The duty master had no trouble in tracking down the source of the disturbance. Without warning, he flung open the door of the dormitory - on the bottom floor, which meant it was home to half a dozen nine year old boys - and switched on the lights. Two of the dorms occupants froze, like deer in the headlights, knowing better than to try to scramble into bed where they should have been. "What is going on here?" the angry man demanded, "Why are you two not in bed?"
The pair of nine-year-olds had no answer. They had been caught out, and not for one moment did they believed that they would not be punished. The rest of the little boys were grateful that they were safely tucked up in their beds. But, as is the nature of small boys, they watched the proceedings with morbid curiosity. Watching other boys getting their backsides tanned was always great fun, tinged with the knowledge that it could easily be you next. The two little miscreants had moved together to stand in the centre of the room, heads down, hands behind their backs. Ian was a thin, tall boy for his age, blond hair framing almost angelic features, big blue eyes already battling to hold back the tears. Marcus was just as tall as Ian, but had a far more sturdy, muscular build than his best friend. His neatly cut light brown hair was beginning to stick to his forehead, a typical sign of nervousness from the pre-teen. "Sorry sir," each of the boys mumbled, knowing full well that a simple apology would not save their thinly protected pyjama clad bottoms from a thorough warming up. Weeping Willows was not the kind of school where corporal punishment was used as a last resort. Good hidings were most certainly the punishment of choice, and Ian and Marcus knew that they were in for it!
The master glared down at the two little boys. Ian was relatively new at the school, and had proven himself to be a friendly, charming boy. His abilities on the sports field were admirable, although his classroom aptitude was poor. Despite his slightly effeminate characteristics - the product of a boy growing up in a houseful of females, three sisters and a widowed mother - he was already a popular boy. Marcus was in his second year at the school, and was both an outstanding athlete, and a very bright boy. His bright smile got him out of a lot of trouble, but the shape of his rounded little bottom was already fairly well known to the masters, as his harmless naughtiness often resulted in him bending over for a smacked bottom. The man looked around the room, taking in the six pairs of slippers neatly in their places, and trying to make his choice. He settled on the biggest pair, picking one up and flexing it. As luck would have it, the slipper belonged to Marcus! Poetic justice. The boy was only nine, and the teacher would rather have used a bigger slipper, but he decided to make do with what he had. "I think the two of you know the rules about being out of bed and making a noise after lights out," he growled, flexing of the rubber sole of the slipper menacingly.
"Yes, sir," Ian responded, "we have to stay in bed unless we get permission, sir."
"You have been at Weeping Willows for a bit longer, Marcus. Remind us all about the consequences of misbehaving after lights out."
"We get a hiding, sir," Marcus responded, then felt that he had to elaborate, especially with sir so flamboyantly flexing his slipper, "probably a good slippering."
"Turn around," obediently the two nervous children turned around, and waited for the next inevitable instruction, "bend over and touch your toes."
Even a new boy like Ian knew how he was expected to bend over to have his bottom whacked. Both little lads bent perfectly, feet shoulder width apart, knees straight, heads down and bottoms up raised. Ian had been slippered before a couple of times already at school, but only by his class teacher, and over his shorts and underpants. Oh yes, and that one time in his first week when the swimming coach had put him over his knee in front of the whole class for a spanking when he had only been wearing a wet Speedo. Of course his mummy had spanked him on his bare bottom before, but the little boy had quickly learnt that men whack boys a lot harder than his mum! Somehow the feel of sir tapping Marcuss slipper on his tightly bent bottom, protected only by his pyjamas, was very scary.
Sir was faced with one of his favourite sights. A pair of small boys bending over tightly, little bottoms clearly outlined and raised up for his attention. He tapped the slipper on Ian's small rear end, then let fly, making sure that the flexible sole of the slipper cracked across the lads backside, enjoying the gasp of surprise and pain. He was well aware that he slippered the boys in the dorms far harder than they got there routine slipperings in class, and this, combined with the meager protection provided by the youngsters pyjamas added up to a far more painful experience than Ian had been expecting!
