly as he waited for confirmation of what he knew to be the case.
"Well, there's an outside chance we may be offered a choice of a whacking or extra gym exercises. It all depends who's the duty master. If it's anyone except Marlins, we'll just be given the plimsoll while the others are in assembly. But if it's Marlins he sometimes gives us the choice. The trouble is, you don't know until after lunch. He just tells us to report to the gym at 1.20 in games kit. Even if he's decided to whack us we have to wear games kit and that means shorts without pants underneath. Today of all days I can do without its being Marlins."
"Why, is it because the whacking hurts more if it's him?"
"No, I don't mind that, it's just that I haven't done his homework yet and I was going to copy out someone else's after lunch. If I have to report to the gym then I won't have time and I've got him first lesson after lunch. So that means that I would probably end up getting whacks for being late and then getting more for not doing my homework."
"Well, let's hope it's not Marlins".
"But if it's not, you're bound to be whacked, which isn't going to be much fun for you."
"I don't mind. It's got to happen sooner or later, and I'd much rather have my first whacking with you than get it all on my own one day. What will you do if it's Marlins and he gives you the choice?"
"Oh, I'll take a whacking any day, but I'm used to it. You're not, so no one will think you're a weed if you take the exercises."
"There's no way I'd refuse a whacking if you were getting one Sean. So that's it, I'm going to get whacked anyway, so I want it to be someone other than Marlins as well."
The boys had not wholly given up hope. The train pulled in at the station for the school at 8.35. Although it would be impossible to run to school in five minutes, they could still get there by 8.45 and it was just possible that there would be a delay in starting assembly. They jumped off the train, ran along the platform and took the stairs two at a time. Once on the street they sprinted like mad. But they were not to escape. The main door was closed. That meant they had to go to the side door, where the duty master would be waiting, unless, of course, he was late as well. No such luck. As they rounded the corner they saw two other boys standing at the door, clearly having their details taken. A master was obviously just inside. They slowed to a walk and panted heavily. As they got to the door the other boys moved in and revealed what they most feared. Mr Marlins was the duty master.
"Ah, Bourke Major and this, I take it, is Bourke Minor?"
"Yes sir", replied Sean, "this is my brother."
"Delighted to make your acquaintance Bourke Minor. Unless you have dreamt up a new and brilliant excuse, we can get to know each other better after lunch. Is there anything you have to say boys?".
"No sir" both replied in turn.
"Very well, gym at 1.20, in games kit. I know I don't have to tell you Bourke Major, but your brother may not be so familiar with our rules. Any boy who reports to the gym in games kit with his underpants on will be severely punished. Off you go."
There was more that James had to be told about Marlins and, while they were waiting for assembly to finish, Sean told him.
"Marlins's whackings are a bit different from most. You bend over in the same way, like this". Sean put his feet slightly apart, bent over with straight legs and touched his toes. "But you have to do it just inside the gym, facing the door. He will be right up the other end and when you are bent over he will start running towards you for the first whack. He does it a bit like a fast bowler. The first few paces are quite slow, then he really speeds up at the end for the whack. Then he walks slowly back to the other end and, just as the pain is getting bearable, he starts his run up again. Lots of boys close their eyes during the run up and the whacks, but it's much better to keep them open and look at his face as he gets nearer, cos he always puts on a very funny sort of fierce face. I find it takes my mind off some of the pain. The other thing is that he does older boys first. I don't know how many there'll be, but you are likely to be last or near last, so you'll have to listen to his runs and whacks a few times before you go in. The good thing for you is that, cos it's your first time, you'll probably only get two."
"How many will you get Sean?" James was gently rubbing his small round bottom as he spoke.
"Well, normally, I'd get three but I've decided I'll have to own up about the homework, so I'm bound to get more. But I'd much rather have it all at the same time. Anyway, as far as you are concerned, don't worry too much. He isn't actually that much harder than other masters. Obviously a whack with a size 11 plimsoll from him hurts more than one with Dad's slipper, but not that much more. Anyway, that time Dad gave you six you took it really well and six from Dad hurts more than two from Marlins."
