New Boy Gets Spanked - Part Two

by Clansmanchris

Scott eventually got home just after Half-Past Five rather than Quarter-Past Four after receiving his first spanking at his new school. Fortunately for him both his parents were still out at work so there was no-one at home to question him why he was late. He unlocked the front door and let himself in, and went straight upstairs to the bathroom and peeled down his shorts and underwear to survey the damage Mr Turner had done to his backside in the full-length mirror behind the door. Scotts butt was cherry-red all-over with a large purple bruise on the crown of each buttock; the back of his thighs were also well-marked from the blackboard ruler Mr Turner had used to punish him.

Leaving his shorts and underwear round his ankles Scott hobbled into his bedroom and threw himself face-down on his bed and began to cry. "Why Me?! Why did Father have to change his job?! Why did we have to leave Crowborough?! Why did I have to change schools?! Why did Father and Mother send me to that _f_u_c_k_ing hole?! Who the _f_u_c_k_ employed that psychopathic pervert Turner", he thought to himself. He rolled his eyes up to the ceiling – as if he was talking to God – and shouted "I hope youre _f_u_c_k_ing pleased with yourself now; you _f_u_c_k_ing bastard"!

A couple of minutes later Scott kicked his shorts and underwear off in disgust, and stood up, picked them up off the floor before throwing his underpants against the opposite wall. He unsuccessfully tried to rip his shorts by the fly-opening before screwing them up and also throwing them against the opposite wall in anger. "_f_u_c_k_ing shorts; of all the schools there are, I get sent to one where fourteen year-old still have to wear them .... and as for _f_u_c_k_ing Mother saying how nice I looked in them, and how much more practical they were for growing boys than long trousers, she can _f_u_c_k_ off as well", he muttered under his breath.

He yanked open the top drawer of his dressing table desk and took out the prospectus of his new school to check the section on uniform to make sure there was no alternative to wearing shorts. Sure enough, it stated "grey shorts (Lower School) or long grey trousers (Upper School and Sixth Form only)". "_f_u_c_k_ing bastards", Scott shouted. He roughly turned to the page listing the school rules and policy concerning discipline which made no reference to masters being allowed to physically punish boys other than "Only the Headmaster or, in his absence or incapacity, the Second Master or a Housemaster may cane pupils" – presumably Mr Turner would claim, in his defence, that neither his hand and blackboard ruler was the cane, although both bloody hurt – before turning to the Staff Roll pages, and glanced down it: under the sub-heading Science Department, he found Mr Turners name and scribbled next to it in red ink "psychopathic pervert". He turned back a page to look under the sub-heading Maths Department and noticed that F. G. Ashurst M. A., B. Sc (Hons), Dip. Ed was listed as the Head of Department. "I wonder what F. G. stands for" Scott asked himself "Frank George, Frederick Gerald, Frederick George or Frank Gerald, or simply Fat Gut; yeah, thats probably it, Fat Gut Ashurst?! That bastard will have to wait for his essay anyway, if and when I decide to write it" Scott thought to himself, "my arse is too sore to sit at my desk to do my regular homework and another pile of copying-up notes from other subjects, without doing a 2,000 word essay on disposing of litter correctly and safely! One thing is for certain, both he and Turner should be disposed of .... preferably incinerated so they cant be recycled"! Scott angrily ripped his school prospectus in half and half again before dropping it into his waste paper basket. "_f_u_c_k_ing school" he retorted as he kicked his dressing table desk, "had we stayed in Crowborough, none of this would have happened"! Scott was particularly annoyed as, other than his f! ather, no-one else had ever spanked him, let alone across his bare butt or for such a minor offence; Scott tried to think of any boy at his old school who had been caned and he could only think of one – George Catleugh – who was forever misbehaving in his R. E. class, and even Mr Taylor (his old R. E. teacher and purportedly one of the strictest masters at his old school) only ever gave Catleugh a maximum of six strokes of the cane across the seat of his trousers. "Jesus" Scott thought, "if he and Catleugh were to exchange places, Catleugh would be flogged to death for misbehaving, as surely the cane hurt as much as the blackboard ruler! It wouldnt hurt Catleugh to be sent to some God-forsaken dump like this so-called school instead of me"!

Suddenly Scott heard a key in the lock of his front-door and the door open. "Scott, are you home dear", his mothers voice called from downstairs.

"Im in my room" Scott shouted back, as he quickly pulled his school pullover over his head and flung it on his bed, and rapidly began unbuttoning his shirt to change out of his school uniform, "Ive only just got in myself so Im getting changed now"!

"Thats a good boy" called his mother, "I put some clean clothes away for you before going to work this morning so you should find them in your wardrobe or chest of drawers". Her voice faded as she made her way to the kitchen to unpack some shopping after work but was still audible as she called "I phoned Granny at lunchtime and was telling her that youre settling well into your new school and, like me, she thinks shorts are more practical for a growing boy than long trousers".

"Yeah, Yeah", muttered Scott under his breath, "who are you kidding?! Ive passed the stage where one plays marbles and I never have liked kicking a ball around; shorts may be more practical for boys who actually enjoy playing football rather than simply watching it like me"! He took out a pair of clean underpants from his chest of drawers and jeans from his wardrobe, and slipped them on, before putting on a T-shirt and making his way downstairs to join his mother in the kitchen.

"Youre late home today dear" his mother said, not bothering to look up from sorting through some shopping.

"Yeah. I had a few things to look up in the school library after school" he replied dishonestly.

"Thats a good boy! Have you much homework to do tonight dear"?

"Plenty! A character study to do for English and some more copying-up to do. Why did Father have to change jobs halfway through the term as Ive so much work to catch up with"?

"Never mind dear, youll soon catch up" his mother said, "at least youre still in the Lower School".

"Whats that supposed to mean", Scott asked, assuming she was referring to him having to wear shorts again.

"You havent started work for your O-levels yet. It would have been much more disruptive had we moved next year" his mother said looking up at him; "whats up petal, have you been crying"?

"No; why"?

"Your eyes are red. No-one has been picking on you have they petal? I know what boys can be like to each other when they start a new school"!

"No Mother Im fine and do stop calling me petal, Im not a flower" he snapped angrily "I just had a sneezing fit before you came in and that always makes my eyes water".

"Thats okay then. Now, then, how did your day go"?

"Same as usual; its school isnt it"?

"Is anything wrong"?

"No; should there be", Scott asked.

"You dont sound very enthusiastic. Its a very good school youre at, you know? Better than your last one! They say single-_s_e_x_ schools are better than co-educational schools".

"Who says"?

"Come along petal", his mother said ruffling her sons hair, "I know youre missing your old friends but youll soon make some new ones; what about that boy who has been assigned as your mentor for a little while, he seems very pleasant from what youve said about him"?

"Its not just that", Scott answered. He thought long and hard about telling her about the incident with Mr Turner but decided against it.

"Im not going over the school uniform thing with you again" his mother said sternly, "youre making a mountain out of a molehill about having to wear short trousers; if theyre good enough to wear for P. E., theyre good enough to wear as part of your regular uniform for a few more months at least! You look very smart in your grey shorts; very fetching I would say! All boys your age should wear shorts for school"!

"Thank you very much" Scott retorted, "so we can freeze our bits off I presume"!

"Nonsense" said Mrs Lower, "no boy has ever died of cold legs! Now run along and do your homework whilst I start preparing dinner. Your father will be home soon and then we can all sit down and have dinner together".

Scott left the kitchen and went back upstairs to his room. His butt still felt sore as it rubbed inside his jeans. Inside his room he kicked his grey school shorts back to the other side of the room before picking them up and tried unsuccessfully to tear them again. "_f_u_c_k_ing shorts" he muttered under his breath. "You look very smart in your grey shorts; very fetching I would say! All boys your age should wear shorts for school" he muttered, impersonating his mother, "I bet that _f_u_c_k_ing psychopath Turner would agree with you too"! He placed a chair under his door handle – to prevent it being opened from outside – and pulled his jeans back down to his ankles, pulled his quilt down and placed a pillow in the middle of his bed before lying face-down on top of it and rubbing his _c_o_c_k_ against the bottom sheet of his bed for light relief, all the time thinking he was being spanked over Mr Ashursts knee. He soon ejaculated, spilling a pool of warm creamy boy-spunk into his underpants which soaked through to the sheet of his bed, before standing up and pulling up his jeans, prior to sitting at his dressing table desk to attempt to write the essay Mr Ashurst had set him to do.

