The Library of Spanking Fiction: Wellred Weekly


Wellred Weekly
Volume 2, Number 2 : August 19, 2013
 
Articles
Items of interest regarding all things spanking

Recollections: Scenes of Prep-School Life (cont.)
by Ernest

After the meal we were told to go into another classroom which Mr N knew would be empty – the Sixth Form room. We had never been in there before, which in itself was something to make the experience awe-inspiring. Mr N disappeared, obviously going to the changing room to collect the gym-shoe. When he came back, he told us sternly to take our trousers down and bend over one of the desks in turn. The other boy was first – I can remember seeing his gleaming white underpants, stretched smoothly over his bottom. I remember wishing I could be first and get it over – traditionally it was said to be worse once Mr N had ‘got his eye in'! All too soon my turn came; I leant over the desk and got two ‘juicy' strokes!

Before I tell you about the last and most painful whacking I suffered, I will tell you something about the use of the cane at my prep-school.

I never had the cane. At the time I was rather glad, but in retrospect that is a matter of some regret! I had to wait till I was grown-up to find out what it was like! As I got older, there were a number of occasions when friends and contemporaries did in fact get it. The ritual, so I was told, was that the culprit, having made his way through that big and imposing sound-proofed door into the headmaster's study, would be told “Bend over and face the door!” They would be then given two or three strokes of dubious accuracy over their trousers!

As with whackings with the gymshoe from Mr N, I was torn in my reaction between fascination and fear. I imagined myself found out in the appalling crime (of which I was in fact guilty!) of singing in the carol service one of the alternative parody versions of “We three Kings”! Perhaps it had been noticed, and when we returned to school in January I would be summoned to the headmaster's study and be caned for it! One boy had told me that, unlike with Mr N, you could actually increase the number of layers of protection against the cane by rolling down your pullover before bending over – at least the top part of your bottom would have an extra layer – but perhaps, I thought, the headmaster would tell me that for such dreadful sacrilege I would have to take down my trousers and pants and receive the cane on the bare bottom! Of course, it never happened.

I remember three boys – tough, popular, the sort I rather admired but could not imitate – who were summoned to see the headmaster, I think for fooling around when they should have been watching a school football match and were given three each with the cane! Why hadn't I been with them? Or was I glad I had not been because it might have been very painful?

Once, on the last night of term, talking was going on very late in the dormitory. I was lying in the nearest bed to the door in the biggest dormitory (18 boys), and heard a creak on the stairs. I thought little of it, I was nearly asleep anyway. Suddenly the headmaster entered, and announced that he wanted to see every boy who had been talking in his study after breakfast! I realised again, that I had narrowly escaped serious trouble – and didn't know whether to be glad or sorry!

In the morning, I was told later, about eight or ten boys attended his study before going home. The headmaster was in a jovial mood. One boy told me later:

“He was almost laughing! He said ‘I know you're bound to be excited by the end of term, but I do expect you to keep quiet when you've already been told to once that evening. So I'll let you off with one stroke each – but, I warn you, it'll be a hard one!'” And, so I was assured, it was!

Another experience I could have only at second hand!

But it is time to describe the worst punishment I received as a schoolboy, which occurred when I was nearly 12.

The incident blew up from nowhere. I had gone out on my own to the lawn at the back of the school, and was bowling a ball at the cricket stumps chalked on the wall, no doubt in my own mind considering myself Freddie Trueman destroying the Australians. One boy came out and stood in front of the stumps, rather unhelpfully spoiling my game. I asked him politely enough to move, pointing out, as is the way of the young, that I had been there first. He, as is equally the way of the young, declined to do so. “The last shall be first, and the first last” was his profound philosophical justification. I followed up my very reasonable polite request by, not to put too fine a point on it, sloshing him one – not, of course, considering the possibility that our proceedings might be under scrutiny by Mr N, watching from the classroom window!

He marched out in a tremendous fury. He was obviously in no mood to listen to excuses or to consider the provocation or the attempts to negotiate a reasonable settlement. All that bothered him was that he had seen the blow – and I must admit I was a little taken aback myself to see the boy's bleeding nose! He told me to go straight to the changing room, and take my trousers off.

I went to the changing room, absolutely terrified at his fury, and stung by the unfairness of it all. What was going to happen? I could not imagine how many I would get.

He came into the changing room, still very angry, sat down on the bench and told me to get over his knee. I was so bemused that I approached the wrong way, and tried to lie over as if he were left-handed; he man-handled me into the correct position. I lay over his left knee with his right leg over my lower legs, and waited in terror for what I knew would be a very severe beating. No question of any prurient curiosity about the experience – I was just frightened at the coming pain.

He did not disappoint. Four times the gym-shoe rose and fell, each stroke much harder than I had ever had before. He rose in silence, and left me there. I readjusted my clothes and went out to my classroom. Fortunately no one seemed to be around. In the quiet of the classroom I could sit on the wooden seat – surprisingly enough it did not burst into flame at the heat of my bottom – and wiped away my unshed tears at the unfairness of it all.

Soon afterwards I was due at the swimming pool. I went, now sufficiently composed to go amongst my fellows, but naturally I was careful to keep my rear turned towards the wall as I changed. I lowered myself gingerly into the pool, very much aware of the heat of my bottom, almost expecting the water of the swimming pool to turn to steam on contact! The coldness was soothing and delicious!



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