Dr de Ville said "In a moment the boys to be punished shall be brought here. I remind you that this is a sad day for Thistletop. This is a very serious matter. Any boy observed viewing this occasion with levity or any other kind of disrespect will be brought on to the stage today to share the punishment of the others. There will be silence until you are dismissed."
The Headmaster waited until he was sure his strictures had sunk in. Then he said "Standish, fetch the boys who are to be punished if you please."
Standish hurried out.
A little while before, the glum youths standing outside Wilkins' study door were interrupted from their grim reveries by Wilkins and Standish exiting the room and walking off without so much as a glance at the birch fodder.
A minute later Fanshaw came out and addressed the boys. "OK, its not long now," he said "it will soon be over for you all."
The boys managed to look even glummer on hearing that cheery prognostication.
Fanshaw continued "I want you in line thus: Smith, Dobson, Thorpe, Melrose, Petreson, Drummond, Atkins."
The boys got into order keeping their hands on their heads all the time.
Atkins worked out that he had drawn the short straw: he was to be first. Perhaps, though it was the long straw, his ordeal would be over soonest. The other youths, each according to his innate rate of cognition, rapidly worked out their own positions in the thrashing order.
"When I give the word you will follow me and Smith will head your line" said Fanshaw. "When we arrive in the Assembly Hall all you need to do is obey each instruction as it is given to you. You are not required to think. Also, because the proceedings will take a long time Dr de Ville has decided that only the boy waiting his turn as next for birching need put his hands on his head. Don't worry you will be reminded when." He paused while the boys assimilated this then continued "Atkins, you will keep your hands on your head until it becomes time to kneel on the birching stool." Atkins blanched. Fanshaw addressed the others "When not required to have your hands on your head you will stand to attention. Got it?"
"Yes Fanshaw" all the boys mumbled.
A couple of minutes later Standish appeared. He was slightly out of breathe. Smith, who had become slightly detached again, thought wryly that Standish needn't have bothered hurrying.
Standish addressed Fanshaw, "A couple of things I should have told you earlier. First, the boys will remove their plimsolls before they enter the hall. This will look less disorganized than them doing so on the stage and the gangway to the stage has been checked for tacks and other sharp objects. Second, each boy when he is due for birching will have his shorts taken down by one of the prefects. This will be done from behind with the boy standing facing the audience. The boy will be expected to step out of them, pick them up, and hand them to the prefect who will then toss them into a pile in the corner. Incidentally, the boy will be expected to replace his hands on his head and wait while the Headmaster says what ever he feels necessary to say."
"Yes" said Fanshaw looking puzzled, "that was not how it was done for Hetherington. Who choreographed this?"
"Not Dr de Ville" said Standish. "He left the details to Wilkins and Aubrey but he said he wanted the offenders to be fully humiliated and for there to be a sense of occasion and gravitas to impress on the on-looking boys what a serious affair a birching is. He wants a real "example" to be made."
Six out of the seven waiting boys didn't like the new arrangement at all, one was too numb to care either way. Johann would have preferred being allowed to take down his own shorts and certainly didn't like the idea of definite full frontal exposure to those looking on. None of them knew that Miss Hodkins would be present and would shortly be in a kind of spinsters' heaven.
The punishment detail were swiftly ushered to the hall. Again there was a difference from Hetherington's experience, the party were taken to the main entrance rather than the stage entrance. After the boys had removed their plimsolls Standish opened the door and signalled Wilkins. Wilkins nodded at Dr de Ville and then stepped to the front of the stage. Wilkins boomed out "Smith, at the double come up on to the stage!"
Smith was taken aback but obeyed immediately. He trotted barefoot down the gangway leading to steps at the bottom of the stage. He knew all eyes were upon him and reddened. Suddenly a thought occurred – was he to be first after all? He ascended the steps and faced Wilkins who directed him to stand at the far end of the wall to the right of the stage, where he had an excellent view of the birching stool, and facing outwards to the audience. Smith did as bidden and stood to attention. He felt very uneasy.
"Dobson!"
"Thorpe!"
"Melrose!"
"Petreson!"
