For Mr William Booth, it had already been a satisfactory day. As headmaster of Odminster Grammar School he had acceded to the suggestion of Colonel Henry Gillespie that he should check out a train which transported some of his pupils into Odminster. His aims had been partially thwarted by a pupil who had spotted him and warned half the train but he still had a significant haul including a generally detested prefect. Three offenders had already been caned and, as a bonus, the fact that the canings were to take place had produced another malefactor whose seat also required the attention of a cane.
He sat in his study waiting. It was almost time for lunch. Limitations on the size of the dining room meant that lunches were served in two sessions. Two boys were due to visit him during lunch and conveniently, one was in the first session and the other in the second. That spread them naturally. Mr Booth had completed necessary paper work of the day, had had a telephone conference with Colonel Gillespie and had consumed the packed lunch he habitually brought which enabled him to be actively vigilant during the whole lunch time. With that he drank another cup of coffee provided by his secretary.
Now he sat quietly meditating on events past and to come. He felt no embarrassment about the fact that he was once again developing an erection. Caning was a necessary duty tied to his high office and was a valuable part of the boys' education, developing their ability to distinguish right from wrong. It was a duty he was pleased to carry out and it was right that it should carry a compensation. He was gently rubbing his groin when the bell rang. He was aware that it would be a few minutes before the first delinquent appeared before him because he would need time to obey his instructions and change into gym kit. However, Mr Booth decided to prepare himself. He stood and adjusted his male member again, thereby ensuring that, should it become more excited during the caning, it would not cause discomfort by being caught in a position from which it was trying to escape and he also wanted to make certain that there was no revealing bulge visible in his trousers for an inquisitive boy to notice.
Eventually the longed for knock on the door happened.
"Come in!"
The door opened and Alexander Broadbent stepped in.
"Come in and close the door."
The boy was well built but not fat. Indeed, he was clearly athletic and kept himself fit. Of average height, he stood facing the headmaster, his fair hair somewhat dishevelled and his blue eyes establishing eye contact with the man across the desk.
"You've kept out of trouble since you moved into the third form, until today Broadbent, but your record before that was fairly abysmal, wasn't it?"
Alec was prepared to challenge even a headmaster.
"I wouldn't say abysmal, sir. It's just that I did a lot of fairly silly things but there was nothing very seriously bad."
"I disagree. In two years you were caned five times for not wearing your cap and even that doesn't seem to have taught you. That is in direct contravention of a school rule. That is not a trivial matter. I am required to take it seriously."
"I accept that I was caught and that there will be a caning, sir."
Mr Booth rose and said, "True. Get yourself in position and we will get it over and done with."
Broadbent was only a third former but his record inevitably meant that it would have to be the senior cane again, even with the minimum protection that gym shorts provided.
The boy selected a chair, placed it in position and placed himself in position over its back and grasping the legs. He rightly assumed that he had to reach as far down as he could and did so. He was not going to give the headmaster the satisfaction of telling him to get down further.
While this was happening, Mr Booth crossed to the cupboard, glanced at the boy to check whether he was being observed and gave his almost erect organ a quick adjustment to provide for maximum comfort in the next few minutes. He took out a cane and went back to the boy.
Once again, he entered upon his routine. He held the cane about an inch above the well formed, muscular seat in front of him. He always tried to avoid touching whilst aiming. This helped to add to the level of surprise when the blow actually struck. He took the cane well back and twisted his body to have maximum spring power behind the cane.
Alec Broadbent was actually well aware of all that was happening. He had been caned often enough to be able to work out exactly what was happening from the limited vision he had in his lowly position. Once again, he knew that his honour was at stake. He was going to take this well even though he already knew that Mr Booth caned more effectively than his predecessor had done.
Crackk!
The first stroke sent that surge of pain from his seat and it seemed to fill every inch of his being. Reports from others and the evidence of the marks he had witnessed were confirmed. This man could certainly lay it on.
He tightened his grasp, grateful that he had not even uttered a gasp as that first stroke fell. He would do all within his power to ensure that Mr Booth did not have the satisfaction of producing one throughout the procedure, let alone making him squawk or squeal.
