The Christmas term at Linden Lodge Junior School started in early September. The boys arrived between 6 p. m. and 7 p. m. on the Sunday evening. Many, like Oliver Reece-Jones, came on the school train from Paddington Station in London. He was unusually happy for a twelve year old boy starting another long school term. Despite the stolen wine bottle incident at the end of the previous term, which had led to the most painful slippering he had ever had and to his being told that he would not be appointed a prefect, he was very much looking forward to his last year at the school. The main reason for that was Mr Trumpington's decision, having heard that Oliver had been punished again by his father in the holidays, to appoint the boy as a prefect after all. So, not only was he to be captain of the rugby First XV, but he was also to enjoy the not inconsiderable powers and privileges of a prefect.
The privileges were indeed attractive to a boy of Oliver's age who had been used to the restrictions of an English boarding prep school. To start with, he would have a study bedroom which he would have to share with only one other boy. He would be permitted to go into the town in the afternoons without being accompanied by a master. Lights out would be half an hour later than for other boys of his age. There were other minor advantages to the life of a prefect. During free time, for instance, he could wear a tweed jacket, rather than the school uniform grey suit. He could walk across the front lawn (only prefects and masters being allowed to do so). He could use the prefects' kitchen to prepare snacks and Saturday and Sunday evening meals. He could watch television in the prefects common room, rather than in the overcrowded boys' common room.
The powers of a prefect at Linden Lodge were, at least to those who were not familiar with English private schools, quite extraordinary. Almost the entire day to day running of the school, so far as the boys' behaviour was concerned, was in the hands of the prefects. They were responsible for the supervision of the boys at almost all times when they were not actually in class. They presided at tables of twenty boys each in the dining hall. They took the masters place in the classrooms for evening prep. They supervised the other boys in changing rooms, showers, baths and dormitories. But it was their penal powers which would most surprise the uninitiated. Not surprisingly, they could send boys to masters for punishment, but they also had a considerable arsenal of punishments which they could impose themselves, without any involvement from masters at all. They could send boys on runs round the games pitches. They could make boys do press ups. They could give boys lines.
Finally, and unusually even for an English Prep school, prefects were permitted to use corporal punishment. They were only allowed to use a bedroom slipper for that purpose and the number of strokes they were allowed to give was strictly limited. But it will not surprise those who are familiar with the ways of twelve and thirteen year old boys that they all found it necessary, immediately on appointment, to acquire new slippers with hard leather soles and most never contemplated giving fewer than the maximum permitted strokes. First and second form boys, generally aged about eight and nine, could be given one or two strokes. Third and fourth form boys, aged about ten and eleven, could be given up to three. Fifth and non-prefect sixth form boys, aged about twelve and thirteen, could be given up to four. The prefects were also always careful to ensure that boys who were to be slippered wore as little as possible for their punishments. The rule was that a prefect could not require a boy to change for his beating. But there was no rule requiring the beating to be given at a particular time. It is perhaps not surprising therefore that most prefects tended to instruct miscreants to report for their punishments immediately after games (the rule was that boys should not wear underpants under their games shorts) or informed them that they would be punished at bed time.
It would be unfair on Oliver to suggest that it was his power to slipper other boys to which he was looking forward most. He was, normally, a responsible lad. He certainly had the best interests of the school at heart. If you had asked him what he was looking forward to most in his final year at the school he would certainly have told you that he was hoping to ensure that it excelled at sports and that the boys for whose behaviour he was particularly responsible would, without being boring goody-goodies, "not let the side down". But it would also be untruthful to say that the idea of slippering other boys was something to which he was averse. He, like most if not all of his contemporaries, had always shown a keen interest in the physical punishments imposed on his friends. From his first days at the school he had been fascinated by seeing recently slippered bottoms in the showers, changing rooms or dormitories. He had also taken pride in showing off his own bottom to his friends after punishments. In recent months he had found that thoughts of slipperings (whether his own or others) tended to give him a pleasant sensation which, at first, he had not quite understood. Now that he was on the brink of puberty he recognised that that sensation was the same which he got when he saw pictures of pretty girls with few or no clothes on. Indeed, on the night of his own last slippering (given by his father in the holidays), he had, while safely between his sheets, allowed his thoughts to dwell on his punishment to such an extent that he had, with considerable pleasure, committed that sin which all boys of his age were warned against and which all boys of his age engaged in sooner or later. He suspected that actually administering punishment would be likely to lead to similar, and perhaps even more pleasurable, experiences. To give him credit, he did feel some guilt at thinking of his prefectorial powers in that way, but he was also genuinely convinced that, whether or not he got pleasure from doing it! , the bo ys whom he would beat would all, themselves, benefit from the experience. He certainly considered that his own punishments had not only been administered for his own good, but had actually made him a better boy. It was his intention to ensure that the overriding aim of every punishment he gave would be to improve the boy being punished.
