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In case you are new to these stories, here is a brief recap.
Roger Livingstone had cheated at university and submitted an essay which was not his. His tutor had given him the choice between official action, which would mean his immediate expulsion from university or getting himself thrashed by a relative or friend and returning to prove that it had been done. He had tried to find his uncle but had discovered that he was away. On the way back home, he accepted the offer of help from an older man, Peter Hill, who gave him his caning but also required that he went back for a second instalment. That occasion had rounded off his earliest encounter with corporal punishment with a heavy strap, a tawse and a final few with a cane.
Later he used the same story again, this time to get a caning from Harold Furness, who had been in the Royal Navy and had both experienced and dished out canings there. Things developed even further when he met Russell Omerod who introduced Roger to his old headmaster who birched him. Russell also uncovered Roger's desire for caning when he realised that his story was not true. This enabled him to lead him on to other experiences as well.
Russell had also introduced Roger to his cousin, Basil Chapman. He had set up a visit for Roger to his own old school where he had had a very effective caning from Mr Lovell, the Gym Master. He was also required to go for more and that turned out to be a walloping with a variety of weapons from the entire set of prefects.
After that, he and Russell got completely drunk. They were punished for this by Basil who also agreed to give either of them thrashings when they deserved it.
Now read on.
About half way through the term, Roger was wondering what he could do about a break when Basil called in.
"I'm going home for the weekend. You don't fancy a trip, do you?"
Roger said, "How are you getting up?"
"Either train or hitch hiking."
Roger grinned. "You mean you hope I'll take my car and save you the bother?"
"I'll pay for the petrol if we do it that way, but what I really meant was that you'd be welcome to come to our menagerie for the weekend if you want to."
"Actually, I was wondering about having a bit of a break. When can you go? I've got to come back on Sunday. There's a nine o'clock lecture on Monday that I've got to be awake for."
"Can you get away early on Friday?"
"Straight after dinner."
"You've got a date. I'll tell the parents to expect you. By the way, if you want a bit of fun, it's OK at home. The parents know I'm into it and they don't mind."
They set out immediately after dinner on Friday. The route was up the M5, turning off for Edgbaston, the home of Birmingham University, where Basil's father was a professor. Roger turned off at Junction Four, onto the A38. Suddenly, he pulled up, took out his diary and started writing.
Basil asked, "What are you doing?"
"Just making a note of that school's telephone number and its headmaster's name."
The Notice Board he was copying conveyed the information that it was Bournville Hill Boarding School for Boys, that its headmaster and proprietor was Mr Hubert Skidmore, M. A. (Cantab.), F. R.G. S. and its telephone number.
Basil asked, "What do you want that for?"
"If I can find out whether they use corporal punishment, I thought I might see whether my story works up here."
Basil said, "I can tell you whether they use the cane. They do. We played rugger against them and I heard then. How are you going to do it?"
"We'll stop at a telephone box when we are closer to your place. If you come and keep quiet, you'll find out then."
"You can phone from home, if you like."
"It'll be more authentic from a telephone box."
"Well, there's one about a quarter of a mile from home."
"That'll be great, especially if there's a bit of traffic noise near it. I'm a student, remember. I'm not likely to have my own phone."
"I hope you never turn to crime. You think of too much."
"Will be we eating in, tonight? He might want to see me during the evening."
"No. I told Mum that we were coming too late and they couldn't get tickets for us as well. They almost always go to the theatre on Friday evenings. I said we'd eat out somewhere."
When he reached the telephone box Basil had mentioned, they stopped. Basil accepted the invitation to overhear.
In the box, Roger sorted out enough change to maintain the conversation and dialled the number.
When it was answered, he said, "Could I speak to Mr Skidmore, please?"
"Who's speaking?"
"He won't know me, but it's a personal matter and rather urgent. I'm Roger Livingstone."
"Hold the line, please, I'll check whether he is available."
A few moments later, Roger heard, "Hello. Headmaster speaking."
Roger said, "I'm sorry to disturb you, sir. I wondered whether it would be possible to have a little of your time. I have a personal problem which needs the advice of a professional like yourself. I can't explain on the phone. It's rather complicated."
"Why do you ask me?"
"I think a headmaster would be the best person to advise, sir. I am miles from my old school and I happened to go past your establishment and saw your name and telephone number on the board outside."