The headmaster took aim again.
Crackk!
Alec held firmly, jaws clamped closed. Another good stroke about an inch below the first. He was assuming that, after all that had been said about his record, that he would be getting six. That meant it was two down and four to go. He braced himself again.
Crackk!
Three down and three to go. He was half way through.
Crackk!
He felt his head bounce back as he responded to that stroke which cut into the region where buttock and thigh merge. It was always sensitive and he prayed that there would be no more there.
To his surprise, the headmaster said, "You may get up, Broadbent. I did consider giving you six, but as you've stayed out of trouble so far this year, that will be enough."
Alec rose and crossed to the headmaster's desk ready to sign the book. As the man went to the cupboard to return the cane, he gave his seat a quick rub. The headmaster would not see him acknowledging that it had hurt and he was relieved to realise that he had not even forced a tear.
Once the signing was over he escaped. In the changing room he displayed his stripes as he changed before going into lunch.
Meanwhile, in his study, Mr Booth gave a comforting quick massage to his throbbing organ and congratulated himself on the eminent fairness of his decision. The senior cane made the point but he had not gone as far as the six he could well have given him.
The next boy could well be different.
Robin Dobson was a fifth former. He was well built or even fat. In all his time in the school he had contributed little to the school's life. His work was only average and was almost forced out of him. He was in no sports team and had joined no school club. Even though the senior caps were awarded from the fourth form, and most boys had earned them by the beginning of the fifth, he was still without his. Perhaps the only thing in his favour was that he had almost no record of having been caned. Mr Booth had been discussing all the fifth formers with a group of masters only recently. One had expressed surprise that Dobson hadn't actually been in trouble more often. A second suggested that it was because he was too lazy even to misbehave while a second suggested that there was a more important reason. He was sneaky and quite capable of setting up situations where others got into trouble while he escaped detection. This trait had resulted in his being distinctly unpopular with many in his form.
However, when the time arrived for his visit he was accompanied by Gordon Evans, both of them wearing gym kit.
"Why are you here, Evans?"
"It was my fault that Dobson didn't have his cap on when you came in, sir."
"Your fault?"
"Yes, sir. We'd been fooling about a bit and I'd taken it."
"Did you come of your own free will or did Dobson make you?"
"Of my own free will, sir. Dobson's a bit of a slob in my opinion but I wouldn't let anybody take a caning I ought to be having."
"What have you to say, Dobson?"
"It's just like Evans said, sir."
Just then there was another knock at the door and Mr Carr put his head round the door. "Before you deal with this, headmaster, justice may require that you hear from another boy."
"Bring him in then, please."
Duncan Watts followed. He was a sixth former.
"Well, Watts. What light have you to shed on this?"
"May I ask what you've been told, first, sir, please?"
"Simply that the reason that Dobson did not have his cap on was that Evans had taken it."
"In that case, I think you need to know why. I had reported it to Mr Carr as soon as I realised what was happening. If Evans hadn't been so honest or if Dobson had told him to stay out of it, I'd have kept quiet about it. While the train was stopped at Petherton, Dobson grabbed Evans's cap and threw it through the window onto the platform. Evans had to rush down the corridor and onto the platform to get it back and he nearly missed the train getting back. It had already started moving when he got on because the guard had already waved his green flag when he got out."
The headmaster looked straight at Gordon Evans.
"Why didn't you tell me about that, Evans?"
"Because I don't sneak, sir. It was up to Dobson to come clean about that, sir. I just couldn't let him be caned for not having his cap on when it was my fault that he hadn't."
"How did you conceal Dobson's cap without his knowing where it was?"
"I put it into his case when he went to the bogs, sorry, sir, when he went to the toilet."
"Had you already taken it from him then?"
Gordon hesitated and Duncan Watts said, "He won't want to answer that, sir, because he hadn't. Dobson had left his cap on the luggage rack where it had been for the entire journey. If Evans answers, he'll be saying that Dobson went down the corridor without his cap."
"In that case, why is Evans admitting responsibility for Dobson not wearing his cap."
