From time to time the one guy who reads my stories sends me an e-mail and, recently, he asked me if I had ever caned a boy in error. Now I ask you – is it possible that Headmasters, whom everyone knows are infallible beings, could possibly cane the wrong boy? With respect to infallibility we have much in common with the popes but, of course, they have been eating humble pie in recent times and admitting to failings by earlier popes. No doubt future popes will excuse the failings of the popes we have seen in my lifetime especially when they pontificate against the millions of homo_s_e_x_uals apparently created in the image of God – but I am rambling on and have by now alienated all the Catholics who read these stories. Now there is a thought- I wonder if any Catholic lad has gone to confession and confessed that he has been reading my stories.....
I must stop getting side tracked. If I was to be really honest with you there was an unfortunate occasion when a few innocent boys did end up being walloped but, of course, as you will have guessed already it was not entirely my fault...... I suppose I had better start at the beginning.
It was a glorious summers day and I was having a little snooze in my study, dreaming of the last caning I had given, when in rushed the chemistry master.
"Headmaster! Headmaster! Something terrible has happened!"
"Oh? Dont tell me one of your experiments has worked at last, " I said.
He grinned but quickly went on to say that there was never any danger of that happening. However, a tennis ball had come into the laboratory through an open window and had unfortunately hit one of the bottles of acid and spilled its contents on to the wooden worktop where the boys were conducting an experiment. Fortunately no boy was hurt but the worktop was badly damaged and would be rather expensive to repair.
I told him to return to his class and I would investigate the matter. A few minutes later I entered the laboratory and a deathly hush fell over the class. They all stood in silence, of course, and I went over to inspect the damage. It was bad and I grimaced at the thought of having to pay for this damage because at the time the schools finances were not all that healthy.
I decided it would be an easy matter to find the culprit or culprits. I went to the games master and asked him who had been playing tennis on the court that backed on to the chemistry laboratory. He consulted a list and came up with four names. I told him to find the boys and send them to my study. This had been an easy crime to solve and I must now decide how I was going to punish them. I returned to my study and poured myself a large brandy – for purely medicinal purposes you understand – and waited for the inevitable knock on the door. I did not have to wait long. A few minutes later there was a nervous tap on the door and I bellowed "Come in!"
In trooped four fifteen year olds still wearing their all white tennis kit. There is something very alluring about slender male bodies in tennis kit. I have never been a great tennis player but I do like to watch Wimbledon every year – all those nice young men stretching and bending to reveal their beautiful buttocks to the millions of admiring viewers. They almost deserve the vast amounts of prize money on offer..... I digress as usual. These four lads looked very smart indeed and I couldnt help but glance at their bottoms and thought what good targets they would make....
They lined up in front of my desk, and one of them said, "You sent for us, Sir?"
"Yes, I did, young man. And why do you think I sent for you?" I enquired, hoping they would convict themselves in the first minute.
"I dont know, Sir," replied the same lad, all innocence and looking as though he could not have possibly done anything wrong.
I waited a few minutes before saying anything. This gave them time to reflect and perhaps own up. The lads just stood there shuffling a bit and wondering what was the problem. Eventually I told them that a tennis ball had been hit into the laboratory and caused damage and I had expected them to own up to the fact that this is what they had done. Instead of which, John Little, the nicest lad of the four, chirped in with, "But Sir, it could not have been us – we started with six tennis balls and we returned six balls to Mr James, the games master."
I began to lose my patience and yelled at them, " I am not interested in your balls!" Later on I thought I might have phrased that better - if anyone was passing outside my door and heard my yelling they might well have wondered what was going on. "You were the only ones playing tennis outside the laboratory when the incident occurred and you are all going to be caned." The boys suddenly turned a nice shade of green at this unexpected turn of events. They obviously had no idea that this had become a serious matter and, anyway, they thought they were not guilty of anything other than playing tennis.
"But Sir, " butted in Patrick Clark, a well-mannered but lazy boy.
"I do not want to hear any buts," I said, " You are all going to receive six of the best – and I may even send the bill for the damage you have done to your parents," I added smartly, thinking that would solve the problem of paying for it all.
"But, Sir," the wretched Patrick started to say.
"That is an extra stroke for you, young man – anyone else got anything to say? No? Good. Then we shall begin."