Unable to concentrate for long, he glanced outside his bedroom window – overlooking a nearby recreation ground – for inspiration, and noticed a few older boys from his new school concluding a game of football, including one particular sixth-former who looked ravishing as he replaced his shirt, with his well-defined muscular six-pack and thighs on display. From the waistband of his shorts some ten to twelve centimetres underneath his navel, the youth appeared not to be wearing anything underneath as one could see the top of his hips but not the waistband of any underwear, and Scott soon found himself distracted from writing his essay by thoughts of undressing the pretty boy on the field before him. Scott had seen the youth before and recalled him wearing a prefect badge on his blazer, and wondered whether it was him who was secretly writing on the walls of the boys toilets in order to force younger boys (like himself) out in the cold; it was only a pity, thought Scott, that prefects didnt have to wear shorts as part of their uniform as seeing the youth in shorts each day may help compensate for having to wear them himself!

All too soon the boys were gone and Scott returned to his desk to make a further attempt at writing the essay Mr Ashurst had set him to do. With his butt still sore from his earlier spanking and his _c_o_c_k_ rock-hard from mentally undressing the youth on the pitch a few minutes earlier, he was unable to sit for long and after a few futile attempts at writing the essay he again laid face down on his bed and began rubbing his _c_o_c_k_ against the bottom sheet of his bed – this time imagining he was either Mr Turner or Mr Ashurst punishing the boy he had just seen – and soon shot a second load of creamy boy-spunk inside his underpants.

"_f_u_c_k_ Fat Git Ashurst" Scott thought to himself, "_f_u_c_k_ his bloody essay! Ive got enough homework and copying up extra notes to do without trying to think of 2,000 words to do on disposing of litter! I shall just have to tell him tomorrow that I had more than enough to do that I didnt have time to do his essay; if hes that bothered about litter he should stop creating it by giving me essays to do on useless subjects for something as petty as kicking an empty bloody lemonade can"!

Remaining face down on his bed, Scott reached across to his satchel and dug out his Pupil Record Book – in which he recorded any homework set and any merits demerits given – to remind himself of the homework he had been given for that evening: a character study of Napoleon from Orwells Animal Farm for his English Master Mr Howard and more bloody Maths exercises to catch up from those he had missed at the beginning of term. Scott liked English although he could not help feeling that his new school constituted Animal Farm itself; the amended commandment in Orwells legendary book that "all animals are equal .... except some are more equal than others" reminded him very much of the truism that all boys were equal in the eyes of their Masters, except that some boys (i. e., Sixth Formers) were given preferential treatment in being allowed to stay indoors during break-time, whilst the pigs wearing of clothes reminded him very much of Upper School and Sixth-Formers being allowed the privilege of wearing long trousers when he and his friends in the Lower School still felt semi-naked in being compelled to wear shorts.

"Sod it" he thought to himself, "my homework can wait until after dinner when my arse will be less sore; at least Fat Git Ashurst should be happy if I tell him that, rather than do his _f_u_c_k_ing essay, Ive done some extra trigonometry exercises to catch up on the lessons I missed at the beginning of term .... even though what on earth does one need to know anything about sines and cosines for; even bloody window-cleaners do not measure the angle at which their ladders lean against walls?!! Who gives a _f_u_c_k_ that a sine is the length of the side opposite the angle divided by the length of the hypotenuse or whatever it is supposed to be?! Surely to God hypotenuse is the wrong word anyway; when God invented bloody trigonometry he should said hippopotamus when referring to the angle at which Fat Gut Ashursts belly overhung his trousers, particularly when he leaned over to address or spank any boy shorter than himself"!!!

Somehow Scott must have drifted off to sleep as the next thing he knew his father was calling him downstairs for dinner; he hadnt even heard his father come home. Over dinner Mr and Mrs Lower, and Scott, talked loosely about their day at work or school. Mrs Lower worked part-time as a Medical Appointments Secretary in a local hospital and Mr Lower worked as a Pensions Advisor in a local bank; Scott was their only son which had both advantages and disadvantages for him. The spanking he received earlier in the day – and which he did not dare mention to his father, knowing that for any spanking he received at school he would be given another at home – reminded him of fortunate he was not to have any siblings as his closest friend at his former school was frequently caned by his father when he was unable to achieve the grades of his older brother, whilst Scott also felt that were he to have a younger brother or sister his mother may not perpetually mollycoddle him like a four year-old.

"How was school today Young Scott", Mr Lower asked his son.

"Same as usual", Scott answered.

"Thats what you said to me petal" Mrs Lower chipped in, "tell your father and I what you have been doing. I havent seen much of you today so far, as youve been hiding away up in your room until now".

"Doing your homework I suppose; I shall inspect that later", his father added.

"Ive still to start it to be honest Dad; I must have gone to sleep as I was lying on my bed and the next thing I knew I heard you calling me for dinner. I feel absolutely shattered".

"Then make sure you do it after dinner and before you watch television or go to bed, whichever is the earlier; I dont want you falling behind as it will affect your grades", Mr Lower said sternly.

"Yes Dad".

"What homework have you to do tonight anyway", Mr Lower asked.

"A character study of Napoleon in Animal Farm".

"Orwell, isnt it", asked his mother.

"Thats right".

"I thought so! Scott was telling me earlier that he was doing some work in the library after school".

"The public library" asked his father.

"No, the school library" Mrs Lower replied before turning to Scott, "have they a good selection of books and periodicals"?

"Not bad", replied Scott.

"Have you finished copying up all the work you missed from the beginning of term" Mr Lower asked.

"Hardly" exclaimed Scott, "Theres so much of it. Im getting there though. Ive completed the History and Geography backlog and am halfway through catching up on my R. E. before we have a test in two weeks time, which will leave me just English, Maths, French, Science and my C. D.T. theory to do".

"What is C. D.T", Mrs Lower asked.

"Craft, Design and Technology", Mr Lower answered wearily, "In our day it was Woodwork or Metalwork for the boys and Cookery or Needlework for the girls. Now then Scott, just make sure you dont neglect your English and Maths; they are the most important subjects".

"Yes Dad".

"No problems at school", his father asked.

"Nope"!

"Other than he doesnt like the uniform" said Mrs Lower.

"Whats up with the uniform" his father asked, "you look very smart"!

"Its the shorts" said Scott, I feel Im back in primary school again".

"Nonsense" exclaimed his father, "you wear shorts for Games so theres no difference between that and wearing them going to or coming from school, is there; apart from which a growing boy needs a bit of a breeze circulating round his pubic region if his boyhood is to develop as it should".

"I keep telling him that" said his mother, "and when you look at the state of some boys trousers, either with mud on the hem of their trousers or the material which covers their knees looking threadbare from where they keep kneeling on the ground to play marbles; shorts are much more practical. They last longer and look so much better".

"Sure do" said his father, "I remember having to wear shorts at school at your age Scott and if ones socks werent pulled up to ones knees, one particular Master – I cant remember his name now – used to slap the back of ones thighs with a ruler to remind one to keep ones socks pulled up. He was a sadistic bastard if ever there was one; I think he used that ruler more to create lines across the backside and legs of some boys than he ever did to draw lines on his blackboard". Scott was starting to worry that Mr Turner had notified his parents that he had been punished at school and was only semi-relieved when his father added "At least you dont have Masters like that at your new school", with the other half of him still fearful that his father was either trying to sound him out to explain what had really happened after school.

Scott chose not to. Much to his relief the subject of the conversation turned to the Autumn Statement and his parents dismay at the tax rises announced by the Chancellor of the Exchequer in his statement the day before and the ever-increasing Public Sector Borrowing Requirement which didnt interest Scott at all. After desert he helped his parents clear the dining room and load the dishwasher before returning to his bedroom to attempt the character study of Napoleon, with his mind still semi-occupied with thoughts of the bare-chested sixth-former and his spanking from Mr Turner. An hour-and-a-half later he called it a day and, after making a few unsuccessful attempts at writing a study of Napoleon with the occasional quotation from Animal Farm to support his argument, he concluded his composition and glanced at his alarm clock. It was almost 10.00pm. Knowing his parents would be watching the news in the living room Scott went to the bathroom and brushed his teeth before going to bed.

"Goodnight Mum, Goodnight Dad" he shouted downstairs.

"Goodnight petal" his mother called back, "sleep tight".

"Goodnight Son" his father shouted upstairs, "see you tomorrow morning if youre up in time before I leave for work; if not Ill see you when I get home from work. Sleep well".

"You too, Goodnight".

Inside his room Scott closed the door and picked up his shorts and underwear which he had kicked off earlier in the afternoon and folded them up ready for the morning before undressing and climbing into bed; his butt and the back of his thighs still felt tender and were still red from where Mr Turner had punished him but he was at least relieved that his father appeared to be ignorant of his earlier spanking. Scott felt the weals across his backside and his legs inflicted on him by Mr Turners blackboard ruler and soon fell asleep exhausted after a long day of studying at school.

The next thing Scott knew it was 7.30am the following morning as his clock-radio sounded to wake him up. "_s_h_i_t_" he bleated as he scrambled out of bed and bolted into the bathroom where he quickly showered. It was not until he started to dry himself and glance into the full-length mirror on the back of the bathroom door that he realised the severity of the marks across his backside and the back of his thighs from where Mr Turner had struck him the day before, and remembered that he had still to do the essay Mr Ashurst had set him to do.