Dobson replied, "Because I always put my cap on as we got through the last station before Odminster and it wasn't there. It was after that that you came in, sir."
"Thank you all. I think I've got the picture now. Mr Carr, will you remain, please. I may need some assistance with Dobson. You can go, Watts, and thank you for bringing the truth to light."
Watts went out.
"First, you, Evans. I accept that you were severely provoked. I also recognise the high level of integrity you displayed in reporting yourself to me. Nevertheless, there are better ways of dealing with a situation. When were you proposing to tell Dobson where his cap was?"
Gordon Evans half grinned. "Do you want the truth, sir?"
"Of course I want the truth."
"If he hadn't found it, I'd have let him sweat until we were coming out of the station. There wasn't anybody likely to see him and report him till after that."
"There's always a prefect on that train."
"He'd have been off first and away long before we got out. He always is and he throws a real fit if he isn't first at the ticket barrier."
"Very well. I'm afraid I have to take some action. Would you regard two as excessive?"
"I was expecting six, sir and I'd have thought that was fair. I am in the fifth former and I am a senior as well."
"Very well, wait outside, Dobson. I'll deal with Evans first."
Gordon said, "There's something personal I need to say before you cane me, sir. Would it be alright if you deal with Dobson first?"
"Very well. Wait outside."
He left and Mr Booth turned to Dobson.
"Now we have direct evidence of your travelling for most of the journey without wearing your cap, we have your cowardly failure to admit your part in the affair between Evans and you and we have the sheer stupidity of your throwing a boy's cap out of the window. Three separate offences. In my view six strokes would be appropriate for each one. Do you agree?"
Dobson gasped. "Not eighteen whacks, sir."
"Can you think of any reason why not?"
"Do you mean all in one go, sir?"
"No. You can have six now and return for six more tomorrow and six more the following day. I am sure that you will remember from the public beating we had what happens to boys who fail to appear for a due punishment."
"It's still eighteen, sir. That's an awful lot."
"What you did was a _d_a_m_n_able disgrace. The Foundation's guidance does restrict me to giving you six at a time with one exception. If a boy is due for several beatings, at his request, we can get them over in one go but the maximum I am allowed to give even then is twelve. Because it will be more painful to go straight into the second six, I will offer you a compromise. If you ask for twelve now, we will forget about the other six."
"I'll take that then, sir, please."
"Very well. Get into place. Mr Carr, will you hold him to help him stay in place please?"
"Certainly, headmaster."
Soon, Dobson was over the back of a chair, head clamped between the gym master's thighs and hands together behind those some legs.
Mr Booth approached with a senior cane, aimed and drove it into the full rump which was waiting for it.
Crackk!
Dobson jumped and gasped.
Mr Carr said, "Stop struggling. If you get free at the wrong time the cane could hit you almost anywhere. It would hurt more not less and you've earned every stroke and more."
Crackk!
Crackk!
Steadily, the score built up. Dobson was audibly crying between strokes and shouting out as each one connected.
Crackk!
Crackk!
Crackk!
Mr Carr said, "You've had six Dobson. That's half way through." He did not add that even though it was half way through the count, those second six, on a bruised rump would be significantly worse.
Crackk!
Crackk!
Crackk!
Dobson's cries had become moans but he had enough life for Mr Carr to decide that there was no risk of his passing out. The boy deserved everything he got and more.
Crackk!
Crackk!
Crackk!
Once again, the sensitive area between buttocks and thighs was selected to complete the procedure. This time it was the final two strokes which went there. The last one resulted in a scream of anguish.
Mr Carr released the boy. Without getting up, Dobson put his hands onto his tortured rump. The headmaster said, "That can wait. Come on, boy. Sign the punishment book and get out of my sight."
Soon he was gone and Gordon Evans had replaced him.
"You had something personal you wanted to ask?"
"Yes, sir. I know you normally write home after we've been caned. Do you have to?"
"The Foundation's instructions require me to. Why do you ask?"