Johann's heart sank when his name was called. Immediately he started trotting toward the stage. The distance seemed immense. He knew that the hall was packed. He couldn't see all the faces but he was aware of those lining the aisle watching him intently. He like all those before him had reddened. He took his place next to Melrose.
"Drummond!
"Atkins!"
Before Atkins set out Standish whispered "Put your hands on your head and keep them there until told otherwise." Atkins complied. Some of the boys he passed were puzzled why Atkins was the only one with his hands on his head. Atkins didnt know this. The boys concerned would work out the underlying logic soon enough.
Standish and Fanshaw followed Atkins at a dignified pace and joined the party on the platform.
Dr de Ville had been seated on the left side of the stage whilst these preliminaries took place. He rose and walked to the centre of the front of the stage.
Meanwhile, Miss Hodkins had been staring through her opera glasses at the steadily increasing number of half naked youths assembling on the right hand side of the stage. She was thrilled and anticipated much greater delights. Her position at the back of the right hand side of the balcony was ideal for viewing the occupant of the birching stool since the business end of it was angled toward her.
She watched Dr de Ville rise and hunched down a little in her seat lest he spot her. He stood for a while saying nothing. The total silence in the hall held an urgent expectancy.
The Headmaster spoke: "You all know why these dreadful proceedings have to take place. I shall not reiterate. However, I shall give you a brief reminder of each delinquent's sins before he receives his much deserved punishment." The Headmaster nodded to Standish.
Standish led Atkins to near the front of the stage a few feet to the left (right from Miss Hodkins' view) and a little behind Dr de Ville. He stepped behind Atkins, grasped the waistband of Atkins' shorts with two hands and slowly pulled them down. (Incidentally, the slow descent was not primarily to enhance humiliation. Standish was aware that Atkins might have an erection, to pull his shorts down suddenly might catch his member and cause pain. By doing it slowly he would become aware of anything being caught and would be able to ease the shorts forward before continuing.) There was a muted gasp from the audience. Gradually, every facet of the front of Atkins was revealed and, soon, when he walked toward the "stool", the rear would be viewed too. Atkins was by now red in the face, neck and chest. He stepped out of his shorts and, when told, bent over, picked them up and handed them to Standish. Atkins replaced his hands on his head and Standish tossed Atkins' shorts to the corner of the stage near Smith.
Miss Hodkins stared with delight as the assets of the youth before her were revealed. Her hands trembled so much that she had difficulty keeping her opera glasses in position. Never before had she seen a naked potent male in the flesh. True, she had seen her nephews naked when they were aged about five but that wasn't, definitely wasn't, the same thing. Once she had seen a photograph of Michelangelo's statue of David and been vaguely disappointed. This was the real thing. Admittedly this was an adolescent boy mid way to becoming a man but the view was breathtaking. Of course, if Miss Hodkins had been a half way respectable spinster she would by now have blushed deeply, possibly screamed and, certainly, run out of the hall. Miss Hodkins, restless though she was, sat as quietly as she could manage.
Before Miss Hodkins, and the rest of the audience, of whom Miss Hodkins was now unaware, stood a figure of fascination (to say the least). Previously in this tale Atkins has been described thus:
"Atkins was quite tall for his age but not remarkably so. He was slender but not skinny. There was sign of muscular development in his arms and legs and indication of abdominal musculature. His countenance was pleasant, eyes blue, and hair blondish (and a bit too long by Thistletop standards so a cut was due soon). His arms, legs and chest where seemingly devoid of hair though if one looked very closely there were tiny blond extrusions on his skin. Apart from his head and underarms the only hairs to been seen were pubic ones. These were blond and surrounded a, for his age, respectably sized flaccid penis, and a scrotum in which the testes were dangling at their full extend, the room was warm. The pubic hairs on his lower abdomen ended in a neat line, as if cut but they weren't, well below his navel and there was no trace of straggling hairs reaching toward the navel. His body still bore a slight tan acquired during the summer holidays and the skin that his bathers had covered was distinctly lighter."