"_f_u_c_k_ing school" he thought to himself, "sod it! I wont bother going in; with a bit of luck Fat Gut Ashurst will have forgotten all about it tomorrow".

"Scott petal, would you like one or two eggs with your bacon and tomato", his mother called from downstairs.

"Ill get something presently Mum" he shouted back, "dont worry about me"!

"Its ten minutes to eight o'clock" his mother called, "youre cutting it fine if you want your father to drop you off after hes taken me to work".

"Im already getting a lift" he shouted back. "Leave the washing up; Ill do it when Ive had my breakfast".

"Ill leave your bacon, egg and tomato in the oven so it doesnt get cold" called his mother, "Hurry up or your egg will go hard"!

"The bacon will do fine on its own" he shouted back, "Ill make myself a bacon sandwich. You concentrate on getting ready for work; you know how Dad frets about getting held up in the traffic .... see you tonight"!

Scott heard his parents rummaging around downstairs. "Dont forget to put the butter and milk back in the fridge" his father called from downstairs, "Ive left your dinner money on the table in the dining room".

"Thanks Dad, see you tonight".

"See you tonight son; have a good day" his father called. "Come on Carole were going to be late" Scott heard him say to his mother.

"Bye darling; be good", his mother shouted upstairs.

"You too! See you both tonight", Scott called back.

A few moments later they were gone. Scott heard his father ask his mother is she had everything and her answer in the affirmative before hearing the front door open and close, his fathers car start and reverse. They were gone. Once he was sure he had the house to himself Scott emerged from the bathroom with just a towel wrapped round his waist and went back to his room to get dressed in his school uniform, and waited several minutes before venturing downstairs in case either of his parents were still around. They were nowhere to be seen.

Satisfied that his parents had left for work Scott made himself some breakfast and ate it in the living room watching Breakfast TV before washing-up and clearing away the dining room and kitchen. He scanned the TV page of the daily newspaper and, finding nothing worth watching, trundled back upstairs to his room to change out of his hated grey shorts and into a pair of long grey trousers which he had worn at his previous school. He unloaded his satchel and reluctantly began copying-up some more notes from lessons he had missed with starting at his new school halfway through the Autumn Term, though he found it hard to concentrate with his mind continually occupied with thoughts of the volume of work still outstanding and friends he had left behind at his old school, let alone the torment of having to wear shorts as part of his uniform at his new school and the dreaded Messrs Turner and Ashurst.

By lunch-time Scott had miraculously copied up all outstanding notes from R. E. and English. He enjoyed English – other than having to study Shakespeare – and the R. E. syllabus was much the same as it was in his previous school so he was quietly confident of doing well in his forthcoming test, but he still had a pile of notes from the difficult subjects (i. e., C. D.T. theory, French, Maths and Science) he found more arduous to do. Copying up Jenkinss C. D.T. theory, French and Maths was one thing; understanding it was another. Maths and Modern languages were never Scotts strongest subjects and most of what his class had studied in his absence was new to him and simply did not make sense; French and Science, on the other hand, Scott found as exciting as watching paint dry and deliberately put them off to last, knowing that they were not as important as he could always opt to choose other subjects the following year, whereas English, Maths, C. D.T (Practical and Theory), P. E. and R. E. were compulsory for all boys other than those in the Sixth Form who chose which subjects they wished to study either to resit their O-levels or study to A-level.

Scott could hardly wait to enter the Upper School the following September as he would be able to drop French and Science as well as wear long trousers again for school, other than for P. E. where all boys were expected to wear shorts (plain black nylon football shorts for outdoor sports except cricket and tennis, and plain white cotton shorts for circuit training, cricket, gymnastics and tennis). He glanced outside and saw it was raining heavily and that the wind was blowing quite strongly, and was quietly glad he didnt go to school after all as otherwise he would have had to play football outdoors in his P. E. lesson.

With his mind wandering about football Scott felt his _c_o_c_k_ become hard as he thought of the cute-looking sixth-former he had seen the night before playing football in the recreation ground outside his home, and wondered what he looked like naked in the communal shower stall in the boys changing room at school, as he recalled the chants of other boys to "get your eyes off my _c_o_c_k_ you _f_u_c_k_ing queer" and "watch your arse boys Jenkins the arse-bandit is about" directed at Jenkins whenever he showered after P. E. Poor Scott was confused, was Jenkins gay and, if so, did that make him – as some boys cruelly suggested it did – "Jenkins bum-chum"?!

In vain, Scott went back upstairs to his room and laid face-down on his bed and began rubbing his crotch against the bottom sheet of his bed, imagining that he was the unknown sixth-former being soundly spanked over either Mr Ashursts or Mr Turners knee before shooting a pool of creamy boy-spunk inside his underpants.

"You dirty little bastard" he told himself, "get your kit off now and stand in the corner with your face towards the wall"!

Scott stripped naked and stood in the corner of his room with his feet hip-width apart and covered his genitals with his hands.

"Stop playing with yourself! Hands behind your head and elbows behind your shoulders .... now", he told himself.

Scott swiftly moved his hands back behind his head and pulled his elbows back behind his shoulders. The glans of his _c_o_c_k_, still erect, twitched against the wall with fear.

"I wont tell you again boy, only your nose and toes should touch the wall .... now do as youre told or you will get the belt", his mind unsuccessfully told his erect member. "Very well boy, if thats how you want to play it, you shall have it"!

Scott turned round, picked up – and pulled his belt through the loops of his - trousers before folding his belt in half and, holding the buckle end in his hand, strapped his butt and the back of his thighs three times in rapid succession.

"Do-as-you-are-told-you-insolent-little-bastard" he told himself, punctuating each word with a stroke of the strap. It didnt hurt as much as Mr Turners ruler the day before – as he was unable to apply the strap with as much ferocity as Mr Turner was able to swing his ruler – but it was still painful, particularly when the strap wrapped inside his right thigh and struck the back of his scrotum. He dropped his belt on his bed and pulled up his testicles for a closer examination of his scrotum. For the first time in his life Scott began to seriously question his own _s_e_x_uality: he had hitherto always thought of himself as hetero_s_e_x_ual, yet his attraction to the sixth-former and mental roleplay involving himself as an older man physically punishing a younger boy startled him, and made him wonder if he was homo_s_e_x_ual. The latter would, perhaps, explain why – as much as he hated wearing shorts himself – Scott found himself getting an erection whilst subconsciously looking at other boys in shorts, particularly Jenkins.

Scott put on a clean pair of underpants and got dressed before going downstairs to make himself a round of sandwiches and milkshake for lunch. He put his spunk-stained underwear in the washing machine and collapsed in front of the television, feeling guilty for having played truant from school, but relieved that he had made good progress with copying up the remainder of his R. E. and English notes. Now, all he had to do for English was get up to speed with reading two set books, and he was fortunate that they were both available on audio-cassette. "I could buy the cassettes and listen to them on the way to and from school" he thought to himself, "pity I cant do that with C. D.T. theory, French, Maths and Science".

Scott slumped in front of the television in the living room and switched on the lunch-time news and weather. "Wet and windy for the next few days" he shouted at the screen, repeating the weather forecast "for goodness sake God give me a break, you dont have to go to school in _f_u_c_k_ing shorts" he screamed! He turned the television off and threw the remote control on the coffee table in front of him in disgust before getting up and going back into the kitchen where he angrily dumped his plate and glass in the dishwasher.

"What shall I tackle next" he said loudly, "C. D.T., Maths, French or Science?! Stuff the _f_u_c_k_ing Frogs" he said climbing the stairs to his room. "Miss Giraud is a boring cow anyway and if the French cannot be bothered to speak English why should I be bothered to learn French"!

Inside his bedroom Scott picked up his Maths text book and looked hopelessly vain at the next section of exercises he had to do. The instructions were clear enough but he couldnt see any point in doing it. "Logarithms; what use are _f_u_c_k_ing logarithms" he exclaimed loudly, "Jesus Christ! Whoever invented logarithms was either a genius or, more likely, one sad bastard! Ill leave that until Dad gets home and he can talk me through it"! He put his Maths exercise and text books back inside his satchel and selected Jenkinss Science exercise book and his own as his next target. He sighed heavily. "Only sixteen pages of notes and a few diagrams to go", he told himself.

He meticulously began copying diagrams and notes from Jenkinss exercise book into his own. Jenkins was widely regarded as one of the brightest boys in his year – which is why he had been assigned to act as Scotts mentor – but that didnt help Scott as it often meant he wrote far more detailed answers to any questions set by a master and, consequently, Scott had more writing to do. Scott vowed to copy-up all the Science classwork and homework he had missed that afternoon so he would only be left with his C. D.T. theory, Maths, French and whatever coursework and homework he had missed that day from playing truant to do. He paused every hour or so to take a break and give his hand a chance to rest until he finished, minutes before he heard the front door open and his mother returning from work.