"It's just that Mum's gone and married again and my stepfather will belt me to hell if he gets a letter saying I've been caned. I'm not trying to get out of the caning, sir. You're being really fair about it. He's belted me once before. It was because of my school report . It was almost the end of the Christmas holidays before the bruises had faded. Not just my bottom. It was my back and legs and everywhere."
"In that case, we forget the caning. It was touch and go whether we gave you one anyway."
"That wouldn't be right, sir."
Mr Carr said, "There might be a way out of this, headmaster. You have to write home after a caning, but not for the less formal punishments like my gym shoe or the tawse."
Gordon said, "Six with the tawse would be fair, sir, but can you do it on my bottom and not hand, sir. I've got a piano competition tonight. It can be on bare bottom, sir. I've got a jockstrap on."
"There's no need to go as far as six. Bare, I would imagine that the tawse will hurts as much as the cane. As we have Mr Carr here, it can be bare if you want it that way."
"Well, sir, when I was saying six I was thinking of three for you and another three which would be fair from my stepdad."
Mr Booth was to receive a treat he had not expected. Gordon Evans simply assumed that the headmaster would do as he had suggested. He was the same height as Dobson who had left the chair in place. Gordon went to it, dropped his shorts and stepped out of them and leaned over the chair.
The headmaster said, "I've no experience with the tawse. Could you deal with it, please, Mr Carr?"
What he actually meant was that the view presented to him was exciting him too much and he was afraid that he might put hands on the exposed bottom.
Mr Carr collected the tawse and approached Gordon.
"Stand by, Evans."
The tawse was raised and then smashed across both cheeks leaving a rich red stripe.
Splatt!
Gordon braced himself for the next. It was unorthodox but he knew that he was due for punishment and this felt right.
Splatt!
Splatt!
He was half way through.
Mr Booth could not resist a small rub for his inflated member and he watched the cheeks get redder.
Splatt!
Splatt!
Splatt!
"That's it, Evans. Get up and get yourself a little more decent then you can give it a rub."
Gordon obeyed and then said, "Thank you for being so understanding, sir. I' ll try to keep out of trouble but could you consider using the tawse if I'm in trouble again?"
Mr Booth replied, "I will, but I imagine that, if you are involved with other boys, you are the sort of lad who would prefer to have the same as them. I'll explain to the Chairman of the Foundation and ask if I can have authority not to write to your stepfather."
"Thank you, sir. That would be even better. I won't waste any more of your time, sir. Luckily, I've got PE next so I won't have to rush to change."
He and the gym master made their departures. Mr Booth got up and went to the door on the side wall of his study. This led to his personal toilet. He needed the added privacy that it provided and there were still two people to be seen before the day was over.
The next of these arrived about ten minutes before break in the afternoon. It was Michael Coleman, a boy in the fourth form and friend of the fourth form member of the Pratt family. He stood in front of the headmaster's desk and waited.
"You know why you're here, Coleman?"
"Yes, sir. You want to cane me because you caught me without my cap on."
"Nearly right. It's not that I want to cane you. It's my duty and I have been reminded of that again by the Chairman of the Foundation who is insistent that uniform is properly worn in its entirety."
"Sorry, sir. I'm here because I was without my cap and it's your duty to cane me."
Mr Booth was entirely unaware of the sneer which Michael had kept out of his voice but which filled his mind. His lunch hour had been partly spent going to the station. His senior cap might be an embarrassment but it gave him the right to go out of school simply by signing out. At the station some research had shown what he had already suspected. The head had left on an earlier train and on a day return. It was a trip for him to acquire a series of bottoms to cane and Michael had every intention of spreading news of his discovery even further. Already most members of his form knew.
"Are there any matters which you feel I should take into account in dealing with you?"
"You know my record, I expect, sir. This is the first time I've ever been caught without my cap. I haven't been in trouble this school year."
"Very well. We'll get it over. Get into position."
Michael brought the chair out and placed himself over it. He had no idea how many strokes he was going to get. He just knew that he was going to take them with dignity and his contempt for the man with the cane added to his resolve.
He looked across to catch sight of the headmaster adjusting the position his masculinity had adopted. Michael said to himself, "Cor! It does it to him as well. I suppose that's what he gets out of it. Just wait till I tell my mates!"
