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The Boys Who Asked for the Cane
Part 1

by Andrew Beattie

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Copyright on this story text belongs at all times to the original author only, whether stated explicitly in the text or not. The original date of posting to the MMSA was: 16 Oct 2010


There are three boys who I want to tell you about, though many ask for the cane.

Mrs Prendergast, the Headmasters secretary at a provincial grammar school for boys is particularly used to this request. About three times a week a boy, they vary in age, size and beauty, will arrive at her office, un-announced, and make the request.

“Oh Hello, <name>, what can I do for you?” She asks knowingly, when such a lad appears.

“Please Mrs Prendergast, may I have the cane?” Occasionally the words, “and the Punishment Book”, are added, though not often, as that is automatic; the Master who has sent the boy would rarely have added it either.

Mrs Prendergast knows all the boys in the school, so has no difficulty deciding the correct cane for each one. That is, as long as it is for the boy concerned. She got this wrong once, so always asks now, “Is it for you?”

Invariably the reply is a nod; though sometimes accompanied by quiet words such as “Yes Miss”, from nervous juniors, to “Afraid so” from the more experienced seniors.

Mrs Prendergast takes the Punishment book from the top draw of her desk and hands it to the boy, gets up, and saying “I won't keep you a moment” goes into the Headmasters Study. She selects the appropriate instrument (Junior or Senior) from the selection kept in the corner of the room. If the Headmaster is present she just says the boys name, and more often than not, returns to the outer office and hands it over the instrument of correction.

The 'or not' refers to the times when the name registers in some way with the Headmaster, who says, “I'll see him”, resulting in Mrs Prendergast placing the cane on the desk, leaving, and saying to the boy, “The Headmaster would like a word.”

Whether the boy has 'a word' with the Headmaster, or the one who sent him, Mrs Prendergast is always most interested in how the boy looks when he returns the cane, or just the Punishment book. She always feels a thrill, a frisson, as she notes the anguish in a boys eyes, the stiff way he walks, how well he meets her smile, and his reaction to it.

This morning Colin Armstrong came in and collected the senior cane. That was just over ten minutes ago. Colin is a sixth former, almost seventeen, and a 'lovely lad' as she thinks of him. Tall with blond hair, ice blue eyes, and sparkly teeth, he was not looking happy. When he returns the cane he has a pained expression. Mrs Prendergast takes the book from Colin, leaving him with the cane, opens it and looks at the entry.

Armstrong C J, Lower VI, Abusive Language, 6C, KLMc.

Oh dear, Colin has been a naughty boy. His House Master has given him six strokes. From this very experienced and tough caner, Colin is no doubt feeling very sore. Mrs Prendergast looks at him sympathetically. The boy is close to tears, gives a wan smile and leaves. As he does so, she admires his bum, tightly encased in grey school trousers. She would dearly like to have the sort of vision that lets her see the marks hidden by the worsted.

Which is why she prefers the Headmaster to deal with boys; then she gets to hear the results of their request.

What she would most like, though, is to watch the boys, who ask for the cane, get it.

* * * * *

Paul Jameson was calling his mother from a phone box in town. He rang just to let her know he would not be home for tea, and would be late home, as he is seeing Brenda later, and not to worry. “Right dear. Have a nice time.”

This was not the first time Paul had used this phone box. Three weeks previously he had gone into it to contact someone he did not feel he could ring from home. His mother was always around and would certainly listen into his conversation, and ask him about it.

That call had been to 'An Expert School Master', who 'welcomed novices'. Paul decided that what he was looking for was someone to help him try something out. He had discovered a magazine dealing with spanking. It had stories, rather more focused on the topic than the novels he scoured that might, and sometimes did, include corporal punishment. There were also sketches and photos of boys being beaten, by hand, belt, strap and cane. Paul's favourite was the cane. He wanted the cane.

The magazine had a great list of 'contact' opportunities. But he was nervous. At nineteen, he did not feel confident meeting a stranger with just a simple entry such as:

'Ex-Prefect, 42, seeks pupils into shorts/uniforms for strict discipline and training. Regular sessions preferred. Write fully. <Address given>.'

Neither was he too keen on this level of authoritarianism:

'Experienced master seeks smooth boyish lads in need of sound spanking. Must be truly submissive and keen to serve. Full details with photo at once!'

A box ad caught his eye, which seemed much more the thing:

'Expert School Master Seeks Pupils.

All levels of corporal punishment and tuition are available. Novices welcomed. Public School Method's. <Phone Number>.'