"Good God, is that time already" Scott asked himself, glancing at his clock-radio. Sure enough it was almost half-past five.

"Anyone home" his mother called from the hallway.

"Im up in my room" Scott shouted back.

"Hello petal" called his mother, "had a good day at school"?

"Yeah, better than yesterday for sure".

"Thats good .... have you much homework to do"?

"Im just finishing it now" Scott shouted, "how was your day"?

"Busy. Dr Lewis was in a foul mood as usual. He always is on his clinic days; anyone would think he didnt like his patients".

Scott left his room and came downstairs to join his mother in the kitchen. "I hope you didnt go to school dressed like that" his mother told him.

"Like what" Scott asked confused.

"Wearing those trousers in place of your shorts".

"Oh .... no .... of course not! Much as though I would have liked to; it was bloody cold outside today".

"Language"!

"Sorry Mum, but it was cold". A nervous silence ensured. "Whats for dinner"?

"I thought Id do a casserole if thats okay"?

"Yeah .... fine. Im easy, you know that".

"I do wish you would say Yes not Yeah; its so .... what can I say, so American. Anyway, tell me what did you do at school today"?

"Let me see". Scott had to think what lessons he would have had, had he not played truant. "P. E. then English before lunch and Maths and Geography after lunch".

"You had better let me have your P. E. kit then" said his mother.

"What for"?

"To wash, of course. I expect its all muddy if youve been playing football outdoors. It was raining this morning".

"Its okay actually Mum. For a change we did circuit training in the gym which was a relief".

"Ill still need to wash your kit though, otherwise it will reek of stale sweat. Ive got some whites to go in so I can put your gym kit in with those".

"Its okay really Mum", Scott replied nervously. "When we do circuit training we only ever wear shorts and theyre okay so theres nothing to wash".

"Are you sure you did P. E. this morning"?

"Yes .... why"?

"I know its not your favourite subject. Youre okay watching football so long as you dont have to play it. I dont want to hear youve been making up excuses to get out of it or your father and I shall be very cross with you. Its more than learning to keep fit you know, it teaches one much about the values of competition, self-discipline, team-work and the pursuit of excellence ....".

"Okay, okay! You dont have to keep on about it" Scott interrupted, "anyone would think you were my P. E. teacher".

"What about your homework" his mother asked, changing the subject.

"What about it"?

"Did you have much to do"?

"Quite a bit .... mainly copying up some notes for Science which Ive done and a bit of Maths which I thought I would ask Dad about after dinner if hes not too knackered after work".

"Can I help"?

"I need a rest first myself. Ive got writers cramp at the moment as Ive been writing all afternoon".

"Its a hard life isnt it", his mother mocked.

"Dont tell me about it" Scott replied. "By the way, would you mind if I invited Jenkins round for dinner one night next week? I would like to thank him for everything".

"I dont see why not. Next Thursday might be best as your father is working late on Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday, and next Friday I start my aerobics class after Ive done the weeks shop. Find out if theres anything special he likes and Ill do that if you like".

"Thanks Mum".

"And Scott".

"Yes Mum".

"What is his Christian name? I know you boys always call each other by your surnames in school but outside of school you can surely call each other by your Christian names, and your father and I certainly cant call him Jenkins, can we"?

"I guess not; let me think now .... Tom; hes ever such a nice chap. Im sure youll like him".

"Is there anyone else you would like to invite home"?

"I dont think so at this stage ....thanks anyway".

"Okay then petal, you go and watch TV and Ill start preparing dinner for when your father comes home. He shouldnt be all that long".

"Do you need a hand"?

"No, Im fine thanks; you chill-out for a while. All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy".

Scott left the kitchen and went into the living room. He picked up the remote control from where he had thrown it earlier in the day and sat down in front of the television to watch the early evening news and the weather forecast. There was precious little change from the midday news he had watched earlier.

"Whats the weather forecast for tomorrow", his mother called from the kitchen.

"More wind and rain" Scott shouted back, "much colder than today by all accounts". The thought of walking to and from school in shorts when it was so cold made him annoyed; he was almost tempted to play truant again but he knew only too well he couldnt take too much time off without the school contacting his parents to see what was wrong, and reluctantly resigned himself to having to go to school the following day. "At least its Friday tomorrow" he thought to himself, "no more shorts for two days after tomorrow afternoon". He flicked through the television channels with the remote control and, finding nothing worth watching, rummaged around the magazine rack and found an old rugby magazine belonging to his father to look at. He soon found himself getting an erection looking at the muscled thighs and well-defined six-packs of the players inside, as once again his thoughts went back to the semi-naked sixth-former he saw yesterday and wished that he was on top of him in a rugby scrum. More than once Scott had to rearrange the position of his erect member to make it more comfortable inside his underpants; but for his mother being in the kitchen nearby he probably would have jacked-off looking at the handsome players there and then!

Approximately half-an-hour later Mr Lower returned from work and slumped in front of the television. "Had a tiring day at work Dad" Scott asked.

"You could say that; Anne the Claims Department Team-Leader was off sick so I had to show a couple of new staff the ropes as well as do my own work; no peace for the wicked I guess".

"I dont suppose youre upto talking me through some logarithm exercises after dinner are you"?

"Logarithms? I thought they went out with the ark", exclaimed his father.

"They probably did but Im stuck with them; bit like the shorts really. Perhaps one day the Model Boys will enter the twenty-first century and realise that making fourteen year-olds wear shorts and do logarithms is a thing of the past"!

"Okay .... point taken" his father sighed. "Is that your Maths homework"?

"No; just some catching up Ive got to do. Its all very well copying it up from Jenkinss exercise book but if it doesnt make any sense its pointless doing it. Mr Clarkson, my Maths teacher, has talked me through it a couple of times but it still doesnt make much sense".

"Speaking of Maths teachers, am I right in thinking that a Mr Ashurst teaches at your new school"?

"There is a Mr Ashurst who teaches Maths; hes actually Head of the Maths Department", Scott replied nervously. "Do you know him"?

"What does he look like", asked his father.

"He must be in his late fifties or possibly early sixties with grey hair and glasses".

"That could be anyone; is he, how can one put it, rather on the large size"?

"You mean fat"?

"I guess so".

"That sounds like him. His initials are F. G. if thats any help. I dont know what his Christian names are but I nickname him Fat Gut Ashurst. Why do you ask"?

"No particular reason".

"Come on Dad, there must be a reason".

"Well, if you must know, the office junior was farting around in the office today so I jokingly told him to settle down or I would put him over my knee".

"What did he say to that"?

"He told me the last person to spank him was Mr Ashurst at the Model Boys School. He must have overheard me say to someone that you were there as he then said Your son is there isnt here? I said you were and he said that you had better watch out for Mr Ashurst as apparently hes a nasty piece of work"?

"What do you mean"?

"Apparently hes into caning boys in a big way. Tony, thats the office junior, told me that Fat Gut Ashurst - as you call him – gave him six strokes of the cane, just for forgetting his geometry set, and another boy six strokes for not writing in blue ink. Its perhaps just as well you have Mr Clarkson for Maths, and not Mr Ashurst, by the sounds of things".

"How old is Tony"?

"Not much older than you. Hell be eighteen or nineteen I guess, though to look at him you would think he was only sixteen. Hes only just started shaving I think as hes still got acne and routinely comes to work with plasters on his neck where he has cut himself; you would think he would buy himself a sceptic pencil or use an electric razor".

"What else did he say about his caning? How old was he when Fat Gut Ashurst caned him"?

"The same age as you are now. I must tell Tony you call Mr Ashurst Fat Gut; hell like that as apparently he was always in trouble with him and another master called Turner who taught science. Hes another spankophile apparently, though not as strict as Mr Ashurst".

"I better watch out for those two then" Scott said.

"You had better, or you may end up with a sore arse" his father chuckled, "in my day Games Masters were the sadistic bastards not the Maths or Science Masters, which reminds me have you seen my rugby magazine"?

"Yeah, Ive got it here", Scott answered picking it up off the floor next to him, "Can I have a look at it and let you have it back later"?

"Sure".

"Thanks Dad. Im just popping upstairs for a while. Can you give me a shout when dinner is ready and Ill come down".

"Will do".

With that, Scott left the living room taking his fathers rugby magazine with me and went upstairs to his bedroom. Inside his room, Scott bolted his bedroom door closed and laid face-down on his bed and began looking at the pictures of the hunky rugby players inside the magazine; the majority of whom were as young as Mr Turner but as stocky as Mr Ashurst. Scott felt his _c_o_c_k_ stiffen inside his underpants as he rubbed his crotch against the bottom sheet of his bed for light relief, imagining (yet again) that either he or the unknown sixth-former were over Mr Ashursts knee.

