Lent Half- Chapter One

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"I'm in Year 12 at Eton College, which contrary to what the papers will have you to believe, isn't actually exclusively for thieving rapists. It's a boarding school, which is kind of cool because my buddies live ten seconds away. On the other hand, it means walking in on a friend wanking is a pretty regular occurrence. Also you can feel pretty isolated: the two closest places of human habitation are Windsor, which is full of old people and teachers, and Slough … which is, you know, Slough.

Not all the people are great, I'm pretty sure most of the Forbes list of the world's richest douchebags are students at Eton, and lots of them listen to James Blunt. Can't argue with the facilities though, the art department is bigger than the whole of my last school and there are two proper recording studios which is awesome.

Homosexuality faded out as a contact sport in Eton some years ago, although paedophilia retains popularity. First, there's the creepy technology teacher who puts his arm around you when you're soldering. There's also the 'F Block Rape Night' - a popular themed event when everyone is liquored up after the Founder's Feast. There's no actual rape, though one guy was expelled for getting his cock out and telling a year nine to 'EAT IT.' "

School Reports: Eton College, by Anonymous, Platform Magazine, November 2008 (http://www.readplatform.com/school-reports-eton-college/)

"The B Blocker in question was expelled a few days before the end of his final summer term [half]. The B Blocker in question was also Captain of the School." Author's anonymous source, July 2009.

Author's forward: So, "F Block rape," fact or a fiction? Answer: much like Eton itself, it is driven by both fact and fiction, the mythic and the real. It existed for some, for others it never happened. Having said that, alcohol-driven school hazing rituals, some of them very brutal, have been occurring for centuries before in both North American and European schools and universities and in that there is no fiction.

In the end, as is proper, you the reader shall decide what is real for you and what is not. Enjoy!

Story Note: For simplicity sake, we shall leave adult Barrett with partner Kevin behind in this chapter. B Blocker Barrett Campion shall proceed in the first person.

Somewhere in the midst of my D block year I did a study and paper on the 19th century Norwegian playwright, theatre director and poet, Henrik Ibsen. Ibsen lived from 1828 to 1906 and is considered by some to be "the father of modern drama." Others say he used what had simply been an entertainment form and elevated it to art.

I liked Ibsen because he tackled the issues and realities of his times, Victorian times to be exact, not exactly the most enlightened era, from my point of view anyway. Funny, my school, Eton College, sometimes struck me as lacking reality and living from the past.

Some of our traditions were so ancient as to make one choke on the dusts of their centuries. My beak at the time asked me to recite to our div just a short bit of Ibsen that I thought might characterize my school. That was easy. It was as if Ibsen had Eton College in mind when he said:

"Only the spirit of rebellion craves for happiness in this life. What right have we human beings to happiness?"

My fellows chortled, the beak about choked and then rolled his eyes at me and moved us on, knowing full well any discussion on the matter among his pupils might too quickly pose the Etonic version of the same question:

That was not even to mention that the only time many Eton boys were happy was when we were rebelling, just as we had been taught from the outset. Be your own person! Be an individual, do your own thing! Don't be a conformist! Rubbish, then why did we have so many rules? Why was there censored oversight for the school rag, The Chronicle? Just what do you want us all to become? Make up your minds!

But speaking of tradition, there was one tradition, a yearly dinner party called Soc Supper, which nobody choked on when it finally arrived in their B Block final year. Soc Supper had been designed to be a yearly end of Michaelmas half celebration of the oldest sixth form boys in more ancient times. It evolved into a celebration of reaching one's B Block year in more modern eras.

But what was so special or different about Soc Supper? Which one of us really needed yet another dinner party to attend? We had each gone to many over the years. No, Soc Supper was very different.

You see, during our younger block years at Eton, we could all stream down to Rowlands tuck shop on the High Street and enjoy a non-alcoholic refreshment or a bit of food. Later, in our C and B block, sixteen year old boys qualified to attend a small pub down on the High street, named Tap, a place where we could obtain inexpensive beer, albeit not the tastiest or nicest beer. Still, it was something.

No, this night, this Soc Supper, was popular for one reason only: the promise of alcoholic excess via wine or real liquor. It was there simply for the drinking and drink we did, decked out in our expensive tuxedos no less; but in some cases there was a far more sinister enjoyment to be had or attended to.

For many houses, just not all houses, and for some B block boys, but not all, it's the night of excess alcohol that is the triumph. For others, it is that and more, a night of reliving or better yet revelling in a little payback for what may have happened to them during their F Block year. For to some F Blocker's, Soc Supper was a brief but telling season of potentially harsh hazing that has a mysterious history as long as the school is old.

In much older eras, there is no surviving name for Soc Supper hazing rituals. For some houses in more modern times, the night has been sometimes termed "F block rape night," or "rape of F Block." For many others, there is no name for it, just something in which a tradition practiced over an indeterminate number of centuries collides with the present-day circumstance of haughty adolescents fueled by large amounts of alcohol, one night each year.

But enough of boorish history, what about me, Barrett Campion (CVH)? You remember me, the American chap who started out as a rank thirteen year old Eton College bug or tit, ample grist for jokes about North American Colonialism and awful southern American accents at his expense?

I have become my own man that much is certain. I am not a posh toff, far from it. For one thing, I am not English. Americans are not allowed to be either posh or toff. For another, I really don't think I have had a stick up my arse like many of my English mates; well maybe I did for awhile. Am I or have I been a tart? Now that is a good question. If you mean a manipulative homosexual pretty boy who uses his good looks and over-amped sexuality to manipulate others, no, that's not me. Well, maybe a little here and there when I had really needed or desired something from a susceptible older boy of means or power.

Unlike others I could easily name, I've never approached, taunted, tempted or threatened a master or any other adult with sexuality as a few boys I know have. Neither have I ever approached a boy more than one year my junior, nor will I this, my last year. I know boys, House Captains and those of even higher rank who have. One or two were expelled, but no more than that over five years, and believe me, many others qualified for it.

So have I ever been approached by a master, house or otherwise? Well, let's just say I have, just not from within CVH, thank God. After the way some of them are treated and talked about behind their backs, I see no harm if I got one or two out-of-house invitations, one of them actually pretty tempting, but I digress.

As I said, I am my own man. I am a homosexual and happily so and more than others want you to believe or write about, the sexual goings-on between agreeable boys in a modern day English public school such as Eton College are not inconsiderable. Unlike the Eton College of centuries past, you cannot be expelled simply by sexually engaging a willing fellow of similar age, nor do they send boys to psychiatrists any longer when his housemaster happens upon him and his mate having some harmless fun. In my time, you could really have a good time here at my school with gay sex if you have known how to go about doing it properly.

I was just about ready for my final year Soc Supper. The door to my third floor upstairs room in CVH swung open and fellow B Blockers Chadwick Burke and Aaron Connaught strode in, dressed to the nines in spectacular tuxedos, all of ours just a little different one from the other, just like the boys inside of them.

"Turn around Campion, let's have a look!" Chad said. I turned. He looked at Aaron,

"Have you ever seen such a handsome bloke in all the land?" Chad gleamed as only he could.