That description was the Atkins of a few months ago. Some changes have taken place, all for the better. Atkins' musculature is better defined but still consistent with mid-teens rather than manhood. His pubic hairs form a thicker growth though this does not depart from the boundaries already defined. His penis, still flaccid, is markedly more adult but still has a little way to go. His scrotum is a bit fuller though its occupants will soon fly upwards as a consequence of the cool breeze crossing the stage.
Miss Hodkins was not the only admirer of the naked form on display. Quite a few of the boys, particularly the more senior ones, were enjoying the vista. They fell into three categories: those who felt self disgust or guilt at admiring (lusting after) a male figure but did so nonetheless, those who would prefer to ogle a female but given the constraints of a boys' school would take what comes, and those, a small minority even by English public school standards, who dreamt about fondling a body such as this but never dared admit it (these latter sublimated their desires in manly games such as rugby, talking incessantly about women, and masturbating to mental images of boys in the fourth form.) In addition to the spinster and the unrestrained adolescent boys at least three masters, one of whom was married, were having unsettling thoughts too.
Dr de Ville, who, though he dare not admit it, got more of a thrill from reading Ovid than from _s_e_x_, was unaware of the interesting chemistry and pheromones (unknown at that time) that his theatrical event was invoking. He looked toward the naked form of Atkins, as _s_e_x_ually uninteresting to him as the carcass of a sheep, and said "Atkins is being punished mainly for his part, admittedly a subordinate one, in the deception that led to the wrongful expulsion of Wilkins. His crime was mendacity through a sin of omission. He shall receive six strokes of the birch laid on hard."
Dr de Ville turned toward Wilkins and said "Get him into position if you please."
Wilkins stepped forward and stood beside Atkins. He noticed, as had Miss Hodkins through her opera glasses, that Atkins' eyes were very moist. He placed his right arm across Atkins bare shoulder and whispered "Come, it will soon be over". He gently turned Atkins and led him toward the dreaded birching stool. To Atkins the journey seemed almost infinite, yet it was just a few steps.
The assembled throng had a view of Atkins from the rear. Previously it was noted that Atkins' bottom "was muscular and very well rounded". The passage of time had done nothing to diminish this asset. If anything, Atkins' bottom protruded a little more and the upwards and downwards motions of his buttocks as he approached the "stool" delighted the aficionados in the audience. Quite a few boys in the audience, and one master, had felt a stirring in their trousers. So too, did Drummond, Petreson, Melrose and Smith. Fanshaw, whose interests were genuinely towards girls, was not immune on this occasion either.
Atkins was a foot away from the "stool" with Fanshaw on one side and Wilkins the other. Wilkins placed a hand on Atkins' shoulder and bade him kneel. Atkins did so and leant forward a little so that he was touching the upward curve of the "stool". Fanshaw immediately realised that the base of the stool was too low. He asked Atkins to stand again and adjusted the base of the stool upward. Atkins resumed his position.
Fanshaw and Wilkins exchanged glances. The covert message was "Do you do it or do I?" Wilkins' message somehow conveyed the idea that he was the senior and that the unpleasant task was being delegated to the junior. Fanshaw nodded but managed to convey "You do it next time." The prefects knelt beside Atkins. Fanshaw insinuated his hand to where Atkins' penis and balls dangled. Gently he grasped Atkins equipment and made sure it was safely stowed in the crevice in the "stool". Atkins gasped, his member stiffened.
While Fanshaw was tucking away Atkins' crown jewels Wilkins was easing Atkins body up and over the top of the "stool". Finally, Atkins was positioned such that his crotch was in intimate contact with the front of the apparatus and his belly and chest were on the downward slope. Fanshaw and Wilkins moved to the front and guided Atkins' hands to the bar that he was to grip. Atkins was sobbing softly. Wilkins placed his hand gently on Atkins back and whispered "You can bear it." Then he and Fanshaw place their hands gently on Atkins' left and right shoulders respectively. Each was ready to tighten his grip considerably as the blows rained down.