Marcus had been slippered in dorms many times, but the sound of his slipper smacking into Ian's bottom, and then his best friends yelp reminded him that this would be no fun! He felt the slipper being lined up on his own bottom, then gasped at the familiar burn as sir whacked him. Even through the haze of pain, the nine year old was grateful that he was not yet 11 - that was when this particular duty master started using the strap on the boys bare bottoms for minor misbehaviour in dorms. He heard Ian receiving his second smack, then the slipper connected painfully with his own backside again.
The man was enjoying this immensely. As he smacked the slipper alternatively on each of the little chaps bottoms, they bravely tried to keep their yelps and exclamations of pain to a minimum. Marcus in particular had a most delightfully shaped bottom, each rounded, sturdy little buttock so spankable. He had heard that the boys father was a great believer in sound bare bottom leatherings, and couldn't wait for an excuse to give Marcus a sound bare bottom hiding himself. In his opinion, the only other boy in the school with such a delightfully thrashable rear end was Ben, slightly older than this lot, and already a veteran of the headmaster's cane. Taking his time, he slowly and very firmly slippered the two naughty little chaps before him, aware of the other four boys in the room, and giving them a good show. This was one dorm that would be keeping very quiet for the next few weeks. After giving each boy a sound six of the best, he decided that they had been punished enough, "That will do, you may stand up and rub your bottoms."
Gratefully, Ian and Marcus stood and vigorously rubbed their stinging bums, "Thank you sir," each boy said automatically, as they were expected to do, and the man reached down to replace the slipper.
It was only then that he realised that all was not right in the dorm. There was a faint, but distinctive, smell of tobacco! Hands on hips, he spun around and addressed all six of the boys, "I smell cigarettes, gentlemen! Who has been smoking?"
The room was silent, but the man had been teaching little boys for a long time, and there was a guilty look on every face. This was certainly not the work of just one or two. His experience told him that these junior boarders would only be the tip of the iceberg. Every now and again a senior boy or two would bring in cigarettes and trade them. He decided to sort this out once and for all, "I will ask you one more time. Which of you have been smoking, and where have the cigarettes come from?"
After a long pause, four hands went up. Not surprisingly, two of the hands belonged to the pair of little boys that he had just slippered. The other two boys were William and Timothy. William, like Marcus, was big for his age, one of the tallest boys in the under 10 Rugby team. He was a blonde, fair skinned lad. Timothy was slightly shorter, but also pretty strong for his nine years. His legs in particular were well muscled from his running, his short, jet black hair framing a very worried little face.
"Get out of bed," sir commanded, pointing to where Ian and Marcus were already standing in front of him, "let us have an explanation for this behaviour!" None of the boys could lift up his head to face the angry master, eight little knees trembling at the thought of the consequence for their foolish actions. It was a school rule that smokers were dealt with by the feared headmaster alone!
"As I am sure that each of you are well aware," began sir, "tomorrow you will be dealt with by the headmaster. But I am sure that he will be more lenient with boys who are honest. So now is your chance. Tell me who brought the cigarettes into school, so that they can also be suitably punished."
Not surprisingly, the little chaps kept their heads down and none of them said a word. Sir had expected this. Weeping Willows boys were always very loyal to each other, but he would get his result, after all, he had a group of tender little nine year old bottoms before him, and there was only so much thrashing that a junior boy could bear before he realised the error of his ways! "I am off to my study. You lot have two minutes to meet me there, without your pajama trousers, bottoms bare!"
With that, the man turned on his heels and strode out of the dorm, leaving four worried little boys in his wake. But the children knew better than to hesitate. Quickly, each of them slipped their pyjama trousers down their legs and off, throwing the garments onto their beds. Then, glancing at each other nervously, they followed sir downstairs to his study. But before the half naked boys could enter, sir stepped out and led them into the central area of the boarding house. This was an area at the bottom of the stairs, and it was well known that every boy in the house would hear whatever was going on. Masters often stood in this area and shouted out announcements that they needed everyone to listen to. To the horror of the group of nine year olds, it became immediately clear that their interrogation about smoking, dominated by the beating of their backsides, would be heard by the entire pupil body of their house! For sir, the venue had been carefully thought out. He knew that the junior boys would take a lot of thrashing to give up the senior culprits, so he hoped that the evidence of their punishment would draw out the seniors to own up themselves.