"My secretary said that you had said that it is urgent. How urgent is it?"
"It will be better if it can be sorted this evening, sir. Failing that, it is vital that it gets cleared during the weekend."
"I can spare you some time if you can get out here this evening."
"Any time to suit you, sir. You're doing me the favour by agreeing to see me."
"Very well. Can you be here by seven o'clock?"
"Yes, sir. Will it be all right if I bring my car up the drive, sir, or should I park on the main road."
"Come up the drive by all means. There's a car park opposite the main entrance. You'll be able to identify the front door. Just go in there. Almost certainly the duty prefect will be there and will guide you. If not, you'll see a door labelled, 'Headmaster'. Just knock and come in when I call."
"Thank you very much, sir. I'll be there."
He put the phone down. Basil said, "That was masterly. You'll be going?"
"If I possibly can."
"I'll be ready for you when you get back if you want me to be. The parents won't even have to know. They won't be back until nearly midnight. They always have a leisurely meal in the city with friends after the theatre."
At about five to seven Roger parked his car outside the main building of Bournville Hill School. He locked it and went in. Several boys were standing in a row by the door which he assumed would be the headmaster's study. A larger one moved towards him.
"Are you Mr Livingstone, sir?"
"That's right."
"I'm Jobling, sir. I'm the duty prefect and the headmaster has asked me to give his apologies. There'll be a bit of a delay before he can see you. The weekly settling of accounts is taking longer than he expected. There is a chair over near the boys. Perhaps you'd like to sit down."
He took Roger across to the seat and looked at one of the boys.
"Jones, you can be host. Explain to Mr Livingstone what is happening, please."
One of the boys said, "It's the way we do things here, sir. We don't have lines and detentions. We have order marks. When you get three or more order marks you go for a caning on Friday evening. If you go for a whole week without getting any, then your score comes down by one. That means that you don't get whacked for something that happened ages ago. I'm afraid that we are the worst, sir. You start by going to your house master. In the end, you can be referred to the headmaster. If that happens, you've got to go for a term without a whacking before you are back to your house master. I don't know why, but there seems to be a lot more of us than usual."
Just then, the study door opened. A boy came out, rubbing his trouser seat and with a clear sign of tears in his eyes.
Jobling said, "Brant. You're next. In you go."
One of the boys went in and closed the door.
Jones said, "He'll talk with him a bit, sir, to try to help him put things right and to make sure that the order marks were fair. Then he'll be caned. You'll probably be able to hear the whacks."
Jobling said, "Smith can tell you why there have been so many."
Another boy, about sixteen years old said, "It was our dorm. We had a midnight feast. That got us up to two order marks and so we were caught if we had just one more."
Jobling said, "It wasn't just a midnight feast, was it?"
"No. It was a midnight feast with drinks."
Jobling said, "It was their second performance like that in three weeks, sir. I'm surprised that they didn't get three order marks for it."
Smith said, "Actually, I was surprised we got any. With the drinks and repeating it like that, I thought we'd be sent straight down to somebody."
Jones said, "That can happen as well. If it's something very serious, like stealing, you'd be sent straight to the house master or the headmaster and you'd get a separate caning for that."
Just then they heard the cane at work. There were three distinct cracks. After two or three minutes it was working again.
Smith said, "The idiot must have padded his trousers and the head's spotted it. He'll be getting six on the bare, now, I expect."
Jones said, "He ought to know that the head does spot it. It's not the first time he's done it and he gets caught every time. He's a fool."
Soon afterwards, Brant came out, tears running down his face and carrying a pair of football shorts. Smith was next to go in. He had four. The final boy was Jones and it was another four strokes.
As he came out, Jobling went to the door. "Mr Livingstone is here for you sir."
"Show him in, please."
Roger went in. The headmaster waved his hand towards a chair and said, "Pull that up, Mr Livingstone."
Roger moved it into a sensible position for conversation and sat down.
Mr Skidmore said, "Now, how can I help you?"
"I need some advice, sir, and I thought that someone like a headmaster would be the most likely to know what I ought to do."
"What's the problem?"
"I'm at university, sir."
"Here in Birmingham?"
This was the scenario which would have required least explanation but one which could backfire if Mr Skidmore knew even the names of any university staff.