While Atkins was being positioned the PE master had risen from his seat and walked over to the barrel. The barrel was in Atkins' line of vision. He saw the master look at the labels on the protruding rods. The master selected one and withdrew it. Atkins had sight of a monstrous birch, a birch dripping saline (Atkins thought it was water). Still within Atkins' sight the master flicked the birch vigorously in order to throw off excess liquid. Atkins experienced true fear.
Dr de Ville had decided that he must share the burden. Although his shoulder seemed fully recovered he did not wish to risk a relapse. Thus he had concluded that he would give only the last two strokes in each case except for Smith who would be dealt with differently. The other two masters on the stage would give the majority of strokes. There were further advantages to this tactic: the other masters were younger and thus could apply brute force better than he, yet with his batting skill and extensive experience of administering corporal punishment he could employ finesse in making the last two strokes particularly painful. So it would be.
Atkins heard the master walk round behind him. He felt the grip on his shoulders by the prefects increase slightly. He grasped the bar before him more tightly. He felt sweat break out on his back. He felt his penis, which had enlarged when handled (gently it must be said) by Fanshaw go rapidly fully erect: so erect that it was rubbing potentially painfully and certainly erotically against its confining walls. His breathing almost stopped. He waited.
"Proceed please" said Dr de Ville.
He waited.
Footsteps as of someone walking away from him.
The footsteps stopped.
The slight squeal of leather as someone turned around rapidly.
Silence.
Suddenly he became fully aware of his taught, well spread, buttocks, his vulnerable buttocks. Perhaps it was a breath of cool air caressing them that brought about this realisation. Immediately, he felt immense shame and embarrassment. Here he was with his bum, and probably his arse hole, fully exposed to an audience. Since assuming this position he had not been aware of his audience. The audience was silent, too silent.
From behind he heard someone take in a great gasp of air. He hear motion, footfalls, a scuffing sound as of someone running who had suddenly stopped.
Brief silence.
A swish. Getting louder. Oh no!
Contact.
Miss Hodkins had been enthralled as she watched Atkins being led into position. She had watched his buttocks rise and fall as he was taken to the "stool". They were so pale, so untouched. When they moved she saw them ripple, the ripple of active young muscle, little of fat.
He had bent and then knelt at the foot of the idol that was to consume him in pain. When he knelt his legs had spread and his buttocks had parted and expanded in volume. The lively young haunches had diverged, within the view of her opera glasses, to reveal the portal to his ultimate degradation. Yet that portal was not to be explored today. Rather, it was the fleshy mounds that surrounded it that were to be laced by fire. Miss Hodkins had not understood the latter observations in an intellectual sense but at a deeper, visceral level, she absorbed their import.
But, the boy had been bidden to rise. Yet satisfyingly soon he was down again and his position was somehow yet more pleasing. Now he was truly embracing the idol. His buttocks were raised high and tight, his chest and abdomen were pressed firmly against the smooth woody flesh of his seductress. The acolytes of this goddess of pain were gently holding his shoulders. The boy seemed content and waiting.
Yet, whilst these thoughts were passing through her mind the spinster saw the harbinger of pain pick a rod of agony from amongst, what seemed to her fevered brain to be, a barrel of spitting vipers, flex it and then withdraw behind the body of the sacrificial victim. Oh, how she yearned for the boy to rear up in pain. Oh, how she wanted to be the bearer of his suffering. Oh, how she wanted to bring the wrath of a thousand gods upon all the members of the _s_e_x_ that had spurned her.
(Author's note: I am finding it exceedingly difficult keeping up with the overheated imagination of Miss Hodkins. I admit that I created this character but she is getting out of hand; I shall turn to a different camera angle; perhaps I shall come back to the spinster later but I need to cool my now feverish brow before trying to enter her head again.)
Hetherington was sitting a third of the way back from the stage. He had a clear view of the proceedings without having to crane his neck uncomfortably. He and one other were the only participants who knew what being birched was like. He unlike the other, Wilkins, was the only one who knew what it was like to be birched in public. His viewpoint was detached, perhaps clinical is the better word. He took an almost professional interest. He had seen Atkins led into position. He had observed the hiccup when it was obvious that Atkins' position was incorrect. He had seen Atkins' position adjusted. He had seen the apparent fumbling as Atkins was finally put in place. He knew what Fanshaw had been required to do. He knew how Atkins felt about what Fanshaw had been required to do. He surmised what the effect on Atkins of Fanshaw's manipulations had been. He watched with bated breath as the master, birch in hand, had stepped back, had turned, had raised the birch high and then taken quick steps forward with the birch arcing swiftly toward its target. He knew what Atkins felt as he heard the awful swish before the birch made contact. He knew what contact meant.
