George - 2
"Hey, you, boy," a girl had called to him that first morning, "You are new here?"
"Yes, Mis Cross has just shown me around," the boy answered glumly. He felt awkward standing in front of this tall, blond girl, who was eyeing his bare thighs.
"Good. Come with me." She started marching off but the boy didnt move.
"Where are we going?" he asked when she turned and waited for him.
"Dont ask stupid questions, boy," the girl replied sharply. "You just do what I say."
"And who are you to give me orders?" George exclaimed indignantly. "You arent a teacher here."
"I am a prefect and if you dont come along this instant, I will show you what that means."
George shrugged and walked off in the opposite direction, towards the fields where he saw a soccer match in progress. It was not the right decision.
Later that day he was sitting in his class room when the door suddenly opened and the blond girl from earlier called out, "George Hines, you are wanted in the headmasters study. Come with me."
George looked toward the master who nodded. "Run along, boy. It wouldnt be wise to keep Headmaster waiting."
As the boy trotted after the tall prefect, trying to keep up with her fast pace, he asked, slightly out of breath, "What does he want with me?"
The concern in his voice made the prefect smile. "Youll find out," she said. "Yes, you will find out."
They rushed down halls until they reached the Headmasters offices. The girl knocked and, upon hearing "Enter!" pushed the boy inside.
"This is George Hines, Headmaster," she announced. "The cheeky boy I told you about this morning."
The headmaster was a tall, heavy-set man with thick glasses through which he now peered down at the boy.
"You are the new boy, I am told," he said gruffly. "Well, come inside and close the door. I dont have all day. Now, what is this all about?" The question was addressed to the girl.
"I am sorry to have to bother you with this, headmaster, but this boy was disrespectful and disobedient this morning. He deliberately walked away when I told him to follow me and he was rude when he addressed me. I had explained to him that I was a prefect and he simply ignored me. If I am to have authority over the junior boys, I really feel this boy deserves a sound caning."
George looked from the girl to the man. A caning? For not listening to a stupid girl? This cant be right. He waited for the headmaster to laugh and send them to their classrooms.
"Well, Hines? Is this true? Is Miss Harper telling it as it was, boy? Well, answer me!"
"Er - well, yes, sir. But -"
"There is no excuse for such behaviour, even from a new boy. On the contrary, I would have expected even more respect from a new student when speaking to a prefect of this school. I think six of the best will be required for such insolence. Take your shorts right down and bend over the back of this chair. Ruth, show the little scoundrel how he should position himself. Boy, I told you to take your shorts down. What are you waiting for?"
This was no dream and the boy reluctantly, his face burning with shame, unbuttoned his shorts and pushed them down.
"Underpants as well," Miss Cross snapped and the boy quickly obeyed but his face grew even redder when the girl took him by the hips, propelled him to the chair and made him bend over the back.
"Excuse me, headmaster, but six strokes is really much too lenient for such an offence. He is already eleven. A dozen should make him remember the lesson much more clearly and long-lasting."
"Excellent idea," the headmaster said as he selected a cane from an imposing-looking rack by the wall. "Twelve strokes it is. Boy, if you move out of position, Miss Cross will have to hold you down and you will get 2 extra strokes. So try to be a good little boy and stay quite still, without any noise or fuss, until you are given permission to rise."
The man took up his position and, after a lengthy pause , during which George waited anxiously, his stomach churning with dread, brought down the cane across the boys lower buttocks with such force that George imagined his bottom must already be bleeding.
"One," Ruth Cross called out.
George could not have imagined that such pain existed. The hot, burning line across his bottom made itself felt a fraction of a second after the cane had landed and the searing agony of that one stroke was almost unbearable.
Miss Cross laughed. "I believe the boy felt that one all right."
"I should hope so," the headmaster said easily as he raised the cane again. "I thought it was not my best stroke. Lets try again."
The next stroke landed a bit lower, a fraction of a centimeter below the first but to the boy it felt as if it landed exactly on top. He shrieked with the pain.
"Two."
Despite his desperate efforts not to cry, the next one, again a bit lower but very close to the previous weal, the boy burst into tears.
"Oh, please, sir, no more! It hurts! Please stop!"
Miss Cross laughed again. "It seems the lesson is starting to sink in. Three."
Again the cane hissed through the air and, with a meaty thwack! bit into the boys small bare buttocks. The boys body writhed and a small hand crept behind towards his throbbing right cheek.
"Four," Miss Cross counted, unperturbed. "Ten strokes to go."
"Oh, please, its only eight more," the bending boy wailed.
"You are getting two extra for moving," the headmaster explained patiently. "You were warned but since you dont pay attention to what we say, you will have to pay the penalty."
CRACK! - "Five." - "Ooowww - aaahhh -"
CRACK! - "Six." - "Ooowww - aaargh -"
CRACK! - "Seven." - "Oh, oh, Please, no more!"
CRACK! - "Eight" - "Ouch! Aaaarrrgh - No! Please!"
CRACK! - "Nine" - "Oh, oh, oh, -"
"Miss Clark," the headmaster paused, lowering the cane, "please hold the boys head and shoulders down. He is twisting and turning too much."
"Yes, headmaster," Miss Cross said and walked over to the boys head, placing her hands on his shoulders and pressing down firmly. "You may proceed. But he gets two extra."
And so it proceeded. Strokes ten, eleven and twelve were delivered with extra force across the parts where bottom ends and thighs begin. There were loud protests from the boy which availed him nothing.
The last four strokes were across the boys upper thighs and George thought he would surely die.
"Get up," the headmaster said, replacing the cane on the rack, "and let that be a lesson to you. In the future you will obey a prefects order to the letter or you will be paying me another visit. Understood, boy?"
"Yes, sir," George sniveled through his tears and slobber.
"Then you may get up and dress yourself. Miss Cross, please make sure the shorts are drawn up well and tight."
A further indignity for the boy when he felt the girls hands on his bottom, then gripping the waistband of his shorts and pulling them up so tight the back seam disappeared between the boys buttocks.
"Ouch," said the boy as he was propelled out of the study and back to his class.
That first day he witnessed several other boys being caned, by masters, mistresses and prefects. Most beatings were administered in public and on the bare. George, sitting on his throbbing backside, felt every cane stroke he witnessed as another hot sting in his own bottom.
That night, George had trouble falling asleep. His bottom still burned and throbbed, the scenes he had witnessed playing over and over in his mind. Bare bottoms, canes, lowering of shorts, boys bent over a chair or touching toes. This time it was a real nightmare.
And so his new life at the Rutherford Institute had begun. Not a good beginning, but considerably better than what the future held for him.