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Dreading Eton
Michaelmas Half - Chapter Three

By

PJ Franklin

From Chapter Two:

It seemed time once again, and having a room to myself now seemed really helpful, but as I lay on my back and did my thing, images started to pop in and out of my mind's eye of Chad, Dickson and then one took over, Fisher, the prefect who had caught us.

I turned to my side and felt my bum. I was still only a little pink and not all that sore anymore, but as I came up to the edge of my pleasure and fell over to the other side, I had this clear picture of Nathan Fisher in my mind and he was smiling at me, as if approving of what I was doing.

* * * * * * * * * *

Our bedroom door opened and Kevin walked in, my reverie of Nathan Fisher fading off. I sat up at the bedside, noting that my bum seemed healed enough from my caning and ready for what I knew was next and saw Kevin holding at least a part of the equation in his fist in the form of my spanking slipper. Just the sight of it provoked a very involuntary arousal and a fast recollection of my very first slippering at Eton College. I would choose to wait until Kevin had me well into a fresh application of it to let the details take shape however. He sat next to me,

“Have a good nap?”

I nodded, “Yea, I think so.”

He slipped his arm around my shoulders, “So, what's it to be first?” he asked.

We had been doing our little dramas for quite a long while now, sometimes as foreplay, a prelude to love making, but sometimes just because he thought I needed a little useful distraction or I was also free to ask on my own accord. Actually, my mind still seemed focused elsewhere at the moment.

“Are you OK Barrett?” he asked.

I nodded, “Yea, I was just thinking about my F Block year again.”

He nodded. By now, Kevin was used to my Eton school regressions and was well steeped in all things Eton including the distinctive vocabulary and catch phrases not to mention traditions galore. He didn't treat them or me as if it was something strange and weird or a thing to avoid, even though I did at first.

After I had left Eton and returned to the U.S. to start my University education, my bittersweet memories felt juvenile and unworthy of recollection, but it took Kevin no time at all to be convinced that he had to honor my time at Eton before he could convince me that I needed to do the same in order to come to terms with how deeply the experience had affected me.

It was that depth that frightened me at first until I learned that I was a very deep and sensitive person and that just because I was entering into a profession that seemingly valued an ice water countenance within a shallow disposition, that it was only a job and not my life and that my Eton years had meant much more to me than just an education.

“Hmm, F block huh? I would think a spanked bare bottom should be first, stand up boy!” he quickly decided and ordered.

I had five House Captains during my tenure at Eton, five very different and unique older boys, each of which had made a distinctive impression on me during those years, but each was now just a memory. Until recently, my unconscious self had very much wanted Kevin to be my adult life's final “House Captain,” but not wanting to admit it aloud to myself, much less him.

Kevin's sincere and loving efforts on my behalf changed all of that, however; so that Kevin was now the very real, sixth and final House Captain of my life, who just like the others, would teach me things about life and I would adore and trust, as I had the first five of my youth.

“Yes Sir,” I responded respectfully and stood.

Kevin then gently guided me across his knee and I grabbed a pillow along the way. His hand proceeded to spank my arse, gently at first, then building to an enormous heat taking advantage of the cane stripes he had already placed there. As the pain built, I once again thought of my very first spanking at Eton over Howard Dickson's knee. Because of that first spanking, Kevin knew that I knew the code phrase to stop the spanking if and when I wanted it to stop: “For Eton!” I was to shout.

You've no idea how hard that was the first time under his care. It sounds idiotic and I felt a great deal of shame for wanting to say it as an adult, so many years after the real first time. When was I going to grow up? When was I going to finally leave Eton in my past and act like an adult, like I was supposed to?

“Did you hear?” Aaron asked Chad and I as we all walked from 4^th school towards 5^th school; 5^th being the instruction period just before Boy's Dinner at Bekynton at 13:25.

“Hear what, that you wank-off three times before you get up in the morning so you won't attack the rest of us in the showers?” Chadwick predictably replied.

It was so common of Chad to quip in that manner that even I rolled my eyes with Aaron who continued on.

“Dickson is requiring that from now on, during any punishment for F and E block, the only thing you're allowed to say to express complaint is to shout out, 'For Eton!' at the top of your lungs, you know, to show school spirit and all.”

I looked at Chad. His eyebrows shot up, “Who told you that?” and Aaron didn't hesitate, “John Ellis-Chambers, he's in E block. He got a belting for talking in chapel yesterday, so he should know. That's what he told everyone else he was told.”

Chad got this look on his face and I didn't know what to feel at that moment.