At that instant Atkins too knew what contact meant: initially nothing. The force of the blow swept him bodily forward despite the fact that he had little freedom of movement. His first sensation was not in his bum. The initial pain was from the tip of his erect penis, the foreskin having fully retracted, as it was thrust hard against the end of the cleft in the "stool" that housed the organs of his pudenda. It was only after his body had rebounded from the outward thrust that he became aware that anything was amiss in his buttocks. That realisation was sudden.
Smith, at the far end of the line of youths awaiting punishment, was well placed to view Atkins' face. He saw the birch descend forcefully upon Atkins' rear although he could not see the shapely bottom itself. Smith heard a loud wet thwack. Briefly, after the moment of contact, Atkins' wore a puzzled expression. Rapidly, even as the birch was being lifted away from his rear after having rested there a few instants, Atkins' face contorted. His arm, back and abdominal muscles tensed as his body attempted to rise upwards but his movement was restricted to a couple of inches by the now fierce pressure of the prefects upon his shoulders. Atkins yelled once and then lapsed into silence. His body, under the now gentler encouragement of the prefects, subsided to its previous position. Atkins resumed a grip, now tighter, of the wooden bar in front of him. His facial expression relaxed somewhat but remained tense.
Johann had watched that first stroke rain down with terror in his heart, almost as if he were at the receiving end. Perhaps the terror was accentuated because he knew he would soon be a recipient, an unwilling worshipper at the alter of pain. He saw contact made, he heard the contact made (a sound that would remain with him for the rest of his life), he saw the birch being withdrawn, he saw Atkins' body tense, he heard the yell.
As the PE master slowly resumed his starting position changes to Atkins' previously pristine bottom became apparent. A tracery of fine red lines was forming across his mid and lower buttocks. They didn't look much yet but Johann knew that if left to themselves they would become more vivid. They were not to be left; they would be added to and criss-crossed as more blows fell. Johann also knew that, particularly at the points of crossing, overt bleeding was apt to occur. It would be no dramatic flow of blood that needed staunching: it would be a capillary ooze. Johann also knew that bits of twiglet would be left embedded in the flesh and that their removal later by Matron would be painful. Johann wanted to close his eyes, to see no more. Yet he realised that the sounds on their own would be more terrifying.
Although Atkins had witnessed a birching before and heard many tales of it he had, until that first blow, no real understanding of how painful it was, of how unbelievably more painful than routine chastisement by Dr de Ville (or indeed by Smith). After the blow had landed there had been an instant of no pain; Atkins' momentary worry had been the discomfort in the end of his penis. The pain didn't trickle in, it cascaded as in a flash flood. One moment nothing, the next coruscating pain. Even though the pain came suddenly it did not ease rapidly. Indeed, for a few moments agony crescendoed upwards from a high starting point to reach an unthinkable pinnacle (a bit like a crazy conductor at the loudest point of The Rite of Spring suddenly ratchetting up his orchestra's volume fivefold from what would usually be thought safe for the players' and audience's hearing.)
Atkins' yell was muted in comparison to the surprise and pain the blow had elicited. It was as if his capacity to express his feelings had been overwhelmed by those feelings. He wasn't trying to be brave, he knew there was no point.
Atkins was vaguely aware of the damp twigs being lifted from his behind and the footsteps of the master retreating to his spring-off point. The pain had diminished sufficiently from its peak for Atkins' cognition to switch in again. Akins had the capacity for fear returned to him. He knew another blow would come, he knew it would be agony, but he didn't know when. Obviously it would happen within the next few seconds but Atkins would prefer to know exactly when; Atkins wanted to prepare, to gather such fortitude as he might, to tense at the right moment. Yet Atkins could not see what was happening behind him. For knowledge he relied on sound (footsteps and the anticipatory swish) and the tensing of the prefects grip upon his shoulders. In those waiting moments he had time for an irrelevant thought: wouldn't it be so much better if the master applying the birch were to ask his victim to say when he was ready to receive each blow? Oddly, that thought remained with Atkins when his ordeal was over.