Neither Sean nor James concentrated that well during morning lessons. Both had butterflies in their tummies as they thought about their impending punishments. But they kept out of trouble. They even managed to eat some of their lunch, though not with the usual gusto. Then, at 1.10, they made their way to their respective changing rooms. There was no one else in the first form changing room and James had to change alone. He took off all his clothes and stood by the mirror for a moment, looking at his slim, firm and, for the moment, white bottom. He gave it a apprehensive rub and then put on the horribly thin games shorts, followed by shirt, socks and gym shoes.
Sean found that he was not alone in the third form changing room. His friend Mike Rollis was there as well. He was undoing his trousers as Sean came in.
"Hi Rollis, what have you been done for?"
"Talking in assembly. I'll probably get three. What about you?"
"Sean and I missed assembly. But I'm also going to have to own up to not doing Marlins's homework. So it's anyones guess how many I'll get."
"Bad luck. I suppose he might even send you to the head."
"I've thought of that, but I reckon he likes whacking us too much to let the head do it instead."
"I expect you're right. Talking of the head", Mike had now removed his trousers and pants, "can you check my bum to see if the stripes are still there from that swishing I got last week?"
Sean carefully examined his friend's slim rounded buttocks.
"Only just. I think they've gone enough not to make today's whacking worse than usual."
"That's a relief. Has your bro had a school whacking yet?"
"No, this will be his first."
"Well, I suppose it might not be. Marlins might give him the choice."
"He's already told me that he'll take the whacking anyway."
"Good lad. That's what I like to hear about a first former. How do you think he'll take it?"
"He'll be fine. Dad did the same for him as he did to me. In the last year of primary school he stopped smacking us and started using the slipper. I remember being pretty cheesed off at the time, but I was really grateful when I got here and had my first dose of the plimsoll. It must be much worse for boys who've only ever had their bums smacked before they get here."
"Yeah, I remember my first time. My dad didn't start using a slipper till I'd already had the plimsoll here. OK, he's a hard smacker, but it was nothing like a slipper or plimsoll. I even heard of one boy who had never even been smacked before he got here. It must have been awful for him when he got his first whacking. I suppose his dad thought he was being kind not spanking him, but I reckon it was really pretty cruel."
Both boys were now naked. Each looked at the other's bottom and gave a sympathetic wince as they contemplated what they would like in ten minutes or so. Each also felt a slight stirring of pleasure as he looked at his friend's slim, rounded contours. They slipped their shorts on and Sean spoke again.
"The funny thing is that, after I've been whacked, I nearly always find that if I have a wank that night it is really good. I don't know why, but it makes it easier to take the punishment."
"Yeah, same here. It's a bit odd, but I'm not complaining about it. It would be really funny if Marlins felt the same way about giving us whackings."
"Come on, that's a bit far fetched. I'm sure it's something you grow out of when you start getting girlfriends."
"I suppose you're right, but I still wonder why he always insists on boys only wearing games shorts."
James was first to get to the gym. He stood outside, nervously stroking his bottom. Then he saw the two other late comers approaching together. They were second formers. He didn't know their names, but he had seen them both on the rugby pitch and been highly impressed by their sporting abilities. He was delighted when they deigned to speak to him.
"Are you Bourke Ma's bro?" asked Jim Stokes, the slightly taller of the two.
"Yes."
"He's a top rate bloke", said Tim Stellman, "I heard he was the first boy in his year to get the swish from the head."
"That's right, it was last year. He showed me the stripes at home and they were pretty bad, but he took it really well."
"Is this your first time?" asked Jim.
"Yup, fortunately I have had the slipper from my dad a few times, on the bare bum too, but I know this'll be worse."
"I won't lie to you. He's pretty hard and it's a bit of bad luck drawing him for your first time. But at least it's all over quite quickly. Anyway, if he's in a good mood he might give you the choice."
"I'll take the whacking if he does."
"Good lad" said Tim. "You'll go far here with that approach".
At that point Mike and Sean arrived. Sean gave his brother a light and playful slap on his bottom.
"All set for your big moment bro?"
"As much as I ever will be."
