Martin Scudder, James Marshall and Paul Ammons
I have never smoked a cigarette in my life. Which is fairly unusual, given that just about all my friends did and some of them had been since they were eleven or twelve. My dad smoked like a chimney, and so did my three brothers, but I never liked the smell of it, so I never even tried it.
In the training ship it was absolutely forbidden of course. They told us on the first day that any boy caught smoking would get the cane – not that that made any difference. The real smokers carried on secretly, and I suppose if Id been a smoker the threat of a caning wouldnt have stopped me. Even after we saw one lad get six of the best for something completely different and we understood what the navy meant by a caning.
I think we were all a bit shaken by that. I mean, Id had the stick at school as much as anyone. And again off my dad when he found out, but it was nothing like as severe as what the navy dished out. When the lad whod been caned showed us the weals across his arse it was hard to believe theyd been made by the same sort of stick that had swished our bottoms when we were little lads.
My own downfall came after one of the day-long exercises we were put through to toughen us up and make us ready to be sailors. Wed been rowing for hours and then had to run round the base carrying our oars, and then wed had to haul the boats – each of which carried eight men – out of the water and up to the boat house.
"My god, I need a fag," said Martin.
"Me too," said Jim. "You got any?"
"Yeah. Lets go in the heads. Keep watch for us, Paul."
And like the stupid twat I am sometimes, I agreed. We went down to the heads and they went in and lit up. It was like the bogs at school, with two entrances, a urinal along one wall and about a dozen cubicles down the other. To keep watch I lurked in one of the entrances, so that I could at least try to look as though I was going in or coming out, and watched the surrounding area. Everything was quiet, though I could hear Martin and Jim talking quietly together. It was kind of peaceful.
But suddenly, everything went wrong.
"Paul .... Paul, for _f_u_c_k_s sake, get in here."
I ducked inside the heads and there was Jim kneeling on the ground over Martin who was lying there insensible.
"What the _f_u_c_k_ ....?" I started.
"He just keeled over," said Jim. "It must be the exercise."
"Or the fags," I couldnt help putting in.
"Help me get him up." We splashed water on his face and he groaned a bit, slapped his face fairly gently, and he opened his eyes.
"Wha .... what happened?" he asked sort of feebly.
And that was the moment when the CPO arrived. CPO Roberts, the meanest bastard on the ship.
"And whats going on here?" he demanded.
"Its Scudder, chief," I said. "He just passed out."
"Im all right," Martin said and started struggling to his feet. CPO Roberts took charge, pushing Martins head down between his knees and walking him up and down the heads till he said he was fully fit again.
"There we are," said the bastard. "Right as rain .... Hello ..... And what have we got here?"
His eagle eye had spotted the two fags still smouldering on the floor where Jim and Martin had dropped them. My stomach lurched, but more in sympathy for the other two, because I didnt think Id be caned for just keeping watch. Slowly he walked down to where the fags were lying, bent over and picked them up, holding them up so that we could see them.
"Three smokers." He grinned at us evilly. "Nothing I like better to finish the day off."
"Chief ...." I started.
"Silence, Ammons, you horrible little boy. Defaulters, tomorrow, nine sharp, all three of you."
And with the same he marched out.
They were a slight object of curiosity that night – the first boys in our billet to get the cane "Dont worry," Jim and Martin said. "Well make sure that they know you werent smoking."
But next morning, standing at attention in a line in front of the commander with our caps off and tucked under our left arms, things were different.
CPO Roberts presented the evidence. The commander surveyed us for a few seconds. "You know the rules," he said. "Six cuts apiece."
"But, sir ...." I started.
"Silence!" Roberts shouted.
"Permission to speak, sir?" I tried again.
"Five seconds, Ammons," the commander said.
"Sir, I wasnt smoking, sir."
"Chief?" The commander turned to Roberts.
"I saw all three of them go into the heads at the same time, and when I arrived there were three cigarettes burning."
"Six cuts, Ammons."
"But, sir. Thats not true, sir. There were only two cigarettes, and I never smoked one."
The commander fixed me with a glare. "Ammons, in the navy boys accept their punishment with as much grace as they can manage. I will not have argument. Nine cuts."
"But, sir....."