"No, sir. Bristol. I came over to see my uncle but his neighbour tells me that he's away for an extended period. It's that absence which means that I can't get my problem sorted out within the family. You see, I've made rather a mess of things."
"How is that?"
"I used some material, unacknowledged, in an essay, sir, and my tutor has recognised it. You'll realise that plagiarism is serious enough for me to be sent down but my tutor has offered me an unofficial way out."
"I don't see why you need to consult anyone. No-one but a fool would want to go on the official route. What was the option he gave."
"He can't do it himself, sir. He has a weak heart, but he says I have to go back able to satisfy him that I've been well caned."
"Did he say who has to do it?"
"Not really, sir. He said I could go to my old school or to a relative or friend. Apart from the fact that my old school is too far away, there wouldn't be any point. They don't use the cane and it's part of their educational philosophy not to. I haven't any relatives in the country other than the uncle I thought would be here, sir. That only leaves asking a friend. That's what I wanted to consult you about. I didn't think it would be right to have a friend do something like that."
"I agree with you. It would be completely improper. That moves your problem on a little. If you haven't been well thrashed, your university career is at an end. I take it that you are prepared to accept that option?"
"Yes, sir. Actually, I did go to an uncle's home but they are away and won't be back in time."
"In that case, the question isn't so much whether it would be right to ask a friend. It is where you can get it done."
"I suppose it is, sir. I just can't think of anyone I could ask."
"This is almost providential. You need to be caned. I have a master who needs some practice with the cane. I'll explain. One of my house masters is retiring at Christmas. Another master is being promoted internally to the position. It would clearly be better if he had some experience operating a cane before next term. Would you be prepared to accept your caning from him?"
"Yes, sir. It's generous of you to offer and I would prefer to feel that some good had come from my stupidity."
The headmaster rose, went to the door and said, "What are you doing here, Jenkins?"
Roger heard Jobling say, "He should have been here for the account clearing, sir, but chose to forget. At least, he says that he forgot, sir. I don't see how anyone who has been here as long as he has can forget."
"Very well. I'll deal with him now. Would you go to find Mr Briggs, please, Jobling, and ask him if he would be kind enough to step over here for a few minutes? He can come in as soon as he gets here even if we haven't finished with this reprobate."
"Yes, sir."
"Come in, Jenkins."
The erring boy, probably sixteen or seventeen years old, came and stood in front of the headmaster's desk. The headmaster took his seat and faced him.
"You failed to appear when you should have done. I've got a guest with me now. You have to accept that our interview will be a little more public than it would have been. You are in the sixth form, you have been coming to me for two years now, you were caned last week, you have acquired four order marks this week and then you fail to appear to settle the account. How many do you suppose you are getting this time?"
"I suppose it'll be six of the best, sir."
"Then you suppose wrong. I've tried talking with you. I've tried what most people would regard as reasonable or even mild punishments with you. You are old enough for us to regard six as your minimum rather than your maximum. You'll have twelve strokes for this week's score, and you'll start next week with two order marks for failing to appear and so one further order mark during the week will have you here next Friday evening. Do you understand me, Jenkins?"
"Yes, sir. Last time you told me to remind you that it would only be in my underpants if I was back, sir. Does that apply now, with so many?"
"It does. We've got to drive things in somehow. Now, just one thing before we start. You know why the order marks were awarded. Are there any of them you think were unfair?"
"Not really, sir."
"Jenkins. I asked if any are unfair. Give me a straight answer. Yes or no."
Reluctantly, Jenkins said, "No, sir."
"Very well. You can get ready."
Jenkins looked round and said to Roger, "Excuse me, sir. I'm sorry, but I'll need that chair."
The headmaster said, "You can sit at my desk until we've dealt with this miscreant, Mr Livingstone."
He stood up. Roger rose and went to his chair behind the desk. Jenkins moved the chair back to the point Roger had taken it from and took his jacket off. He folded it and laid it on the seat. Then he removed his trousers and placed them on his jacket. He went behind the chair and bent forward. He moved his shirt tail well up and reached down. He gripped the chair legs and waited. Roger could see his buttocks, stretching the material of his Y-Fronts and waiting for the coming onslaught.
Just then there was a knock and the study door opened.