Although Scott had never met Tony, as Scott rubbed his crotch against his bed he recalled his fathers words - "I must tell Tony you call Mr Ashurst Fat Gut hell like that as apparently he was always in trouble with him and another master called Turner who taught science. Hes another spankophile apparently, though not as strict as Mr Ashurst" – as he remembered that he had still to write the essay Mr Ashurst had set him to do and wondered how much stricter Mr Ashurst could be than Mr Turner.

With his thoughts also firmly on how his father may have been spanked – by a depraved Games Master at school - and conscious that his school shirt was becoming ruffled underneath him, Scott stood up and changed out of his school uniform and into his Arsenal football kit before sitting by the side of his bed and began pumping his _c_o_c_k_ over the pictures in his fathers rugby magazine. It was not long until Scott shot another load of creamy boy-cum all-over his shorts and bare thighs.

"Scott, your dinner is ready" his mother called from downstairs.

"Coming Mum" he shouted back. He quickly put his long grey trousers back on and headed downstairs, and joined his parents for dinner.

"Already for the kick-off at seven-thirty" his father asked.

"What are you on about" Scott asked.

"Its Thursday remember" his father said, "I thought thats why you have changed into your Arsenal shirt. Theyre playing Spurs tonight. Kick-off is at seven-thirty on Sky Sports One".

"Oh yeah" Scott replied, trying not to sound surprised; he was a devoted Arsenal fan and seldom missed a televised match, but had quite forgotten about the game amidst all the excitement and fear of being spanked.

"You had better finish your logarithms first though or Mr Ashurst will tan your hide young man" his father joked.

Scott chuckled too. Little did he or his father know that less than twenty-four hours later Mr Ashurst was to do just that. After dinner Mr Lower again explained how to calculate logarithms to his son and Young Scott duly finished copying-up his outstanding Maths work - other than the lesson he missed through playing truant - before sitting down to watch the Arsenal v Spurs game with his father, having omitted to write the essay Mr Ashurst had set him to do in the naοve hope he had forgotten all about it. After the game, Scott watched News at Ten with his parents before bidding them both goodnight and went back upstairs to brush his teeth before going to bed, content that after playing truant from school he had not only avoided a disciplinary encounter with Mr Ashurst but that he had also caught up with his outstanding coursework in all subjects other than C. D.T. theory and French which, he felt, he could always do over the weekend.

The following day Scott left for school as normal at 8.20am. Halfway to school Jenkins joined him. "I say Old Beam, what was up with you yesterday", Jenkins asked.

"I had a migrane", Scott answered dishonestly, "Dont suppose I missed much".

"Not really; circuit training during P. E, and a couple of chapters of Animal Farm during English which made a nice change from writing before lunch, followed by more boring logarithms in Maths, and a video about Asia in Geography. By the way, have you said or done anything to annoy Mr Ashurst"?

"Not that I know of; why"?

"Mr Clarkson was off so Mr Ashurst took our Maths lesson; it was so quiet, you could have heard a pin drop. Anyway, whilst taking the attendance register, he noticed you were in the class and asked where you were"?

"Did you or someone else tell him I was off"?

"Yes. I did actually".

"What did he say"?

"Nothing much; just that he was hoping to have a word with you about something. If I were you Id find him before he finds you when we get to school. He doesnt take too kindly to having to track anyone down – too much like hard work for him if you ask me. Perhaps if he got off his arse occasionally, instead of talking through it all the time, it wouldnt be as large as it is, or maybe that is the reason why his arse looks small in comparison to his mouth"!

"Id like to hear you say that in front of him", Scott mocked.

"Give over; hed kill me! I wonder what he wants to see you about".

"I think I can guess" said Scott.

"What"?

"Its nothing".

"Go on; tell me. I wont tell anyone, honestly".

"Ive told you, its nothing".

"What are you looking so worried about for then? Go on tell me whats the matter. I may be able to help".

"I doubt it. You see, the day before yesterday, shortly before you joined me in morning break I was feeling a bit pissed off with having so much extra work to do so I kicked an empty lemonade can and it narrowly missed hitting Mr Ashurst. He thought it was me who dropped it and gave me a bollocking for it, claiming I could have hurt someone or something, and gave me a 2,000 word essay on waste disposal to do by this time yesterday morning".

"That explains it then. Have you done it"?

"Who do you think I am, Superman? Of course I havent done it. I had a migrane for most of yesterday and when I had recovered from that, I got straight on with copying up some more work that I had missed, which reminds me Ive got your Maths exercise book at home if you want to pick it up sometime".

"Thanks; its just as well Ashurst didnt ask us to hand our books in after class or he would have had a bollocking at me too for not having my book with me".

"You couldnt have done as I had it".

"That would have made no difference to him".

"What do you think hell say when I tell him I havent done the essay he set me to do"?

"I think its more a case of what do I think he will do, rather than what he will say".

"What do you mean"?

"Put it this way, youve heard of the saying actions speak louder than words I presume"?

"Yeah; what do you mean exactly"?

"I mean ....", Jenkins hesitated for a few moments, "I mean hell probably spank you. If youre lucky, you may get away with just a paddling across the seat of your shorts, but if hes in a bad mood hell probably cane you".

"Cane me: just for not doing an essay? Jesus Christ, its not as though Ive been caught smoking or stealing something, or fighting for goodness sake. Who does he think he is anyway: God Almighty?! I thought only the Head could cane or, in his absence or incapacity, the Deputy Head"?

"Officially yes, although unofficially a number of masters, including Messrs Ashurst and Turner to name two, are rather strap-happy. When theyre not flexing their belts across some poor kids arse theyre usually wielding the cane! With a bit of luck, hell let you off this time being as though youre a new boy if you explain to him you were busy catching up on some Maths work you missed at the beginning of term. Otherwise, brace yourself for a sore arse"!

"Thanks".

"By the way Lower, how did you get those marks on the back of your legs; you didnt have those on Wednesday"?

"I did".

"No you didnt; I would have noticed when I was standing behind you in the dinner queue".

"You cant have been paying much attention then could you", Scott replied dishonestly.

"They look like the work of a ruler to me; did your old man give them to you"?

"No; Ive had them sometime".

"I cant say Ive noticed them before".

"Do you make a point of looking at boys legs", Scott asked angrily.

"No; despite what other people might say about me being a bum-boy".

"Well, then, shut-up, or I will begin to think the rumours about you are true".

For the next few minutes both boys didnt say anything further to each other as they walked to school. It was Jenkins who spoke first. "Sorry Scott, I didnt mean to pry".

Scott was quite taken aback that Jenkins had referred to him by his Christian name; it made him feel more like a brother than a school friend.

"Im sorry too Tom; I didnt mean to snap at you! Lets call it quits".

"Quits" replied Jenkins. "And Scott, I mean Lower, I mean .....".

"Scott; just call me Scott; its so much friendlier than Lower. At my old school only teachers called boys by their surnames or nicknames, but both boys and girls called each other by their Christian names. I dont see why you dont do that at the Model Boys".

"Its tradition I suppose".

"Like wearing shorts until you enter the Upper School, I guess"?

"Probably. Tom Browns Schooldays Revisited you could say, only I thought my surname was Jenkins not Brown", chuckled Jenkins.

"And I thought I was the poor sod about to be caned not you Brown Cow", Lower chuckled.

"At least we can laugh about it".

"Too _d_a_m_n_ right; Im not going to let F. G. Ashurst, Esquire, sorry Fat Gut Ashurst Esquire, get me down"!

"I like that".

"Like what"?

"Fat Gut Ashurst .... very apt I must say", Jenkins replied. He hesitated again for a few moments and added "I say Scott".

"Yeah"?

"Nothing".

"What"?

"Nothing".

"There must be something or have you forgotten what you were going to say"?

"I was wondering ....".

"What about"?

"You wont tell anyone what Im about to tell you, will you"?

"No; why"?

"Are you sure? I mean, its kind of personal".

"Yes Im sure; now what the _f_u_c_k_ are you talking about"?

"Could I have a look after Mr Ashurst has seen you"?

"Look at what"?

"Your .... how can I put it .... you know ...."?

"Arse"?

"Yes, I mean .... Oh _s_h_i_t_! Ive said it now anyway"!

"Am I hearing you correctly; are you trying to tell me that you want to look at my arse after Mr Ashurst has spanked me", asked Scott.

"Shhhh .... you dont have to broadcast it to everyone! Believe me, its as embarrassing for me to ask for a look as it is for you to receive it"!

"What are you trying to tell me", Scott whispered, "that you are, you know, an arse bandit after all"?

"I wish people wouldnt use that phrase; it makes me feel dirty".

"What phrase would you prefer me to use: bender, bum-boy, _c_o_c_k_-sucker, faggot, gay boy, homo, queer", Scott whispered.

"I dont know .... I dont even know if I am, but I do know I ....".

"I what"?

"For Gods sake Scott, are you naturally dense or are you winding me up"?

"What do you mean"?

"What I mean is that I .... I ..... I fancy you; there Ive said it now; go on, punch me; take the piss out of me; everyone else does"!