The boys were not happy. The day had not started badly for them but was ending terribly. When they set out for school that day they never imagined that they would be on the receiving end of six strokes of the cane from the Headmaster. You never know what fate has lined up for you. Some win the lottery and some end up in the cemetery – you never know. The four boys were definitely not lottery winners that day!
I lined them against the wall and thought it would be nice to let them watch the others get it. I keep a number of canes in my cupboard in case one of them breaks whilst being used. I would not like to run out of suitable canes in the middle of my work! I chose one at random and swished it around – more for effect than anything else. The boys did not seem to appreciate this as they turned a nasty grey colour. As it happens they were four very well behaved boys and I think this was going to be the first caning for all of them. Well it would be good for them. They would not like to complete their schooling without having had the pleasure of at least one caning.
I pointed to one of the four and told him to bend over my desk. I am pleased to say that once he had assumed the required position his tennis shorts were nicely stretched over his buttocks and it was clear that he had no underpants underneath. It was a lovely sight to behold and a delight for the eyes of any Headmaster worth his salt. I gave the lad his six strokes and although he squirmed and wriggled he took it all without murmur and when I told him to get up he even grinned at the others whilst rubbing his bottom madly.
I could not help but notice that the tallest of the four had developed what the Americans call a hard on and I decided he could be next. He had obviously been abroad recently and had tanned himself in the sunshine. His face and legs were nice and brown and made a sharp contrast with the white of his tennis kit. He got himself into position and I gently patted his bottom with my hand and altered his stance so that his bottom was sticking up more. I gave him his six and after each stroke not only did he squirm and wriggle like the last lad but he could not resist a series of very loud Ohs and Ouches. It was very satisfying. The third lad obviously wanted to get it over and done with quickly. He rushed to bend over my desk without even waiting for me to tell him it was his turn. Six strokes were duly delivered and he was clearly relieved when it was over. The last lad was the one who was going to receive an extra stroke but because, as you all realise by now, I am naturally a very kind Headmaster, I let him off with the same number the others had received. All four boys stood there still rubbing their bottoms and colour was beginning to return to their cheeks – and no doubt their other cheeks were a little more colourful as well! I sent them on their way and told them of the virtues of owning up when they had done something wrong. They were not impressed but decided that silence was better than renewed argument.
The next morning I was still debating with myself whether to send a bill to each of the boys parents. The problem was if one or more of the fathers refused to cough up it gave me an extra headache trying to get the money and it would create ill feeling amongst those that did pay. I was chewing over this problem when there was a faint tap on my door. "Come in!" I shouted and in came a fourteen year old lad called Glen Little, the younger brother of John, and he was looking distinctly unhappy. He held out a letter for me and I took it from him and read it. It appears he had heard that these lads had been caned for throwing a tennis ball through the lab window. Glen had gone home and admitted to his dad that he had in fact been the guilty one and his brother and the other three had been innocent all the time. It appears that Glen had been allowed out of the chemistry class to go to the toilet and he had found a stray tennis ball. He thought it would be fun to throw the ball in through the open window and perhaps cause a bit of innocent havoc. Glens father made it clear in the letter that he thought his guilty son should be given the same punishment that the others had received and he also included a signed cheque to cover the cost of the damage.
Oops! I had caned the wrong lads! How do you un-cane boys? Well it was a natural mistake, you will agree, but I might have three or even four rather angry dads to placate. In the meantime I had this little urchin to contend with – actually he too was a very handsome, if mischievous lad. I would take great pleasure in giving him his well-deserved punishment. I decided that this one could have his six strokes on his bare bottom and I ordered him to lower his trousers and his pants. It was just as well as the lad had on two pairs of underpants as a little insurance! I bent him over my desk and made sure that his unprotected, quivering bottom was protruding nicely into the air ready to receive my undivided attention. I took my time and slowly six lovely red lines appeared on his creamy coloured bottom. He yelled after each stroke but to no avail. He got the full dose and I let him stay in that position for quite a few minutes before I allowed him up when he began to rub his bum rather vigorously.
I have to say that I never did hear from any of the fathers and I was soon able to forget the matter. Mind you, every year that I watch those lovely bottoms at Wimbledon, I am reminded of the four youngsters who had to bend over for no fault of their own. I am sure that if they ever get to read this they will be pleased to know that they gave me a lot of pleasure and I am sort of sorry........