Oliver quickly sought out those of his friends who were travelling on the school train. When last they had seen him it had been just after he had been told that he would not be made a prefect. He was eager to give them his good news. It says a lot for the boys that they were all, even those who had themselves been passed over for promotion, delighted to learn of his good fortune. There had been a general feeling in the school that, if anyone was to be a prefect, Oliver ought to be. He was so successful on the sports fields and so popular in other ways, that there had been a tangible feeling of disappointment in the air when he had revealed that he was not to be given the post.
The boys, other than prefects, slept in dormitories with five beds in them. Each prefect, other than the head boy, had responsibility for five such dormitories, one for each of the first to fifth forms. The head boy was responsible for all the dormitories for non-prefect sixth formers. Oliver and his prefect friends went straight to their common room, on arrival at the school, to see which dormitories they were to supervise. Oliver was secretly pleased to see that his fifth form dormitory was the one in which Dawson was to sleep. He did not quite know why, but there was something about Dawson's physique which made the boy, he thought, an ideal recipient of the slipper. Undoubtedly, a prefect had many more opportunities for punishing boys in dormitories which he was supervising than he had for punishing other boys. Furthermore, Dawson had a splendidly mischievous character and had no qualms about getting into trouble fairly frequently. The chance that Oliver would not find himself having to slipper Dawson was pretty remote.
Oliver next looked at the notice which gave details of the prefects' own sleeping arrangements. He was keen to see with whom he would be sharing. He was hoping it would be Anderson, one of his best friends throughout their time at the school. But, when he looked, he saw a name which was completely new to him. He was apparently to share with someone called Edmondson. That was most odd. Prefects were meant to share with other prefects. He did not see how this Edmondson could be a prefect, because he was clearly a new boy. He read on to see a note instructing him to see the headmaster, Mr Trumpington, as soon as possible. He set off immediately.
"Ah Reece-Jones, come in", Mr Trumpington greeted him. "I wanted to see you now so I could explain about Edmondson. He is coming here for his last year of prep school because his previous day school has been closed down. He comes with glowing references and was clearly going to be a prefect. Now, of course, I could not appoint him a prefect here until I have had a chance to see how he gets on. On the other hand, I thought it a little unfair on him not to give him any of the privileges of the rank. So I decided that he should share with a prefect who could show him the ropes. It seemed to me that you were the ideal candidate. I want you to make him feel at home here as quickly as you can. Show him round the place. Tell him all our little ways. Technically, he will be one of your charges (he will not be the responsibility of the head boy), but I hope you won't be too hard on him. Obviously, if you need to punish him you must, but bear in mind that his previous school thought him clear prefect material."
Oliver was not sure that he liked the sound of this. But he was determined to do his best for the school and he decided to make the most of this unexpected responsibility. He set off for his bed-sitting room, intending, once he had settled in, to go in search of Edmondson. When he got to the room he found the new boy already there. First impressions were good. Simon Edmondson was a handsome lad, about the same height and build as Oliver himself. He had blond hair and startlingly blue eyes. He was slim, but obviously fit. He had an easy smile.
"Hi", said Oliver, "you must be Edmondson. Im Reece-Jones. We're sharing I gather."