"Certainly not, come on, let's not be too late, but not too early either," Aaron replied in his usual and ever expanding aristocratic manor.

I had met and knew Aaron's parents many times and I must say that if I had to have parents to teach me how to carry about as part of the English aristocracy, it would be them. I respected them and their son. Aaron never got carried away with himself in the manner of some of the merely wealthy English boys.

Talk about handsome though. Both of my mates were devastating by now, but so was I. Let's not mince words, I had taken on my own, albeit modified, version of style and class over my years. I had decided sometime during my D Block year that if I was to be my own person, that I would resist total conformity, even to English standard, so as to preserve my identity as an American.

Otherwise, I would do it if for no other reasons than it irritated a few of my masters who thought I was an intruder. Imagine that, a Colonial invading the precious soil around Windsor and Slough? Damn me anyway.

When I wanted to be harmlessly and childishly recalcitrant, I said "ass," and not "arse," drawing the "s" sound far out. When I wanted to irritate a beak, I wrote "color" and not "colour" on a paper or used "honor" instead of "honour" or some other childish method of raising an eyebrow here and there.

Most beaks saw through my ruse and laughed it off. Other beaks took offence and would rip my efforts in more traditional Eton fashion, sending me back to my House Captain for a thrashing of some amount.

The trouble was by now; my House Captains and I have been on good terms and some of them intimates as well and in ways that went beyond any of my secretive Red Scarf "society" mates.

"So, is the evening's aftermath all set? Are the little ones properly terrorized by now?" I asked my bosom B Block mates, not really caring one way or the other.

Nobody would be hurt, but they didn't have to know that before it all passed; otherwise, what was the point of it all? This was our night and we had the house completely ready and to our purposes.

CVH himself would be safely tucked away and happy. Alcohol is a powerful drug after all and CVH never could hold his very well. In any case, he would not be bothering us courtesy of his favorite brands of whiskey and brandy each.

Our C Block fellows within CVH were held by tradition to guard the upstairs against intrusion and only admit, well, nobody who was not B or F Block boys. We had also tasked them to prevent our little F Block bugs from hiding in the washrooms as some had in some houses in some past years.

That would not be happening. And any boy who thought he was going to barricade himself inside of his room would not be very happy with what would happen to him for the rest of his F Block year if he did not cooperate. It was as simple as that.

"Oh yes. C.F. and his intrepid Library have made sure of that!" Aaron smiled. My tuxedo with white bow-tie was finally to my liking and we rushed out of my door and made for Bekynton post-haste, my mind very alive for the proceedings to come.

Cameron Covington-Fulton (CVH) or "C.F.," was our esteemed House Captain this, my final year. He was as gay as a goose as they say and an esteemed Popper to boot. One didn't cross ol' C.F. and get away with it, but I never clashed with C.F. for good reasons. He had moved into CVH a year earlier after an apparent private run-in of sorts with his prior House master. Apparently, dear C.F. did play a bit of the tart card on his old housemaster, PJMcK and not seeing eye to eye, they decided on an amicable divorce.

In any case, I had only heard a little about him before. Let's just say that we very soon found out about each other during our C Block year and the rest is history. He was House Captain now, hurt me some more thank you! I would never say that I had C.F. in my back pocket, however; he would never allow it and what fun would that be, anyway?

C.F. was a marvelous top and I was a marvelous bottom. His canings were fierce, but his libido afterwards, fiercer, at least when I was his prey. I didn't know how many other boys benefitted from his various abilities, he would not say nor did I care.

As we three walked along Slough towards our destination, it struck me as odd that neither of us original three had been promoted to prefect status in our final year. Then again, neither of us really wished it either.

Many boys would have killed to be a Popper, and most of those who did, tried to regard it as no less than some kind of claim to future political stardom far beyond their Eton years. It turns out most of those wishes would be very empty but for just a few. I had no desire to rule over others and whereas it may have been fun to have had a fag, I was much more still the fag rather than the fagmaster at heart.

We were finally joined by several other colleagues, just as nicely dressed and entered the party at Bekynton. Upon seeing C.F. in all his finery I nearly had an apoplexy of laughter. He had a girl on his arm! It was outrageous to say the least, but typical of C.F. Her name was Darla Huffington, one of the girls at near-by St. Mary's. Surely she knew about C.F. and his less than heterosexual ways, but maybe that was the point and joke of it for both of them. I could never do that, but admired C.F. his hubris.

We approached our dining table and I saw Dr. H. Cottle and his wife, Adrianna. Dr. Cottle taught a biology div and I was the one who put in for his invitation to our Soc Supper that evening. Some beaks at Eton could be tedious, doddering, ridiculous and just plain overly important of their subjects. Fortunately, most were not and a few were actually fun and helpful to the point of being considered a friend. Early on in my academic need for scientific effort I realized that I would do as my father had and enter the legal professions back in the United States.

What need did I have of biology? I didn't, other than the kind that came to me naturally, but could not be rightly regarded as a proper div. H. Cottle won me over when upon learning of my future, he smiled with a mischievous curl of his mouth and said that even those of the legal professions must know which orifice in a human body does what,

"For forensic purposes of course Campion!" he would grin and then sweetened the deal by spending a lot of time tutoring me when things got a bit difficult or disinteresting.

His wife Adrianna helped a lot as well and had invited me and other boys for tea or even dinner to their home several times over our many halves. They had even made sure to meet my parents on their somewhat rare visits to the Isles and Windsor/Eton over the years.

Cottle stood as we approached, as did Adrianna next to him, her in a very pretty evening gown and Cottle surprisingly handsome in his tuxedo tails.

"Campion! So nice of you to have invited us, thank you!" he said to me. I smiled and shook his hand and then received a hug from his wife and settled in next to her on my right with Chadwick on my left. That is when the wine or other drinks started to come to us and we knew the evening to be on its way, just as it had for our B Block counterparts five short years earlier.

It was also when my mind started down its own little reverie in fond recollection of those times five short years before. Alcohol can make me both giggly happy and a little sentimental; but being aware, I just let it happen and proceeded to enjoy myself both in the present as well as the past …

"I still say we barricade ourselves in the washroom down here, I don't want to risk to be buggered!" James Arnold Geddison(CVH) whined in his ever bitter or pouty manner. Geddison claimed and looked to be thirteen years old, but sometimes, as now, he acted like a grouchy old Eton College beak.

"Just shut it Geddison, nobody is going to be buggered, but maybe you need to be, you talk about it often enough!" Chad Burke replied as we ten F Blockers huddled together in Aaron's room after our supper that evening.

It was early December and we ten CVH F Blockers had talked about this night, Soc Supper, seemingly for weeks now, trying desperately, some of us anyway, to not buy into C Block's strong effort to make us all think that at least one, if not all of our arseholes would be each be receiving a B Block humping of some amount before the night was out.

Quite frankly, I had a huge crush on my fagmaster Nathan Fisher by then and although the thought of fucking or buggering was not high on my list of things to do with him, the thought had crossed my mind during my own meager but effective self-penetrative efforts during self-pleasuring.