He knew it would be the senior cane and was actually able to judge the movements that led to the first stroke.
Crackk!
Once again, for the first occasion during his time in the fourth form, he experienced that overwhelming sensation of the first stroke of a caning. He had been ready and now he relaxed slightly until the next one was due.
Crackk!
That was parallel and down about an inch.
Crackk!
Crackk!
That almost caught him by surprise. It was low, almost at the top of his thighs. As he and his friend had discussed the headmaster's technique, and had realised that he tended to round a session off with a stroke in that area, because of the tenderness of that region, he hoped that it might be the end for him.
In actual fact, Mr Booth was contemplating going further but his conscience would not let him.
"Get up, put the chair away and sign the book."
Michael obeyed, taking great care not to rub his seat. Soon he was on his way and the headmaster had to wait for break to begin and end before his next offender stood before him. Michael went off to change and then to find his mates to discuss the head's need to fiddle with his trousers.
Eventually a knock on the door heralded the arrival of Stuart Pearce.
Soon, he was standing in his gym kit in front of the headmaster's desk. He was fair haired, fit and attractive. Even the sight of him standing there increased the Mr Booth's excitement.
"Have you any explanation, Pearce?"
Stuart knew that there was no point in trying to discuss the matter. He hated having any headgear on and thought the rule about caps was ludicrous, but he also knew that it was something deeply embedded in the official school's culture and it was unlikely that even an earthquake would shift it.
He said, "Not really, sir. I was caught and I've got to take what's coming to me for it."
"Very well. Let's get it dealt with then."
Soon Mr Booth was standing admiring the well developed buttocks presented to him by the sixth former. He longed to feel them but knew they were out of bounds. He was a happily married man and these feelings were so much stronger than he had ever experienced before that he was puzzled. What he did know was that the hard he had intermittently enjoyed all day was now throbbing.
He took aim, drew the cane as far back as he could and then drove it forward as hard as he was able. It slammed into the waiting shorts.
Crackk!
He saw Pearce jump and appreciated the movement of his head as the sensation flooded through his complete body. The shorts were thin white cotton and almost immediately he was able to see the developing red line. He was also aware of an increase in the throbbing inside his own trousers. That would have to wait. There was work to be done.
Crackk!
Crackk!
Three strokes had fallen. Three parallel lines were visible and such was the vigour he had employed that the first of them was already clearly raised. He had done well but had not finished.
Crackk!
Crackk!
Crackk!
Stuart was already expecting that final low cut to be the last. He was right but what he did not know was that the delay in the headmaster telling him to rise was that that final stroke had brought his private parts into a level of activity he had never expected in this context. He was coming!
To disguise the fact, he went to his seat, put the cane on his desk instead of in the cupboard and then said, "That's it, Pearce. Put the chair away and then come and sign the book."
Stuart obeyed and was surprised when the headmaster said, "Will you do something for me, please?"
"If I can, sir."
"Just raise the venetian blind and open the window a few inches please. Then put the blind down again. I think we need a little ventilation."
As he was doing it, the headmaster said, "Please try to avoid problems like this. There is still a very serious possibility of your being a prefect next year."
Stuart was aching to get out to rub his seat but he couldn't resist replying, "I probably shouldn't say this, sir, but if it means that I've got to be like Rice, I think I'd prefer not to be one."
Mr Booth replied, "I probably shouldn't say this either, but between you and me, he was foisted on me. He was appointed before I came and he's left doing something serious enough for me to get rid of him too late, I'm afraid. The consequences would be too grave."
"Why is that, sir?"
"His university applications are in. He will have said that he's a prefect. If I have to write to the universities saying that he has been ejected from office, that would be even worse than his never having been one."
"Thank you, sir."
"What for?"
"Trusting me with that information, sir. I'll never tell anyone. I'd better be going because he'll be here soon."
He went out and applied the massage his rump had been aching for. In two successive beatings, Mr Booth had produced contempt and deep respect. Such is life. Now he was waiting for Rice.