"Hi. Mr Trumpington told me about you. He said you were just the right boy to show me the ropes in my first few weeks. It's very kind of you to put up with me. I expect you were hoping to share with one of your friends. Anyway, I'll try not to get in your way too much and you must tell me whenever I start to annoy you."
"I'm sure we'll get on really well. Old Jericho (that's what we call the head - you know Trumpington, trumpets, the walls of Jericho), well Jericho told me that you were bound to be a prefect in your old school, so it must be a bit of a blow coming here and getting bossed around by us."
This rather stilted conversation continued for some time. But the boys gradually thawed. Oliver was particularly impressed that his new friend was clearly not the pushy kind. Although he had been in the room for some time before Oliver's arrival, he had deliberately not chosen a bed so as to give the senior boy the first choice. As they unpacked they continued to chat and each learnt more about the other. It seemed that Simon was also quite a sportsman. His old school had played soccer, not rugby. He had been due to be captain of the First XI. He was keen to have a go at rugby and hoped that Oliver could give him some tips. He had never boarded before, but he said he was pleased to find he was not feeling at all homesick yet. He asked about the masters and the other boys. Oliver did his best to answer as fully as possible. Then came the inevitable subject.
"I know there's corporal punishment here, obviously. Do you mind telling me a little more about it? The problem is that my old school didn't use it at all. So I've never had a school whacking before. It's not that I'm afraid or anything like that, it's just that I would like to know what it's like and how often it's used and all that."
"Well, the last bit's easy. Once the term gets going properly you'll find that there are whackings most days. Most of the masters prefer to slipper us than give us detentions and so on. Although it is actually called getting the 'slipper', they usually use gym shoes. Also, prefects are allowed to slipper other boys, but we can only use actual slippers. Prefects can only be slippered by masters. The normal rule for non-prefect sixth formers is that they can only be slippered by the head boy and masters, but Jericho has decided, cos you're sharing with me, that you can only be slippered by me and masters. But you needn't worry, he's made it pretty clear that he doesn't want me to slipper you so you'll really be like us prefects and only get the slipper from masters."
Simon was fascinated by all this information on a subject which does tend to fascinate boys of his age. He had plenty more questions to ask, but first, much as he hoped to avoid too much pain, he wanted to make it clear that he intended to try to experience as much of the normal life of a boy at Linden Lodge as he could.
"Mr Trumpington, I mean Jericho, very kindly told me that he might make me a prefect next term. I really don't think it would be fair for me to slipper other boys without ever having had the slipper from a prefect myself. So, as far as I'm concerned, if I deserve to be slippered by you I will expect you to give it to me."
Oliver, who had already decided that Simon was a decent chap, was impressed by this. He too, secretly, had thought that it would not be quite right for a boy to be appointed a prefect without having properly experienced the life of a non-prefect first. He realised that some boys, not used to what he thought of as proper punishment, might well greatly resent the prospect of being slippered by someone of their own age. It said a lot for Simon that he was actually prepared to volunteer to undergo the punishment. I am afraid it also has to be said that Oliver had noticed, when Simon was bending to unpack his trunk, that his new room mate's bottom looked absolutely perfect slippering material. It was beautifully round and protuberant, while still being firm and slim. Though he tried to banish the thought from his mind as being unworthy, Oliver could not help thinking that giving Simon four hard whacks with his new slipper would be really quite good fun.
Simon's questions continued.
"When we're slippered, do we get it on the bare bum?"
"No, most masters just slipper you in what you are wearing at the time. Jericho always makes you go and change into your games shorts. Prefects are meant to do it in whatever you happen to be wearing, but the usual rule is for them to do it in the dorms, when you're in pyjamas or underpants, or immediately after games when youre in games shorts."
"Who's the hardest whacker in the school?"
