Dreading Eton

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Story Note: From this point forward, as is traditional Eton College format, the protagonist's college house or residence, The Timbralls, shall be referred to not as "The Timbralls," but with the initials of the current Timbralls House master, in this case, Cyril V. Henderson or CVH. This shall hold true when other houses are named into the future.

"No one tells you at Eton that you are the best and yet most leave the school fortified with incredible confidence. Inside its walls, however, Eton is surprisingly egalitarian. When I was there (1974-79), few of us had any idea which of our fellow-pupils would inherit vast wealth or titles. Popularity had nothing to do with wealth and titles, and everything to do with style, character and savoir-faire (the instinctive ability to know how to deal with any situation that arises). Academic achievement was a secondary consideration. I can think of at least two men in my parents' circle who enjoy the reputation of having been the stupidest boy in their year. Both are peers of the realm.

Accordingly, the place was dogged – as it still is – by a reputation for arrogance. This was not unfounded. Take the story of an Old Etonian, now middle-aged, who was manning the gates at a charity event on an estate owned by friends, and who started turning people away on the basis that they were 'too common'. "

As I lay there with Kevin, Nathan Fisher remained strongly on my mind. I handed the slipper back to Kevin. Why? Because among other heady events of my latter first Michaelmas half, I was going to talk again to Kevin of my most memorable role in those days, that of Nathan's fag. Only much later could I really appreciate how cool it had been to be part of that century's old Eton College and British public school tradition.

I rolled over onto my tummy, making my bare bottom vulnerable and available to him, ready to talk, ready to feel his hand gently rub all over my derrière during some of the telling, but then ready to feel the sting of both hand and slipper at other times. After all being a fag in some centuries and decades was not always such a comfortable thing! …

After our first Long Leave and Halloween, it so happened that the Association (the Eton College First XI) had an away football match at hated rival Harrow School. Chad and I had the distinction along with just a few other fags from other houses that since our fagmasters had starting spots in the Association, we got to transport on the team bus to Harrow, an honour that was not small at all.

The older boys treated us all as mascots and made us stand up and sing songs together or do silly things like recite poetry, some from school, some we made up on the spot, but eventually we arrived and had to face the match, Harrow v. Eton, each school's best first XI. The match proceeded to 0-0 through the first 45 minutes, then onto the second 45. Each side's defence was defeating the other's offence and the tension built. Nobody wanted a tie match, not really

Together with Chad, he and I roamed the Harrow pitch sidelines, up and down, watching our fagmasters Dickson ad Fisher as well as other Eton XI boys try to push the ball towards the goal, but were defeated time and time again by an alert Harrow defence, just as our boys defeated the Harrow forwards.

We knew the match was near to the end and though played well by both sides, I desperately wanted my school to win and for my fagmaster, Nathan Fisher, to score the winning goal against hated Harrow. Such dream fulfillments are mostly vainglory and not worth the energy to even think them up, but unlike the others, I was not ready to give mine up.

Well, the match was nearly done, but suddenly from his mid-field position, Howard Dickson spotted Nathan Fisher on the right wing and kicked a pass so accurate as to reach Nathan on a full run. It took the Harrow defender a little by surprise, and though he seemed to keep pace, once on a full run, my Nathan was a chore to try and catch.

Chad ran down the sideline with me. My stomach knotted up. I just knew this was the last effort, the last real chance and that likely the defender would somehow prevail, but at his last effort, he tripped up and fell, leaving Nathan alone and bearing down on the goalie with several Harrow side coming to aid. I could just feel it happening before it did.

"Do it Nathan, do it! Come on! Do it!" I started to chant aloud to just Chad and then Chad joined me, "Yes, come on Fisher! Kick it! Kick the crap out of it!"

Fisher did. He made the Harrow goalkeeper commit, then feinted the other direction, laid his foot into the ball and sent a rocket past the goalie and it was kicked so hard that it was still on the rise as it passed over the goal-line and hit the upper far nets. For a moment I was stunned and then a yell came from my mouth as I watched Nathan's arms raise and our side piled onto him, yelling and screaming as I now was and Chad with me.

"For Eton!! For Eton!!" Chad and I yelled and danced in a hug at the sidelines. Our side quickly disbanded the pile in order to avoid an unsportsmanlike situation but upon seeing Chad and I dancing and cheering about on the sidelines, both Dickson and Fisher came running over and briefly picked us up, hugged us and lifted us upward.

Then Nathan set me down and kissed my forehead, "You beauty you!!" he shouted and then ran back onto the field to finish the match. My eyes watered up with emotion and I quickly wiped them as my heart was bursting with excitement, but even more with pride in my fagmaster and my school.