Sean looked at his watch.
"Time to get in line. I suppose I'm first, then Rollis, then Stellman, then Stokes and finally my little bro."
They lined up by the door in that order. A moment later they saw the approaching figure of Mr Marlins. He was a young man, only twenty two, and was supremely fit. He was wearing shorts and T shirt himself. In his right hand was a very large gym shoe.
"OK, lads. Before I pass sentence, has anyone got anything to say?"
He looked surprised when Sean answered. This bit was usually just a formality.
"Yes sir, I have. I think you ought to know that I didn't do your homework last night sir. Just in case that makes a difference to my punishment."
"Ah, sensible boy owning up now. Very well. I happen to be in a good mood today. Bourke Major, you can have a choice. I will give you three anyway for not doing your homework. For being late you can choose either another three (making six altogether) or gym exercises."
Sean winced as he heard the total. But he answered immediately, if in a rather resigned tone: "I'll take six please sir."
"Good choice. Now, Rollis, no choice for you I'm afraid. Three it will be."
"Thank you sir".
"Stellman and Stokes, either three or gym exercises."
Both said they'd take three.
"Bourke Minor. You haven't been beaten yet have you?"
"No sir, not yet".
"Well, I expect you'll opt for gym exercises rather than two."
"No sir, please can I have the whacks."
"Certainly, pleased to oblige you. Has your brother explained the form to you?"
"Yes sir."
"Good. Right, in you come Bourke Major."
The two went in. The door closed, but the waiting boys heard the master's heavy footsteps as he paced up to the far end of the gym. Then there was a pause. Then they heard the run up, getting faster and faster and culminating in a tremendous crack of rubber on bottom. Then the slow heavy walk back. James was feeling somewhat queasy. He rubbed his sweaty palms on his bottom again.
Inside, Sean was breathing heavily as he fought to control the burning pain of the first stroke and prepared himself for the next. He looked between his legs as the galloping master got closer. Sure enough, there was that familiar, fierce but somehow comic expression. Sean allowed himself a smile a second before the next crash. The smile disappeared and he gritted his teeth as the pain sunk in.
The waiting miscreants remained absolutely silent as they counted the six strokes, interspersed with the slow walk and fast run up. They winced in sympathy (and some anticipation) as each stroke connected. Finally, the door opened and Sean, determinedly looking as unflustered as possible, walked out. He held the door open for Rollis and closed it behind him. Only then did he grab his bottom and hop up and down.
"Bloody hell, that was hard. He certainly knows what he's doing." He slipped his hands under his shorts and felt his hot throbbing bottom. "Here, do you want a look at the damage lads?" He knew the answer would be yes and pulled the back of his shorts down to show them his ow scarlet buttocks. There was a sharp intake of breath.
James was the only one to speak, and all he said was "Wow". A moment later they heard Mike's first stroke. They fell silent for the slow walk, the run and the thwack of the second. Then the third.
Mr Marlins, although he would never have admitted it, was thoroughly enjoying himself. Bourke Major had been a real treat. There was something about the firmness and slimness of the boy's bottom that he found particularly pleasing when wielding a plimsoll. He rarely got the chance to give a boy the full six and he had been delighted that it should have come with Bourke Major of all boys. Rollis was also proving highly satisfactory. Mr Marlins liked beating slim, fit boys and Rollis was exactly that. He also liked beating boys who took their punishments well. Bourke Major had done so and Rollis was doing so now. He delivered the final stroke with all the energy he could muster. The only problem with Bourke Major was that he never clutched his bottom afterwards (or not while Mr Marlins could see). Rollis, however, did not show the same restraint. Oh how Mr Marlins wished that it was his hands rubbing those gorgeous buttocks.
Rollis came out and Stellman walked in. Rollis was also happy to show off his marks. They were not as livid as Sean's, but still pretty remarkable. James was wondering if he would be sick. Part of him, as with any normal boy, wanted to see the evidence of a well whacked bottom, but another part would have preferred to put it off until his own punishment was concluded.