“So like, what does everyone else in House say about it then?” Chad asked, glancing at me as I anxiously listened.

Aaron shrugged, “Oh, it's already the thing now. Dickson is a genius, everyone says so. Only he or possibly Nathan Fisher could come up with that. I think it's top hat really. School spirit is very important, even for a sap like you Burke!” and Aaron grinned and affectionately jostled Chad.

But Chad did not respond. We were nearly tardy as it was and didn't care to be shouting “For Eton!” or anything else while Dickson plastered our bare arses with his hand or slipper later. But after class and even after Dinner Chad sidled up next to me,

“You did that! You're the genius Camps! You're the reason Dickson took it up. It's a new Timbralls House tradition!”

I just looked a moment at Chad, then said, “That's rubbish, it's all rubbish. I did no such thing, it must all be a rumor. If Dickson is awesome, it's on his own merits, not mine and it won't last.”

To even dare to think that I could possibly be responsible for some even vaguely temporary new Timbralls tradition in a school that had been around since 1440 was an absurdity too large to comprehend for a lowly F Blocker like me.

Chad shook his head, “You don't get it do you Barrett? No boy is too low or too small at Eton as to affect the whole school. You know it's possible for one boy to bring a school down or at least bring shame to it, well the opposite applies as well. One boy can start something new, innovative or in your case bloody brilliant, even if it was spontaneous. Don't be thick Barrett, accept it or at least let me do it for you!” and what could I say to all that, so I didn't, but I had not heard the last of it.

Kevin's spanks got harder and harder and I knew I had to stop it, it was really burning the devil out of me, as was his purpose. I was still going to get slippered. My tolerances for his fierce attentions were very good, but even I had my limits.

“For Eton!” I said loudly.

“What? I can't hear you!” Kevin replied and then gave me five more hard spanks across my already seared backside.

He was right too. I had not said it with all my heart as was my burden to do in his presence.

“For Eton!!!” I shouted much louder and then he stopped and just gently rubbed.

“That's better, much better,” and then he just rubbed some more as I let myself feel a little triumphant. I was still not there yet and we both knew it.

He let me stand up after a while and just teased my cock back to full hardness and a dense lust as we talked about something else, anything else than what we were there for. I wanted to shoot my load before I was supposed to, but that also was just a little game we played in between his hand and the slipper to pass some of the time. But the time out was now expired,

“Twelve slipper pops now Campion, hard ones too, get back over my knee,” Kevin said with a certain measured intensity.

Sometimes I resisted him a little and was always pleased and also a bit amazed at how physically strong he was to put me in my place. Resistance was certainly not what any Eton boy would have even thought about during a punishment with his House Captain, I certainly did not, but even if I did resist Kevin a little, I always gave in quickly. This time, I just flopped over his knee properly and settling in, got ready and now I allowed my mind to wander back to my very first slippering at Eton College ...

New Boy's Benefit was now at an end for all of us new F Blockers school-wide so we all gathered into our respective Houses to complete the traditional first mock exam called the “Colours Test.” Much less an exam than an initiation, it was one of the somewhat newer Eton traditions, a school history trivia game turned rotten, really.

The Colours Test was administered to us ten new boys by the House Captain and his Library and witnessed by the entirety of the other older forty boys of the House. The purpose was to for us new boys to pass through to “the other side” to become real Eton boys instead of “pampered tits.” They called it “pampered,” we initiates called it our last chance at civilization.

The trivia questions were designed to not only get harder by each round, but to eventually completely stump their participants into the final ending, four bare bottom pops each of the House Captain's slipper for each of us ten new boys for having “failed” to ace the test. You only had to miss one question to fail, hardly sporting, but it was all for fun and the slipper whacks were not supposed to be that hard.

One after the other, all of us ten F Blockers had to stand as Howard or one of the other prefects asked us the most ridiculous things that nobody could easily remember. Chad and I did remarkably well and were among the last few boys left standing at the end. Howard gave Chad the question he would go on to miss: “What are the four things that the Captain of School cannot have?”

Chad and I had done a bit of studying and both thought we knew this one! Chad grinned, “The Captain of School cannot have a goat, a wife, nor sport a beard,” and then he paused and looked at me. Neither of us could remember the fourth and Chad shrugged at Howard.

“Give up Burke?” Howard asked. Chad nodded and Howard smirked, “Sorry Burke, trick question. You should know that there are only three things that the Captain of School cannot have, not four!”