"Then let it be a real fag as yourself Burke or better yet, Campion! Everyone knows he wants to bed down with Fisher, if he hasn't already!" Geddison started in on me again. I wouldn't have minded so much if he would just talk to me directly instead of like I wasn't in the damn room! Now I got into it,

"Fuck you Geddison! Why do you care what I do with Fisher anyway? Burke is right, you talk too much, why don't you just ask Dickson to bugger your arse and get it over with so we don't have to hear about it anymore?"

Yes, it wasn't the best come-back. I had a lot to learn about how to properly chastise another boy and already knew I would never win any imaginary honors for my efforts like many boys would.

"That's enough, both of you!" Aaron wisely said and sighed,

"Look, they've been decent enough and earned the right even if they weren't. When it's our turn, we'll be the ones spreading lewd rumors in C Block and then when we're B Block, we'll be the ones dishing out a nice bit of fun to our trembling F block! We're not going to hide from it and that's that. If you want to waddle off to the washroom and try and barricade yourself in, be our guest Geddison, but you won't like the result."

So it was decided. When we were told, we would gamely march up the stairs, all the way to the top of our fates, no matter what it would be. Mostly, we had heard stories of embarrassing stunts, some involving a bit of nudity, maybe in group activities of some kind wearing only our pants and nothing else.

Besides, nobody had really heard of a boy being buggered up the arse for eons of time, not really. Some had claimed of fingers or other finger-like objects wandering about a boy's nether orifice, but none of it could be proved. So far, the only sure thing that would happen would be a silly house version of the Eton Wall Game, similar to the traditional Eton Wall Game that we had watched opposite Slough on St. Andrew's Day a few weeks before.

Indoors, it would be played in the upstairs corridor outside of B Block rooms and was likely going to have impossibly ridiculous rules that would have us all getting our bums spanked or paddled red or some such penalties abounding.

I made out like I was very cool with all of this, especially with James Geddison watching, but after the meeting broke up and it was just me, Burke and Connaught, I looked a little forlornly at my mates. They noticed, but only Chad would say anything and even then, it would be in a tease, as usual,

"Now come on Campion, you don't honestly believe that Fisher would let his little fag lose his cherry in public, much less not to him, do you?"

I could not help but grin from ear to ear.

"Yea, don't be a pussy Campion," Aaron then said and I had to fall back on Aaron's bed and cover my face, trying not laugh.

Too much laughter branded a boy a fool. You were supposed to not laugh but a little and then look dignified and try to come up with something more clever. I was not verbally very clever at that stage of my career, but could at least practice a dignified silence.

I sighed, "I wouldn't mind seeing somebody push Geddison's head down a lavatory though. Serve him right!" I smiled, satisfied and in any case, we all seemed tired of talking about it and him.

I went back to my room and awaited "the call," and decided to do a bit of homework to take my mind off of things, but time passes quickly for the condemned and the next thing I knew, there wasn't even a knock on the door. A C block boy stuck his head in with a sardonic tone,

"Get your arse out here and up the stairs Campion, have fun!" and then he disappeared. I sighed and could not prevent a kind of giddy excitement mixed with a very strong dread as I left my room.

But what greeted me at the bottom of our lowest floor staircase was quite a surprise. Already, my F Block mates were stripping off their outer clothing to just their pants, their other clothing already building up into a big clumsy pile. Why didn't they just tell us to do that in our rooms? Why indeed, the point was made, public humiliation would be part of the night's purpose.

I walked up to my gathered mates, three others behind me, and I looked at Chad, already stripped to his briefs. He grinned at me, we had hung around each other like this before, big deal, save that he looked very cute in his almost all together, Aaron as well and quite frankly all of my mates looked very nice without clothing, even Geddison.

But the fun part about him was that unlike the rest of us who showed appropriate concern, Geddison appeared positively terrified,

"I told you! We're all going to be raped!"

"Good! It'll finally give you what you've needed the whole damn time!" I blurted out to him to several boys' delight.

"Shut your faces both of you, NO TALKING!" the C block boy in charge barked at us.

Good. I got in the last word and although I enjoyed Geddison's continued expression of doom, I was not feeling all that positive about things either. We then silently waited at the foot of the stairs for what seemed an eternity until this huge roar of voices and feet came pounding down the staircases from the third floor like an avalanche of elephants.

Suddenly, a B Block boy appeared on the first landing just above us. He was dressed more or less in CVH rugger gear including the trainers that had made such a ruckus. Then we heard a cascade of voices shouting "Ready!" starting with the boy just above us and rising up until it disappeared all the way to the upper levels.

Then, we heard another sound and more voices and a very clear order, "BOY QUEUE!" and suddenly it was a stampede up the stairs by us barely dressed boys! Boy queue was what a prefect was allowed to yell to us F Blockers and we were bound to respond. The last boy to answer the call had to perform the task or pay a required penalty.

"All the way to Dickson at the end of the third floor corridor!" they shouted to us as all ten of us pounded up the stairs en masse like a group of naked little fairies, passing B Block boys all dressed in pretty much the same CVH rugger gear. I was doing quite well for myself, several other boys comically crashing and falling down on each other on the staircase, then having to pick up and keep going, cursing under their breaths.

I was going to beat most of the boys until just at the last, there stood Fisher, my fagmaster. Oh God he looked handsome and drunk as well, then again the pervasive odor of alcohol on B Block breaths was pretty evident and getting thicker as we ran up the stairs. I reached him and he saw me,

"Stop where you are Campion my little fag! You are not going anywhere!" and my mouth dropped open.

I nearly complained but he was holding a paddle, a small ping pong paddle, sans any rubber covering. So this was the game, was it? I could do nothing and so I stepped to the side and the others passed me by, including James Geddison who looked ever so triumphant at my expense as he passed me up.

Then when my nine mates were well down the hall, Fisher grinned,

"Hands up on the wall, two pops for you!" and I did as he said. Fisher then landed two smart smacks on my pants seat. They stung pretty well I'd say!

"Now off you go!" Fisher shouted louder than he really needed to in that old echo chamber stairwell. I started my way up the last few steps to the top floor, rubbing my seat when I finally made the last step. Everyone else was already down at the end with House Captain Dickson, save one. Dickson was Chad's fagmaster and had obviously halted his fag right in the middle of the hallway well before the end.

"Get up to Burke and stay with him Campion!" Dickson shouted with a little slur in his voice. I obeyed him and passed several more B Block boys, some looking more sloshed than others and each one holding one of those infernal paddles as if the newest Eton College sporting endeavor might be to challenge the Chinese Nationals at a match of "drunken table tennis."

I made it down the corridor to Chad and barely hid my smile. He looked so damn hot mostly naked in just his pants, but once again, he was very comfortable with me even then and didn't mind me looking at him. We did not speak. Fisher was close behind me, but the other eight B Blockers had already passed us and stood between us and Dickson."