At the beginning of the bus ride back to College from Harrow, Mr. Seymour yelled back to Nathan,

"Head's up Fisher, this belongs to you!" and a football, the same one kicked into Harrow's goal at the end, came flying towards us. I actually caught it and gave it to Fisher. Mr. Seymour grinned,

"So boys, what do you think about that, who's the better side this day?" and the whole bus seemed to shout at once,

"Eton!!!" and then they all started to chant in a loud and boisterous chorus, "You'll always be inferior!!" again and again, over and over until we were all finally lost interest.

At that point, as the bus took off down the road way from Harrow, Nathan threw the ball at one of teammate's heads and struck. That fellow grinned, said something slightly unflattering and threw it elsewhere until Mr. Seymour finally held up his hand, "That's enough of that!" and the ball ended up with Nathan again.

He grinned at me, bounced it off my noggin, softly, caught it and put it in my lap,

"It's yours now Campion. I fancy you gave us a bit of luck out there, hey?" and winked at me. I just grinned back feeling a bit smug, said a quick, "Thanks!" and then quietly mumbled a little of my own little daring version just to myself, "you'll always be superior!" quite happy with myself that fun afternoon.

I turned and looked at that very same football, so many years later. It was up on a little pewter stand in our bedroom on top of a bookshelf. Nathan had autographed it with a Sharpie for me a few days later and I could see his scrawl from the bed. I was silent as I looked at it, wishing I could see Nathan again someday. Kevin rubbed my head, "Don't worry, you'll see him again," and I just sighed.

"But somebody got a little overconfident after that, did they not?" Kevin smirked and gave me two more lighter smacks of the slipper. He loved this part especially if only that once again, I had to tell him about what sometimes happens to new Eton boys who have got a little taste of the good life and overspend a little of their newly found pride …

So what was there not for me to be totally enthralled with my new school? Was life not nearly perfect now? I had just witnessed the most exciting football match and my own fagmaster had just helped to vanquish hated Harrow.

Long Leave just had been the perfect frosting on the cake. It was so much fun at Chad's home with his parents over Halloween, I could live there and be happy (sorry Mom and Dad!). I was months and years away from intimidating exams. I didn't have to decide yet what I was to study in specifics as a C or B Block boy nor where or what I was going to do after I left Eton. That seemed a half an entire lifetime away!

For better or worse, I and my new and bosom CVH house mates looked so handsome and even sexy in our distinctive Eton uniforms. No bum-freezer short coats for any of us, no! That went out decades before. We all wore the same black pin-striped slacks, distinctive white dress shirts and tail-coats as most of the older boys did. Some of us complained, but most crowed about the most famous school uniform ever worn by any boy in any school in any country and it got into our heads, mine anyway.

We three, Chad, myself and Aaron would walk along the High Street before, between and after divs through the week and adults, sometimes with boys or girls in tow, would stop and watch us, many times with cameras clicking away. That doesn't happen everywhere, actually anywhere for all we knew (and we would be right).

It was true that we still really had no idea of the considerable political controversy our school was to most of the rest of the country of Great Britain, and especially so with the media. That would come later, but we had all been cautioned to more or less avoid contact with tourists and those that we knew were not school staff and officials just to avoid problems and especially avoid members of the news media.

That was a no-no, and we understood it to a point; but what other high school aged kid, never mind a kid of but thirteen years of age as myself and my mates could resist the urge to show off or crow a bit for attending a school that had spawned several hundred real celebrities.

This was not to mention that our school crawled with police and body guards at times. Yes, body guards for those boys who came from countries, sons of leaders or other families who deemed their sons as vulnerable to unwanted or dangerous intrusions. Does that happen so much in American college prep schools or at other schools in Great Britain like it does at Eton?

It all was a setup to the first edgy encounter with the "outside" world which was otherwise very humorous actually and we all fell for it. It just kind of happened out of the blue. We were walking together on our way back up High to Slough and towards CVH when a man stopped in front of us. He had an accent; he was American of all persons, a Texan actually,

"Excuse me boys, but you all look like students in this here place. Is it true that you all have to be Lords to attend this here school?" he asked in his distinctive Texan twang.

I just stared at the man. I didn't even feel him to be a fellow countryman; I had fallen so far into the role of being British. Chad, as always, had the answer well in hand, for better or for worse. Aaron and I listened,

"Well, you don't have to be, but we all are! Lord Connaught, Lord Campion, shall we be late to our next meeting with the High Chancellor? We must hurry!" and hurry off we did, covering our mouths for the guffaws that wanted to leak out.

Kevin just roared at this point, he always did; firstly because it was funny and secondly because of my imitation Texan accent so perfectly set again my better than average British accented imitation of Chad's reply. "Keep going! Get to the good part!" he would then say. I would just blush a little and sigh, the "good" part indeed. The next part was still embarrassing, though now, years later, it was so much fun to tell …

We got away with the encounter with the American Texan man, but it only emboldened us to do what happened next. The capper for me, for all of us really was the simple and addicting fact of limousines and dignitaries occasionally but conspicuously here and there on Eton's grounds and with them the British press in some cases. Who knew, maybe The Queen might slip down from her Windsor castle home and make an appearance though she never did while I was there.