There was an expensive suite of armchairs in the foyer, so that visiting parents would have somewhere to sit while waiting for their sons. He had the naughty little chaps bring four of the chairs into the centre of the room, and line them up next to each other. Then he made each boy bend over the back of a chair. With great care and ceremony, he lifted each boy's pyjama top right over the lad's head, ensuring that the child could not see anything, and was stretching his arms right out to grip the front of the chair. Then he fussily adjusted their legs, getting them to spread their feet wide apart and making sure that their cute, round little bottoms were well raised for thrashing. Taking one last look at the scene that he had set, the man marched back to his study to retrieve his strap.
The boys stayed nervously in position, unable to see anything, naked bottoms raised and ready for punishment. Each knew that his little backside was in for a sound beating, and each wondered and hoped that one of his friends would give the teacher the information he required before their bums got too badly thrashed. The thought of a session in the headmaster's office with the headmaster's cane was bad enough without taking it on a soundly strapped backside! They heard the footsteps of the man returning to his study, and then heard him coming back. Who would be first?
Surveying the line of bare bottoms before him, the strap wielding man chose to start with the boy on the left. It happened to be Ian, and the little nine-year-old was the first to feel sirs big hand gently stroking his round little bottom. Of all the lads lined up for whipping, Ian was the thinnest, his bottom the smallest. But it was still perfectly rounded and more than chubby enough for a good thrashing. For the second time that evening, Ian braced himself. He was quickly becoming accustomed to the ways of Weeping Willows school, and knew that his backside would be pretty painful by the time this complete incident was over. The leather was lifted, then there was a pause, and then the strap cracked across the pre-teens bottom, eliciting a yelp from the child, and leaving a nice red mark across his white cheeks. The welt from the strap made even the pink marks left by the slipper appear insignificant. Ian certainly felt it, and was amazed that the second lash was even worse! His little bum felt like it was on fire, and he really struggled to keep still as the leather snapped across his bare cheeks for the third time. Sir said nothing, and simply moved on to the next tightly bending boy.
Timothy was a quiet young lad, seldom in trouble. His dad, like Marcuss dad, regularly thrashed his bottom at home. But Timothy's dad made the little boy remove everything below his waist, then would make the boy go outside and cut a switch. He would then have the child bend over and grab his ankles and in front of whoever happened to be around would soundly whip the pre-teens bare bottom. But Timothy only rarely got hidings at school. In fact, this would be his first bare bottom beating at the hands of a school master. Sir was starting to change his mind about the most thrashable backsides at the school. Faced with the perfectly rounded, blemish-free buttocks of Timothy, held up by the boys sturdy legs, he had to admit to himself that this particular lad had a lovely bum. He squeezed each soft but muscular little cheek gently, then commenced the thrashing. Unaware of Timothy's father's discipline techniques, the man was impressed by the way that the little chap took his three fierce stripes. It was obviously hurting, but Timothy just kept his head down and took his whipping.
The third boy was Marcus. The man had hoped that he could deal with Marcus after the others - saving the best for last, of course. But it was not to be. He admired the child's lovely bottom, kneading his soft cheeks gently, noting how, out of all the boys, Marcus had had the most sun lately, as there was a clear demarcation from golden brown back and legs and white, slightly pink from the slipper, young bottom. He had not strapped Marcus on the bare backside before, but had, on occasion, managed to find an excuse to soundly spank the nine-year-old when the boy had been nude and messing about in the showers. He had thoroughly enjoyed the experience, and now he could leather that bare little bum! He strapped his naked target with all of his skill, and Marcuss body plunged with the sudden pain. But he kept his head down, legs spread and waited for the next stroke. After a pause, the strap wrapped around his exposed cheeks again, and the little boy stifled a sob. He knew from the sounds of Ian's and Timothy's hidings that there was one more lash to come, and he was not disappointed. The leather fell again, still accelerating as it made contact with his tender flesh. Then he heard sir move on to the next boy.