Let me tell you, some of the rooms up on 3rd floor CVH might be generously large, but not the corridor. Squeezing twenty boys, many of them of good rugger size through barely half of one end of it was not a small feat.

"Campion! Burke! You will attempt to race to the finish which is me. The last fag gets five pops on his bare!"

Did he say "attempt"? But before we knew it, Dickson shouted, "GO!" and off we sped shoulder to shoulder down the corridor and indeed we attempted, unsuccessfully however, each to reach Dickson, at least at the first. You see, the other eight paddle wielding B Blockers were not about to let Chad and I pass without each of them giving us a verbal challenge or two accented by a few rather pre-emptive light paddle pops on our rears.

The questions they asked to try and pass them without penalty were either absurdly or impossibly difficult to answer or even hear properly, the words slurred by alcohol ruined speech or the B Blocker boy's own inevitable laughter aided by his mates.

I got a good six pops from six of them, just not very hard ones. Chad got about the same I think. Somehow it all evened out for the final few feet, all of maybe ten feet towards our F Block mates who had been laughing their arses off at our expense until Dickson told them all to "shut it or suffer!"

Chad beat me by an eyelash as they say, I thought maybe disappointing Dickson at first, but it turns out we both were judged as less than desired,

"What do you think of these fags Fisher!?" Dickson blurted.

"Inefficient and lacking!" Fisher replied. I looked at Chad who could only give me a small shrug of "oh well!" whereas James Geddison looked to be plenty self-satisfied.

"Right! Noses to the wall, pants down in back and hands up. Paddle pops for both of you, five each. Discipline your fag Fisher!" Dickson commanded.

"You heard him Campion, move your arse!" Fisher said and several of the other B Block revelers urged him on.

Chad pushed the back of his pants down, as did I. Naturally, I glanced down at his very nice bum.

"Eyes ahead Campion, no peeking!" Fisher barked, only it sounded more like "no peeing!" and I almost blurted out a giggle.

Once again, my fagmaster applied that little devilish table tennis thing five times and made me wince a bit, but so did Chad.

At least I got in one more glance of Chad's pinkened bottom cheeks. We both were allowed about ten seconds to rub it out and then the thing flew onwards.

"Form the line!" Dickson shouted and we were all deafened by all ten B Blockers repeating everything Dickson said at the top of their voices, as if they were all enthusiastic train conductors, much of it laced with chortles of laughter. We F Blockers all were getting used to not smiling or responding in any way, it wasn't our place to do so.

The "line" turned out to be a tunnel of B Block paddlers formed by the spread legs of the big boys through which we smaller boys had to crawl on our hands and knees, getting even more pops on our passing backsides, that is if you were allowed to pass.

Dickson or Fisher or somebody else would shout "STOP!" periodically and then, "GO!" and allow us to pass. My backside was already well on its way to quite a workout because I was Fisher's fag, so as I got down on my hands and knees, it was much more fun to look ahead of me at my mates' fate ahead.

When I got up to my fagmaster, next to the last B Block boy, he took liberties with me,

"Well, well Campion! Having fun yet?" and then he pushed down the back of my pants to bare my bum, landed two solid spanks on my cheeks but with his hand, then pulled my pants back up, but gave me a god awful wedgie in doing so before letting me pass!

I had to crawl up to the last B Blocker with my pants looking more like a thong than pants. Naturally, the rugger clad older boy took advantage and popped me twice more on my bare red cheeks with his paddle!

Believe me, by the time I was allowed to stand again, I pulled my pants down away from my bum crack. I did a quick rub-out of the sting and as I did, I noticed that all of us F Block boys were getting a good work-out of our cheeks, not just Chad and I. All I cared about was the pout on Geddison's face. It made it all worthwhile really.

Dickson's next order was for, you guessed it, "WALL GAME!" and they all shouted "WALL GAME" complete with howling whoops and hoorays as if our hearing was deficient. The question was not where it would be played, that was obvious. It would be played right there in the narrow 3rd floor corridor. How appropriate that was! But what were the rules going to be?

The real Eton Wall Game was nothing that could be rationally understood by mere mortals, save the blessed few. Believe me, no F Blocker of my knowledge was blessed in that manner and even if he had been, this version this evening would have been totally different anyway.

"Campion! Burke, you are the captains, Campion of the blue team, Burke of the red team," and out of nowhere appeared these ridiculous looking over-sized frilly garter things we would have to put up on our right ankles after the sides were determined. And how was that done? Now things got a bit wicked naughty, as they say.

"Every boy but Campion and Burke line up, arses against the wall, pants DOWN to your knees!"

A great groan emerged and you should have seen James Geddison's face. He looked convinced that we all were about to be raped on the spot and that even though his arse was facing into the wall! It was hilarious.

"Now, Campion, you will chose the boy that you think has the biggest penis onto your side first. Burke, you will choose the next largest, and so on down to whoever is … well … not so well endowed as the rest!" and of course the B Blockers just howled with delight at our emerging group chagrin. I was, of course, delighted!

I stood back with Chad right at my side. He knew I would love this sort of thing and his elbow gave me a knowing nudge,

"Now don't go and enjoy yourself too much Campion!"

To hell with that notion. Even back then, I knew what I already enjoyed; but the thing was, the obnoxious James Geddison had the largest dick of all of us and there was no way I wanted to pick him for my team! So just what would be the harm of me choosing somebody else anyway? More paddle swats or some other ridiculous penalty? I wanted Aaron on my side and not Geddison.

Nevertheless, I stepped forward and "inspected" (freely gawked) each of my F Block mates' endowments down the line. Most of them looked away with red faces. Aaron didn't. He grinned at me. Like Chad, he was quite happy to have me look!

The most fun was Geddison of course. He was last in the row and for once didn't look embarrassed at all. He smirked at me! He knew his was the largest. I think he thought that I would have to choose him and then he would somehow sabotage the team's effort to win the match. I had news for him.

I quickly stepped away from him and back to Aaron, "Connaught, you're with me!"

Geddison was predictably incensed: "What?! You're daft Campion, he said the largest penis, mine beats Connaught by a mile!"

"I beg your pardon?!" Aaron said for fun, knowing it would please me.

Suddenly a loud ear-piercing whistle blew. It was Dickson. He shouted, "Foul Geddison! Two swat penalty, you cannot question a game captain!"

All the other B Blockers yelled, "FOUL ON GEDDISON, TWO SWATS!"

Dickson gestured to one of the other B Block boys who in turn yelped, "Turn about, pants down Geddison!" loudly into Geddison's ear. James winced and did as he was told, managing a nice little glare in my direction as he did. Bam! Pop! Two pretty hard paddle pops gave Geddison something else to wince and whine about and I got to gawk at his naked bum just the same!

After that things proceeded. Chad gamely chose Geddison and from there it was a sort of nice job for me, judging my mates' sizes and all. But at the end they all got to pull up their pants and we all had to put on those ridiculous red and blue garters up on our right ankles.

"No biting, no eye gouging and no grabbing of genitals please! The football must be advanced by kicking it with your knees or elbows only and must pass over the chalk lines at either end of the corridor to manage goals!"