"Well, when he's really cross, Jericho is. He gave me six at the end of last term for stealing a bottle of wine from the masters' common room and it hurt more than any whacking I've ever had before. But if he's not that cross, he's not too bad. Nutty, that's what we call Mr Pecan, is pretty hard. He takes us for PE and he slippers all the time. You're bound to get it off him sooner or later. We all think he gets a kick out of it cos he never misses any chance to slipper anyone. In fact, he sometimes does do it bare if he catches you mucking about in the showers."
"It all sounds a bit scary to me. I mean I've never had worse than the odd spanking from my dad. He's a pretty hard smacker, and he always does it on the bare bum, but I bet the slipper's much worse."
"You'll be OK. Of course it can hurt like mad, but the pain goes quite quickly and you don't look the sort to blub over a slippering."
Once the boys had unpacked it was time for high tea in the dining room. Oliver was in charge of a table of fourth formers and Simon was to sit next to him. After supper there was a talk from Mr Trumpington for the new boys. Simon was excused from that, since he would look out of place amongst a whole lot of eight year olds. Instead, he went on a tour of the school with Oliver. When that was over, Oliver had to supervise his first form dormitory and Simon returned to their study.
Oliver took one of his new slippers with him to the first form dormitory. He was not intending to use it on any new boy that night, or probably for some days or weeks to come, but he thought they ought to see it in order to encourage them to behave well. The boys were duly impressed, indeed awe inspired would be a better description. Oliver realised that none of them was likely ever to have had more than a relatively gentle parental spanking before and he thought it important that they should understand what they were in for if they were naughty in school.
"OK lads", he said after he had called for silence, "my name is Reece-Jones. I am the prefect in charge of your dorm. I'm sure we're going to get on very well. But just you remember that I'm the boss. Let's hope we have no trouble, but just in case you're thinking of playing up, I thought I'd bring this along", he showed them the slipper, "any boy I catch misbehaving will have his bum well and truly warmed with this. So beware."
Once the first formers were tucked up in bed and their lights were off, Oliver moved onto his second form dormitory. He was amused to note that these more experienced boys stopped their chatter the second they saw him come in with slipper in hand. They knew the ropes and were not prepared to run unnecessary risks.
Oliver continued his tour. He reckoned there might be an occasion to use his slipper in the older boys' dormitories, but there was not. When all the dormitory lights were off, he went back to his study. Having himself got changed into his pyjamas, he was about to set off for his final duty of the night, the tour of all his dormitories to make sure no one was talking or mucking about.
"Hey, Edmondson, do you want to come on my dorm tour. You never know, you might get to see a slippering if I catch anyone."
"Yeah, I'm on for that."
So the two boys left the room together. Oliver was surprised to find some talking in the first form dormitory. He knew he could not slipper any new boys so soon, but he gave them a good talking to and promised them they would not be let off again. The second form dormitory was absolutely silent. But, as they got to the third form one they both heard the unmistakable sound of a minor pillow fight in progress. Oliver held his finger to his lips to signal the need for Simon to remain silent. He gently pushed the door open and saw two boys, Lamkin and Brotherton, swinging their pillows at each other. He turned on the lights.
"Well well Lamkin and Brotherton. I see you wanted to be the first to find out how hard I am with the slipper. Well, I'm happy to oblige. You can be first Brotherton. Middle of the room. Bend."
The slim ten year old threw his pillow onto his bed and walked to the centre of the room. He turned round, with his back to Oliver and Simon, put his feet a few inches apart and expertly bent to touch his toes. His pyjamas were a fairly slim fit to start with. Now they hugged his bottom tightly. Oliver had seen Brotherton bending for a slippering in his games shorts before and had thought, then, that his physique was perfect for the slipper. He also knew that the boy had a proper "grin and bear it" attitude to punishment. There was no doubt that he would take his slippering well. Oliver intended to make it hurt as much as he could, but he was confident that Brotherton would soon be proudly boasting of his achievement in being the first boy to be slippered in the Christmas term.