"Do you want a dozen, Ammons?"
"No, sir."
"Very well. Marshall and Scudder, six cuts. Ammons, nine cuts. Immediate execution. Dismiss."
Ten minutes later we were lined up at attention, stark naked, facing the wall in the guard room. The PTI who was going to cane us had got the cane out and every now and then touched our bums with it so we would know where he was going to hit us.
I was _s_h_i_t_ting myself. My guts were churning at the thought of nine strokes. Only once had I had as many as six from the headmaster – and that had been bad enough. And at least that time Id done something to deserve it.
We had to wait an age for the medical officer to come and say that we were fit enough to receive the cane: not that he was going to excuse us for any reason. When he came he must have just glanced at us because he just grunted and said, "Carry on," in a tone of voice that meant, Flog the little bastards as hard as you like.
The PTI made us about turn and then threw something at Jim and Martin. "Get those on," he ordered. They were thin, white cotton trousers like pyjamas and they pulled them on, thankful, I guess, to cover up their nakedness a bit. He must have read what I was thinking in my face, because he came right up to me, his face about three inches from mine, and said, "Oh dear. We seem to have run out of punishment trousers, Ammons. Youll have to manage without."
And his hand flashed out and gripped my prick. Naturally I recoiled away from him and he shouted, "Attention, you horrible little bastard." I straightened up and his fingers were on my prick again. "But never mind. Youll enjoy it all the more on your bare backside, wont you?" I said nothing and my prick was yanked hard. "Wont you?"
"Yes, chief," I managed to croak. He grinned wickedly but let me go. He turned away.
"Marshall. Come with me." Jim followed him into the next room and the door was shut. Martin and I were alone, but we didnt dare move from the attention position. There was silence for a minute or more and then the caning started. The first crack of the cane made us jump. We hadnt expected it to be so loud. After the third we heard Jim yell, but the slow rhythm of the punishment never stopped. After six there was a longer silence before the door opened and Jim appeared.
"Stand over there," the PTI ordered. "Hands on your head. Face the wall. If I find you touching your arse, Ill have you back inside and do it all again."
Jim obeyed him.
"Scudder. Inside." Martin went to the door, almost comically eager to get it over with now that the moment had arrived.
But the PTI didnt follow him immediately. He went to Jim, quickly pulled the cord that held up his trousers and whipped them down. They lay in a puddle round Jims feet. Then he turned to me. "There lad. You can have a look at whats going to happen to your arse presently."
And of course I had no choice but to look at what had been done to him. The six stripes had turned to dark bruise already and swollen up into great weals. Down the right hand side of his backside where the cane had whipped round and flicked him there were a couple of smudges of blood. They were spread out across his backside so every one was clear. He must have been in terrible pain.
Both of us heard Martin being caned the same way and counted off the six strokes. A couple of times he yelled. Then he was marched out and made to stand next to Jim with his hands on his head. The PTI yanked his trousers down too so I could see the six horrific weals which really stood out against the white of his skin. My mouth had gone dry and my guts were churning something horrible now that the moment had arrived.
"Ammons. Inside," the PTI ordered. I started moving towards the door. "At the double. Get those knees up. Let me see that _c_o_c_k_ swing. Up, two, three, four. Up two, three, four ....." So I arrived for my punishment, running with my knees raised to the regulation height. He made me double on the spot facing the gun for a full minute, just for the humiliation of watching my genitals bounce up and down. "Halt," he shouted, and I stood at attention.
The gun where boys were caned wasnt used for anything else. It was big and black and ideal for the purpose in a nasty sort of way. I had no idea why I was being treated so much worse than the other two. I could easily have worn the same punishment trousers that Jim had been caned in – if they really didnt have more than two pairs. At the time it was merely mystifying. Now I think it was partly because Id refused to own up to what they thought I was doing; and partly because he fancied me.
"Mount the gun," came the next order. I stepped forward and bent over the breech. Up at the end of the barrel were two sticking out lugs with holes in them. There were cords tied to these and now he used these to bind my wrists, making me stretch full length along the barrel. Then he fastened my ankles the same way to some part of the gun down near the floor behind me. Finally he brought a strap up over the small of my back and cinched it tight. I couldnt move an inch in any direction – a fact which he emphasised to me by resting his hand on my backside and then groping between my legs and giving my prick another pull.