The older boys all cheered as we new boys groaned and rolled our eyes around a bit. Chad was out. I was next and stood back up. Howard smiled at me,

“OK Campion. Give us the true and original formal name for Eton College, spelling each word out separately, please.”

Well, it was a trap. The true and full formal name for Eton College is: “The King's College of Our Lady of Eton beside Windsor,” but there inlays the trap. The word “King's” is not the original spelling. The original spelling of “King's” is: “Kynge's”

I got it spelled all right except that word, which brought up another great cheer from our older peers and great groans and grins from Chadwick, Aaron and my other Timbralls F Block mates. One by one, the remaining boys fell into failure as was intended.

It was time to pay the piper. We were then made as a group and in front of the whole House to drop our trousers and pants, lock arms as in a chorus line, bend over, arm in arm and take our four solid slipper whacks on our bare bums like true new Eton boys and young gentleman.

As we mooned the other older boys and they filled the air with laughter, cat-calls or wolf whistles, Howard passed the slipper to each of our three Timbralls Library prefects and they went down the line, giving our bare bums nice hard cracks, one round each and ending with Howard himself for the last ten whacks.

I was bent over between Chad and Aaron and we looked at each other, huge grins on our faces and though the four pops hurt a little, each pop was lustily greeted by great shouts of “For Eton!” by the other older boys in the House and it just seemed like it was all for fun on the one hand, but for a solid purpose on the other.

For really the first time, I was beginning to feel like I fit in, that I belonged and that we ten, including me, had a special place in our school that was made just for us. In any case, afterwards, we were all treated to light refreshments and I really did feel the difference, certainly a bit in my seat, but more importantly, also in my spirit.

It helped as well that for the first time, I afterwards held no more animosity against my parents for having sent me across the ocean from my home to Eton in the first place and that maybe this place was indeed a good fortune for me.

Kevin wielded the slipper against my poor bum with his usual strength and verve. It always made me want to throw my hands back there and cover up against the next stinging smack, but he was wise and knew how to block my path. At any rate, I got my dozen as the memory of my first slippering faded away into the present.

By now, Kevin's cock was also quite hard, he always said because he so enjoyed how it all affected me, but I also liked to accuse the good doctor of harboring his own secret fantasies of lording a master's sadistic touch against a poor innocent “schoolboy” like myself. He had not yet bought that explanation and stuck to his guns, but who was I to complain?

Our foreplay concluded, Kevin stood up and removing his clothing, took us both to the center of the bed and I stretched out my length to besides his, reaching out to gently grasp my lover's hard phallus and lay my head on his chest. His hand rubbed down my back towards my flamed rear, the heat starting to really be useful, but my mind was still fixated on my school memories as “that” time of year was very near, the time of year when I would soon be getting one of several annual invitations to various OE alumnus gatherings back at my old haunts.

One invitation would always be an invite to the St. Andrews festivities each year in late November, the one when the inscrutable and famous Eton Wall Game is usually staged, as well as invitations either to my Leaver's year reunion or sometimes to a general House reunion. The Leaver's year reunions were a bit unreliable, however.

A boy like me was lucky to have had developed several dozen casual friendships, but really only a small portion of those really lasting good friends, all the way from F Block to my B year and most of those were in my own House. So to expect such a few individuals with all their families and busy lives to come to an annual reunion event each year, was asking a bit much. Kevin and I couldn't manage that either with our schedules over the years.

What was more reliable were the House reunions in which any boy from any year could attend as long as you spent at least one full and continuous year in that House and also spent at least 51% of your entire public school career at Eton. But those tended to be so large as to be held in London, were there were larger facilities and they were only held every one to three years because of that. The good part was that if they did happen, you could meet up with older boys who had guided you over their tenure there, especially the ones who were there in your F Block year.

“Invitation is due,” he said just then, “reading” my mind.

I nodded and sighed, “Shall we skip this year again?” I said, authoring a pessimist's point of view, just to protect against too much disappointment as I was having a resurgent longing to go back to my old haunts just then. Kevin reached out and gave me one hard spank!

“Absolutely not! You are not allowed, we are not allowed to skip, ever again.”

I let the additional burn add to what already was a very nice warmth down in my pelvis, Kevin's commitment on my behalf providing a warmth in my heart that even impressed me.

“This time, you will meet up with everyone that was possibly important to you my dear boy ...” the last two words said with a British-toned emphasis, “... most importantly Nathan Fisher if at all possible.”

Just hearing my old fagmaster's name conjured up some memories that added to my distraction in some interesting ways, none of them very unpleasant at all.

“Nathan, yes.” I said, smiling to myself, my history with Nathan certainly one of the best memories I had for Eton.