Simon took in the scene carefully. He had never seen another boy being whacked before and he found the experience fascinating. He looked at the faces of the watching ten year olds in their beds. They did not try to hide their obvious sense of excitement and anticipation at watching their friend take up his position for a beating. All three were sitting up and staring fixedly at Brotherton's pyjama clad bottom. Simon had learnt enough about the school to realise that what he was witnessing was a frequent occurrence. And yet the dormitorys occupants, who must have seen similar scenes often before, were obviously as gripped by what was happening as they would have been if they had never seen it before.
Oliver sized up his target. This was to be his great test. Never before had he swung his slipper at a real boy's bottom. He and Anderson had occasionally played a game of Dad and Son, which had always ended with one of them giving a playful over the knee spanking to the other. But the smacks they had given each other had never caused more than a mild stinging sensation. Now, for the first time in his life, he was going to hit another boy's bottom with the firm intention of making it very sore indeed. He felt a funny feeling in his tummy as he contemplated what he was about to do.
Brotherton never liked these moments leading up to the first whack smashing into his bottom. He always wished that it could be got over and done with as soon as possible. Some masters were decent about that and started the whacking the second he was bent over. But he knew from many previous experiences that all prefects liked to draw the agony out as much as possible. He didn't like it, but he understood it. Like most boys in the school, it was his great ambition one day to be a prefect himself and he knew perfectly well that, if he achieved that ambition, he would make his slipperings last as long as any other prefect's. He was perfectly resigned to his fate. Indeed, it had actually been his intention to get the slipper that night. He had had a bet with another boy that he would be the first to get the slipper from Reece-Jones and, in a typically foolhardy way, he had set about to make sure that he won. He expected the whacking to be efficient. No boy who was as fit and athletic as Oliver would make a hash of giving the slipper. This was also to be his first time getting three strokes from a prefect. That didn't worry him over much. He had had three from a couple of masters in the previous term, so he knew he could take it. But he still wished Oliver would hurry up.
At last Brotherton felt the familiar light touch of the slipper on his bottom as Oliver took aim. He looked between his legs and saw Oliver slowly walk back four paces. Not all prefects took a run up, but most did and he was not surprised to see Oliver doing so.
Oliver had spent many happy hours during the holidays practising with his slipper on a boy's bottom sized cushion. He had tried doing it with and without a run up. At first, his aim had been a little poor with a run up, but it had improved with time and he eventually decided that he would opt for the running whack technique. He was sure it would produce more pain, which was after all the whole point of the exercise. As he stood, waiting to bound forward, he took a deep breath to steady his nerves. This had to go perfectly if he was to earn the reputation of being a fierce whacker which he so much wanted to have. At last, he leapt forward. He covered the four paces he had walked in two giant strides. At the start, the slipper was behind his shoulder. He swung it as he ran and, at precisely the right moment it hit the middle of Brothertons waiting bottom with a resounding crash. He was pleased to see the boy jerk forward slightly. That was a sure sign that the force had been greater than he was expecting.
Brotherton was indeed surprised by the force of the first blow. He had, of course, had worse from masters, who were, after all, stronger than prefects. But he thought it was on a par with the hardest he had ever had from a prefect. His bottom was certainly feeling pretty sore. He had shut his eyes at the second of impact, but he opened them again in time to see Oliver walking back.
Simon had not quite known what to expect. He had guessed the beating would be quite hard, but he had not really expected so much force to be used. His own experiences of lying across his father's knee were certainly not much preparation for this sort of thing, he thought. He glanced at Lamkin, who was standing beside him waiting his turn. He noticed that the lad was gently stroking his bottom as he watched, but his face was not showing any emotion at all. Simon was impressed.
Oliver's second run up and whack were also perfect. Again, there was a sharp, loud, crack as slipper met bottom. There was a just audible intake of breath from Brotherton as the pain sunk in, but no movement this time.
Oliver too a long pause before delivering the last stroke. He looked with ill concealed admiration at the red mark which was just visible through Brothertons thin white pyjama trousers. This, he thought, was going very well indeed.