Scott looked round to make sure no-one else was in earshot of their conversation. "Why would I want to do that"?

"Because Im different" Jenkins said, "because you drive me crazy. I dream about you at night and you make me horny; I cum in my sleep thinking about you. Every time you get changed before and after we do P. E. I look at you and want to touch you. My eldest brother, Peter – whos away at university at the moment – always used to say to me always spank what you cant _f_u_c_k_, and what you can _f_u_c_k_ dont spank! I dont know if thats why Mr Ashurst and Mr Turner are so keen on spanking anyone and everyone, because they know they would be pushing their luck if they were to _f_u_c_k_ anyone, but I do know that I dont want to spank you, although each time I look at your butt I want to _f_u_c_k_ you. Do you understand what Im saying to you Scott"?

"Yeah".

"Is that all you can say"?

"What do you expect me to say"?

"_f_u_c_k_ off you _f_u_c_k_ing little queer or something like that", Jenkins replied. Scott stared longingly into Toms eyes and then eyed his friend up and down. "Go on, punch me" Jenkins added, "I can take it. You wont be the first to hit me because Im queer, and Im sure you wont be the last"!

Scott was gob-smacked by Toms honesty. "I cant" he said.

"Yes, you can".

"I cant" Scott replied, "you see Tom, I ..... how can I put this? I fancy you too. I cant say I want to _f_u_c_k_ you or have even dreamt about you; in fact I havent had a wet dream about anyone yet, but I do fancy you; honestly I do .... so much so that if and when Mr Ashurst does spank me I will show you my butt afterwards. If hes as strict as you say he is, would you rub some cream in my butt for me afterwards"?

"Your cheeks or your hole", asked Tom.

"Both", joked Scott.

"With pleasure" replied Tom, "better still, why dont you stay at my house tonight? I can rub some cream into the back of your legs too as they still look sore and we can sleep together in my bed".

"Great", said Scott, "but wont your folks say anything"?

"Why should they? Both my brothers are gay too or at least David, my middle brother, is. Peter, whos at Uni may be bi-_s_e_x_ual as he went out with a girl last year, but that may be to hide the fact that hes secretly gay, whilst David is going out with a fifth-former called Henry".

"How old is David, then"?

"Almost eighteen; you have probably already seen him, as hes a prefect in the Upper Sixth: one of the better-looking ones, and probably the only decent shag amongst them. Youll recognise him when you see him as he plays for the school Under-18 Football Team; he usually trains in a red top with a No. 24 on the back".

"Does he have brown hair"?

"And brown eyes .... thats him! Rather cute even if I do say so myself; if he wasnt my brother Id ask him to _f_u_c_k_ me but its one thing to be gay and another to be into incest! Henry is not bad-looking either, though he has fair hair and blue eyes, and a cute-looking arse"!

Scott couldnt believe his ears. Unless he was mistaken, David was the cute-looking sixth-former who had distracted him by playing football in the recreation ground outside his home the night before last. Tom was equally as good-looking for his age, and suspected that Peter was as good-looking again. "Three gay brothers in one house" he thought to himself, "Jesus, this place sounds more like a monastery than a traditional family"!

"What do your folks think about it", Scott asked.

"They dont mind. They dont know about Peter, but they know about David and are relaxed about it. When he came out, all Dad said was that that type of thing is to be expected with us attending an all-boys school and so long as David practiced safe _s_e_x_ he couldnt give a _d_a_m_n_ who he went out with or where he poked his tool. Henry often stays over at our house in Davids bed so I cant see my folks objecting to you sleeping with me if you want to".

"Have you told your folks youre gay"?

"Not yet, Ill wait a bit I think. My Mum is a bit more conservative than my Dad as shell probably pass it off as an adolescent phase as she did when David told her – even though I know I am - but Dad will understand and probably say something like we always suspected; after all, youve never had a girlfriend. Dad went to an all-boys school himself so he understands better than she does. I remember him telling David, shortly after he came out, that women - particularly straight women - seem to have this obsession that boys and men cant possibly be gay. I think it offends them that we prefer our own _s_e_x_ to theirs and are probably rather jealous that all the pretty boys tend to be gay so they are left with the ugly _f_u_c_k_ers that we wouldnt touch with a forty-foot bargepole"!

Scott laughed. "Have you ever done it with a guy", he asked.

"Not really .... David got me to suck him off shortly before he was made a prefect to see what it feels like because most of the outgoing prefects belong to a club run by Mr Turner as he advises the Headmaster who to appoint as prefects. To stand a good chance of becoming a prefect you must first be a member of this club, and to get into the club to begin with you must first have passed your O-levels with at least five other boys: one in the First Year, another in the Second Year, another in the Third Year, another in the Fourth Year and another in the Fifth Year, if you know what I mean".

"You mean get five boys - one in each year younger than you - to suck you off".

"And, equally as important, suck them off. Sounds too good to be true doesnt it"?

"Yeah. I think Ill stay on for my A-levels and become a prefect! Speaking of A-levels, I presume to be a member of this club one must have also passed the other A-levels too? Dont tell me you have to _f_u_c_k_ five boys and get five boys to _f_u_c_k_ you"!

Tom chuckled, "No, its not as intense as all that. You just need to _f_u_c_k_ a couple of guys – one of your choice and another that Mr Turner orders you to _f_u_c_k_ – and then be _f_u_c_k_ed either by the pair of boys youve screwed or one of them and Mr Turner himself. Im not supposed to tell you this as all members of the club swear an oath not to tell anyone how they became prefects but David told me, so please dont repeat it to anyone or Mr Turner, let alone David, will kill me".

"How does Turner know youve received, and given, five blow-jobs, or _f_u_c_k_ed and being _f_u_c_k_ed by two boys"?

"Thats an easy question to answer. He watches you do it, along with all the other recently-appointed prefects. Apparently every Friday afternoon some lucky kid is either giving or receiving a blow-job in the Sixth Form Common Room after school in preparation for making someone into a prefect the following term".

"But how does Turner know which boys to recommend as prospective prefects. If David is who I think he is, he hardly looks gay"?

"No he doesnt does he? I think Turner sounds boys out. One can usually tell; its usually boys who dont like P. E. or having to wear shorts, or new boys like yourself, who he follows with interest throughout their school career and if, by the time they enter the Sixth Form they say and do the right things – e. g., hint they dont like P. E. or find such and such a boy quite cute – he formally approaches them and asks them if they wish to become a prefect; and if they express an interest he invites them to join his little club. Having joined, the boy concerned is forced to take an oath declaring he will not disclose how he became a prefect or Mr Turner will have him expelled from the whole school and not just the club. Of course, no boy studying for his proper A-levels wants to be expelled so, needless to say, anyone who joins automatically does what he is told and so it goes on. Its Turners way of extending his grip on everyone and turning model boys into pretty young men as he puts it. By the way, was it Turner who attacked your legs"?

"Yes".

"I thought so; I didnt like to ask you directly when I asked you earlier if it was your old man? Looks like hes attacked you with the blackboard ruler".

"Thats right .... it hurt like Hell! Thirty strokes he gave me, and all for being indoors at lunch-time when I should have been outside freezing my bits off".

"I know; hes done it to me too, although the excuse he gave me was for not having my socks pulled up to my knees! Looks like hes grooming both of us to be prefects in due course then, as he usually likes to pick on boys he fancies and its only boys he fancies that get to be prefects. The Head is either too busy or too dumb to select boys himself. It goes back to what Peter used to say: always spank what you cant _f_u_c_k_ and what you can _f_u_c_k_ dont spank! I think thats one of Turners sayings as well; its probably in the prefects oath somewhere as he was a prefect before David"!!!

"Is Fat Gut involved with the club"?

"You mean our friend Mr Ashurst"?

"Yes".

"No, hes not; hes just a boring hetero_s_e_x_ual, but very strict with it. Dont worry about him; he may cane you but he wont do anything else .... just as well really as if he was literally to get on top of you to _f_u_c_k_ you, hed flatten you assuming he could find his tool under the mountain of blubber"!

Scott laughed. It felt good to be able to talk to someone about male-to-male _s_e_x_ with someone else. Being an only child he felt uneasy talking with either of his parents about anything _s_e_x_ual, let alone dare raise with either or both of them the possibility that he may not be the hetero_s_e_x_ual son they perceived him to be.

"You still havent told me if youve done it with anyone", Tom said.

"No. Either oral or anal; male or female. Im still a virgin".

"Like a virgin, in love for the very first time", Tom began to sing.

"I hope you can suck better than you can sing Tom" Scott joked, "or you may have to practice controlling your tongue"!

"On your _c_o_c_k_ I hope Master Lower"!

"Of course" replied Tom glancing at his watch. "_s_h_i_t_! Its almost quarter-to-nine. We had better get a move on or well be late for school"!