He took his time, letting me feel the cane across my backside, stroking me with it so I would know where it was going to land. The first stroke was the most appalling thing I had ever felt in my life. I yelled at the top of my voice. The burning pain seemed to surge along the line of flesh. How could I possibly take eight more like that?
"Enjoy that, Ammons?" The whisper in my ear seemed bizarrely to make it worse. I didnt say anything.
The second lashed into me, low down, nearly on my thighs, and I strained against the belt and the ropes, but I was going nowhere. The pain was unbelievable, but by grinding my teeth together I managed to take it with no more than a stifled groan.
The next four strokes filled in the space between the first two so that there was a band of agony nearly six inches wide that seemed to have wrapped itself round my poor bottom. Id now had the same as the other two and I thought I was dying. How could I possibly take three more?
He whispered in my ear again, at the same time groping my balls again. "Enjoying it, Ammons?"
"No chief," I groaned.
He stepped back and I heard him launch himself into the stroke. The cane hissed through the air and cracked into my backside. It must have landed right across all the others because my rear end fairly exploded. I howled uncontrollably and bucked against my restraints, but it was no good. He was going to give me the full measure. The next was the worst yet. I couldnt believe that a cane, not very different from the ones Id been swished with at school, was now destroying me so completely.
The last one was the masterpiece. I yelled and yelled and couldnt stop myself for what seemed like ages. He left me stretched over that gun for what seemed like an eternity, my backside exploding in pain that went on and on. I was dying to rub myself, to stand under a cold shower, anything to relieve the fire. But I was helpless and had to endure it.
Later, I talked to other lads who had been caned, some several times, including one who had been in an approved school. There, he told me, it was the normal thing to get the cane across your bare arse. All of them said that you got used to it, but after experiencing it just the once, I sure as hell dont know how anyone could get used to punishment as severe as that.
John Kingston
"Get up."
The fair-haired little boy straightened and his hands went to his bottom. His face regstered the pain he was feeling. Six whacks with a heavy gym slipper had left him roasting.
The boy who had whacked him stood watching, the slipper still in his hand.
"So how do you like six of the best?" he asked.
"Not very nice," said the little lad, still rubbing himself.
"Have you had the cane yet?"
"No."
"Thats about three times worse, so youd better start behaving yourself, hadnt you? If you have to go up to Pattinson youll get the cane with just your pyjamas on. Dyou want that?"
"No, Kingston," he said earnestly.
"Maybe I should start using a cane. Get you used to it." He went to where the classroom cane hung from its hook beside the blackboard, took it down and whipped it sharply through the air. The boy flinched. "Right," Kingston went on. "If youre over the limit next week you can choose. Six of the slipper with your trousers down, four of the cane – or you can take your chances with Pattinson. Are you going to be over the limit?"
"No, Kingston," said the boy.
Oh yes you are, Kingston thought. "Off you go then," he said and the boy escaped thankfully into the corridor. Kingston tucked the gym slipper into the waistband of his trousers so that it was hidden by his jacket, hung the cane back on its hook and went in search of his last victim.
Hed been cultivating Oakerley for several weeks and after his last beating hed promised him the cane if he didnt reform. Last week hed let him off, but the week before that hed delivered six good whacks of the gym slipper to his bare bottom – so there was no alternative now to the cane. The kid deserved it, and he was going to get it. But maybe it would be better to wait another week.
He found Oakerley in his common room, writing home like a good little boy. Kingston hoped there was nothing in the letter about this kind boy called Kingston who was saving him from a prefects thrashing by giving him the slipper when he needed it.
"Youve got four," Kingston told him and the little lads face fell. He knew what this meant. "Go up to Room 20."
Sadly, Oakerley put away his writing materials and trudged across the yard and up the stairs to the familiar torture chamber. His eyes went automatically to the cane hanging beside the blackboard, but he couldnt look at it long. The thought of it biting into his bottom was too painful for him.
He didnt have to wait long. Kingston arrived, shut the door and immediately took down the cane, swishing it through the air.
"You know what I told you last time, dont you?" he said.
"Yes, Kingston. Im sorry. Please dont cane me."