It was this last one he called. They arranged to meet at a pub, fortunately in a near by town. Paul arrived, as he had described, on his motorbike, so entered the pub in black leathers and a white t shirt, carrying his crash helmet, with his blond hair flowing. He went the bar and ordered half a pint on lemonade shandy (which was the agreed identification). As he was about to pay, a man appeared next to him and said, “Let me pay for that Paul”, and to the bar maid, “I'll have another whiskey please Mary.”

“Right you are, Colonel.”

Drinks in hand they had gone over to a quiet corner, introduced themselves and planned there appointment. That meeting took place almost two weeks ago, and tonight Paul was going to his appointment. He did not have his old school uniform, but did have the Blazer, which along with black trousers, white shirt and highly polished shoes, ensured he looked the part. In addition he had been to the barbers for a very tidy, school boy like haircut. At six o'clock promptly, as agreed, a Public School sixth former, rang the bell to the 'Headmasters' house.

The door was opened by the 'Colonel' wearing a school master's gown, looking fierce. “At least you are on time, boy!” he barked. “Follow me.”

Twenty minutes later Paul left. Red faced, walking rather stiffly, his still red eyes wet, he made his way to the bus stop.

Paul's girlfriend of six months was surprised and delighted by the transformation in him. They had been lovers for a short time, but he had always been rather diffident and shy. She wondered what had got into him, as he pounded her from behind, while she knelt bum up and head down on her narrow bed.

Paul was finding the pain in his buttocks wonderfully stimulating as he flexed them, and gave Brenda the rogering he had always hoped to, but had held back as he thought her rather prim and proper, too ladylike. As he continued to shag her, to their obvious mutual satisfaction, he replayed the scene in the Headmasters Study.

Paul was required to stand in front of the desk.

“Smoking is an appalling habit, and against the rules. A senior boy should set an example. I shall thrash you. Take off your jacket, and place it on the chair.

Paul did so, becoming increasingly excited and nervous.

The Headmaster took up a cane from the bookshelf, swished it about, which increased Paul's tension considerably. “Stand here!” the master commanded pointing with the cane to the end of the desk. “Drop your trousers and underpants, and bend over. Further forward. Hold onto the desk sides. That's right. I shall give you six strokes. Do not get up.”

Paul's shirt was lifted clear. The master tapped the cane across the centre of his bum, making him flinch. There was a pause, then a 'zip' sound, and Paul's bum was in agony. He loved it!

As the pain increased Paul became sexually aroused. The pain built, spreading through him. His dick, now stiffly erect, lay under him on the table top. As the sixth blistering stroke bit deep into his arse, he came buckets.

At that point in the playback, Brenda gripped him, pushed back. Buried deep inside her, he came again, violently, matching her own orgasm, but without the screaming and surprised calling of his name.

Paul resolved to ask for the cane again.

* * * * *

“That boy is just asking for the cane”, said Horsfall.

“Needs it too”, murmured Brown.

“Every day and twice on Sundays, as my Granny always says”.

The two gods, (senior House and School prefects) are lounging in the window of their second floor study over looking the quad, as boys move across it on their way from and to, hopefully, legitimate places. The object of their attention, and particularly Horsfall's lust, Jimmy James, is moving from the far side of the large open space, towards them. It is mid summer, and they are suffering a stifling heat wave. Jimmy is only wearing white tailored tennis shorts (which are very short and tight), socks and plimsolls. His bare chest and long legs are bronzed from too much exposure to the sun, his strawberry blond hair bleached white.

Horsfall groaned.

“Oh don't tell me. Haven't you had him yet?”

Horsfall shook his head, his thick curly (and too long) black hair lashing about. “Shouldn't be too long now, he's certainly aching for it. Just a bit nervous.”

“Well you have to understand that desire for you may be outweighed by the penalty of capture.”

Horsfall had to agree, which is why he was playing a long game at seducing Jimmy safely. Capture in a compromising position would mean at least, a very thorough thrashing, demotion for him, and possibly expulsion of one and probably both of them. So far in his time at school, Horsfall, who is a sexual predator, and has been since puberty, has seduced half a dozen boys; until reaching such high office, they were all older. So far he had never been caught.

However, for Jimmy things are different. He certainly has feelings for Horsfall, or Alan as he thinks of him. That is with a sigh on the second half of the name, so the 'an' fades away, 'romantically'. At fifteen, Jimmy has not equated the emotions he feels when he thinks about, or sees, Alan, with consummation as we, and the said Alan do. Jimmy has not yet acquired the experience, or for that matter, the information, to enable him to grasp kissing, cuddling, stroking and sucking that Horsfall has in mind, let alone the penetration that would be its crowning glory.

