The time was 4.06pm and he was standing in his study, wearing nothing but a black shower robe. He was waiting for his fags to arrive….at the same time almost wishing they wouldn’t. Obviously, they’d be late, since the system was set up to ensure this was always so. Then the door opened, and they both emerged. In accordance with fagging protocol, neither had needed to knock. “Sorry we’re late, Sir….” they both said in unison, “….which will be six strokes onto each of your beat sheets,” he said sternly, even as he watched Harry Herbert Orwell stripping off his pink clothes, and folding them neatly onto the floor. “There’s no need to wear your fagging uniform right now, bad boy,” he said gratingly, “since I’ve a special treat for you….so step over here, starkers.”
He duly did so, his shaft straining in the expectation of further flogging. “I was able to screw Daffy Saffy this morning,” he said, “however, she insisted you should administer half her sodding Sex Thrashing of a dozen due….” there were two gasps, “….for some starkers swishing, with Victoria watching the whacks. So take my shower robe….” he slipped it off and handed it over, “….and my cane, for six of the best.” He watched whilst the pupil in the pink put it on, and then wielded the weapon, flexing it firmly between his fingers. Hell….this was so humiliating, and they’d hadn’t even started the swishing. “Lie down on the bed….bad boy,” he said, “We’ll start with two pairs, in the staccato style. My fearsome fagmaster has so often said they’re much more effective. The second such stings much more, since it lands on the same spot.” Which was the case, as he lay down, with Victor Rear smiling sweetly. It was pure PWEP….Punishment With Extreme Prejudice, when one was whacked with younger years watching.
SWISHHHTHWACKKKK SWISHHHTHWACKKKK
“OOO..HOO….TWO, thank you, SIR,” he gasped. Such strokes were worse, since they struck straight downwards. “This is something I honestly never expected,” said Horrible Harry, “but then there’s the unwritten rule: Never Say Never At St Sticks.” There was no doubt he could cane competently and convincingly….rot his socks.
SWISHHHTHWACKKKK SWISHHHTHWACKKKK
“YEEEE..HAAA….FOUR, thank you, SIR,” he gasped, wiggling his waist with the Wild West Words. He’d often used them for canings in class in the past. “It’ll be one more whack for Incitement,” he said sternly, “however we’ll administer it in the Position For Punishment.”
SWISHHHTHWACKKKK
“YAROOO….FIVE, thank you, SIR,” he gasped. “Do you agree starkers swishings are more effective, bad boy?” he asked conversationally, “and if so, why?” Sod it, since this was simply studied sadism….of the sort he himself meted out as a matter of course.
“As indeed you did to me only a few moments ago, Richard,” he reminded him gently.
“Yes, Sir,” he admitted, “since there’s huge helpings of humbling and humiliation to be had.” There were two separate sniggers. “Victor,” said H2O, “go and get Sir’s S7….” NO, “….whilst I conclude his Caning For Cunt.”
SWISHHHTHWACKKKK
“YIKES….SIX….six of the best, thank you, SIR,” he gasped, “I know I needed it, Sir.” But not necessarily from him. “Stand up….Sharp,” he said, “since it seems a shame not to give you a go with the Standard St Stricktlands School Study Scrotum Snatcher. Let’s have your hands behind head, legs spread….and bend over, bad boy.” Accordingly, he formed the angle, and gritted his teeth as he saw the S7 slowly snaking upwards. It was always the anticipation of the agonies which got him, even before his gonads were grabbed. Both his fearsome fagmasters in past years had been experts in the art.
“Wasn’t it Gerald van der Bilt for you last year?” he asked, “but what about Year….well, I suppose it would have been LXXXV?” The other nodded. “Jerry Built indeed,” he agreed, “but for my junior fagging it was Francis Chester. He was a gay guy known as Francesca. He never buggered me about, but he did seem to use the S7 at every available opportunity. Several times he swished some spunk out of the senior fag with me watching….it was Red Ted, I rather recall. But then Edward Redfearn was one of The Six X-hibiti♂nists, so I doubt he minded much. Horrible Harry did something similar….” he shrugged, “….the same as I’ve done to him over the past year, so I suppose revenge must have been sweet.”
“AHHH,” he gasped as the white teeth snatched his scrotum. “Close your legs,” he ordered.
SWISHHHTHWACKKKK
“YEZZ….SEVEN, thank you, SIR,” he gasped. “Stand up, bad boy,” he ordered. “AHHH….AHHH….AHHH,” he added as he slowly did so, and the teeth tugged at his testicles. Alas, he knew only too well what would be next. “AHHHHHHH….me balls, SIR….” he gasped as the handle was depressed down his derrière, “AHHHHHHH….AHHHHHHH.” Inevitably, his shaft was straining strongly. “Pull the penis properly perpendicular….” he ordered, when the handle was back on its original position, “….and then wank your willy worthlessly. I suggest you spunk in short order, since it’ll be one whack per second of stroking. I’ll assist with the S7.”