Nonetheless, she was often nearby and one simply does not ignore even the near presence of the most recognized monarch on the planet. Even I loved the Queen by then. Suffice it to say that all that of kind of went to our heads and irked us to some extent, not the Queen, but the snotty adult members of the press.

We were not allowed to talk to them, nor they to us, but we were just kids. We had to respond in some manner. Leave it up to Chad to spawn the fatal event. Once again, we found ourselves somewhat gawking at a group of press folk, following the Duke of something or maybe an ambassador or somebody relatively famous in their field of work in Great Britain come to visit and deliver a lecture or seminar to the older boys.

"Well, we can't talk to them, but we have to do something!" Chad said. I nodded, "Yes, but what?" and then Aaron of all boys leaned over towards us and suggested, "Let's moon them, in fact, let's just take off our jackets and shirts, moon the bastards and take off running back to CVH,"

"What, are you nuts Aaron?" I replied, feeling obligated to object, even though the thought of doing it gave me tingly goose bumps all over!

Chad was all for it, "Perfect! Let's do it, on the count of three! One! … Two! … Three!"

It was like sudden group madness! We all dropped our books and satchels, quickly peeled off our coat-tails and jackets and then our long-tailed white dress shirts. If that didn't gain any quick notice, unfastening our trousers and pushing them and our pants to our knees, grinning and shaking our naked bums about as the adults gawked in stunned silence, then burst out laughing at us, most surely did!

"Come on, grab your stuff and run!" Aaron then shouted.

That was the funnier part. Pulling our pants and trousers back up was easy, but then everyone missed or dropped something, an article of clothing or a book or a sheaf of papers, scrambling about like clowns at a circus before we got everything in hand and dashed up Slough still half naked, not bothering to put our upper half clothing back on.

Some heads turned as we rushed passed them, but most didn't and we finally made it back behind the door at CVH and high-fived each other, laughing, congratulating ourselves that we seemed to have gotten cleanly away with all of it.

In fact, nothing was said at all for the rest of the day and evening and we all awoke the next morning and went about a full morning of divs, seemingly still none the worse for wear.

Chambers then rolled around as usual. Chambers is a mid-morning break of 25 minutes when boys return to their houses and masters gather together, normally in School Hall. The final ten minutes provide boys with a convenient opportunity to buttonhole individual masters to try and solve questions or problems if needed.

I had nothing to seek help for, so just went back to CVH for a bit and then onto my next div and settled in. Right in the middle of the div the door burst open. There stood a prefect, a Praepostor, a pupil appointed for a week at a time from the Sixth Form Select (the top ten King's Scholars (KS) and Oppidan Scholars (OS) of the school)SFS are prefects.

The Praepostor is tasked with locating and serving any Eton pupil with written notification of a required appearance before the Head Man in the Head Master's School Room the subject of which is always a confrontation about a disciplinary problem.

"Are Campion and Burke in this division?" he asked quite loudly as everyone froze in place and watched. He was holding two pink pieces of paper. My stomach lurched a bit. So, we had not gotten away with our little stunt of the day before as we had hoped. We had both seen these presentations before and immediately knew they were pink Bill slips. I sighed and raised my hand, as did Chadwick and the Praepostor strode over and slapped the paper down on my desk,

"You are to see the Head Master at 12:30," then strode over and did the same with Chad. I looked at Chad as the Praepostor strode to the doorway and shrugged. He smiled at me and there was nothing to be done. The div droned on afterwards as if nothing had occurred. It was not an uncommon interruption.

12:30 came around pretty quickly after the div was dismissed and Aaron caught up with us as we were already approaching School Yard and the Founder's statue. We all looked appropriately sheepish as instead of going straight ahead and in towards the Cloisters, we all knew to turn left, go through two old wooden doors and up the staircase that would take us to the School Room located between Upper School and the Prayer Room.

"I'm so sorry Camps, Burke, it seemed like a great idea at the time," Aaron finally said, looking a bit mournful. I felt as bad as he looked, but in a way, I didn't either. I looked at Chad, then put my arm up on Aaron's shoulder, "No worries Aaron, I loved the idea, I'm still glad we did it, For Eton, hey?" I smiled a bit weakly.

Aaron smiled as well then, so did Chad. "For Eton," they each quietly replied.

We arrived on time and waited outside with several other boys, same aged and older until our time. The Praepostor then opened the door, allowing the prior boy to exit and he looked at us,

"You three, inside," and we followed. The Head Man was up in the dais, seated behind a desk. We walked to just in front as the Praepostor stood to the side.