No, for Jimmy it is enough to be noticed by his love. While he knows that he is admired, smiled at in ways that make him blush and tingle, he has to bring himself to Alan's notice. Which is why he is ensuring he will be put On Report.

What does it mean to be put On Report? Very simply it means he will be beaten. Caned. So Jimmy is arranging to be caned. In order to be noticed. By Alan.

However, there are risks.

“I am putting you on report” can be uttered by masters, any prefect, and other member of staff, such as Matron. It means you have to present yourself at seven o'clock that evening to your House Captain. Two use their Study, one the House Library, and the fourth the school gymnasium. Called in for your appointment, you are tried, sentenced and executed, and emerge a few minutes later, usually wet eyed, and always sore arsed. (In theory it was not always thus, though over the last one hundred and fifty years, has evolved into this certainty.)

However, “Report to your House Master” is the first of the risks mentioned. This means attending said House Masters Study at four thirty, twenty minutes after formal lessons have finished for the day, where a similar fate will befall you. As four thirty is the time everyone should be somewhere else, it almost inevitably means you will be late for that something, and be put 'On Report' for so being; though it is understood that that reporting, will be tomorrow, not tonight. Housemasters vary in their sentencing. Most cane, but none do so exclusively; their thinking being on the lines of 'why have dogs and bark yourself'. So they may tell you to go 'On Report' too. See above.

Finally, and for completeness (I am after all a completer/finisher), you may be told to 'Report to the Head Master'. This is an imperative of the Now and At Once, Without Further Delay, sort. Not to be taken lightly, as the Head has been known to reduce tough sixth formers to tears, before picking up a weapon!

So Jimmy is hoping to be on report, and that Alan will at best be on duty as thrasher, or witness. If he is unlucky, Alan will not even be present, though this risk is low, because he loves being present, and as Deputy House Captain often officiates.

How has he done this?

Jimmy is not good at Poetry. He is a scientist, and hopes to be an engineer, an ambition the school would like to beat out of him, but has so far failed to do. This is why he asked a question during an English lesson. It was a very interesting question if you wanted to stimulate a debate, though the Master, as Jimmy knew he would, took it badly. The question was, “Sir, what use will knowing the poetry of Milton be to managing a home or business, or affect the price of bread?”

This was met with the most incredulous look on the masters face. Everyone present was sure that one form or other of the Reports would be announced. To their surprise, and Jimmy's regret he was told, “Write out two hundred times, 'Persistent Perversity Provokes the Patient Pedagogue, Producing Particularly Painful Punishment',” and I will thank you for it by six o'clock tonight!

To achieve this deadline, Jimmy must forgo swimming practice, and thus be 'On Report' this evening. However, in the event, he did not finish the lines by the due time, but went and handed them in anyway. The Master took them from him, glanced at the first, a middle and the last sheet of paper, and said, “I hope you will not be so insulting to my subject in future. Milton can teach you a great deal about life, as can literature.” Making to put the imposition in the waste basket, he looked at Jimmy and asked, “You completed this work fully, I take it?”

Never one to lie, pathologically incapable, Jimmy looked sheepish and said “No Sir. There are thirty missing. Sorry Sir.”

“You are really asking for it, James.” Looking at his watch he said, “As there is still time, I shall put you on report. Now get out!”

Between six thirty and seven the House Captains meet their respective Masters to be handed over the report list, and discuss any issues. On this occasion there are only three reportees, a third former, for 'poor attitude'; a lower sixth, a smoking recidivist; and Jimmy. Jimmy was the difficult case, as by rights he was due six at least, for each offence. The House Master felt the failure to complete lines warranted sterner measures.

Brown, being aware how Horsfall felt about Jimmy, suggested he give the boy a dozen, as he was waiting anyway. The House Master, torn between having something else to do this evening, and thinking he would quite like to thrash the boy himself, later, (he was the sort of boy the Housemaster itched to thrash) hummed and hared for a moment, then opening a draw, removed a senior cane, and handing it to his House Captain said, “Right, give him nine with this, and make them count. And you can warm up with it on Walker, eight, please, and tell him next time he goes to the Head.”

The three were waiting outside the House Library, Jimmy in his tennis shorts, now with a singlet above, and sandals with no socks below. The junior was in gym kit, and the sixth former, rugby kit, and sandals. They all gulped as Brown passed with the senior cane under his arm like a sergeant major. A few moments later, the door opened again, and Horsfall called in Jennings. Did he agree his attitude was appalling and inappropriate?

Meekly he agreed it was.

“Well we are a team in this house, Jennings, so I shall give you some assistance in improving it. Six strokes. Get ready.”