“I want to hear about that football game again and your first cricket season when you fagged for Nathan, in fact, just begin by telling me about how you two got together,” he asked me.

“Again? I've told you about it a zillion times before, it's all so juvenile!” I said with my usual self-deprecating reluctance to talk about tender things and boys from my school days that had really and deeply affected me.

But knowing Kevin as I did, I at least had the good sense to at least try and protect my backside from yet another lover's assault, but he found a naked spot anyway, so before I started I suffered one additional sting to my butt and further instruction,

“Zillions? It's like pulling teeth with you, isn't it. You will talk and enthusiastically or else!” and I just sighed, once again given “permission” to feel and describe to him all those good early juvenile feelings of schoolboy adorations and yes, early schoolboy crushes.

“Fisher wants to see you by yourself Campion. Has Burke finally given you permission to screw-up on your own?” Porter Shaw smirked at me. Porter wasn't a prefect, but as long as he was a B Blocker, he may as well have been a prefect.

Besides, Porter was a good example of how, for my years there anyway, any B Block boy in The Timbralls treated us F Block boys with an older brother's type of firmness and as often as not with dry humor and not a little sarcasm as well. He saw my concern, however, and modified,

“It's nothing bad, in fact, I think you're in for an interesting surprise, Campion, congratulations.”

“Congratulations? For what?” I stared back at him.

“I'm not saying a word more,” he grinned and trotted past me on his way to one of Eton's seemingly endless and sprawling playing fields for football practice. I watched his older boy swagger for a moment, then hurried my pace towards Fisher's room, my mouth dry and chest aching a bit.

You did not keep the House Captain, Howard Dickson, or any member of Howard Dickson's Library waiting for any length of time when summonsed. But just before I knocked on Fisher's door, I stopped and flushed in my face with a realization. All of my nine other new F Block mates had been chattering almost incessantly for the past three weeks about fagging.

A fag was a new F Block boy who is asked by a B Block prefect to be “in his personal service,” a very old Eton College boy to boy tradition and was to be distinguished from “boy call” or “boy queue” which was now in the modern era, for all new F Block boys.

If a Timbralls prefect had a task to do, real or rhetorical, he would go down to our House floor and yell “Boy queue!!” at the top of his lungs. The last of the ten new boys to run to the source and touch any of the prefect's clothing was assigned the task, or if rhetorical, a bit of a light punishment, usually a couple of perfunctory spanks to his trousered bottom. However, it was taken seriously so that if you were found to be chronically the last, the “light” turned heavy and the spanks could become bare bottomed or a slipper might appear as well.

Fagging used to be considered almost a punishment, and fags were treated poorly at times over the centuries until the practice was abolished at Eton College around 1970. When corporal punishments were re-instituted, fagging was also re-allowed, but in a more benign fashion. In other words, it kind of became a very early honor to be asked to fag.

Once onerous fagmasters had turned into mentors, and even friends and some fags had found that their friendships with their fagmasters as important to them after leaving Eton as much as with any other boy. Yes, a boy could find himself spanked or slippered a bit more for fag tasks not well done, but that went along the territory.

Was Nathan Fisher going to ask me to fag for him, an American? I doubted it. What we did not know was which prefects, if any, would retain fags, it was a closely guarded secret and given the smallish pool of potential fags in The Timbralls, just us ten new F Blockers, the “excitement” of who might be asked was a bit of fun, at least for my Brit mates. I frankly found the whole thing kind of odd, we had no such thing in America to compare.

For that reason, I thought the “congratulations” was over some kind of good result in one of my school classes that had come to the Library's attention, though I would have thought that Howard Dickson would have been the bearer of that kind of good news, just as he would if you got a Rip.

A Rip was a very unsatisfactory result as signaled by a master putting a tear into the top of your bad school work paper and it had to be examined and acknowledged by your Housemaster, Tutor (academic advisor) and House Captain, not good in the aggregate, let me assure you. Many a red and very sore bottom could be gathered from the House Captain with just about any Rip that came your way in any Block year.

I shrugged and knocked on Fisher's door. You didn't have to do that for a boy in your own Block or for a Block lower than yours, but there wasn't a Block lower than mine! Fisher's voice called me in and as I did, yet another B Block boy was on his way out. I didn't know all their names yet and this one smiled, tapped me on my head and also said,

“Congratulations Campion, have fun!” and I glanced at him. What was going on? At least I didn't feel like I was in trouble, but why was I feeling like I wasn't?