"But you promised to behave and you didnt, did you?"
"I suppose not."
"And I have to make it worse each time, dont I?"
"But I was good last week."
"Yes, I suppose so. All right. Ill give you the slipper on your bare backside this week. But next week, if you cant behave itll be the cane or youll be going up to Pattinson. Understand?"
"Yes, Kingston."
"Right. Jacket off. Trousers down. Over the desk."
Kingston hung the cane on its hook and when he turned back Oakerley was lying across the top of the nearest desk, his trousers and pants in a bundle round his ankles. Quickly he hoisted the boys shirt tail revealing the skinny white bottom that was going to take the punishment. He didnt linger over the beating, just applied the slipper good and hard to the naked buttocks that were no bigger than a pair of grapefruit. He landed it with a satisfying loud SMACK, aiming for the left, but about an inch of the sole landed on the other buttock, so that both sides received a decent measure of pain. Oakerley took the first couple in silence, but then as the slipper landed on the same patches of skin again and again, he started to yell a little.
When it was over, there were tears hovering in the boys eyes. "Remember," Kingston said, "next week itll be the cane." The boy pulled up his clothes and escaped into the passage, rubbing his bottom furiously.
Kingston descended the stairs more slowly, the gymshoe now tucked into the back of his trousers, hidden by his jacket. His weeks fun was over, apart from checking on how Redgrave had got on. Initially, this boy had refused to believe that he had as many black marks as Kingston said, so hed been sent up for a caning. Pattinson gave him four with just his pyjamas on. After that hed allowed Kingston to slipper him a couple of times, but then he started being difficult again, so last week, hed been sent up to Pattinson again – six on his pyjamas. And again this week. He should be getting it on his bare backside this evening. Kingston remembered six of the head prefects cane on his bare bottom when he was a junior. Hed have done anything to avoid that.
He reflected on how hed got into this. It was soon after being given the job of collating all the prefects punishment books that he realised that on his say-so boys were being quite severely caned. A friend of his, called Rushton, had got two black marks from different prefects. One more and hed have been caned. For a joke, Kingston invented another black mark and wrote it on Rushtons page of the Book, and added his name to Pattinsons list of boys to be beaten. He was called down just before lights out and came back, puzzled and rubbing himself, after eight of the best across his pyjamas. Kingston felt rather sorry about that one so the following week when Devitt really did have three black marks he didnt write the third one in the book and saved him.
A couple of weeks later a good-looking little lad in the first form called Thomas had accumulated three blacks. Kingston found him in the washroom changing from a run and invited him to a meeting in Room 20. There, he outlined the proposition: up to Pattinson for the cane or take four of the gymshoe there and then from him. Of course, Thomas chose the slipper, bent over a desk and gratefully accepted the four whacks, even thanking Kingston afterwards and shaking his hand.
Now, two terms later, eight boys had benefited from Kingstons scheme. Thomas, Oakerley and Davey had all reached the stage of being slippered on their bare bottoms. Smith and England had only been whacked a couple of times each. Needham had been offered the choice of the slipper on his bare bottom or the cane and had chosen the cane. Redgrave was being difficult, but after a dose of Pattinsons cane on his bare backside hed come round.
Naturally, they hadnt all actually been given all those blacks, but there was no doubt at all that they would have been if they had refused Kingstons offer of a lesser punishment. They were mischievous boys, he told himself. They deserved to be beaten. Black marks werent a punishment at all till you got three and the beating that followed. So he was allowing justice to thrive. And the boys werent really harmed, just given a bit of a tingle in their rear ends.
And Pattinson minor, the head boys own little brother, had come to him, pleading to be whacked because he knew he had three blacks and didnt want to face his brother. This felt a bit too dangerous, but the boy begged him.
"When he caught us talking after lights out he slippered the rest normally, but he whacked me with my trousers down. Hell kill me if Ive got three blacks."
So, what could he do? The little boy even asked if he had to let down his trousers. It was a temptation, but ..... It had to be more than four, obviously. The kid took six solid whacks and thanked him profusely afterwards.
But it couldnt last. Hed always known that hed have to stop sometime. But it still came as a surprise. And it wasnt Redgrave who gave the game away. He never actually knew for certain who it was, but he suspected Oakerley, of all of them.