Although the other three knew that William had been given some pretty good hidings at school, they knew very little about the details, which was rare for boys at Weeping Willows. That was because most of Williams hidings had nothing to do with his behaviour at school at all! William's parents could not bring themselves to beat their child, so they persuaded the headmaster to do the deed for them! In his two years at the school, the sturdy, pale-skinned, blond boy had been strapped on his bare bottom by the headmaster three times, and had even been caned over just his underpants! The only other boy to feel the cane at school had been Marcus, and that had only been two firm lashes, touching his toes, from the deputy headmaster. Williams bottom was slightly less rounded than his friends, but on the whole ever so slightly bigger. Although, of course, the boy was only nine, so his backside was still pretty small. When sir gently squeezed the boy's cheeks, he noted that Williams buttocks were probably the softest of all the boys. The strap made a slightly different sound as it cracked across its pre-teen target, but William was able to keep completely still, as he had learnt at the hands of the headmaster. The man thrashing him now was unaware of his history in the headmaster's office, so was quite surprised when, even after the second firm stroke, William managed to keep quiet and not move. He really put a lot of effort into the boys third lash, finally getting a most satisfactory gasp of pain. Then he stepped back and admired the four red little bottoms in front of him.
"I will take this opportunity, boys," the man explained quietly after he had waited for the sobbing of the little lads to soften, "to explain to you what I plan to do this evening. I am going to work my way through your bottoms until one of you is prepared to tell me what I want to know. But when I have started, with Ian, I will give each of you the same amount of lashes, and then, when I have thrashed William, I will give you an opportunity to tell me the truth, before starting again. Now, does anybody have anything to tell me?"
There was silence from the four boys. Schoolboy honour was very big at Weeping Willows, and not one of the nine year-olds was prepared to be the first one to talk. "Very well then, it looks like your bottoms are not quite warm enough yet!"
He stepped back over to Ian, lined the strap up on the boy's sore bottom, and slowly, but very hard, cracked the whip three more times across the nine year-olds backside. As the new boy, Ian was determined not to be the one to give in first, but he hoped with all his might that one of the others would tell sir what he wanted to know, so that he did not have to feel that leather burning across his bum again. Timothy took three equally hard lashes. Although the other boys respected him, he was a lad with not a great deal of self-esteem, and was desperate that the other boys like him. He too was not going to give the game away - and he knew that although his bottom was very sore indeed, he could take worse.
Marcus had a dilemma. As all of them knew, he had been the middleman for the cigarette distribution, but if he told sir that, not only would his punishment become more severe, but he would inevitably have to tell sir who had brought the cigarettes in, in the first place! He took his three strokes less bravely than previously, desperately trying to make a decision, all the while knowing that his three buddies would never tell on him, no matter how sore their bottoms became. William, like Timothy, knew that he was able to take a far worse beating, and, like the other two, absolutely adored Marcus and would never tell on him. The master stepped back and again waited for the sobbing of the boys to die down, "I'm ready boys. Anything to say yet?"
Again, the boys kept quiet. So, forcing out a regretful sigh, the man approached Ian again, and gave the slender child yet another three vigorous lashes. He repeated the procedure with Timothy, but only after noting that Ian really battled to stay down for his punishment this time, it would almost certainly be the new boy who gave in first. But he had no idea how determined Ian was to prove himself. Timothy took his leathering stoically, his muscular little body plunging over the chair as the leather snapped around his sturdy, but starting to bruise young buttocks. Marcus was crying openly now as he received his thrashing, a combination of pain and guilt. But he managed to take his punishment. And, William of course, just kept his head down, and in his typical determined fashion closed his eyes and tried to ride the waves of pain emanating from his up raised bare and tender bottom as the leather did its work. Again the man stepped back. The four little bottoms did indeed look well beaten, and he wondered how long he would have to go on like this before one of them spoke up. He was about to put his question to them again, when Marcus could no longer bear the thought of hearing his three best friends getting their bottoms thrashed on his account, and spoke, "It was me sir," the nine-year-old cried, "I brought the cigarettes into the dorm!"