Stellman was another attractive boy, absolutely suited to vigorous corporal punishment. Mr Marlins eyed the splendid young bottom appreciatively. He had never beaten the boy before and always wanted to. This would be fun. He knew that the run up did not actually make the strokes any more painful than they would be would be with just a couple of paces, but he also knew that the theatre of it produced a lasting impression on the boys. He started the slow jog and increased his pace as he got nearer, plimsoll held right back behind his head until the last moment. Then, crash. The slightest move forward, well controlled, by Stellman. Then the slow walk back.
After the third, Stellman too clutched his bottom and Mr Marlins smiled happily.
While Stellman showed off his wounds, Stokes was taking his position. Mr Marlins had beaten him only two weeks earlier and had thoroughly enjoyed the experience. Indeed, so much had he enjoyed it that he had made a point of going into the shower room on some pretext or other when he knew that the boy would be there. The bare, still red but gradually bruising bottom had been a wonderful sight. He imagined it as he swung the gym shoe hard against the tight shorts.
Outside, James was feeling dreadful. He kept trying to smile, but his brother knew he was going through hell. He heard the second stroke from inside and gulped. Things seemed to him to be speeding up now. Of course, they werent. It was just that his own punishment was getting closer. The run up. The thwack. The door was opening. He felt another gentle slap on his bottom from his brother and the whispered "good luck James". He stepped towards the door, convinced that his legs were shaking uncontrollably, and pushed it wider. There, seemingly miles away, he saw Mr Marlins at the other end of the gym. No words were spoken. James knew that he was required to bend over without being told. He pushed the door shut, took another look at the man who was shortly to thrash his bottom harder than anyone had done before. Then he turned back to the door, put his feet a few inches apart and bent over.
Mr Marlins looked across the gym at his new victim. There was something specially exciting about beating a boy who had never been beaten before. Of course, knowing Sean as he did, he assumed that James had, at the least, been spanked by his father. But never before would he have touched his toes for a school beating. And how wonderful it was that he had had to listen to four thrashings before his own. From the other end of the gym it was not possible to assess quite how high in the league James's bottom ranked, but it looked promising. Mr Marlins started his run up. As he got closer he began to realise that Bourke Minor was as beatable as his older brother. The buttocks were wonderfully round, slim and obviously firm. The legs were long, but not so long as to be out of proportion to the rest of the body. So the physique was just right. On top of all that, this was a boy, only eleven years old, who had opted for a thrashing when given the option of a few press ups. What a perfect day, thought Mr Marlins, as he delivered a real stinger to the waiting bottom.
James followed his brother's advice and kept his eyes open. He could see that, in different circumstances, the expression on Mr Marlins's face might be amusing. But not now. He saw the shoe raised above the master's head. He saw the beginning of the swing as is descended towards his bottom. Then he shut his eyes tight and waited for the blow. The pain was, without a doubt, a hundred times greater than his father had ever managed. It amazed him that he was able to avoid crying out. But he did. He opened his eyes and watched the long slow march back. He kept them open and watched the run up. He was determined to watch the whole thing. His eyes remained wide open as the second and, thank goodness, the last stroke was delivered. It hurt more than the first. But, again, James kept his cool. He waited a moment and then stood. Sean had always told him of his pride at never holding his bottom until out of sight of the beating master. James would not let his brother down. He held his hands together, firmly, at the front, gave a slight nod to Mr Marlins and left the gym.
The door opened. James came out. He shut the door. He had eyes only for his brother.
"Wow, Sean, that was a million times worse than Dad." As he spoke he put both hands over his bottom and felt the burning heat.
"But you took it James. You're one of us. Quick, let's go to your changing room and you can show us your marks."
The five boys headed for the first form changing room. Once there, James happily removed his shorts and proudly showed off his scarlet bottom. Mike, in particular, found the sight very exciting. Even Sean was not unmoved by seeing his brother's whacked bottom. Tim and Jim thought James a splendid boy.
That night Sean, Mike and Mr Marlins all enjoyed remembering the events of the early afternoon. Sean thought most about having seen Mike's. Tim's and Jim's bottoms after their beatings. Mike thought most about James. Mr Marlins thought about them all.