"You …" <two quite hard slipper smacks to one cheek> "… got in trouble!" <two more quite hard slipper smacks to the other cheek>, Kevin grinned ear to ear as I winced a little and gave him a smirky side ways grin, but he was right …

Chad's, Aaron's and my ears burned for the ten minute lecture that the Head Man gave to us boys about "public impropriety" and "disrespect for school and outsider adults" in front of the Praepostor. Apparently we had been observed by some House master that took offence to our little stunt, had in fact seen the whole thing.

At the very end of it when the Head Man was satisfied that we had been properly verbally chastised, he looked over at the Praepostor,

"See to it that these three are disciplined by their House Captain to the maximum allowed, dismissed!"

As we passed out the doorway, the Praepostor said to us, "Dickson will be informed, do not fail to report to him this evening, all three of you," and that was that and he took the next boy in the queue into the room as we three made our way back to School Yard.

* * * * * * * * * *

"Campion, next time, please refrain from disgracing CVH and your fagmaster by getting caught. Otherwise feel free to run amok up and down High and Slough all you wish I suppose. Nevertheless, I am still glad you got caught, gives me a chance to see your bum thoroughly spanked!" Fisher said with not a small eye-roll as we three stood before our firing squad, me quite closely to my fagmaster.

"Not by me old boy, that's your job. I've my hands full with my fag and our dear young criminal Connaught here!" Dickson quickly advised. I kind of had to smile a little at Dickson's predictable response.

Nathan's hand lighted on my shoulder, "Good, you're in for it now Campion, a good slippering and spanking for you!" and I could hear nothing but joy in my fagmaster's voice. Oh well, if my job was to keep the old boy happy, I had done my job.

We were told to go to our rooms, dress down to football shorts and nothing else and appear inside Dickson's room "straight away" and did. This time, we all got to watch each other get pretty painful hidings. Chad was first. Still dressed in Pop regalia minus his waist– coat, Dickson pulled Burke's footy shorts down, baring his bottom and jack-knifed my boy over his knee and right off, started to fairly beat the living daylights out of Chad's bare bottom with that slipper, just not for a long time. The spanking came right after and Chad, like me, not prone to crying with a beating, was forced to yell, "For Eton!!" to finally make a halt to the punishment, but not before his behind was pretty marked up!

I had to admit, Chad held out a long time too and the trouble with that, for which Aaron and I would later give him some grief, was that we were both then obligated to try and outlast him, though Lord knows neither of us really knew how much more that meant to take!

Aaron was next as Chad stood up next to me, his hands at his sides and bottom still bare, my eye glancing at his spectacular pair of red cheeks. Dickson took Aaron's bared bottom over his knee, then my eyes and ears were riveted on the sights and sounds before me as Aaron's cheeks bounced up and down with each of Dickson's painful strikes.

I even started to feel a little stimulated out front, but that didn't last. Aaron's face winced up into a terrible looking kind of regretful scowl as slippering quickly and silently transitioned into a hand spanking that really made me worried that if it didn't stop soon, I would be obligated to be there all fucking night long over my fagmaster's knee! Finally the two words, "For Eton!!" came screaming out of Aaron's mouth. He seemed to have lasted quite a while!

Whew! I was in a sweat already and that despite all of us F block lads were practically naked, wearing no shirts in that very warm room and barefoot as well. Nathan took Dickson's place, and slipper in hand looked at me with what I swore was a leer. Whether or not it really was, months and even years later, I would label it as such when I sometimes used the session for my own salacious purposes.

"Over!" Nathan commanded me and I stepped forward. Was that a big bulge in my fagmaster's trousers? No matter. Two big hands pulled down my footy shorts and over his knee my bared bottom went, the slipper quickly to my bum and all thoughts of anything but survival quickly to the fore.

Naturally, Kevin took advantage, no question of his erection as quite viable, and started to slipper-whack like a mad hatter on my bottom as I lay there helplessly involved in my own speech. I had to pause, I couldn't think, it hurt that much. Finally he stopped, "Nice! I love that part!" Kevin said with a for-sure leer in his voice, my eyes still squeezed shut and my bum burning away. I knew what was next, but could do nothing but move on …

Seamlessly and without any verbal comment at all, Nathan's strong hand took over. I had estimated that Chad and Aaron had both endured a good thirty or forty spanks each and so I tried my best to count out a few more than that, but when the sting and pain just overwhelms your ability to think anything, much less count, I just put up with the pain until it was too much …

Kevin's hand was now going to town again on my slippered bum. I had a pretty good tolerance for CP pain by then in our relationship, but he still could take me to an edge even with just spanking, and especially after all of the hard slippering that he had given me during our prolonged session and foreplay …

"For Eton!!" I finally shouted into Dickson's room …

"For ETON!!" I shouted into our bedroom and Kevin stopped immediately and delighted, "that is so damned hot when you have to say that!" and then rubbed my beaten bum so gently, finally reminding me that indeed, it was hot and satisfying as well …

Shortly after, alone in my room, memories and visions of getting caught mooning those adults and getting hauled in front of the Head Man and then punished over my fagmaster's knee and getting to watch Aaron and Chad suffer the same fate was all quite enough for not only one, but two good wonderful wanks. Yes indeed, two in a row for the first time and lots of good stuff squirting out of the end of my hard dick each time. It certainly didn't hurt that I was also rubbing on said beaten bum and even tempting the devil by gently fingering the outside of my "you know where," between those beaten cheeks!