Jennings got ready, was executed crisply, and dispatched.

Next Walker was dealt with. The warning about the next time really gave Walker cause for concern and reflection, though the execution of his eight made him loose any sense of anything but the agony in his arse.

Jimmy was summoned. He stood in the large room, the walls of which are lined with shelves full of books. There is a long highly polished table down the centre, with a chair in front of it. Generations of boys have considered that chair to be a cross between a scaffold and an alter, for they must kneel upon it to be executed and purged of their sins. Brown told Jimmy, who is standing at attention eyes focussed on the far end of the room, “Its got to be nine, and very well done, alright? You are an idiot, James. As it is so unlike you, there must be some sub-text to this I do not understand, so report to my study after prep. Get ready.”

Jimmy, in time honoured fashion moved to the chair, knelt upon it, unfastened his shorts, and pushed them and his pants down to his knees, and bent over the chairs back. As he did so, he ducked his head under the lip of the table, positioned such that he could use it to prevent jumping back. His hands reached down to grasp the back legs of the chair.

As Jimmy's bum was exposed sufficiently, there was no need for Horsfall to step forward and fold back the shirt; but he did it anyway. He did so in a way that allowed his fingers to brush and caress the white, smooth firm buttocks, the toasted youthful back.

He stood back and admired the view. Brown, catching his eye, offered him the cane and indicated he could be the executioner. Horsfall was so excited he could only nod, took the rod and gave some aiming taps. While he desired Jimmy, he was an ardent, enthusiastic and expert chastiser, so no leniency would be afforded. The longer, heavier cane made a deeper sound as it flew, and the pain it gave Jimmy was far worse than anything he had experienced before.

By the third, all Jimmy was aware of was the agony. It flooded his being, building, deepening and spreading from the target area to his extremities. By the last he was a shivering, broken and sobbing boy.

For Horsfall, the experience was joyful. That bum, beautiful, virginal, white, and framed between toasted brown legs and back, was a perfect target. His first stroke landed dead centre, bit deep, and left a dark red welt, in its way, perfect too, to act as a marker for the others. He had a very good eye, the strokes landed close to each other. Five parallel lines of pain, crossed by the last four, two each way.

Getting up and dressed had been difficult. It had also been embarrassing as Horsfall had helped. It was therefore a shock to find, after prep that when he reported to Browns study, only Alan was present.

“You have an hour. I just hope no one comes in looking for me.” Brown said as he left just before the boy was due.

Needless to say, Horsfall lost no time. Inside ten minutes, Jimmy was laying face down on Horsfall's bed, while soothing balm was applied gently, lovingly even, to the damage. The shorts and sandals were off, the legs free from encumbrance.

“God your beautiful”.

Timidly, “Thank you”.

“You don't mind me saying that do you?”

“Err, no.”

“Do you like me?”

“Oh yes”, breathed very quietly.

The shirt was bunched up under the Jimmy's arms. Alan ran his hands over the smooth muscular back. Jimmy's middle moved, and Alan knew the boy was responding.

He placed a hand under the boys chin, turning the head to face his way and leaning close, murmured, “May I kiss you”. Without waiting for an answer, his lips, already nearly there, touched. They were not repulsed. Moments later they were standing face to face, Jimmy naked, Alan slowly undressing himself while keeping the new kiss going, deeply, with tongues intertwining. 'He's done this before', entered his head, 'or he's a damn quick learner'.

Soon, they were both naked, Jimmy holding onto Alan's shoulders for support, lost in wonder at what was happening, unable to focus, elated, yet fearful he would be found wanting, inexperienced and inept. All thought left him when Alan's hand held and began stroking his cock. It jumped, he felt a pressure building up, and was mortified when the eruption overcame him.

“Sorry. Sorry.”

“It's alright. Don't worry at all.”

Horsfall cleaned up, and encouraged Jimmy to lay on his side on the bed. He thought, 'I could have him if his arse wasn't so bad. Another time.'

* * *

“How was it?”

“Lovely.”

“How far did you get?”

“Do you really want to know? If I don't tell you, you can deny being involved or even knowing anything.”

After a short silence, Brown said he wanted to know.

“The only thing we have left to try is buggery. He came three times, the first within seconds of me touching him. His cock is huge, even bigger than mine, and he loves it being sucked. He did wank me, but needs more practice. I shall have to start working on opportunities.”

“You're asking for it!”

“No need. He wants it!”

“That's not what I mean, and you know it. You're heading for a fall! And whatever happens, don't take that kid down with you!”

Horsfall could not get Clifton's anger out of his mind.

What was he?

Jealous!

 
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