The door closed and I turned and faced Fisher. He was sitting in his chair in a rather inglorious slouch one fist up around his nose, elbow resting on his other horizontal forearm with his hair in a kind of longer and handsome mess that the older boys were allowed. In short, even then, I had the unconscious feeling that he was handsome and as my Brit mates would often say, “dashing,”a word I grew to love.

“Sir?” I simply said, still worried that I was in trouble, now that I was alone with him.

“Thank you for coming in Campion, so how are you getting on?” he asked me first as I stood in front of him, nervously.

We were asked that quite frequently, seemingly every day, by Housemasters, prefects, masters, staff of all kinds and certainly the Head or even the Eton College Provost if they happened upon you or your mates in a group even. It was a nice gesture and all, but what did they expect the new boys to say anyway? “Sorry sir, this place sucks!”

“Good, I guess,” was what I said to Fisher.

He then sat up, his hands almost uncomfortably falling into his lap and he looked at me as if he was changing his mind about something, then just blurted it out,

“Campion, I want to ask you to be my fag for the year.”

I guess he assumed that I knew what a fag was and actually I did, mostly anyway, from all the things that Chad and the other Brit boys had told me.

I blinked, “Well, but ... I'm an American, not a British boy,” and I didn't know why I even offered that as some kind of excuse or reason to not be his fag.

His face grew a little more solemn and he looked at me, “Is anyone making fun or bullying you about your citizenship, Campion?”

He didn't make fun of me and even assumed that I may have been given a difficult time about my official American roots and though I never even had ever felt that to be a problem, it was his singular serious consideration of my welfare that broke my dullness over the thing. His fast concern suddenly flipped a switch in my brain and instantly I knew that I wanted to be Fisher's fag, desperately even.

“No sir. They poke fun at some of the things in my country and I do the same of theirs, but it's not serious,” and he nodded and seemed to relax.

“Do you know what fagging is? Where it comes from?” and then he had me sit on his bedside and he turned his chair toward me and we talked about fagging's history. He was honest and open and described some of the abuses of the past, but that they had been done away with.

Just those first long minutes with Nathan Fisher, alone with him, an older boy instructing me so personally, and quite seriously, sharing not only his knowledge, but his enthusiasm of his school was infectious. You have no idea what that means to a boy like me, barely a month into a new and somewhat frightening experience, no matter that I had already been flooded with concern by my Tutor and my Housemaster and Dame and sundry other adults. This was very different and I liked it and him, a lot and right off.

“So, do you need some time to think about it?” Nathan asked, I thought a bit anxiously as well.

I sat up straight and smiled, “No sir, I'll do it and thank you sir,” and I knew better even then not to ask him why he picked me.

Fisher seemed pleased with my answer in an understated fashion and smiled and leaned forward, clasping his hands together,

“Good! Well then, your very first fagging task Campion is to learn to sing the Boating Song, on your own, in front of me,” and he handed me a paper handout with the words on it.

“Besides the Carmen Etonense, the official school song, it's the most famous Eton song of all in Great Britain. It's my favorite besides and I'll help you learn it.”

I had heard the Eton Boating Song several times in chapel as sung by the choir and other older boys sometimes just broke out in singing it together in small groups among themselves during idle moments in a kind of way that made you feel as if they really enjoyed it in a serious way and you should as well. Even though I was mostly familiar with singing it in a group by now, I still felt a long ways from really knowing it, much less singing it by myself alone and in front of another older boy.

So I looked at the words printed on the page as I sat there, my legs kind of swinging about, like I sometimes still did, an old habit not yet discarded and started to hum some of it, not even knowing if I should be or not, yet. I guess I just kind of got caught up into it some and well before the song would eventually hit me between the eyes as it would months from then during the school's famous late springtime 4th Of June celebrations along the Thames river.

I then became very self-conscious and looked up and caught Nathan looking at me in a peculiar way, but then he averted his eyes and I immediately stopped swinging my legs and felt irritated with myself for seeming so childish in Nathan's presence.

He must surely think that I was acting like I was still in a Prep school. But, then, he looked back at me and all I saw was this look of delight on my fagmaster's face,

“Come on Campion, you seem decently familiar, let's try it out a bit, together ...”

I had to stop right there, a lump formed in my throat when I caught myself mindlessly humming the Boating Song tune in front of Kevin. I was once again the very self-conscious thirteen year old new boy in his presence and once in awhile, to tell the truth, I could seem to see, as well as feel, a lot of Nathan Fisher in my Kevin.