It was the first time that I had really caught more trouble than just some House related mischief, though most would not consider mooning and even running up High and Slough half naked as anything but very mild mischief. Still, what did I think of myself as I pulled on my "good ol' boy?" Actually, I felt pretty good. Getting in trouble with your fellow F block chums was something that a boy either already knew how to do with some kind of wit, charm and enthusiasm or you had better learn. If you didn't, you were really considered to be boorish and a nobody and though I had no need to be the worst behaving boy in CVH or in my block, neither did I want to be anywhere the best.

Kevin had lay down on his back and bid me to straddle up on top of him. I did, right over his pelvis and grabbed both of our hard dicks together and started to jack us both off. I knew there was a lot more to accomplish after this doubled-up wank, it was not nearly the end, but letting off some pent up steam would actually help and did!

Leaving adult Barrett and Kevin behind for the rest of the chapter, a fast forward side trip to Barrett's first mid-January Lent half …

My first Michaelmas half at Eton College began with a great deal of anxiety, but excitement as well, a constant feeling of discovery and emotion as well as getting used to some arduous schoolwork that a lot of us, even me, took a bit to get used to. The end of the half could not have been anticipated and combined with the Christmas and New Year's holidays back home, no wonder that halfway through the cold mid-January Lent half, we all felt a bit deprived of those first half excitements, but things balance out.

Given the absence of Michaelmas Trials (internal examinations that are comparable to Summer half external exams) and the relative brevity of the half compared to Michaelmas and our acclimatization to the academic standards, it actually seemed quite a bit more tolerable, if not easier.

In any case, I had been sorely worried that flying back home to the United States and being apart from my new school chums over Christmas holidays would make me miss them so badly so as to ruin the experience. Not only that, I was also worried that I would not only revert back to being the same shy boy that had left the United States that past September, dreading my new boarding school on foreign soil, but also to suffer not fitting in with my former American peers back home.

For better or worse, the former never came to pass. I didn't have that much time to miss my CVH mates as much as I was entirely distracted the entire holidays by how my peers and adults now reacted to me back home. The latter was a strange mixed bag of feelings and fact. One thing was for sure, I was no longer shy.

Even still at thirteen years of age, I had become much more confident and outgoing, and especially with adults and that made for the ironic fact that I would not fit in with a lot of the same American peers that I had left behind months before. That didn't upset me whatsoever, if not made me actually to feel pleased for the distinction.

You see, boarding school automatically changes a boy, much less the special boarding arrangements had for being an Eton College boy. Most all the boys I ran into that holiday, especially cousins and neighbourhood friends, went to nondescript day schools. Even those few boys who went to American prep schools of my acquaintance had to live in public dormitories and they marvelled at my personal freedoms and privacy.

There were fifteen year old boys around me during those holidays that didn't get half the attention that I did from adults, including their own parents. You know how adults can get:

"How was it, being in England, Barrett?" "Barrett, did you go to London a lot?" "Barrett? Did you get to meet the Queen?" "I hear that many famous celebrities have gone to Eton, did you get to meet any of them, Barrett?"

You should have seen the incredulous looks on the faces of cousins and neighbour boys, old friends, when I told them about our strange Eton College traditions and especially about my fagging duties and my fagmaster. Those words "fagging" and "fagmaster" really drove them all nuts! Did I tell them about my punishments? You bet I did. I was not ashamed and besides, it made them all feel very uncomfortable with me, a kind of power that I had never had before. Was I becoming a young arrogant snob or a bit of a toff, as my British mates would say? Maybe I was.

My parents noticed right away. At first, especially my father found it kind of cool. Here was his thirteen year old previously somewhat unconfident son, now look at me. I boasted of my school and all the British boys I now knew and that some of them had titled parents. He had me meet all of his adult male friends that I previously felt shy around and now I was a confident, hand-shaking young man.

But I nearly did befall a potentially somewhat embarrassing fate for all my new found glory. During the week between Christmas and New Years, my dad drove us all to my cousins, my uncles home. His son, Michael, was fourteen and though he had no reason to feel less secure for his own talents and his family was the equal to my family's wealth, the fact that I went to an elite British school that was called a "college" was somehow a bit more than he could stand and he immediately started to try and compete with me.