Brotherton waited patiently. The pain was now at the intense stage when all he wanted to do was jump up and down. But he knew he had to stay still, unless he wanted to be derided throughout the school. Finally, he saw Oliver begin his leap. He shut his eyes and gritted his teeth. Thwack. The last stroke slammed into his small round bottom. There was an instant of searing pain and then the familiar feeling of great heat. His bottom seemed to be throbbing. He waited for the order to stand. He knew it would not come immediately, but eventually it did. He gratefully rose and gently placed both his hands on his buttocks. Yes, they were certainly hot. Oliver had done an excellent job.
Lamkin stepped forward without having to be told to do so. He bent over precisely as his friend had done. He also had a slim and athletic build. There was clearly no flabby fat on his bottom. It looked as slim, firm and slightly rounded as Brotherton's.
Simon glanced at Brotherton. He had not got back into bed, but was standing and watching Lamkin and Oliver attentively. His right hand, Simon noticed, was now between pyjama trousers and bottom, rubbing the pain away. Simon looked back at Oliver and Lamkin. The first leap forward. The first crash. The slow walk back. The pause. The second leap and crash. The slow walk. The third leap and crash. The agonising (to Lamkin) wait. Then the order to stand and the furious bottom rubbing. The whole process was repeated. As with Brotherton, there was no cry and no attempt to move. Simon was mightily impressed.
"All right boys," Oliver spoke, "back into bed. The rest of you, lie down. The show's over. And Lamkin, Brotherton, you are to stay firmly in bed. No showing off red bums till the morning. Good night."
"Good night Reece-Jones" the boys all replied.
Simon and Oliver made their way back to their study. Oliver explained that there was no point in trying to catch anyone else up to no good because they would all have heard the slipperings and been warned he was about.
Oliver was eager to discover what Simon had made of his performance with the slipper.
"What did you think of it?"
"Awesome. Those boys' bums must have been on fire. Do the masters whack as hard as that?"
"Harder. They don't go in for run ups, but they have much more strength so they can really make it hurt just by standing still."
"Wow, I'm not looking forward to the first time I get it. I must say, I wouldn't have minded seeing their bums. I bet they're a wonderful colour."
"I'm afraid you wont get a chance to see them till showers after games tomorrow. By then they'll be more bruised than red, but they should still be worth seeing. Don't worry, it won't be long before you see some freshly whacked bums. As soon as things get going properly there are bound to be some after games whackings, and those are always before showers. All you have to do is make sure you stay a little longer in the showers to wait for them to get back from the prefects' studies."
"If you hadn't told them not to, would they really have let the other boys in the dorm see the marks tonight?"
"Oh, they still will. At this very moment the torches will be out and sore bums will be on display".
"Isn't that a bit risky? I mean, suppose you went back now and caught them wouldn't you have to whack the others as well?"
"Everyone knows that prefects always tell boys they've whacked after lights out not to drop their pyjamas for their friends till the morning. And everyone knows that no prefect would be so nasty as to go back and catch them doing it. It's not much fun getting the slipper and the least we can do is let them show their wounds afterwards."
Oliver was feeling the sensations which usually came on after he had been slippered. He very much wanted to encourage them. But he was a little worried about what Simon would think of him. He knew that there was no way he could do it quietly enough for his room mate to be unaware of what was going on. He could start quietly and slowly, but as it went on he would not be able to control himself enough to keep it that way. In the last term, all the boys in his dormitory had talked about what good sessions they had had and he had certainly been aware of some fairly vigorous exercise in other beds. But he had known all those boys for some years. Simon was an unknown quantity. What was more, he had never boarded before and he might be offended by too obvious a display. But Oliver was beginning to realise that he could not hold back much longer. He had got straight into bed on getting back into the study, chiefly to prevent Simon noticing his state of arousal. He looked around the room, hoping to alight on something which would take his mind off the ten year old bottoms in the third form dormitory. It was then that he noticed, for the first time, the small picture which Simon must have put on his bed-side table while he was supervising the younger boys' bed time. It was a picture he had seen before of a teenage girl tennis player. She was standing with her back to the camera. One of her hands had raised part of her skirt and she had no knickers on. A gloriously pert naked bottom was revealed to the camera's lens. That gave Oliver an idea.