Both boys ran to school and arrived just in time for morning registration. As they were leaving to go to their first lesson, Mr Wylam (their form master) called out to Scott.

"Yes Sir".

"What was up with you yesterday"?

"I had a migrane Sir".

"Have you a note from your parents"?

"No Sir .... I forgot Sir .... Sorry Sir".

"Make sure you bring one on Monday morning please and in future remember to ask them to phone up if youre not coming in or bring a note with you the first day youre back, so we have an explanation for your absence".

"Yes Sir". He turned to leave the room.

"And Lower".

"Yes Sir" Scott replied, turning back to face him.

"Mr Ashurst would like a word with you as soon as possible. He said you would know what it is about. Youll probably find him in his classroom; if hes not there he may be in the staff room".

"Yes Sir. Thank you Sir. Is that all"?

"That is all; off you go, be good".

"Yes Sir", Scott replied. He left the room and proceeded immediately to the staff room en-route to Mr Ashursts classroom. Mr Ashurst was not there. He made his way to Mr Ashursts room and knocked timidly on the door.

"Come" called Mr Ashurst from within.

Scott opened the door and stepped inside. The classroom was filled with either Fourth or Fifth Year boys. The room was so quiet one could hear a pin drop. "You wanted to see me Sir", Scott said nervously.

"Ah, Master Lower, Im rather busy right now, as Im about to start teaching this God-forsaken rabble. Come and find me at lunch-time will you; I should be in the staff room; theres a good chap"?!

"Yes Sir", Scott replied. He turned to leave the room. As he opened the door to leave one boy shouted after him "Shorts"!

"Quiet Adamson" Mr Ashurst bellowed, "or you will find yourself joining Master Lower at lunchtime and he wont be the only the boy to have cold legs and a warm backside".

Scott left the room. He felt sick, at first he thought Mr Ashurst had forgotten about his essay, but now instinctly knew that he was going to be spanked when he told Mr Ashurst he didnt have it with him, and prayed that Mr Ashurst wouldnt be as hard on him as Mr Turner had been the day before yesterday.

The morning soon passed and before long it was lunch-time. For a change, it was a lovely warm sunny day and Tom invited Scott to share his sandwiches and cake out in the playground near the tennis courts but Scott declined saying he had still to see Mr Ashurst, and made his way to the staff room to find him.

"Ah, Master Lower, come with me will you", Mr Ashurst said getting to his feet. Both Mr Ashurst and Scott left the staff room and made their way to Mr Ashursts classroom. "Where were you yesterday morning" Mr Ashurst asked him, "I was expecting you to find me first thing"?

"I was off Sir .... I had a migrane all day" Scott replied anxiously.

"Did you? And was that the same excuse the choirboy gave for not having choir practice with the vicar"?!

"Im not with you Sir".

"I mean that just as women usually fake headaches to get out of having _s_e_x_ with their husbands, choirboys tend to fake migranes to avoid being screwed by the vicar in the vestry, just as schoolboys attempt to fake all manner of illnesses and diseases to excuse themselves from Games to try and avoid playing ball-games with their Games Masters on and off the pitch! Now were you genuinely off or did you conveniently forget to report to me yesterday morning as I told you to do so on Wednesday"?

"I was off Sir; honestly Sir, you can check with Mr Wylam".

"I see. So I shall expect an exceptionally well-written essay from you on disposing of your litter safely and correctly then, given that you have had a few more hours spare to rewrite it", Mr Ashurst said pushing open one set of swing-doors and leading the way down another corridor. Scotts faced dropped. "Essay please Master Lower".

"Im afraid I havent done it Sir", Scott said sheepishly.

"Havent done it boy?! I told you to let me have it by eight oclock yesterday morning! What is the time now", Mr Ashurst snapped angrily as he looked at his watch. "Almost quarter past twelve; it is over twenty-eight hours after the deadline I gave you and you still havent done it; what on earth do you think you are playing at"?!

"I know Sir .... Im sorry Sir, I was ill yesterday ....".

"That was yesterday" Mr Ashurst interrupted, "I told you to let me have it by yesterday morning which means you should have done it on Wednesday night when you got home".

"I know Sir .... I would have done it Sir but I got carried away copying up notes Ive missed with starting here after the beginning of term".

"I dont believe you boy. If you are reckless enough to kick a can around a playground I think you are reckless enough not to do the homework I set you to do".

"Its the truth Sir .... honestly Sir".

Mr Ashurst slapped Scott hard across the back of his right thigh six times in rapid succession. "When I tell you to do something, I expect you to do it; understood", he snapped menacingly?!

"Arrh .... Yes Sir".

"And another thing" Mr Ashurst said slapping the back of Scotts thigh again – harder than ever – "whenever you are given work to do as a punishment exercise, that takes precedence over any other work you have to do, and which I also suspect you havent done"! Mr Ashurst took hold of Scott by his right earlobe and hauled him down a small flight of stairs. "Come with me Master Lower, I think I need to impress upon you not only the importance of doing what youre told, but not to lie to me when you havent".

"Arrh .... that hurts Sir .... Ahhh .... Im not lying Sir". Mr Ashurst tightened his grip on Scotts ear and twisted it angrily. "Yeeowh! ..... Arrh ..... Arrh ..... Please Sir, let go of me, it hurts Sir"!

"I think you also need to be taught a lesson about answering me back" Mr Ashurst snapped at him, indifferent to Scotts suffering, "now be quiet or I will double your punishment! All the time you sit on your arse all day doing nothing, I will soundly paddle your little arse and cane your little arse to encourage you to stay off it and do your work, quietly and conscientiously, with at least half as much enthusiasm as you obviously have for being dishonest and impertinent! And dont try and tell me youre not, as I have been a teacher a long time – since before you were conceived to be precise – and I know when boys are telling me porkies just as I know when they are being disrespectful to their elders and betters"!

Mr Ashurst stopped at the Maths Department Store Cupboard, unlocked and opened it, before letting go of Scotts ear. "Inside now" he ordered. Scott rubbed his ear for light relief and stepped inside. Mr Ashurst pushed Scott inside and followed him in before closing the door after him. The cupboard was lined with shelves of text books, spare exercise books, graph paper and other stationery, a couple of overhead projectors and free-standing screens, whilst in front of them was a stack of classroom chairs and an old desk.

"Open the top drawer of the desk and pass me the paddle inside it" Mr Ashurst ordered.

Scott did as he was told, too afraid to say or do anything else. It was a table tennis paddle, red on one side and black on the other. "See this" Mr Ashurst said menacingly, "Im going to paddle you across the seat of your shorts until your arse turns from this colour" he said holding up the paddle so that the red side was facing Scott "to this colour" he added turning the paddle round. "Now bend over the desk and spread your legs apart".

"Please Sir ..... I .....".

"Quiet Lower! Do as youre told or I will paddle you bare".

Scott reluctantly turned round and bent over the desk and spread his legs apart and held onto either side of the desk with his hands.

"Looks like someone has already had cause to spank you boy .... judging by the state of your legs; you obviously like being spanked do you, or do you perpetually misbehave", Mr Ashurst asked. Scott didnt answer; he didnt know what to say. "Answer me boy" Mr Ashurst snapped.

"No Sir".

"You lying good-for-nothing little bastard" Mr Ashurst snapped. With that, he swung the paddle hard against Scotts right buttock. Although Scott was wearing shorts with underpants underneath, the force with which he was struck offered little protection against the blow.

"Ow", he screamed.

"Quiet Lower! You dont want to advertise the fact that were in here or you may get an audience. There are plenty of perverts round here who would give their right arm to see a pretty boy being paddled. Now keep your arse in the air and your legs straight"!

Mr Ashurst paddled Scott again, harder than before, so hard in fact that had Scott been touching his toes rather than bending over the desk he probably would have lost his balance and fallen over. "Ow" he yelped, as his crotch inadvertently moved forward causing his knees to bend and legs to come forward.

"Keep-your-arse-in-the-air-and-your-legs-straight-I-said" Mr Ashurst bellowed, punctuating each word with an equally hard blow with the paddle either to one of Scotts clothed buttocks or the back of one of his thighs. It hurt like Hell; each blow was as hard, if not harder, than the blackboard ruler Mr Turner had used to punish him, although unlike the ruler it covered a larger area which served only to add to his misery. Whilst the ruler was approximately five centimetres wide, the paddle was large enough to cover the whole of one of Scotts buttock or an entire thigh below the hem of his shorts and a few centimetres above his knee.

"Thats another good reason for keeping boys in shorts" Mr Ashurst said sternly, "their thighs are always bare and ready for a good smacking whenever they misbehave". Again and again he paddled Scotts buttocks and, occasionally, the back of his thighs.

WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK!