Drummond, who now was first in line and had his hands on his head, didn't feel at all well. Already there was sweat on his back. His feelings were mixed as he watched the PE master raise the birch and begin his hop-skip-and-jump like movement towards his friend's exposed rear. On the one hand Drummond wanted it to end. On the other hand he wanted it to go on forever so that his turn would never come.
The birch made very firm contact. The thwack sound was much less squishy as the twigs had shed most of their saline. As before, Atkins was pushed forcibly forward. As before, he tensed and vainly attempted, in a reflex manner, to rear up. As before he yelled. Not as before, the yell was shrill, loud and protracted. Atkins settled back down but muffled sobs could be heard by those on the stage as the PE master prepared for his next sortie.
Miss Hodkins was experiencing very strange feelings as the PE master prepared and delivered his next stoke. The repressed maternal part of her found it horrifying. The man-hating element found it fascinating. Her virginal repressed _s_e_x_uality found it delicious; indeed she was feeling distinctly damp within her knickers; perhaps her true vocation should have been dominatrix.
Adlington minor, a character whom we have not yet met and with whom we shall be acquainted only briefly, was sitting a few seats down the row from Miss Hodkins. He was thirteen and a three quarter years old and in the most junior form. He and the other juniors had been excluded from Hetherington's birching. Of course they had all heard the gory details later but that was not the same as witnessing the event. Adlington wasn't quite sure why they were being allowed to see this one; he recollected something about the Headmaster saying that this was to be an example of the consequences of "mendacity" but he wasn't sure what mendacity was; presumably it was a much worse sin than masturbation – a hobby that Adlington had recently taken up in a big way. He was both intrigued by and fearful of the proceedings. He never wanted to end up with his naked bum stuck in the air and beaten with such a fearsome instrument. Yet, there might be some satisfaction in being the wielder of the instrument. Adlington resolved to put being a school master among his career options.
After the fourth blow Atkins let out a tremendous yell. It was followed by loud racking sobs audible throughout the hall. His entire bottom was visibly ablaze. From more than three feet away the individual traceries were invisible: they merged into a general lividity. The redness extended to his upper thighs and a little to the side of Atkins' left hip where the tips of the most distal birch twigs had curled round.
Atkins' pain was centred on his bottom but it seemed to encompass his entire body. His flesh felt alive with dashing fires. The effects of the saline had kicked in. Anyone near enough could see involuntary ripples (accompanied, or rather prompted, by pain) running across Atkins' gluteal structure.
Atkins' mind had numbed but not enough to diminish pain nor to dampen all thought. Atkins was aware of a pause. There wasn't the sound of the PE master returning, as on the previous three occasions, to his starting position. Instead he seemed to be walking further away. For an instant Atkins dreaded that this was in order to take a longer run for a much more powerful swing. Then Atkins realised that the distance walked would have resulted in the master falling off the stage. Then he heard the PE master say "Headmaster".
Hope welled into Atkins' mind. Was it over? Had they decided that he had had enough? Most surely he had.
Hope was dashed when he heard the Headmaster say "Thank you, I shall take it from here." He heard footsteps approaching the spot behind his rear where the PE master had stood before.
The audience had been utterly silent to this point. The Headmaster's intervention in the drama had its usual effect of pushing silence into negative decibels: sound was sucked from the room.
Dr de Ville, in his heyday, was an unusual cricketer in that he was equally adept using left or right arm in batting and bowling. "Ambi Ville", as he was known on the pitch and in the pavilion, caused consternation among the opposing team by suddenly switching from left to right hand. This was to be another such occasion though the consternation, rather pain, would be felt by Atkins and those to follow.