"Crikey Edmondson, that bird's a real stunner. Doesn't she make you get all horny?"
"I can't pretend that she doesn't turn me on sometimes. Well, quite often actually. I got it from one of my friends at my last school. He kept telling us all about having this picture that really got him going when he looked at in bed. One day he brought it into school to show us and we could see what he meant. It was quite funny really. He showed it to us in break, behind the bike sheds, and we all started putting our hands in front of our flies to stop everyone seeing the bulges. Obviously, everyone wanted it to keep under their pillows at home. Anyway, he knew where you could buy copies and he agreed to get some for us. Many's the night I've had it under the bed clothes with a little torch shining on it. I expect you can guess what that leads to!"
Oliver's concerns were immediately gone. It seemed that day boys had the same urges as boarders after all.
"Well, it's certainly getting me worked up. I don't mind telling you that I reckon I'm on for a really good session tonight. I think I'll turn the lights off now."
"Here, do you want to borrow the picture and my torch? It seems silly, but for some reason seeing you slippering those boys seems to have made me go as hard as a rock. I suppose the shapes of their bums made me think of the picture. Anyway, I'm not going to need it to get me going tonight."
Oliver refused Simon's offer. He explained that he, too, was already sufficiently aroused to manage without its aid. He leant over to the light switch, turned it off and said good night to his new friend. There was only the gentlest rustling of bed clothes to start with, but gradually the springs on both beds began to squeak and small grunts and moans could be heard in the darkness. Oliver eventually let out a long contented sigh. A few seconds later Simon did the same.
"If your's was as good as mine", whispered Simon, "you must feel like you're in heaven".
"I certainly do. It was fantastic. Night night."
The following day was relatively uneventful, except that Oliver and Simon both made sure they were in the showers at the same time as Brotherton and Lamkin. As Oliver had predicted, the marks on the younger boys' bottoms were now bruises, although there was still a very slight reddish tinge to them. Simon had never seen anything like it. Of course, he had looked at his own bottom in the mirror after spankings, but it had just been a sort of deep pink colour which faded within a couple of hours to leave him quite unmarked. Yet again, he marvelled at the severity of punishments in his new school.
It was Simon who provoked Nutty Pecan's anger first. They were two weeks into the term. The sixth form PE class had gone without incident until Simon made the mistake of whispering to Oliver when he thought that Nutty's attention was distracted.
"The boy who spoke will step forward. If he does not do so within ten seconds you will all stay behind to do 100 press ups." Nutty did not sound friendly.
Simon gave no more than a second's thought to his predicament. He immediately realised that he would have to own up. He knew enough of Mr Pecan's reputation as a disciplinarian to have no doubts about his fate. He was about to be slippered for the first time in his life. He stepped forward.
Mr Pecan looked down on the slim new boy, dressed only in thin white games shorts, plimsolls and socks. He liked what he saw, but he was not about to reveal that.
"Boys who talk in my classes do not find sitting down to be very comfortable when I have dealt with them. Go to my office. On the table you will see a large gym shoe. Bring it back here."
Simon walked the length of the gym to the small side door leading to Mr Pecan's office. The first thing he saw, on opening the door, was the greying size 12 shoe sitting, all on its own, on the table. He shuddered at the thought of what it would shortly be used for. He found himself, as he had seen Lamkin doing, stroking his bottom in anticipation of the thrashing he was about to get. He took a deep breath and walked purposively forward. He picked up the shoe and flexed it with both hands. It felt remarkably supple, but the thick rubber sole was unrelenting. He shuddered again as he tried to imagine the pain he would feel when the rubber smashed into his barely protected flesh. He braced himself and walked back to the door. He then marched smartly forward towards Mr Pecan. His class mates were all standing in a line facing him. Mr Pecan was in front of them, holding out his hand for the shoe. Simon handed it over.
"Turn round and touch your toes," barked Nutty.