Great, just great! We were all going to end up in a long line at the san (sanatorium or college medical clinic) crippled up from banging into each other's knees and elbows, the rules designed to keep us on the corridor floor like mad-cap mice!

"This is a timed event. Now listen up! Each of the losing side will be spanked by the winning captain, ten times by hand!"

Oh god! This was choice! I wanted so badly to have at Geddison's arse, I could taste it and just then, I caught Chad's eye. It glinted at me as if he was up to something. What, I didn't know, he was my opponent after all. Then I caught Geddison's eye. It was a mixture of glare and fear that I would win and get to spank his arse!

The so-called football turned out to be somebody's old (and apparently expendable) stuffed Teddy bear. It was tattered and appeared to be on its last legs. How did we know it would not burst or explode from all our efforts on its helpless form? Maybe that was the intension.

The ol' tattered Teddy was placed in the center of the corridor "playing field" and we all crowded around it for a scrum, just like in the real Eton Wall Game. Then Dickson pierced the air with his whistle for us to begin and just like the real Wall Game is hardly anything more than a bunch of boys mashed up together with the football in the center of the scrum for long periods of time, all ten of us suddenly crowded into the center of the 3rd floor corridor quickly making for a stalemate just as with the real game outdoors …

As Soc Supper droned on, I didn't become aware of the fact of how really very drunk I was until I needed to use the bathroom and tried to stand up. I started to topple to the side and Dr. Cottle reached out and grabbed me,

"I'm fine!" I said or intended. The words came out kind of mushy, but I made my way to the bathroom without further help, albeit in a zigzag path.

I unzipped at the furthest urinal from the door, prepared to have myself a nice piss, closed my eyes and let it rip. Right at the end of my effort, I opened my eyes and startled a little. Just to my right was a certain CVH House Captain and school Popper, a smirk on his face. I looked down at his open tuxedo trouser fly at what was rapidly becoming quite upright.

"You didn't think I followed you in here to use the fabulous Bekynton facilities in a conventional manner did you?"

My own now tucked away member gave me all the information I needed to answer C.F.,

Asked and answered as they say, I dropped to my knees. It had never occurred to me that having an encounter like this, decked out in party clothes could be so exciting especially that giving C.F. oral service was nothing really special any longer.

"Do it properly Campion!" C.F. hissed. Oh, so he wanted the Full Monty right here for anyone to walk in and enjoy, did he? My hands quickly somehow managed to loosen his trousers and I lowered them only enough to slip my hand, specifically my middle finger back to where it belonged at times like this, perched right at C.F.'s bum hole, then slipped it safely home.

"Yes, that's it! Now don't dawdle all night Campion, there's work to do. As a matter of fact, I think I shall give you special attention later after we've finished terrorizing the tits."

Apparently, CVH's present year's version of "F Block rape night" would have special significance for me, a bit of dessert after the main course if you will. As for our F Block, C.F. had not revealed all of his plans for the evening, not even to all of his Library.

After I finished him off, C.F. left the room post-haste and I tarried a little in front of a lavatory sink mirror looking at myself and ignoring my own private need, saving it for later. My head was still swimming with the effects of booze and now the anticipation of the rest of the evening. C.F. could be an intolerable bossy snob at times. But at others, nobody could be quite as entertaining either. I made my way back out to the balance of Soc Supper…

Poor Teddy, he was being molested in a manner that surely should have upset his prior owner, but even he wasn't suffering the torture of his soft knees and elbows compared to his ten smelly human counterparts as we mucked about in the continuous scrum on the hardwood floor, the air around us dead and musty . Our grunts, groans and occasional muffled cross cursings were often drowned out by Dickson's blasted whistle which he just had to blow as loudly and as often as possible.

"Foul! Foul! You are not allowed to do that, against the rules!" Dickson would announce rather randomly.

"What rule Dickson?" a few boys foolishly hazarded to ask before realizing that there were no rules.

"Foul! No asking about the rules," he finally announced and the corridor Wall Game would be halted, the offenders made to crawl on hands and knees to Dickson or to another B Blocker, turn about and take a few penalty pops over their pants with the ever ready paddles.

Scoring in the real Eton Wall Game is a strange but understandable rarity and it seemed as though our little version would take the same path until it was announced that too was against the rules. What apparently was not against the rules was any B Block reveler snatching Teddy from the middle of our corridor-filling scrum and flinging it one direction or the other down the narrow passageway towards a chalk line.

Then the big oafs laughed their silly heads off as we ten scrambled like frightened piggies towards Teddy, the racket caused by forty palms and hard knobby knees slapping and pounding the floor on the way causing a strange din. What then was also apparently not against the rules were boys grabbing at other boys' limbs and yes, their pants in an effort to prevent advancement during those mini-Buffalo stampedes. You guessed it, many a bare bum was revealed in that manner and yes, we squealed with piggish delight with the results unless it was our bum bared.

So was the fix in? Maybe it was, who knew? After several of those random Teddy-tosses near to a chalk-line, some of the B Blockers might then bunch up in back of the scrum and literally push it and Teddy over the chalk line and Dickson would blow the infernal whistle announcing the scoring of a point to whichever side the chalk line belonged, red or blue.

So, was I displeased with this tight-quartered scrumming about with my sweaty and mostly naked mates? Are you joking? But At one point Geddison yelped,

"Stop that! Who's goosing my arse!? Is that you Campion?!"

I wished it was me, but it wasn't. Then I looked at Chadwick and he had this very satisfied look on his face and gave me a quick wink. He was goosing Geddison's bum hole! Bless him!

"Sorry Geddison, it seems you've a mystery boyfriend in your midst, but it's not me!"

"Liar!" James pouted with great frustration.

"Foul Geddison!" Dickson yelled, blowing his whistle.

"What?" James protested to no avail and Dickson proffered his paddle, giving Geddison a pair of paddle pops for his troubles.

Well, it seems that my good friend was not quite finished with his chicanery on my behalf. Dickson finally announced that the game was in its final minute of play. The score was tied. Teddy had crossed each side's chalk line five times each.

Chadwick Burke, my good friend and the opposing side's captain, already emerging as a very clever and perceptive F Block boy, waited until about fifteen seconds remaining, then grabbed Teddy, stood up, walked most of the way towards my side's chalk line, went back down on his hands and knees and pushed Teddy across the line!

Dickson blew his whistle, "Point for the blue team! Time has expired! Campion's side wins the match!"

"But! … But!," yes the "buts" where cautiously offered by Burke's chagrinned, betrayed and befuddled teammates, but none nearly as slack-jawed as James Geddison of course. James glared at Chad with his "I should have known" frown, but dare say nothing and didn't. I was grinning ear to ear.

"As promised, as side captain, Barrett Campion will now apply the spanking penalty to the red side! Up against the wall all of you losers and lower those pants in back!" Dickson commanded.

I was in heaven to say the least and a little worried about popping up a boner over this rare treat, but need not have been; I still had plenty of anxiety available over showing myself off like that to nineteen other boys all at once in just that manner so early in my career. Nonetheless, I was going to enjoy myself and did.