Feeling my pause, Kevin stroked my head,

“Come on, sing it for me,”he asked me gently, knowing how much the song now meant to me so many years later.

“No, I can't,” I replied. I never could without his cajoling. Hell, he knew it better than I did by now! Why couldn't I just do it without the effort feeling so small and unworthy or juvenile?

“Yes you can, come on ...”and he started it before me as he always did,

Jolly boating weather,
And a hay harvest breeze,
Blade on the feather,
Shade off the trees

It made me smile, then I joined in with him,

But then I stopped singing, so did Kevin. I had the “look” on my face, having sung the infamous words. Well, infamous to some, gentle and wonderful to others, like me.

“Let it go Barrett, it's not worth the energy of remembering,” Kevin gently suggested.

Letting go meant not letting a certain OE, an internationally famous actor's self-aggrandizing on-T.V. comments, spoil it for me. I really disliked the bastard for when it first happened, but now it was more of a smirky irritation I suppose. If for some of us, “with your bodies between your knees,” somehow conjures up some kind of vague intimate moments between schoolboys, then so what? It didn't mean that at all, so why did he seek to imply that in the first place?

“Go on, sing me some more, I love listening to you,” Kevin followed.

Kevin called this a form of “inner child” work, something very valid and useful to some adults. Kevin said I had an “inner schoolboy,” something he thought he had made up, only for us to find out later that the term had already been associated with notable British authors Anthony Buckeridge, Evelyn Waugh and P G Wodehouse, the latter two as “both very much in touch with their inner schoolboy.” Wodehouse had been known to check up on cricket scores from his old school, Dulwich College, right up and until the day he died at age 93.

I felt I was very different from those gentlemen, however, and did not engage or use adult versions of schoolboy expressions of “despair” or engage in “pranks” in my everyday life, neither did I entertain adult versions of “money-making schemes that go wrong,” I guess I had my own version of the inner schoolboy. In any case, Kevin was my guide in such things ...

Nathan stopped our singing, rather his singing. He was booming it a bit and I found my new fagmaster's enthusiasm strange
and attractive at the same time. It was like he enjoyed it, but it was more than that. My own singing felt feeble to myself.

“Not bad, you just need to sing louder Campion,” he remarked.

“What do the words mean sir?” I asked, genuinely interested now, probably because Nathan was so into it.

“What do you think they mean, do you think this is really about rowing boats down a river?”

I sensed the trap. Whenever beaks or older boys asked questions like that, it meant to look beyond the usual or obvious answer,

“Some yes, but not entirely,” I replied.

“Who's Harrow sir?” I asked.

He smiled, “Ah yes, I sometimes forget you're from America and not from these parts. Harrow School, is one of our rival schools, our fiercest I think! We compete with Harrow boys in most everything sporting and academically as well for decades of time. They're a bit north of London the same distance as we are west.”

I nodded and looked back down at the lyrics on the sheet and said quietly to myself, “And nothing in life shall sever, the chain that is round us now,” and I looked up at Nathan,

“Friendship sir, it's all about being friends for life,” and Nathan sat back in his chair, his face suddenly somewhat surprised looking and he blinked at me,

“It took me the whole of Michaelmas and Lent clear to June to figure that out in my F Block year,” and he looked down a bit, then up, his face changed even more now. I was worried that I had said the wrong thing.

“Campion ... I wasn't going to share with you why I wanted you to fag with me. I thought it was unwise and would go to your head. That can happen in your age and year, making boys feel far too important about themselves. But I don't think you're that kind of boy ... actually, I think that's why I chose you, that, and how you carried yourself and what you did, or rather said when you and Burke got spanked for listening at Dickson's door.”

I remembered. Chad made a big deal over it, said it shocked or stunned Dickson and Fisher and then Dickson made it mandatory and all,

“It was nothing sir, it was just what I saw on the wall and was afraid to say the wrong thing.”

Nathan looked at me, his arms folded into himself a little and sighed, “Never change Barrett Campion, never. Just be who you are right now and you'll get along better than most around here,” and he blew his cheeks out a little.

“Well, enough for now, OK? Listen Campion. Being a fag means a bit more work for you, most of it just traditional, but it also means extra fun as well. But more importantly, if you have any problem, any concern and you wish to speak to me instead of Dickson, it's your privilege, and I mean 24 hours a day, even if I'm asleep, you will come to my room, and enter, don't even bother knocking, understand? I insist on this.”