When that failed, he resorted to making fun of me for being a "fag" (in this case, an undesirable homosexually inclined boy) with a "faggot-master" as he put it. I quickly fired back that he was "ignorant" and that the word was "fagmaster" and that the only faggots I knew of were he and his friends. Oh boy, that was the wrong thing to say to an unconfident boy, he charged at me, fists flying.

Unfortunately, the commotion caught me having gotten a bit unlucky. As Michael came at me, I simply lowered my head and shoulders and easily tackled him to the bedroom floor with a loud thud, me quite unscathed. I had watched the Wall Game back at my college and learned a bit of rugby. We CVH boys had played our own version of both inside the House! I knew something about rough-housing, scrumming and tackling and such, Michael did not.

So that just as my uncle and father entered the room, even me being just slightly smaller than Michael, I was on top of him holding him down, grinning ear to ear. That did not seem to sit well with either man. Michael's father never spanked Michael, but then again neither did my father spank me. He heartily approved of the corporal punishment allowed at my school, however, and immediately assumed that I may have caused the fracas.

In a way, I was overjoyed at that judgment. I had finally made it. I wanted to fancy myself a badass or bad-arse, a school-boy troublemaker and might later brag about it back at college. Had I finally made it? In any case, we boys had to stand up and my father gave me a little scowl,

"Oh, nothing much father, we had a small disagreement about mere words, nothing more, some good natured ribbing and an accidental slip, hey Michael?"

"Liar!" Michael replied, "He pushed me and tried to punch me! I didn't say anything!"

It was right then that I realized that were Michael and I squaring off at CVH like this, no boy would dare blurt things out as he did, we would settle this later in some other more private manner in order to avoid the possible ruination of one's reputation in front of our elders. My god and I was only an F Blocker still!

Father kind of looked at me for just a quick moment as if he wasn't sure I was his son and I didn't even blush.

"Well, in any case, what would Nathan have to say about it?" father asked me. What indeed.

"I'll tell him father, no worries,"I said not answering the question and father just let it go as I thought he would.

Poor Michael was helplessly confused at that point, I don't blame him. I had confessed without confessing and made a promise without promising anything really. I rather thought Nathan would be proud. On the other hand, I was a fag and had a fagmaster to keep happy. Was this what they call "politics?" <a small smirk>

"OK, well, you shake hands with Michael and apologize. Also, you will report this to Nathan when you return and I expect you to report back to me what he does with you Barrett, agreed?"

"Yes father, I will,"I said proudly and confidently, then focused back on Michael,

"I'm sorry Michael. I didn't mean to be so hard on you. It won't happen again," and extended my hand to him.

Michael scowled a bit for how he now knew that I had manipulated my apology in front of the adults and there was nothing he could do or say about it! My Eton "education" was carrying me much further than I could have ever anticipated.

He shook hands with me, but avoided me the rest of our visit. Thank God, he just ended up boring me anyway. At any rate, the whole thing might have been an embarrassment, but turned out a triumph, for me that is; and especially so in my own bed over the next several nights.

Michael would be sound asleep while I remained awake and had myself a couple of very nice pulls over it, rather over what I thought Nathan might do to me with certain information about the incident. After all, there's nothing wrong with pleasing your fagmaster, is there?

Howard Dickson had taken me aside once just before the Christmas holidays, confided in me that he thought Nathan found me to be a very good fag, but had strongly hinted that I was perhaps too good. In truth, that confused me some at first, until I caught on and got the point and gave myself credit.

In any case, by the second week of January Lent half, all of the excitement of holidays and travel had vaporized. All of us boys seemed a bit cavalier, if not bored at times. Beaks could be so unimaginative and even if the half was easier, some of them found ways to simply irritate us with work that seemed kind of superfluous.

It had been a horrid day, a cold driving rain making everything and everyone soppy with wetness and chill. I had not had time to talk much to Nathan one on one since returning to school, save in passing, we were all frightfully busy. Finally, that evening after prayers (traditional evening House prayers over the centuries were really now just a House meeting). I took the time and went to visit Nathan.

He had no visitors at the time, but seemed roundly distracted, even by his fag. He looked a bit down as we all were.

"We have not talked for quite a while, so how was your holiday Campion?" he asked me kind of dryly, looked up from his study desk seemingly both half-relieved and half irritated that I was interrupting some kind of work he was hunched over. I stood up near to him, hands carefully clasped behind my back,

"I had a wonderful time. I missed everyone here and got myself into trouble with my father for which I was to report to you as soon as I returned. I think he wants you to punish me for it."

Nathan's face perked up right away, "Oh?" he replied, pushing his work to the side as he turned to face me.

"Yes, it seems I got a bit carried away and took unfair advantage of my cousin, got caught putting him in his place."

Nathan gave me one of his classic smirky grins, "And what have we cautioned about getting caught Campion?"

"Yes Fisher," I said with a great deal of confidence. I was on target, but so would he be!