He handed the list in to Pattinson as usual, but instead of just taking it, the head prefect asked him to shut the door.
"I hear," he started, trying to look magisterial, "that youve been whacking first formers when they ought to have been coming up to me."
Kingstons ears were full of banging blood, but he managed to control himself as Pattinson looked fully at him.
"Is that true?"
And then he realised what Pattinson had said – whacking first formers when they ought to have been coming up to me. Maybe –
"Yes, Pattinson."
"Why?"
"Well, basically, I took pity on them. I remember being swished for blacks when I was a junior, and I thought it was too much. So ....." He let it hang there. Now is when Pattinson would bring up the matter of adding blacks to the record – if he was going to.
Pattinson looked at him, his eyes narrowed. Hed been reading Sherlock Holmes.
"It wont do, John, will it?"
"No, Pattinson." Yes! Christian name and all – a result.
"I trust you to do the job properly. The system is what it is. Its not for you to change it, or even comment, is it?"
"No, Pattinson."
"Im going to beat you. And I expect the list to be made up properly from now on. Is that clear?"
"Yes, Pattinson."
"Good. Jacket off, please. And then over the armchair. Trousers down."
Kingston hadnt been caned for over six months, and the last time had been a rather feeble four. He recognised and welcomed the old rush of adrenaline as what was going to happen sank in. He hung his jacket on the hook behind the door, then went to the armchair (my God! he wished he had half a crown for every time hed bent over this armchair). He undid his belt, unbuttoned his flies and pushed his trousers down. They fell to a heap round his ankles. He no longer had to stand on tiptoes to reach over the chair back; he just bent over and gripped the wooden ends of the arms, feeling the thin cloth of his pants pull tight as he did so.
Pattinson went to him and hoisted the shirt tail high over his back. Above the waistband of the white pants Kingstons spine was a line of bony points. He hooked his fingers into the elastic and pulled down. Kingston wasnt lying over the chair so the pants slid down easily. The buttocks were lean and hard. At the base of the spine a bony triangle marked the coccyx. The skin was white and smooth, stretched over the muscles.
Pattinson took down the cane from the mantelpiece and whipped it through the air. Three times, as he always did. Then a fourth, as he always did when it was a bare bottom he was going to beat. He lay the business end against the skin, letting the boy know where it would land. He stepped back and began the beating.
It was eight – the very least the boy could expect. And every one was laid on with a short skipping run so that the tip of the cane was travelling at maximum speed when it arrived at the target. He started slightly less than half way up the buttocks, right on the point, and then worked down in half inch gaps, covering the whole of the lower half of the backside in flaming weals. After five he had reached the tops of the thighs. So he crossed the rest so that the pain of each weal was doubled. There were some satisfactory groans from the boy, but he kept still and allowed the beating to be completed. About two thirds of the trim buttocks from thighs to coccyx were criss-crossed with harsh weals. At one or two crossing points they were on the point of bleeding, but no blood actually showed.
Kingston was breathing hard, but Pattinson wasnt about to let him up just yet. He carefully replaced the cane on the mantelpiece, sat down at the table and opened the punishment book. He found Kingstons page and wrote in the details of the beating he had just administered. It never occurred to him that he enjoyed beating younger boys, especially on their naked bottoms, but he certainly felt some satisfaction at a job well done. He looked at Kingstons backside, still stretched over the chair back. The weals were turning dark red and purple.
"Get up."
Painfully, Kingston straightened up and his hands went to his burning rear end. He liked to see boys rub themselves after a whacking and saw no reason to deprive Pattinson of the pleasure. Stooping, he pulled up his clothes and re-dressed.
"No more, John," Pattinson said. "If boys need caning they come to me. I appreciate your motives, but you cant protect them. Understand?"
"Yes, Pattinson," Kingston said.
Back outside, he rubbed himself again. His backside was still exploding satisfactorily inside his trousers. Next week – and maybe the week after – hed have to send them up for the cane. Let them see what he was saving them from. After that – well, who knows? Oakerley and Needham would definitely take the cane from him. Davey too, probably. And after a couple more doses on his bare bottom, even Redgrave might see the benefits.