I smiled and nodded, his words making me feel warm inside. 24 hour availability through an open door seemed so generous, but then I recalled one of the first of many F Block consultations that we newer boys would worry among ourselves about wanking. Nathan's offering conjured up a “what if” just then and I cast all caution to the wind and dared myself to ask the burning question,

“Well, good Fisher, but what if I catch you in the middle of a wank?” and as soon as I said it, I wondered what the hell I said that for?! I knew boys wanked, probably especially older boys, but why bring it up like that?

But Nathan just grinned, “I don't know, come and join me first? No! I'm just joking, don't worry about that. It actually happens, so if you walk in on a mate who's taking care of business, just don't let it rattle you, OK?”

I could breathe again, “Yes sir, I won't.”

“Good then, now work on the song, practice it, maybe with that firebrand of a mate you have in Burke and be warned, I think he'll have a bit of a surprise for you when you see him again,” Nathan grinned as the cat does who snatches the bird from mid-air.

I just smiled and stood up, anticipating being dismissed and did not ask him about Chadwick, but he had made me anxious to find Chad.

As I stood, I wasn't quite sure how to leave my fagmaster's room, “Um ... thank you sir!”

Nathan smiled and came over to me, escorting me to the door, “Go on then, out with you!” and opening the door, gave me a very firm spank to my bottom.

Nathan closed the door and I stood there a moment in the hallway, the spank not harsh, but kind of warm and tingly actually and I rubbed it softly and felt kind of, well, alone out there in the hallway and as I walked to the staircase to go downstairs to lower boy territory, I stopped half-way and looked back at Nathan's room with the sensation that I wanted to go back up and be with Nathan a little while longer. I was an only child and always wondered what it would have been like to have an older brother. But just then, Chad's face popped into my mind. What was Nathan talking about? You don't suppose?

“YOU ... had a huge crush on Nathan Fisher from the first,” Kevin teased me, poking me in the ribs as he always did at this point in my reveries, just to get a rise out of me

“Yea, no kidding, I think I did. Not much point in denying that he was one hell of a handsome boy. Turns out in retrospect that he and a few others were totally everything that I later thought I wanted in a lover, before I found you that is ...” and paused and gave Kevin a kiss.

“... it was a good thing I didn't know any of that way back with Nathan especially, it could have caused a lot a trouble for him.”

“And for you,” Kevin reminded me, but I would have gone through hell for Nathan Fisher, he meant that much to me that first year. The worst part, so many years later, was that I had yet to see or hear from Nathan, supposing that like most, he had gone to a university, had a demanding job, a family and a hectic life like the rest of us, much less he was four long years ahead of my time.

I sighed, “I'm sorry, this is all such a turn-off for sex. Look at me, blathering on like a first year law student and that thought alone is such a turn-off right there. I should stop.” Well, that was a bit of a mistake, being so negative, that is, I was not allowed.

Kevin said nothing to warn me, leveraged his body position and leaning far forward, landed not one, two or three hard spanks over my mostly cooled off rear, but a very hard dozen. I didn't need to ask what they were for, they were for bad attitude and negative expression and I deserved them, wincing through them.

“This is NOT about sex, it's about fond memories and your need to express them aloud love, now continue!” and I nodded and settled my head back on his chest as he settled himself back.

My hand went back and rubbed my newly flamed rear. Actually, those spanks made quite an impression right then and there, triggering not only a new round of lustful feelings, but also the next several important memories of those wonderful autumn F Block years after I had been appointed Nathan Fisher's fag, so I started back into it, my speech loud and clear for Kevin ...

My first visit to my first Tutor, Mr. Henry Angelico, was only a modest shock to the system. I had been a good prep student back in America and I did, after all, pass some pretty strident Eton College entrance exams to have ever even been considered for a spot at one of the most competitive schools in Great Britain as well as internationally.

The thing was, you could gloat all you wanted, and maybe I had a little anyway, if only to myself, but once you were at Eton proper, you were no longer the big fish in a little pond, you felt more like a tiny brine fish in an ocean of top shelf academic excellence and achievement.

The boys who had preceded us by decades and centuries, some of which we would study in our history schools, having made their lofty marks later in life, were a list that could make you gulp over and over for fear of doing poorly and sullying the College's reputation. Well, that was not going to happen, but you know what I mean.

Mr. Angelico, along with consultation with my Housemaster and parents, helped me to determine what I would be doing my first terms. F Block year was called a “foundation” year and had limited choice. More choice would occur the following E and D Block years on our way to GCSE and international GCSE (iGCSE) examinations in the summer of our D Block year, a little less than a short three years hence.