"Dash the details, I'm sure the poor boy deserved it, so let's cut to the chase, shall we? If your father wishes you punished, punished you shall be Campion, but you must go report to Dickson first," but fate would have the House Captain stick his nose in the door just then, "Busy Fisher?" he asked.

"Actually a bit Dickson, Campion here needs a bit of sorting out from an incident over holidays," Fisher explained and Dickson held up his hand,

"Just get on with it," he said just like Dickson, dryly and without much concern.

I nodded my agreement. Nathan seemed pleased, therefore, so was I and better than that, I felt an interesting cozy, even tingling feeling that I was fitting myself nicely into my own little corner of this British society of ours. Howard left us.

"Well then, bugger waiting for it, you need discipline Campion as well as to resume your fag duties. Do you have work to do?"

Of course I did, but beaks' demands took second place at the moment, "Yes Fisher, but all that can wait."

"Good, see this room? Clean it up including my closet, you've twenty minutes to put it in order, then you will be punished, the usual."

I happily did Nathan's bidding, I say "happily," I bustled about with a small fag-like frown on my face and why did I do that? I did it because B Blockers had a fairly constant stream of traffic in and out of most of their rooms.

Nathan was a popular boy and other older boys were constantly popping in and out of his room and that night was no different. It would not have been any fun for Nathan, or me for that matter, for them to see me grinning ear to ear, jolly-enjoying my fag duties. I should look grim and serious, more like an old fashioned fag.

It seemed to work. I would be on my knees near the closet or on the floor re-arranging Nathan's CD collection and an older boy would grin over my direction and whisper something to Nathan. I knew they were talking about me and I just went about my work as if I was being a bit put upon. That seemed to please them.

The twenty minutes flew by. Funny how cleaning up somebody else's room seems so much more productive than cleaning one's own room or maybe it was because I secretly enjoyed being around the older boys and Nathan or some of both.

But I was also anticipating my punishment. "The usual" meant a slippering and spanking, my young age did not qualify me for caning by the House Captain. Oddly, I kind of wished I was. Caning seemed so much more mature and the boys who got caned in the Library also seemed to get much more respect than us younger boys for our limitations.

"Time's up!" Nathan announced and jumped up from his chair. He looked around the room, "Good, decent enough anyway," Nathan announced. He never said anything I did as his fag in his presence was "great" or "perfect," that would not be very fagmaster-like at all.

I watched him get his plimsol out of his dresser drawer then pointed to his study chair, "Chair! Shorts and pants down! Over!"

I moved my bum quickly as they say, my stomach rumbling a little, my chest aching a little; but for the first time ever, my mind's preeminent thought was not the punishment at hand, but what I would do after the punishment!

My God! I was getting the feeling that I could pop a boner even as I set Nathan's chair in the middle of the room, stood behind it and dropped down my footy shorts and pants underneath. I looked down. I did not have a stiffy, but then wondered what Nathan might have thought if I had! I went over the back of the chair. I was just tall enough now to only have to lift up on my tip-toes just a little to bend over the back, set my hands to the sides of the seat, then I was ready. Nathan strode to my side,

"Let's see. You did not report to me just after you got back from holidays Campion, that's four whacks. You got caught, AGAIN! That's four more. And … the last four just because I am your fagmaster and it pleases me to do so!"

That last announcement made me smile to myself, but my smile was short-lived as the first blow landed. Since my last punitive slippering from Nathan over that funny mooning incident that Chad, Aaron and I had got caught over, I had forgotten how painful a slipper is in Nathan Fisher's hand. OUCH! Damn that hurts!!

Eleven more followed, not all of them tortuous, but enough so that he had me dancing in place here and there and talked the whole time. I was glad he seemed to be having a good time as my fagmaster, I wasn't!

"Punctuality Campion! Waiting two weeks to pass on your father's message is horrendous!" Pop! … Pop! … Pop! … Pop! Shit that stings!!

"You must learn to not get caught, you're reputation should soon suffer!" … Pop! … Pop! … Pop! … Pop! … YEOUCHHH!

"A proper fag knows his place Campion!" Pop! … Pop! Yes, over the back of the fagmaster's chair! <Groan, my bottom was already throbbing!>

"Let this be a lesson Campion!" POP! … POP! Fuckin' Hell! I thought the others were given hard, those last two were murder! < Legs dancing about in place like a puppet!>

He let me remain over the chair a moment as he went back to this dresser and set the plimsol away, looking pretty pleased with himself.

"Up you go, replace the chair where it belongs and get over to my knee Campion," he commanded.

I did as he said, my brain telling me that my bottom was going to have to cool off a bit before I could enjoy it. I turned and walked over to him and stood between his knees. I looked down. It was difficult not so smirk. Nathan had a full on boner inside of his loose footy pants. Good for him. I was doing my job and even though I was still in for more punishment, I could tell he was pleased and that pleased me.