A classic case of penile pleasure, plus pain. “UHHH,” he moaned, “UHHH….UHHH….AHHHHHHH….UHHH….UHHH….AHHHHHHH….” he fondled his fancy furiously, hoping desperately the end wouldn’t be terribly far off? “….UHHH….AHHHHHHH….UHHH….UHHH….AHHHHHHH….OMG….I’m spunking, SIR….AHHHHHHH….UHHH….YESS….YESS….YESS.” Idly, he watched whilst several spurts of semen short out of his shaft, and fell onto the floor. “What do you reckon, Victor?” asked Harry Herbert Orwell. “Six seconds, Sir,” he said, firmly. “Spread your legs, and bend over again, bad boy,” he ordered, “this time it’ll be in threes.” He duly did so. “Ohh,” he moaned as the S7 was removed.
Swishhhthwackkkkk Swishhhthwackkkkk Swishhhthwackkkkk
“Owww….OWWW….WOWW,” he gasped, “a total of ten, SIR.” Worse was the junior fag’s smiling face. It was simply Schadenfreude, the Enjoyment Of Another’s Misfortune.
“Something with which St Sticks suffers in spades, Richard,” he agreed amiably.
Swishhhthwackkkkk Swishhhthwackkkkk Swishhhthwackkkkk
“Ouch…OUCH….OUCH….ONEDEEN, thank you, SIR,” he gasped, “a beastly Baker’s beating, thank you, Sir.” Or indeed thirteen in old money. “I can’t necessarily knacker your nuts,” he said, “as it wouldn’t be properly professional. However, Victoria can do so….into submission, whilst I replace the S7 on your back wall.”
The junior fag promptly proceeded around him. “Thank you, Harry….err….Sir,” he said, “I shall enjoy it immensely, since it’s not often I have the opportunity to do this to such a big bad boy….let alone a prefect.” Then he took hold of the offered organs. “AHHH….AHHH….AHHH….” he gasped, “AHHH….AHHH….AHHH….AHHH….I submit, SIR.” Hell, this WAS the height of humiliation, being knackered naked by his own junior fag. “You can sign my sheet….Sharp,” he said, “and afterwards I’ll demand my dues.” He waited whilst he was handed pen and paper.
St Stricktlands School Stretch Slave Sheet for: Victor Rear
The undersigned hereby humbly undertakes to bare his balls and accept a suitable
stretching at any time and any place by his Master or Mistress. The balls should be bared
completely before the scrotum is stretched.
Then he signed away his pride in the next available space….Richard Sharp.
“AHHH….AHHH….AHHH….AHHH….” he gasped all over again, as this time his scrotum was stretched soundly, “….AHHH….AHHH….I am your stretch slave….ÇUR.” There was a sudden snigger. “One more whack,” said H2O, “for mentally misspelling the salutation, complete with cedilla….” sod him, “….with another for such a shocking suggestion, Sharp….” fuck, he was doing terribly well at the art of apparent mind reading, “….and again….unless you wished to deny it?” Which would doubtless double the dose. “No, Sir,” he said humbly, as the unwritten rule required: Always admit The Accusation….Even If It Isn’t True.
Swishhhthwackkkkk Swishhhthwackkkkk Swishhhthwackkkkk
“Yaroooo..OOO..HOO….FOURDEEN,” he gasped, “a forceful fourdeen, thank you so much, SIR…..” or as was a sinful sixteen, “….I congratulate you on your caning competence, Sir.” Never mind doubling the discipline, he’d started at six, and somehow it had almost trebled: Punishments Multiply, But Canings Can Become Compounded. “I’m dismissing Victoria for the day,” said H2O, “so you can make your own dratted dinner. Then I too will be away….and I want your solemn promise you won’t be at all objectionable. I accept it’ll be back to business as usual tomorrow morning.”
There was a second surly silence. “We’re waiting, Sharp….” said Victor Rear, and the, ‘….we can wait all afternoon, if necessary,’ hung unspoken. “All right,” he said sulkily, “but please don’t tell everyone about all this. Daffy Saffy did ask you to be discrete.” They both nodded neatly. “All right….” said Harry Herbert Orwell, as he set down the stick. Then he slipped off the shower robe, and handed it over, “….it’s a done deal….Sir.” Clearly, he’d successfully switched status into a sinful schoolboy in the space of a second. How such sixdy-sixdy switches succeeded in doing so was always a matter of mystery, since sodding Shagger was the same….six dozen to the gross, or even-steven.
“It’s really very easy, Richard,” he said, “but I suppose you have to BE one.”