The PE master was wholly right handed. Thus Dr de Ville decided to deliver his two blows left handed. In that way the birch would surely reach parts which hadn't hitherto been explored with full force. This was not an act of cruelty. It was merely a consequence of the Headmaster's determination that these punishments would be soundly administered and remembered by the school community. Indeed, if mendacity and abuse of power were to be eradicated this day's events must become integral to the Thistletop mythology of boys yet to attend the school. Dr de Ville looked grim as he flexed the birch and approached his starting point.
Meanwhile the cat was lying on its back in the school grounds having its tummy tickled by Mr Pilchard. Said man had made many birches but had never seen one used in anger. He didn't much care to. Though he came from abominable genetic stock and was not too bright he was a kindly man. He could not understand why the gentry treated their sons so harshly. However, as already mentioned, no Pilchard had ever extended the British Empire or done an act of derring-do.
Drummond was beyond unhappiness. Two strokes to go and it would be his turn. He had heard each of Atkins' increasingly loud cries. He could see the Technicolor (a format only recently on show in British cinemas) effects of the birch on his friend's posterior and those were after only four strokes. Somewhere in the deeper recesses of his mind a brighter side was found: nothing had stirred in his shorts, though it might had he been a dispassionate member of the audience, and he would not embarrass himself in that respect. His primary emotion was fear. His shoulders, though he was not aware, were slippery with sweat, that would bring little joy to the prefects who were to hold him down. Also, though nothing had stirred below there was plenty of sweat on his wedding tackle and that would bring no pleasure to Wilkins whose turn it would be to position them.
Dr de Ville's first (left handed) swing resulted in a mighty swish and a resounding thwack. Atkins was thrust more forcibly into the embrace of the "stool" than on previous occasions. The subsequent constrictions of his muscles were much more marked. He let forth a scream that slowly subsided into deep sobs. Between the sobs the prefects restraining him heard him gasp "Please, no more!"
Drummond was feeling distinctly worse and had begun to tremble. Johann's face became ashen. Melrose and Thorpe, looking on in horror, each felt weak at the knees. Dobson had retreated into an internal hell, his eyes moist and his lips moving in half formed soft sobs. Only Smith appeared to possess poise. He alone had not adopted a slouching stance at attention. He stood fully upright with his gaze fixed, apparently dispassionately, on the awful work being wrought by the birch. Although he couldn't see Atkins posterior, the yells, and now scream, and the expression on Atkins' face told him all he needed to know. Smith's demeanour was deceptive: he had already deduced the torment that twelve, nay ultimately twenty four, strokes would bring; he hoped fervently that no more than two strokes would be inflicted by Dr de Ville; he almost begged God, the one who didn't exist for Smith, that Dr De Ville's shoulders would give out again; had he so begged, God would not have been listening – how could he if one does not exist in Smith's cosmos?
The final blow resulted in a yet louder scream. There had been no discomforting twinge in the Headmaster's left shoulder. Dr de Ville handed the birch back to the PE master and returned to his seat. The PE master placed the birch on the floor next to the barrel.
Wilkins and Fanshaw slowly eased a stiff and painful Atkins, who was now blubbing without check, into standing position. Wilkins signalled to two prefects sitting in the front row of the auditorium. They arose and hurried up the steps to the stage. Atkins was given into the care of the prefects who helped Atkins in a slow descent of the steps and on the long walk to the doors at the far end of the hall. Neither Atkins nor the others were to be spared, by egress through the doors at the back of the stage, the long ignominious parade through the audience.
Atkins was barely aware of the many faces that gazed upon him as he stumbled down the aisle. Those closest to him as he passed could see that Atkins' body was drenched in sweat. Atkins made no attempt to cover his crotch; there was little to see as his organs, usually impressive for his age, seemed to have shrivelled up. To the near onlookers the tracery of birch twig marks was apparent all over Atkins' rump and upper thighs; all that people further away could see was an expanse of crimson. Those nearer were treated to the spectacle of twitches and ripples on Atkins' behind. Also, many small beads, and in places smears, of blood were visible on the ravaged buttocks and thighs.
To be continued. (All commercial rights to the Thistletop stories are retained by their author.)