"You know the routine," he said as I slipped over his left knee and lay my upper body forward onto his bed.

"Yes Fisher," I replied. I would be smartly spanked by Fisher's strong palm until I couldn't take any more and then yell out the magic words, loud and clearly. I also knew from the now well established habits of all the block years in CVH that there could be boys listening on the other side of the door. B Blockers could waltz in if they wished, but for some reason hardly ever did on such a scene. Younger block years were forbidden such intrusions during chastisements with a prefect.

In any case, you never knew until later if somebody has listened or not; but if a C or even a D blocker had, one had better not wuss-out too soon. Yelling "For Eton!!" to stop the spanking was all well and fine. Yell it too early and you'd wish you hadn't later. Do it just right and you were the latest F Block hero or at least older boys wouldn't smirk at you later on, "Pansies, F Block pansies … what is to become of CVH!"

Fisher went so far as to hike up his knee a little, lifting me up and spreading my thighs apart some. It startled me a little, but then the friction against my limp willy gave me a new distracting sensation to contemplate, one that I would most definitely take advantage shortly later in my room, alone and on my back.

"Hmm, a pair nicely red Campion, looks a bit like those red-hot tasting sweets you seem to like!" and his reference almost had me smiling until his spanking hand refocused from sweets to pain! He was not going easy on me. I actually hoped that there were a good half dozen boys listening in to make it worthwhile.

Fisher said nothing as his hand flew all over my bottom spanking me hard! Not that I would have heard him anyway, that much pain makes my hearing a useless sense. I held off as long as I could, but it was better to yell out the words than ever let your hands fly back to your throbbing arse, "FOR ETON!!" I almost screamed. Good God it hurt!!

Fisher stopped the spanking immediately and the silence between us was only disturbed by a bit of breathless panting, on both our parts. The passage of time ceases to register during such rare efforts and I thought I had been there only a few moments, but if so, why was he of all boys panting? He was an athlete, I was not! Perhaps he had spanked me much longer than ever before or was there perhaps a less nice explanation. I had held out quite a long time on the one hand, but on the other, I would never find out even if it had been true.

"Good enough! … you can get up," and I slowly got up and looked around at my very sore bottom cheeks. If those sweets I liked so well could be manufactured the size of my red splotched backside, they could last me a month or better!

I blew out my cheeks and extended my hand to him, "Thank you Fisher, may I dress and go now?" I said, but didn't see any evidence of prior suspicion.

He nodded and shook my hand, "Yes," and I could tell that we both wanted to get down to our respectively afterglow efforts, so I hurried myself to dress and walking to his study door, threw it open. I could see boys at the tail end of dispersing. I smiled, others had listened, how many, I would never actually know.

I closed the door without turning around, but felt smug with knowing for a fact that I had pleased both my fagmaster to a fault, as well as provided a nice distraction for the boys who had dared to listen in to a prefect and fagmaster, teaching a younger boy and a fag another lesson of life at CVH.

I returned down to the lower floor and my room and was shortly visited by Chad, Aaron and others. Nothing happens in any house but that others seem to know about it almost by instinct. I proudly showed off my glowing backside and let those who wished, touch it. Then I shooed them all out of my room. I was, after all, an Eton College boy and by definition, I had my own room and when I wanted it, my own privacy and I used it just then, stripped off all my clothes and lay myself on my back, my head comfortably propped up on my pillow.

I hiked up my legs first, got my bum up and pawed at my burnt cheeks with my fingers for awhile, then let them drop and by now my member was solidly ready to perform. I closed my eyes and relived every glorious moment, all the way from "bullying" myself on Michael back home to the moment of confessing myself to Fisher, then each and every movement of taking off my kit, getting his chair ready, going over it, then getting my pops.

While I stroked myself towards a well earned oblivion, I even mouthed the words of the speeches he made as the slipper stung my bottom to excite my journey. The pain of the actual moments had blotted some of his exact words out of my mind.

No matter, it all ended with me visualizing that at that very moment, Nathan Fisher was two floors above me, wanking himself off, not at my expense really, rather because I wanted him to, as seemed his right on the one hand, but had I not engineered it, on the other? After all, he was a proper school-boy fagmaster and I was his right proper school-boy fag, but well on my way towards being a true Eton boy now, was I not?

The following Saturday evening, I returned to my room to retire to bed after spending most of it laughing my arse off in Aaron's room where Chadwick and a number of us had congregated after the day's work, sport and fun afterwards. I looked at my study desk and there sat two new boxes of my favourite sweets, Red-Hots. There was a small note attached, I read it and could only smile in appreciation. It read:

"Better, redder and hotter sweets for a proper fag, I could not possibly imagine – Fisher."

Next Chapter: Founder's Feast, B Block Soc ("Sock") Supper and the notorious Eton College "F Block rape night," fact or fiction?