He watched whilst Victor Rear vacated the study, and his senior fag dressed silently. “Good afternoon, Sir,” he said politely, as he too departed. Sod them both, since now he’d have to cook his own meal. Or he could simply shower, and then go down to The Canteen to get some grub? Which would work well, and after all he needn’t tell anyone about his ordeal. However, he’d have to try not to walk with the classic canees’ gait of guilt. Look At Me, it said to the world, I’ve Just Been Caned.
“I too am happy to keep all this confidential if you wish,” he said, “although as I’ve tried to explain in the past, there’s no such thing as bad publicity. But you were asking for advice about The Vamps. I suggest you purchase a set of your previous pink uniform from the School Secretary. Your parents need never know, since it’ll go on their bill as Misc. Sundries uniform charges. Then you can pop down to dorm 5V one evening, whilst playing In The Pink. I’d run through this gory story with them….since it shows sincerity. After they’ve done their worst with you, simply select a suitable slut for subsequent screwing in your study.” There was another seething silence.
“You may it sound so simple, Shagger,” he said. “It IS, Richard,” he insisted, “surely your experiences with the six bi babes should have confirmed?” There was a slight smile. “Touché, Shagger,” he replied, “they’re all duly detailed in my Date Diary. I’ve three individual evenings arranged, with The Time Twins together as a Bi-some threesome.” Which must prove the point? “I’ll leave the suggestion with you, Richard,” he said, “but it’s interesting how we’re sharing the same lovely Ladies….who are also sharing each other. We’re both bonking Bren and Domme….and Very Nice has them both as a girlfriend. Big Dick and Fuck Me Senseless have both said my Missus and Grizzie Guts are somewhat similar in several respects....” he patted the prefect’s hand, “….which must mean we too share some similarities?” There was a slight sniff. “I suppose you’re sodding well right, Shagger,” he said, “but we’ll talk about it another time.” Fair enough.
“Before I go, Richard,” he said, “a few words about Iron Will. He’s going to be rusticated somewhat soon….” there was a gasp, “But why, Shagger?” he demanded, “….because he failed to take a Sex Thrashing. It was in The ATM last year….it wasn’t a Fisherman’s Friend he fucked, but all The Magnificent Seven. I was on an Apocryphal Scholar Saturday, and I’m afraid I told Terrence….under the threat of open-ended caning until I confessed his crime….” he smiled, “….but he was wanting to whack Wanker Boy Will’s particularly pert and punishable posterior again before he leaves school. Anyway, Madam Dee had said his submissive side should be stimulated with some stick. Hence The Headmaster was highly happy having a cast-iron case.” His prefect peer shivered slightly. “Maybe there might be mileage with one of those after all,” he said in strangled tones, “as an insurance policy….simply to be safe….” good thinking, “….we’ve managed to miss lunch, but I daresay it won’t be fatal. Disappear, Shagger….we won’t do next week, since my last exam is Friday afternoon.” Such a shame, as he stood and padded out of the study, still starkers.
* * * * * *
According to his wall clock, the time was 7.55pm, and he closed his Biology books. He’d spent the whole afternoon, and all the evening thus far with revision work. At least he’d had some light relief from 4pm to 5pm. He’d fustigated….or flogged his fags, and also enjoyed his dinner. Fervently, he hoped his Practical wouldn’t be too horrible? If he were obliged to dissect something drastically dire, he wouldn’t enjoy it at all. This was his perennial problem about having a castration complex. It was one thing to fantasize fondly about slicing and severing scrotums, for example with The Gneiss Slice or indeed the Burdizzo. However, the grim reality was something else again. Hopefully though, they’d let him off lightly with chopping up a poor plant into little pieces? Slowly he stretched, and padded across to his wardrobes. He opened one, took off his Cunt Casanova Key from its peg, and put it into his trusty Lee van Cleef black cloak. Apparently the design had been named after the ancient actor. He slipped it on, and headed towards the door. There he opened his Cute Cunt Calendar, simply to double-check his timings prior to departure.
8.pm asap after Prep – dorm 5X.
Assistance appreciated from Panty Pervert Pete on public exposure, NB.
9pm (after corrupting the nation’s youth)
Stinks’ study 12 level 5 with me, and rubber
His Missus’ handwriting was easy to recognize, and it seemed to suggest an interesting session. He recalled how his previous Chemistry teacher had once intimated there were further forms of fetish which might be managed with the material. So what better way than to learn all about them from an obvious expert? But what about the note back? There was nothing either before or after the entry. Thus he assumed the writer had intended to add something, but failed to do so. Idly, he flipped over to the following page, to see if anything had been noted forward….so to speak. Again, there was nothing, however it did enable him to inspect what was on offer for his Saturday morning screw, and subsequent sessions.