Geddison was last at the end of the line, friend Chad was first. I had a lot of reticence about spanking Chad's beautiful bum very hard. After all, we were bosom mates and he had gone the extra mile in his betrayal on my behalf, but he gamely grinned ear to ear,

"Make them hard and count Campion!"

I nodded and looked down, pausing just a moment to enjoy the sights! Then I landed ten (not so hard) spanks on Chad's naked derrière, five on each cheek as the B Blockers shouted rude remarks. Then I moved down the line to the three boys before Geddison. I paused and enjoyed the sights each time, feeling very certain that this kind of opportunity would likely never pass my way again.

Well, finally I got to Geddison. He sneered briefly then turned his head away. I paused even a little longer. I'll say this much; he had a big dick and a very nice arse and I wanted to plaster him good. I glanced at Fisher. He gave me a little knowing smirk.

I stepped back, took dead aim at the center of Geddison's left cheek … SPANK! … then his right … SPANK! Geddison's eyes flew wide open and he didn't look so snotty now! The B Blockers around us were howling with delight, so I guess I was entertaining them as well as myself.

My only frustration was that after smacking four other bottoms before James, I was getting a sore palm. Too bad! The next eight smacks were hard and Geddison's face winced up pretty well. At the end, I felt recompensed for that bit of trouble I fell into weeks before on account of Geddison's attitude and my gullibility.

House Captain Covington-Fulton lacked for little when it came to the drama arts. Upon our return to CVH from Soc Supper in Bekynton, all of us still feeling the effects of our liberally imbibed spirits, he and his Library of CVH prefects held forth over our trembling F Block hazing ritual each cloaked in what amounted to some kind of black judicial robe costuming. The rest of us were matched up in our CVH purple and black paneled rugger gear which reminded me of my F Block Soc Supper hazing from years before with House Captain Dickson and my old fagmaster, Nathan Fisher.

I could easily recall scrumming about on hands and knees, bumping bare elbows and knees with my nine other young sufferers from, trying in vain most times to push the old tattered Teddy across the chalk lines during the impromptu indoors 3rd floor corridor Wall Game. What fun that was, at least for me.

I got to spank five bare bottoms after Chadwick "cheated" our side the win. I could still recall James Geddison's sour face whenever his pants were pulled down over his ample arse during the fray as well as at Chad's betrayal at the end and Geddison's chagrin at me getting to spank his bare rear.

Ironically, James Geddison was now a prefect and quite respected actually. He and I had come to terms with each other early in our D Block, that is to say, I finally became quite fed up with the months and years of constant jibes and attempts to embarrass or trap me into trouble. We settled our differences one very cold and rainy autumn Saturday afternoon on a muddy rugger field.

I wasn't the best rugger at CVH, but I could tackle and during an in-house rugger practice, I planted James' face squarely into the gooey mud-filled pitch twice and did so fairly as well. I think he thought I was too meek and mild to ever take him on physically like that and it gained me some respect. We would never be great friends or anything like that, but he left me alone afterwards and at the least, we could be together as CVH mates without rancor for the remaining years.

I don't think I'd ever had heard of a Soc Supper hazing ritual, including my own of course, that did not include stripping the victims of as much of their dignity as was pragmatic, naturally at least all the way to their pants. Tonight was no different.

All ten tits looked properly concerned and anxious as we older boys herded them noisily up the old CVH staircase to the end of the third floor CVH corridor and into the Library room, shouting at them and smacking the backs of their bare thighs here and there.

I have to admit; we had some jolly good looking F Blockers start the journey at CVH that Eton College Michaelmas half. I had no intentions of becoming intimate with any of them for real of course, but I could easily say that my favorite bug was Kendall Pierce-Watkins. He was taller and more sportsman built than most of his 13 year old mates, a pure strawberry blonde-headed boy with a backside that quite frankly (and especially under the influence of alcohol) make my dick hard as a rock.

I made sure to follow him closely up the stairs from close behind and managed a good half dozen slaps of his seat and bare thighs as he was at the rear of the pack. Each time he would simply furrow his brow with the sting and then try his best to move ahead.

When all twenty of us were in the large room, the door shut to the outside world, C.F. and his Library stepped up onto a makeshift dais at the far end of the room and ordered the tits to stand at attention in a straight line to the side. He and his three prefects proposed to be judge and jury in the fashion of a tribunal of sorts for "crimes committed by bugs" against the good name of the house or something of that fun nature.

Me, Chadwick Burke, Aaron Connaught and our three other B Block mates were set up to be the executioners of the punishment sentences to be passed down on each offending boy which suited me just fine, especially when those old table tennis paddles that got used on me and my F Block mates from years before suddenly materialized. I got my hands on one, whereupon I caught the eye of gorgeous young Pierce-Watkins. He managed a wan glance at me and then stared at my paddle for a longish moment. I rather enjoyed that!

A chair had been placed in the middle of the room between the dais and we executioners. The first F Blocker in line nervously mounted himself up on the chair, not quite knowing what to do or expect. Hell, none of really did, it was all to be C.F. -anointed improvisation as far as I knew. The boy stood there in his nearly all together, kind of wringing his hands.

"Thomas Haddenly!" the boy said, wisely saying nothing else and slapping his palms to his bare thighs.

"Haddenly? Haddenly?! The name is familiar; the face is not. Are you an imposter?"

C.F. grinned and shouted, "Off with his head! Ten pops on his bare posterior, Sir Connaught, do the honors!"

"Down from the chair boy, bend over!" Aaron shouted with a deep manly voice that I had admired for years now. The boy quickly obeyed.

I knew for a fact that baring a boy's bottom held no special joy for Aaron, he was doing it, well, because it was his turn to haze a F Block boy just as his bottom had been years before. I watched Aaron with great relish of course, as did C.F. and at least one other of my older mates who I suspected of enjoying such things a bit more than the usual.

Everyone not on the dais was silent, but C.F. and his crew shouted out the count of each of Aaron's paddle pops. I grinned ear to ear watching the paddle smack the boy's arse, the boy's face screwing up and wincing with the stinging pops, my willy enjoying it as well. I had wisely taken the precaution of wearing an extra pair of pants under my rugger shorts to better contain my expected excitement.

After Aaron finished, the boy was put back in line and the next boy put up to stand on the chair. C.F. would then make an absurd judgment, ask a ridiculous question for which there was no correct answer, pronounce the tit unworthy and summons one of us rugger clad executioners to punish him with a paddle. The last boy in line was Pierce-Watkins.

"Mount the chair boy!" C.F. announced. Watkins did with a look of dread on his face.

"Boy! Say five reasons that I should not now turn you over to Campion for a good hard paddling!" C.F. solemnly asked Watkins.

My ears perked up, the corners of my mouth turned up and my extra pants came in handy now I'll tell you. I desperately wanted at the boy's backside!

"My God! What has CVH come to? You are indeed as incompetent as you look, get down boy!"

It was the oldest trick in the book. I blushed with anticipation now as Watkins hopped down to the floor.