Scott was soon in tears and crying like a baby for the second time in less than forty-eight hours. He hated his new school more than ever and wanted to leave. His _c_o_c_k_ became hard and twitched against inside his underpants with fear. Mr Ashurst sensed as much as, halfway through paddling him, he stopped to gently rub the back of Scotts thighs and, whilst standing behind Scott, wrapped his arms around Scotts waist to fondle the boys raging hard-on through his shorts before placing his hand up the hem of Scotts shorts and underpants to reposition the boys erect member, before resuming the paddling.

Scotts thoughts alternated between those of absolute hate and disgust to those of intrigue as to what it would be like to qualify as a prefect and whether it would hurt anymore to be abused by Mr Turner than punished by Mr Ashurst whilst he attempted to console himself with thoughts of sharing with Tom and maybe David later in the day. After fifty blistering strokes with the paddle – twenty-one across each clothed buttock and four across the back of each bared thigh – Mr Ashurst finally stopped.

"Stand up Lower and drop your shorts" Mr Ashurst ordered. Scott struggled to stand; his lower back felt weak and his butt felt it was on fire as it rubbed against his underpants. Keeping his face towards the wall, he unfastened and unzipped his shorts and allowed them to drop to the floor. "Underpants as well .... let me survey the damage"!

Scott was petrified that he was going to be _f_u_c_k_ed. Keeping his back towards Mr Ashurst, he turned his head sideways to face his abuser. "Pl .... Pl .... Please Sir ....", he wept.

"Do it now boy", Mr Ashurst ordered, "and pull up your vest so I can have a good look at your arse". Scott did as he was told. He desperately wanted to rub his sore butt as a cool breeze made contact with his blistered buttocks. Mr Ashurst glanced at the boys butt; both buttocks looked like cherry-red tomatoes. "That should teach you to do any work I set you to do in future. Now put your hands behind your head and elbows back behind your shoulders to give your arse time to breath before I cane you".

"Pl .... Pl .... Please Sir, n..... n..... not the cane Sir; I c..... c..... cant take anymore m..... m..... more", he sobbed.

"Quiet Lower" Mr Ashurst snapped, "your paddling was for not doing the essay I set you to do on Wednesday, but I still need to cane you for lying to me and answering me back this afternoon. Two sixes with the cane should be sufficient I think, do you"?

"Two sixes", Scott exclaimed in disgust, frantically rubbing his sore butt. He couldnt believe what he was hearing.

"Thats right boy" Mr Ashurst said smiling. "All in good time, now turn round and face the wall and get those hands behind your head or I will increase that to three sixes or maybe four. Im in no hurry to go anywhere".

Scott stopped rubbing his butt and, after interlocking his hands behind his head, turned to face the wall. "Elbows back behind your shoulders boy" Mr Ashurst ordered. Scott did as he was told; the tip of his nose aligned itself perfectly with a shelf. "Spread your legs further apart and put your toes against the bottom shelf and your nose against the shelf in front of you, and dont let your _c_o_c_k_ touch the books on the third shelf or I may just have to ask you to come back here on Monday for a further session with the paddle and the cane" Mr Ashurst ordered. He watched as Scotts _c_o_c_k_ only narrowly missed touching the text books on the third shelf in-front of him, and pondered whether he should cane the boy as he stood there – knowing were he to do so Scotts crotch would almost certainly fall forwards causing his penis to touch the books in order to earn him a further spanking – but he somehow controlled his excitement at seeing the boys arse and _c_o_c_k_, and felt that may prove bordering on being abusive.

After twenty minutes or so Mr Ashurst looked at his watch. "Quarter to One; we had better get a move on or both of us will be late for our afternoon lessons. The things I have to do to pay a mortgage! Bend back over the desk and spread your legs apart as before; this should only take a few minutes and then you can pull your things up and bugger off"!

Still sobbing from his paddling, Scott positioned himself over the desk as before and took a deep breath. Mr Ashurst took a metre-long cane with a hooked handle from a nearby cupboard and swished it hard against Scotts buttocks. He had never been caned before. The pain was unbelievable. Whether it was because his arse was already throbbing from his earlier paddling or the cane had its own unique sting Scott was unable to tell, but the sting from the cane certainly felt more acute than anything he had experienced hitherto.

"Yeeowh" he yelped, "that _f_u_c_k_ing hurts"!

"I shall pretend I did not hear that" Mr Ashurst said sternly, "but be warned, if you continue to use language like that it wont be just twelve strokes you will receive with the cane".

Scott bit his upper lip to stop him from further swearing. Tears rolled down his face and the cane whistled as it sailed through the air and switched him again and again. He received twelve strokes in total: each hard enough to mark, but not break, his skin, eight across his buttocks and four across the back of both thighs.

SWISH! SWISH! SWISH! SWISH! SWISH! SWISH! SWISH! SWISH! SWISH! SWISH! SWISH!

"Very well boy, that concludes your punishment for today. You may pull your things up and bugger off. In addition to your 2,000 word essay on the importance of disposing of your litter safely and correctly I shall expect a further 2,000 word essay from you on the importance of honesty and showing respect to your elders, both by Eight oclock on Monday morning – whether or not you have a migrane – or you can expect a repeat of what Ive given you for your lunch this afternoon; understood" Mr Ashurst asked hard-heartedly.

"Y.... Y.... Yes Sir" Scott frantically replied rubbing his sore butt. He could feel each of the weals across his arse.

"Hurry along now Lower, if you keep flashing your arse around here anyone would think you were asking to be _f_u_c_k_ed"! Scott pulled up his underpants and shorts. "Can you anything else you need to say to me before I let you go"?

"S.... S.... Sorry again Sir and th..... th..... thank you for p.....p....punishing me Sir".

"My pleasure" Mr Ashurst smirked. "I look forward to your company first thing on Monday morning. Have a good weekend Lower"!

"Th.... th..... thank you Sir .... and you".

With that Scott left the store cupboard. He could barely walk as his arse felt so sore as it rubbed against his underpants. He made his way to his next lesson as the bell sounded to mark the end of the lunch-break and Mr Ashurst made his way to his next lesson, quietly indifferent to anything which had happened but happier now that he had released the frustration he had endured from teaching a class on fifteen sixteen year-olds and then a class of eleven twelve year-olds that morning on Young Lowers arse. "Every Year should have a whipping-boy on whom frustrated masters could take out their anger" Mr Ashurst thought to himself, whilst Scott could barely wait to go to home after school so Tom could apply some cream to soothe his aching arse and, with a bit of luck, suck Toms _c_o_c_k_.

Scott didnt see anymore of Tom in school that afternoon; they were both in separate classes for English and Science but met up after school.

"How did it go with Mr Ashurst" Tom asked.

"Awful" replied Tom, "the fat bastard only gave me fifty swats with the paddle across the seat of my shorts and another twelve with the cane across my bare butt; hes as much a psychopath as Turner .... and hes given me another _f_u_c_k_ing essay to do".

"What about this time"?

"Being honest and showing ones elders respect. The fat cunt accused me of lying to him when I said I was ill yesterday and then claimed I was answering him back when I started to protest at the number of times he kept hitting me".

"Come on Old Beam" said Jenkins, "Ill rub some cream in your butt when we get back to my house. If you still want to stay over you can".

"Yeah .... thanks. Can I phone my folks from yours to let them know where I am"?

"Of course you can" Jenkins replied, "Let me have a look at your legs". Scott turned round so Tom could have a look at his thighs. "Jesus, hes butchered you alright; I tell you what Ill do, if you can bear anything on your legs you can borrow an old pair of jogging bottoms of mine to cover up, so no-one – particularly David – starts asking awkward questions as to how you came to be spanked like I did this morning, providing you wear your shorts when were alone together".

"Deal; although Id sooner not wear anything below my waist as both my arse and legs feel sore".

"Even better! In fact, dont wear anything, either above or below your waist, when were alone; I wont complain! Your pain is my gain"!

"Bum-boy" mocked Scott.

"Takes one to know one" laughed Tom.

Both boys chatted idly as they walked to Toms home and let themselves in. Alone together Tom gave Scott a brief tour of the house – during which Scott noticed several photographs of the cute-looking sixth-former he had seen playing football outside his home and who Tom confirmed to be of his brother David – before fixing himself and Scott a drink.

"When does David get home" Scott asked.

"Anytime after six; hes probably tied-up with his after-school fraternity with our friend Mr Turner or _f_u_c_k_ing Henry somewhere. Anyway, I thought you fancied me not him, and he has got Henry as a _f_u_c_k_-buddy whereas Ive got no-one".

"You have" said Scott.

"Who"?

"Me, Stupid; I was only asking when David is back".

"Ive got you Babe; youve got me Babe", Tom started singing.

"I told you before about singing" said Scott.

"Yeah .... something about if I didnt stop it you would make me control my tongue. Come on then, youre going to have to take your kit off anyway so I can rub some cream into your butt. The only question is do you want me to control my tongue before or afterwards?! Ill have to take up singing more often I think especially if youre going to be around to appreciate it"! He took hold of Scott by his hand and led him upstairs to his room.

To be continued....