"Come in, Mr Briggs. You're just in time. Jenkins has chosen to be even more stupid than normal. I thought that he could be used to demonstrate to you how we use the cane here, ready for your using it in your new appointment, next term. Jenkins can explain the position we expect."
Jenkins looked up, annoyed and embarrassed at an even more public display.
He said, "Usually, you have your trousers on but I've been so bad that I have to take mine off. If you've got them on, you pull your shirt tail up so that you don't get any protection from it. If it's in pants, it's your job to make sure your shirt is completely clear. Then you reach over the chair as far as you can and hold tight. It's your job to make sure you stay in place until the caning is finished. Actually, it's not till the caning is finished. It's till you're told you can get up even if you know how many are due and you've had them all. Sorry, I forgot. One other thing. You always take your blazer off, fold it neatly and put it on the chair."
Mr Skidmore said, "Just one other thing. Smaller boys have to use a smaller chair. Now, you can see that Jenkins is giving us a good target. At the moment, it seems to be the only thing he can do right and heaven knows, he's had some practice. You aim to strike roughly between here -"
He rested the cane reasonably high, but still on the part of his buttocks with some flesh. Roger saw Jenkins react to the touch of the cane.
The headmaster went on, "And here."
This time the cane went to the seam at the bottom of his Y-Fronts and on the line separating the top of his leg from the bottom of his seat.
"I usually restrict the number there, even on someone like Jenkins. It is a sensitive area and is unfair to use it too much. You should arrange that the cane strikes both buttocks squarely and together. It must not have any cane sticking far beyond the proper target area. If it does, it can whip round and develop an enormous speed, cutting the boy's flank open, even through trousers. The only other thing is that normally you should use at least significant power. It is a punishment and if a boy feels that he is getting off lightly, you will lose status in his eyes. Perhaps you would stand back and watch me deal with Jenkins. Later, we may be able to find a way for you to get your eye in. By the way, never rush. Allow the boy to feel the full impact of a stroke before you apply the next. He should, as it were, have the opportunity to savour it. Apart from that, if you do it too quickly, you are liable to lose power. In addition, it's not fair to the boy if he hasn't had time to recover and prepare for the next. We should always try to be fair about it."
Mr Briggs moved a few steps away. Roger saw him trying to adjust his trousers without drawing attention to what he was doing. Then he saw the headmaster raise the cane and smash it into Jenkins's seat. It landed squarely across the centre. Roger saw a wave of appreciation of the cane's arrival go through the offending boy culminating in his head moving quickly back.
The headmaster said, "I usually start with one in the centre."
He took the cane back again and then struck a second time. It was on a line just below the first. The third was deliberately aimed at that lower area. This forced a squeal out of the suffering boy.
Roger simply sat there watching an expert with the cane at work.
Eventually, Jenkins had had his twelve.
The Headmaster said, "And what happens, now, Jenkins."
"It's like I said before, sir, I stay here until you tell me to get up, sir."
"Good. You're learning something. You can get up and dressed. Don't waste our time rubbing your stripes. They can keep until you're out of here."
Jenkins rose, picked up his trousers and dressed. He turned to the Headmaster.
"Is there anything else, sir, or shall I go?"
"You can go. Will you ask Jobling to come in if he's out there?"
"Yes, sir."
The prefect replaced the erring sixth former and Roger moved from the headmaster's chair.
"Jobling, is there likely to be anyone else coming to see me tonight?"
"No, sir. They're all in their houses and shouldn't be coming over here now."
"Very well. Thank you. You can go as well."
"Yes, sir. Thank you."
He went out.
The headmaster turned to the house master designate. "I'm sorry to spring that on you Mr Briggs but an opportunity has presented itself and then Jenkins turned up late for his account clearing. You'll be able to help Mr Livingstone here and get some practice with the cane as well. Have you ever used one?"
"Not since I was a prefect, Headmaster."
"I'll explain. Mr Livingstone has got himself into some serious trouble and has been given the choice between accepting a good thrashing or losing his entire career. He arranged to consult me to get my advice."
"I would have thought he needed no advice, Headmaster."
"The advice he needed was on how to get it done and I offered. It then occurred to me that it would give you a chance to practice if he is agreeable and you are. He has agreed."
"It would certainly be useful to get my eye in, Headmaster. Has he been told how many strokes he should have?"