Simon did as he was told. His friends all had a grand stand view of a slim and firm young bottom which had never felt the sting of a slipper of gym shoe before. He waited. The feeling of churning in his stomach was dreadful.
"I shall let you off lightly", said Mr Pecan, "three".
Then, without a further pause he smashed the shoe with all his might onto Simons bottom.
Simon had noticed how Brotherton had jerked forward involuntarily when Oliver's first stroke had landed. He had determined to stand firm himself. He succeeded, but only with the greatest difficulty. The force of the blow was astounding to him. What surprised him was that the pain was delayed, if only for a second. But when it came he instantly realised that this was going to be the most painful experience of his young life. He bit his lip and waited again.
Crack. The second landed with equal force. The pain seemed to be more than double what it had been. But Simon still found time to marvel at his ability to take the beating without crying out. It made him deeply ashamed, for a second, of the fuss he made when his father spanked him and he resolved never to cry again during a punishment.
Nutty always prided himself on his ability to make the last stroke the most painful. Simon's was no exception. Even the watching boys, who had witnessed Nutty's slipperings on more occasions than they could remember, all winced as it landed. Simon was in agony. His bottom was scorching. But he remembered to stand firm until told to get up. When the order came he rose as slowly as he could. He was not going to give Mr Pecan the pleasure of seeing how much pain he was in. He desperately wanted to rub his throbbing bottom, but he resisted the urge. Nutty handed him the shoe and told him to return it to the office. Simon walked slowly towards the door looking as though he had no cares in the world. As soon as he was in the office and out of site he grabbed his bottom and jumped three times in the air. There was a mirror on the wall. He could not resist the temptation. He lowered his shorts and looked at the bright scarlet bottom. He stroked it, and felt the burning heat. Then he pulled his shorts up and left the room. He was surprised and greatly relieved to find that the pain was easing all the time as he made the slow walk back to the other end of the gym. By the end of the lesson he was conscious only of a sort of dull ache and a really rather comfortable feeling of warmth.
There was a twenty minute break after PE to allow the boys to change out of their shorts. Simon and Oliver went back to their study to change.
"Let's see the damage Sime", the boys' friendship had progressed in leaps and bounds and they had stopped using surnames when alone together.
Simon happily pulled his shorts down and Oliver admired Nutty's handiwork.
"Not bad at all. You know, he really let you have it on the third stroke. It was massive. How does it feel to have had your first slippering?"
"I'm fine now. I would be lying if I said I was entirely delirious with pleasure when I was getting it."
"Well, you took it really well. There's not many boys who can stop themselves rubbing their bums after a Nutty whacking. Well done."
"I must say, I'm glad to have got my first one over and done with. Now I know I can take it without making a fool of myself, I'll be much happier about the first whacking you give me."
"You're much too good a friend for me to slipper you. I think you'll have to stick with masters doing it."
"No way. I'm not going to agree to be a prefect until I've had at least one prefect's slippering myself. I want you to promise that as soon as some other prefect reports me to you for something you will give me four of your hardest."
"Well, maybe. We'll see".
In fact, of course, Oliver was not at all averse to the idea of slippering Simon.
During the next three weeks Oliver slippered six boys after games and five in their dormitories. Simon witnessed all the beatings in their study. He was particularly impressed by the fortitude of an eight year old new boy who took his two hard strokes without a murmur, and even thanked Oliver afterwards. But the beating which, he had to confess to himself, he had enjoyed watching most was Dawson's. He was the most incredibly beautiful twelve year old with a mischievous smile which was absolutely enchanting. His slim, muscular body seemed to be perfectly proportioned and, if anyone's bottom could remind Simon of the tennis girl's, it was Dawson's. He had smiled as he entered the room and was still smiling after the fourth and final stroke had crashed onto his shorts clad bottom. He had rubbed it with abandon and, once the pain was under control, had even complimented Oliver on his technique. Amazingly, he had then lowered his shorts to show his bottom to Oliver and Simon. There was no need for either boy to use the tennis girl's picture that night.
To be continued