"Stand up all of you," the four little boys struggled up off the armchairs, hands going straight to burning bottoms, faces red and wet with tears. They turned around, facing sir, desperately hoping that their punishment was over, "Ian, Timothy and William put the chairs back in their places. Marcus, you leave your chair where it is."
The three boys quickly did as they were told, and then returned to stand in front of sir, next to Marcus. "I expect the three of you to go straight back up to bed. You shall report to the headmaster straight after assembly tomorrow so that he can take his cane to your backsides. And don't expect him to have any mercy just because your bottoms are tender from my strap!"
When Ian, Timothy and William had disappeared up the stairs, the man turned to the still half naked figure of Marcus, "I am no fool my boy," sir said staring at the bowed head of the little pre-teen, whose hands still clutched his well strapped backside, "it's all very well you owning up to distributing the cigarettes to the boys in your dorm. But I want to know who you got them from."
Marcus said nothing. Of course, sir was right - he had got the cigarettes from an older boy. But the nine-year-old did not know what to do. His bottom was blazing already, and he still had the headmaster's cane to look forward to! No doubt his hiding in the headmaster's office would be worse than his friends hidings. But he desperately did not want to give away his friends in the older age groups, but could he take more thrashing tonight? On his already sore bottom? The instruction from sir was inevitable, "Bend over. It looks like your bottom still needs some persuasion from my strap to get the message about honesty and owning up into your head."
Slowly, reluctantly and with a little sob, Marcus turned around and bent himself back over the chair. He spread his legs as he knew he was supposed to, dropped his head, gripped the cushion with all his might, and raised his bottom up for more punishment. Once again, Sir lifted the boy's pyjama top over his head, then gently rubbed the warm little bottom cheeks of the already crying pre-teen, "Come on Marcus," although the man was thoroughly enjoying beating the pretty little nine-year-olds backside, he was starting to feel sorry for the boy, understanding his dilemma, but not prepared to back down until the lad was ready to co-operate, "I can keep whipping your bottom all night, and eventually you will tell me what I need to know. Don't be a silly boy, let's just get it over with. Who was it?"
But still Marcus stubbornly kept his mouth shut, so the man raised the strap and thrashed it down, right in the centre of the boy's bottom. This time he kept quiet himself, simply waiting about 30 seconds, and then whipping Marcus again. After five strokes, he had worked his way right down so that the leather was biting deep into the nine year-olds tender bottom flesh, just above his legs, and the boy was sobbing pitifully with each stroke. Neither Marcus all the housemaster knew when the boy would have broken, but the decision was taken out of the hands.
"Sir?" the voice came from behind the man, and he knew instinctively that it was the voice of one of the 7th grade boys. He turned around, and standing nervously were Max and Adam, two attractive 12 year-olds. The teacher waited for an explanation, strap in hand, other hand absently rubbing the burning bottom of the 4th grade boys still bending half naked over the chair.
"It was us, sir," Max elaborated, unable to meet the man's eyes, "we brought the cigarettes into school, sir."
"Yes sir," Adam continued, "Marcus helped us distribute them, but we brought them in. Please stop thrashing him, it is us who should be getting the hidings."
Sir helped Marcus up, and gently sent him on his way to bed, but not without first reminding him to meet the other boys in the headmaster's office the next day. Then he turned to Max and Adam, "I'm not going to deal with you two. I'll let the headmaster handle it. But what I will tell you is that I shall ensure that not only are you punished severely for the cigarettes, but that you also take the consequences of allowing four little nine year-olds to get their backsides soundly beaten. And of course, that one of those nine year-olds took even more pain across his bottom before you two could be man enough to come down and own up. Go to bed, but you shall also report to the headmaster, and his cane, of course, after assembly tomorrow morning!"