The headmaster looked enquiringly towards Roger.
He said, "No, sir. He was at what sounds as though it was a fairly strict boarding school and he must be in his early sixties now, so that must have been something like forty or forty five years ago, I suppose. I know that he has to be satisfied, sir, but I think that might be the wrong way to look at it. I did something seriously wrong and I deserve to be punished. I don't know if you can understand what I mean, sir. I don't just want to be whacked to make the marks for him. It has to be a proper punishment. I'm not trying to push it up, either but it obviously has to take account of the fact that I'm a few years older than a schoolboy as well."
The headmaster said, "I understand. I'll hand you over to Mr Briggs and I'll check on his judgement. Obviously, as you said, it's more than our boys would get. He'll have a separate briefing over that."
Roger moved to the chair, turned to the master and said, "As it was so serious, sir, do you want my trousers off?"
The headmaster said, "As it's so serious, it might be fair if he has a short rest part way through. Possibly you could start with his trousers on and have them removed for the second session."
Mr Briggs said, "We'll do that."
Roger remembered the directions Jenkins had given. He took his jacket off, folded it and placed it on the seat of the chair. He moved round to the back of the chair, pulled his shirt tail up, pulled his trousers tight and leaned forward. He reached forward and down, grasping the chair legs firmly as the furthest he could hold securely. Now all he had to do was wait and discover how well Mr Briggs remembered his skills when he had been a prefect.
CRRACKK! The first stroke fairly squarely across the middle of Roger's seat. Already, he knew that Mr Briggs needed no practice! The pain surged from the line of contact almost forcing a cry from his lips. Roger tightened his grip on the chair leg.
CRRACKK! The second one was as good.
CRRACKK! Roger was forcing himself to remain in place, reminding himself of his by now imaginary crime and of the fact that he deserved this treatment.
CRRACKK! CRRACKK! CRRACKK!
After the sixth, there was a slightly longer pause. Roger was grateful. As always, he wanted to take what was due to him with no fuss. He had been approaching letting go and if he had done, he knew that it would not have been longer before he was seriously out of position.
CRRACKK! The seventh struck precisely along the line of the first.
CRRACKK! CRRACKK! CRRACKK! CRRACKK! CRRACKK!
Roger knew that that was twelve. He had survived this far, but he should have expected to. He had the added protection of his trousers and Jenkins had had twelve. How many more would there be in this first session?"
CRRACKK!
It certainly was not stopping at twelve!
CRRACKK! CRRACKK! Another slightly longer pause had Roger wondering whether it would stop now. If he were to get the same on his pants, then he would have had thirty. He got his answer.
CRRACKK! CRRACKK! CRRACKK!
Eighteen seemed another reasonable stopping place. Would it turn out to be here?
Mr Briggs said, "You can stand up now, Livingstone."
Roger got to his feet, held his rump and said, "Do you want my trousers off straightaway, sir?"
"No. Have a few moments rest and massage it if you like. I need to ask you something. Can you give me the outline of what you did wrong, please? It will help me to assess how many more you should get."
"I'm an undergraduate at the university, sir. In an essay, I used, without acknowledgement, and as though it was my own work, an article from a rather obscure journal. My tutor recognised it."
"I see. Yes, plagiarism is a serious academic offence."
"It was doubly stupid, sir. It was stupid to do it but as well as that, it wasn't even a good article and my tutor said that he remembered the original because it was so bad. There's a lot at stake because there's a good chance that I could be encouraged to stay on for research after my degree."
"I get the picture. I think we move forward now, please."
Roger knew what was required. He removed his trousers, placed them on his jacket on the chair seat and went to his earlier position. He leaned forward, put his hand behind him and pulled his shirt up into the middle of his back. He went right down and gripped the chair legs again, knowing that it was his buttocks, now encased in his Y-Fronts, which were waiting for the cane as he had seen Jenkins's a few minutes earlier. He waited. The master returned. Roger felt the cane rest across his rump. If it arrived where it was resting, it would be bang on the first from the first series.
CRRACKK!
It was exactly where Roger expected it to be. Another surge of pain, the magnitude increased both by the reduced protection and also the increased sensitivity which seemed to follow a break. Roger had realised that a break was a mixed blessing. It enabled him to regain control and abate the increase in perception of pain that and extended onslaught produced, but it also left him more sensitive. His thoughts came to an end with the next.