"The correct answer is … five reasons that I should not now turn you over to Campion for a good hard paddling."

I honestly didn't feel sorry for him as his face registered that all he had to have done was "say" the phrase, not give five reasons.

"Correct! Sit down in the chair Campion, divest this ignorant little bug of his pants and paddle his posterior over your knee, ten hard pops!"

I quickly sat and Watkins reluctantly shuffled to my side. I reached out and slowly lowered his pants, revealing his ample beautiful cock under the beginnings of a lush bush of blonde pubes and a fairly large set of bollocks beneath.

"Get over!" I said looking up to him, his face registering an honest trepidation, then he lowered himself across my bare thighs as everyone watched. I felt a definite shudder of delight throughout my whole body as I felt the pressure of his body's weight as he did so.

I had not really spanked a boy like this ever! My Red Scarf Society activities had been confined to caning a willing same-age fellow's arse, nothing like this! I stared down at Watkins' bare bottom, what a beautiful pair of rounded pert cheeks! I glanced up at C.F. and he gave me a knowing wink. I would gladly pay him back later for this privilege any way he preferred!

"Do as he says!" C.F. approvingly reinforced and his Library repeated with enthusiasm.

Watkins groaned with humiliation, but did as I instructed. He pushed up his hips which put his arse cheeks up at a perfect angle for my paddle strokes. When I get really worried or excited about anything, I chew on my lips and right then, my lips were getting quite a work-out.

My grip hardened on the paddle's handle, I drew it back and swung down, kapow! Watkins' body jerked and stiffened (a certain part of me was already well settled into that state!) and my B Block mates all around shouted "One!"

I swung that table tennis bat nine more times, making solid contact each time, Watkins' face showing the stinging results, his arse displaying a nice deep blush about half-way through. By now C.F.'s right arm and hand seemed to have disappeared under his black robe. It was pretty obvious what he was busy doing, at least to me it was!

Watkins wasted no time pulling up his pants and rubbing on his red backside when he was allowed to stand up. I could only wish right then that the room would clear of everyone but myself and C.F. and catching his eye for a brief moment knew that I was not alone in that wish. Nonetheless, it was time to move on.

It should then come to no surprise that the evening's final event should try to conspire to put all of us B Blockers in stitches. C.F. arranged for our young tits to entertain us all by making them don wardrobe brought over from the drama department in Farrer Theatre including wigs, women's clothing and make-up. The idea was to attempt a very crude impromptu version of Shakespeare called, "The Taming of the Tit!"

After our bizarre (and painful) 3rd floor corridor Wall Game had concluded, all ten of us were herded into the Library room and made to kneel on our sore knees side by side, hands on head. With our noses uncomfortably pressed to the wall, our betters were apparently a bit undecided on what further to do with us.

Perhaps they meant to bore us to death just because they could as they just left us there for what seemed like an eternity while we all could clearly hear the sounds of boys gulping liquid. Nobody had to be a rocket scientist to figure out that more alcohol was being consumed as muffled talking, short giggles or outright loud guffaws were filling our ears from behind.

"Get up! Turn around all of you!" finally came Dickson's command. I jumped up feeling such a great relief of my sore knees but quickly spied two cricket bats being held by grinning B Blockers.

It turned out that we were to be given a choice to make as a group. Stay in the presence of B Block and humiliate ourselves most of another thirty minutes or so by having to crawl around on our already sore hands and knees acting like angry cats and dogs complete with animal sounds while they all laughed and jeered at us or agree as a group that we would be dismissed for the evening out the Library's door after each of us were given five swats over our pants from the business side of one of the cricket bats.

"Let's take the swats and get the hell out of here, I'm tired of this!" James Geddison whined.

For once even I agreed with James. The drunken B Blockers could change their minds anytime while we were playing cats and dogs and use the bats on us at the end as well! Paddle swats sooner than later were quickly agreed.

One after another we took turns at the doorway, bending over, palms pressed on our legs below our knees and each took five painful smacks with those bats. The only saving grace was that they had not used cricket bats on our arses the entire evening. For once it wasn't Nathan Fisher that lined me up at the last and plastered my behind, it was another older boy. No matter, God those swats hurt!

But out the door and down the 3rd floor corridor we ran after it was all over and practically fell down the stairs, we were in such a hurry to get back to the relative safety of our own floor and rooms. Our discarded clothing was still in a muddled pile at the base of the stairs, but we quickly gathered up our own things.

Aaron, Chad and I ended up in my room. At least I got to inspect their beaten red behinds for a few moments, but after that, we were able to laugh about it all, enjoying our survival. After they finally left and I was alone, I completely divested myself of clothing and lay down on my back in bed reliving certain parts of the strange evening. It didn't seem so bad then, in fact I got myself quite worked up over it and had myself a nice wank before I nodded off to sleep.

I don't really think that William Shakespeare would have much appreciated us using his play in a lewd parody of bumbling thirteen year old F Blockers, all of them intent on not having to play girls roles. Several of our B Block mates made more spirits discreetly available, but F Block seemed totally oblivious to that fact as they were far too busy intently arguing among themselves about who would have to don girl's clothing and make-up and especially who would have to be tamed as the character "Kate."

We would turn our backs on them, take a long draft of some kind of foul tasting whiskey or vodka, then laugh our arses off watching them arguing over it until C.F. looked at me with a silly drunken grin,

"This is daft! Let's get on with it! Choose which bug is to be tamed Campion!" and the room finally fell silent. I grinned back at C.F. through my own revived alcohol-muddled haze and then gave Watkins a very long stare (leer). When his forehead wrinkled up, I knew what to say,

"You! Watkins! Prepare to be tamed!" I said with relish though my words were a bit mushy. His face fell,

"Oh all right!" and we watched or rather chortled as the tits donned wardrobe and make-up especially Watkins.

C.F. had written out a quick and dirty script for the tits to recite which bore little resemblance to anything truly of any dramatic value much less Shakespearean. It was even more hilarious watching them huddled in a small group reading their copies.

I kept staring at Watkins, complete now with his red street-walker's dress, red lip-stick and a dark brunette woman's wig. Though boys dressed as girls ordinarily did nothing for my libido, Watkins' rendition of Kate was kind of sexy in a weird sort of way.

The bizarre make-shift drama troupe then regaled us or rather stumbled through a side splitting recitation of C.F.'s obvious attempt to simply make them all look like buffoons, not hard to do. The whole point was to have two or three F Blockers make a mockery of Kate, "taming" her (him) according to script first by a bit of 18th century style verbal abuse followed by laying her (him) over the edge of a table, pulling up her (his) dress and spanking the poor girl (boy) until she (he) agreed to be a proper wife for her betrothed.

I had read the script ahead of time and it called for two of Kate's mates to spank his pants ten smacks each. Much like I had really enjoyed spanking Geddison and four other F Block mates five years before, our F Block took this spanking Kate thing above and beyond causing Kate to complain quite vociferously as two extra cast members added even more spanks while Kate could only creatively complain about her (his) mistreatment!