6am – Awesome Foursome (Smith Sisters & Uncle Sam)
9am – 5pm Slappham for sun sea sand and sex
8pm Rev Carmen Jones for flagellation fun
dratted diocesan discourse, will source a slot somehow
Such a shame, since he’d even written a special song for her. Maybe she might manage a Bi-some threesome sometime, if there wasn’t anything available?
8pm - I’ll be her whipping girl, Sir
plus poking punishments for Primula
So she’d taken her place….for some of the same. But as for Uncle Sam, despite any implied inference, she was undeniably a floozy. Her nickname was simply based on her initials, matching those of the United States. As he closed his Calendar, he considered how widely his nocturnal role-play persona’s fame had spread. It had definitely made it down to The Boys In Blue….let alone those other official ones. He padded out of his study again, but this time in the opposite direction. It was only a few steps to the very end of the otherwise empty gloomy corridor. He opened the locked broom cupboard with his Yale key, and padded inside.
The bulkhead lights illuminated at once, and the door swung silently shut behind him. He retreated to the back, and started down the secret spiral stone steps. Carefully, he considered how Amen Carmen’s loss was Primula Proffer’s gain. At least he’d squared matters with Inspector Lance Sceptre of the local force. He’d enjoyed an interesting interrogation evening with him and PC James Dunn at the LETTSBY AVENUE Police station….let’s be ’avin’ you, indeed. The previous pretty prostitute had also been there, drawn straight out of his distant dream. Until half term, her trading title had been Leopard-skin Lucy of Letchhampton. Though now, she was a Latin teacher at the school. Although she’d once been known as Prim And Proper at St Prunellas, somehow he didn’t expect it to stick. Not whilst she went around with a leopard leotard on the Games fields.
Her trademark Tanningtown style leather business suit too, with its matching strict short skirt and high heels was something else again. He hadn’t seen much of her since her arrival, apart from Ogling Obviously Over her on the Podium during assembly. But then he’d had other things on his mind….like his dratted A-Level examinations. He’d arranged a seaside trip with The Smith Sisters to provide a break, and on the assumption the worst of it would all be over. Apart from Monday’s period of purgatory, there was only his Applied Maths on Wednesday afternoon, and bingo….job done and dusted. After this final horror show was out of the way, there’d be time in the term to rest, recover and recuperate.
Then he reached the base of the secret staircase, and once again in the broom cupboard the sensors did their stuff. Gingerly he opened the door, and peered out. It would be a nine day wonder for the ground floor corridor to be occupied, since it was hardly ever used. Then he stepped outside the building, in order to go across the grass to the Dorm wings. He mused how it was his firm intention to enjoy his final few weeks of cherished prefecthood to the full. One highlight would be when Tanningtown Templar were visiting, for an inter-school Naccarim match. The details hadn’t been announced, however he hoped there’d be opportunities to meet up with firm friends. For which read, ‘screw some sinful sluts his distended dick had done during his Exchange visit in the Spring Term.’
He pursed his lips, recalling a conversation he’d had on a train. It had been with one Lady Soixante Delia Brusch, a Governor of St Bodlians school in Rugby. There’d been the subsequent suggestion he and Ava Frasch should visit St Bowlers in order to introduce them to the game. He’d heard nothing further, so maybe they’d changed their minds? In one way it would be a pity, since it had seemed to be such a seriously strict school. Apparently their bad boys always wore bowler hats, even whilst being birched and beaten bare over the Block.
Several minutes later, he reached his destination, and padded inside. Once more he used his Key to access the locked cupboard, and again the lights illuminated. Then it was up this latest set of secret stone steps. There was also Prize Day with which to look forward. At least this year it should be someone else’s turn to be put into the Public Playground Pillory for an Absolution Afternoon. Probably it would be cousin Harry….poor chap. Still, it wasn’t permanent, and anyway he’d been there before, so he knew the drill. Also on the agenda were the annual Summer Balls, and this time he hoped he wouldn’t end up on a seven-pronged Fuck Fork.
Last year it had been with The Magnificent Seven, the bevy of beauties he’d been bedding. Each pretty prefect had wanted him afterwards, however the difficulty had been duly disposed by the lovely Lisa whisking him away. He’d thus achieved his aim of becoming a Confirmed Cunt Casanova, but it….well, came with the cost of serial knees in the nuts from all the aggrieved amazons the following morning. Finally, he reached what he hoped was Level 4. Very cautiously, he opened the door a fraction….oops, he could see a couple of retreating rears. They disappeared into the first door, so were probably two of The Rakes in Dorm 5R? He waited several seconds, and tried again. This time it was clear, so he quickly stepped out and headed round the corner. He passed The Wanker boys of Dorm 5W, although their Wankometer would stop such sin. Several seconds later, he reached his destination.
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