CRRACKK!
For the first time, Mr Briggs struck low. He had waited until there was little or no protection there. Roger remembered seeing the weal develop on Jenkins after his first blow there and it was effective enough to drive a gasp from his lips.
CRRACKK!
The third was closer to the centre of his seat. The surge of pain now increased, not only because there was less protection but also because the strokes were landing on already tender material..
CRRACKK! CRRACKK! CRRACKK!
That was six. Roger knew there must still be a long way to go.
CRRACKK! CRRACKK! CRRACKK!
The ninth was low again, even more agonising this time because it cut along the weal left by the first stroke which had had time to swell and become more sensitive itself. Once again, a cry of pain could not be stopped.
CRRACKK! CRRACKK! CRRACKK!
The twelfth struck exactly where the ninth had done. A surge of pain overwhelmed him. Without realising it, he released and half stood up. He forced himself back down again and said, "I'm sorry, sir."
Mr Briggs said, "No. You can stand, now, and give yourself another rub."
Roger gratefully accepted the invitation, grateful that his shirt and his Y-Fronts combined to keep his excited masculine organ out of their sight.
Mr Briggs said, "You've had thirty, Livingstone. Something like this is outside the experience of most schoolmasters. I'm sure that that will have been enough to satisfy your tutor. However, from what you were saying, perhaps I should ask whether it is adequate for you to feel honest."
The headmaster said, "That's an unfair question, Mr Briggs, but the fact that you have asked it provides your answer, doesn't it?"
"I suppose it does, Headmaster. The difficulty now is that he has done very well to stay in place for what I have given him, but his continuing to remain in place for it becomes problematical. When I was at school, we had a stool onto which he could have been secured but those days have rightly gone."
The headmaster said, "True, but those were the days his tutor was brought up in. If he lies across my desk, could you hold him down while I give him a final session?"
Roger said, "Now, sir?"
"Yes."
He lay across the large desk. Mr Briggs stood alongside him, pressing him into the desk's surface. The headmaster went to the rear.
CRRACKK!
Roger cried out. He cold not help it. It cut straight into that sensitive area at the top of his legs.
CRRACKK!
That was more central but almost overwhelming. The headmaster was doing well and Roger was grateful for the restraining hands of Mr Briggs.
CRRACKK! CRRACKK! CRRACKK! CRRACKK!
The sixth was again on that sensitive area.
Roger was relieved to hear the headmaster say, "Release him, Mr Briggs, please. I think we've now both satisfied his tutor and given him a proper reminder."
Roger got to his feet, gently felt the raised ridges the cane had produced and said, "Thank you, sir. In fact, thank you to both of you."
He started to dress. The headmaster said, "I think it's unlikely that your tutor won't be satisfied, but should he have been brought up in a school which would have been approaching brutal even in those days, please come back if he requires that you have more."
"Thank you, sir. I hope that was enough. I know it was enough for me to feel that I've been honest."
Soon afterwards he was back in the car and driving to Basil's parents home. Basil greeted him.
"How did it go?"
Roger grinned. "It worked. I'm a bit sore and very excited."
"Come upstairs. We've got plenty of time before anyone's back."
As they went towards the bedroom, Basil said, "You've never been up my bottom, have you?"
Roger replied, "I'd like to sometime, but could you relieve me and then have me like that this time, please? You've no idea what it's like to have that with a sore backside."
In Basil's bedroom, they undressed. Basil admired the stripes and bruises and Roger was able to se them for the first time. Then it was a matter of priorities. After his urgent need for relief had been dealt with, he was able to lie on his stomach and luxuriate as he was prepared and then felt Basil driving deep into his body, with his groin massaging his bruised seat.
On the way back to Bristol on Sunday, Basil said, "You remember those canes I got from school?"
"Yes. I've felt one of them."
"Believe it or not, he actually gave me a dozen. If I give you some, you could have them ready in your flat, in case they are needed."
"Fair enough."
"I've had another idea, though. If you're so determined to get yourself canings like you had on Friday, you might find yourself with a passenger who could do it but hasn't got a cane. Why don't you keep one in your boot. It could have been given to you by your tutor for your relation or friend to use."
Roger said, "It's an idea."
To be continued.