The whole thing was vintage C.F. and seemed a harmless bit of hazing cruelty for my money, though by the withering looks on Watkins' face at various times during the evening, you'd think he would feel humiliated for the rest of his life. He would not.

"Out! All of you get out!" C.F. shouted at the bugs at the end, "Take all this rubbish with you!" meaning to return the wardrobe and various borrowed items from Farrer Theatre on their own time, not ours.

The post-Soc Supper "rape" of our CVH F Block's dignity was now finished, cataloged in the invisible annals of Eton College history alongside others like it from century's long past, if only in backs of the participants' minds.

"Admit it Campion, you wanted to bugger Watkins' arse in the worst way tonight!" C.F. said slamming his door shut behind just the two of us. I looked down at the lewd bulge that C.F. had been nursing all night underneath his black robe.

"Only if you'll pretend that I at least attempted it!" I replied, nursing my own stiff version.

"If I do that, I should have to pretend to give you a thrashing of major proportions, twelve of the best on the bare!" he answered, starting to divest himself of his tuxedo accessories.

"Why pretend, we both know I want it and you want to give it to me," I replied, starting to strip off more than just my accessories.

"It's more fun pretending you are a bad boy, wanting to rape an F Blocker. Honestly, Campion, I didn't know you harbored such delicious naughty thoughts about our young innocents, might you have enjoyed taking it up the arse at that age?"

"Are you asking me if my fagmaster raped me?" I replied, me now shirtless and nearly free of my trousers, C.F. stripped to shirt and pants only and nearly with his senior cane in hand. So had I fantasized about Nathan Fisher in that manner in my F Block year? Of course I had!

"Oh, I doubt the word 'rape' comes into play for you Campion, you like what we've done far too much for that, now get over!"

My thumbs hooked the elastic waist band of my pants and I thrust them down to my ankles, my erection bobbing up, finally freed. Once more, the sounds of C.F.'s cane swooshing the air filled my ears as I approached the chair and took my position.

I closed my eyes as I always did as C.F. came to my side. I heard him kneel and smiled to myself. I felt his hands on my bare bottom cheeks, his thumbs near my bottom hole and then I moaned, I could not suppress my delight at feeling his warm breath and then his wet tongue, ringing my orifice, my mind picturing me doing the same thing to blonde beauty Pierce-Watkins.

I moaned again, a bit louder and a long hard shudder of pleasure coursed through my body as C.F.'s wet mouth muscle penetrated,

I did think a moment, "I don't care if he does or doesn't," surprised at the somewhat ironic (Etonic?) tone of my own answer.

"Neither … do I!" C.F. predictably responded and then I felt a searing sting across my bare bum, the first cane stripe delivered!

The next eleven cuts of C.F.'s senior cane came in a rhythm best described as casually brisk, the first several with a small run-up, a small step into each effort, the last few with floor thumping real run ups. Those hurt, a lot, but it was worth it and my cock didn't budge one bit from full arousal.

"Get up!" C.F. said with a harsh expulsion of air after the last cut. I did, he was right there at my side, all five finger-tips already pawing rather harshly over the centers of my sore cane welts causing me to wince. Was my breath as musty and alcohol-tinged as his still was?

HIs middle finger-tip lit upon my bum hole entrance and started to snake inside. My cock twitched hard, my fists clenched at my sides,

"Let's … <I gasped as the finger suddenly plunged inside of me nearly to the hilt, bringing my heels off the bare hardwood flooring> … get on with it!" and then could not help but to lewdly thrust myself back onto his finger.

"Indeed," C.F. said with his usual cool, pulled his finger out quickly and stepped back.

I flew to his bedside and crawled up to his bed pillow face down as C.F. replaced the cane in its usual spot in the corner of his room alongside several old cricket bats. I smiled to myself as C.F. approached; imagining I was Pierce-Watkins and C.F. was me.

There would be no other foreplay or preliminaries, no talking, nothing but rutting and hard rutting at that. Sex was sex, no romance. Boys sometimes talked about romance at Eton College, but rarely concerning another boy. Most of that talk was over brief same-sex infatuations, temporary crushes, that sort of thing.

C.F.'s body pressed down into mine, his cock already up to the hilt inside of me like a jungle cat quickly descended upon its prey. I did feel captured as I always did causing an odd mixture of pleasure, both vulgar and triumphant.

"Do you think dear Watkins shall one day enjoy a good raping of his hot little arse? Is he like you and me Campion?" but I was far too pre-occupied with C.F.'s rapid, hard and unapologetic efforts to reach my throat with his relentless poundings and besides, the question was entirely rhetorical.

C.F. was sweating profusely and grunting harder now, nearly at his end. I went physically limp under his control and had my own private moment, asking an invisible presence,

"Harder Fisher, harder! Bugger me, please!" I silently begged to my long since past and then,

"Please Campion, please! Harder!" to a vision of dear Watkins under myself and then C.F. was precipitously done, panting above me.

C.F. slid out of me and got up off the bed, "That was pleasant," and then ignoring me, went over to wash his face in a small sink.

I got off the bed, glad to feel cooler air. I looked around at how chaffed and red my bum looked and felt, but ignored all of that and scurried about gathering up my tuxedo parts into my arms. I looked over at C.F. He was examining his face, for what I didn't know. I turned and headed for the door, opened it and two boys nearly bowled me over as they entered the room, ignoring me save knowing half-smiles.

The last thing I heard them say was, "This place smells like a nasty changing room." The last thing I heard C.F. say in return was, "Good, then maybe you won't stay long."

I entered the corridor and made a bee-line for my room. I considered taking a shower, but felt too tired to respond to the feeling. I did want to wank myself off and would, probably twice, in bed. I stopped at my doorway, my hand was reaching for the knob and it dropped to my side.

I looked back up the narrow hallway corridor as if it had grown smaller over the years. I recalled sore knees and elbows and Howard Dickson's whistle filling our ears with painful sounds in such a small space and a small tattered Teddy in the midst of a hard fought scrum, begrudgingly pushed towards one chalk line or the other.

At the last, I saw Chadwick Burke standing there at the far end clad only in his pants, a triumphant grin of pleasure before dropping to his hands and knees to push Teddy across the wrong chalk line just to spite James Geddison. It was like a book that had been opened long ago, had finally been finished and now was closed, forever.

Then my hand reached up and turned the doorknob and I passed through to inside my room, my mind already projecting to the upcoming Christmas holidays, I was already scheduled to travel home to my own country and family. I threw my pile of used clothing over by my study desk and flopped onto my back on my bed, my cock quickly hardening up in my fist, the other searching out to paw at my still pleasantly throbbing backside.

I closed my eyes, at first a picture of Kendall Pierce-Watkins divested of that awful garb of dress and wig, him laying across my knees as he had, me spanking his bared arse as I did. Then there was a mind's picture of me across Nathan Fisher's strong lap, my old prefect and fagmaster spanking me, as he had.

Then my imaginings ceased, I was just in the present and entirely distracted by my own pure physical pleasuring, nothing else seeming to matter at all.