But for now, I could choose my two modern languages, in my case, French and Spanish (after being clued in by Chad and Aaron that if I also chose Spanish, like they had, we would mostly likely all get to go together on a wonderful seven day language trip to Barcelona, Spain over Easter Holiday if we wished!)

I could choose to study Greek, yea right! I would study Latin as required and it would actually help me some later, but no Greek for me right then. Then there was the choice of two of chemistry, physics or biology. I chose physics and of course, biology, because Chad had convinced me that we would get some extra “sex education” during it.

I should have not listened. I hated dissecting dead things like frogs and snakes and I got more sex education from “those in the know,” my mates, prefects, both Pop and not, and other older Eton boys along the way than any beak of any university competence could ever impart, no matter his so-called expertise was human sexuality.

Anyway, our weekly curriculum schedule was kind of tough really. We had 37 time slots, 40 minutes per class, called “schools,” scattered throughout the week, including Saturday, to fill with courses that would conform to the following requirement. You figure it out, I had to:

“All boys are required to study each of the other subjects on offer for the number of schools (periods) shown: English (4); mathematics (4); Latin (3); science (6); two modern languages (3 each); divinity, geography and history (2 each); either Greek (3) with one each of music, art, drama, PE, ICT and design in rotation or two of each of music, art, drama, PE, ICT and design in rotation.”

Confused? Easy to be and it all seems like a lot, well yes and no. The week divided up into “whole days,” Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays, in which school periods occurred in mornings and afternoons, and “half holidays” on Tuesdays and Thursdays, in which sports took up the afternoon hours.

Saturdays comprised school periods until 12:25 after which there was Lunch and then, virtually the rest of the entire day until curfew or lock up was our own free time to use as we each would chose for ourselves, but usually ended up doing fun things in groups, including excursions away from school.

Housemaster and Dickson would release the curfew as well on Saturdays, actually all the way to midnight if we had been well behaved and sometimes even if we had not been. Howard was fun that way and lots of cool things could happen in those wonderful late Saturday hours on all the floors.

The best parts of the day during the week were, of course, sports practice and matches in the afternoon, really the counter-balance to all that study. We got to play on the literal fields of Eton College from 14:20 to 18:00 most days, and that counted House practice as well as official credit time for which ever sport was on for that term.

During my F Block Michaelmas half, I got to choose either Rugby or Football (soccer). Chad wanted me to play rugger, his favorite. But I had played some soccer in America and felt more comfortable with that (that year anyway, rugger caught on with me later of obvious reasons) and besides, Nathan Fisher was a bit of a football god that year, how could I not chose football?

A weekday would seem very long at first and would officially end at 18:15 and continue with whatever tradition that your House would have for “Quiet Hour” until 19:30 at which time, the rest of the evening to lock up at roughly 22:00 would be taken up with study with mates or alone or just visiting other boys, as long as it was within your own House.

Sometimes you would get a visit from your Housemaster, but only once or twice a week for a few minutes and that is when, after I started to fag for Nathan, that he and I might do something together, including special “chores.” Curfew during the week was indeed at 22:00 pretty strictly for awhile and Howard Dickson was a stickler for rules. Let's just say, Chad, Aaron and I got caught (more than once) not strictly obeying the curfew in various ways which resulted in very red and sore bottoms, fairly earned of course.

My relationship with Chad was easy. He seemed just like a blood brother from the get-go. Aaron was also in the picture, but even that fun little episode that we all shared of homesickness at the first, really didn't show me Aaron's massive heart at first on account that he was, well, different from Chad.

Like I said before, Aaron Connaught was from a British family with titles to uphold and future responsibilities, or in Aaron's case, an attitude that he was bidden by his family ties to uphold as a boy. That made him a bit distant from me at first, but that was not his fault really and would be quickly remedied.

Anyway, after Nathan had asked me to be his fag and I accepted, I went to find Chad or rather he found me. He was grinning ear to ear and saw me coming in the lower floor hallway and pointed to me as he came and started to trot in the hallway (minor rule breakage right there), “Hey fellow fag!” he practically yelled.

Now that was really freakish! Imagine saying that in America? The inference would not only be rude, but probably a reason for punishment for bad and distasteful speech, but not now, not at Eton. I stopped and pointed at him,

“No way!” and he got right up to me,

“Yes, way! I'm Dickson's fag! And you're Fisher's and this is seriously the dog's bollocks, Camps!”

I stared at him a few moments, taken unawares of his expression and then he cracked up, “Bollocks Camps! Balls, nuts, testicles, Goolies! Come on man! It's an expression for fantastically brilliant!”

We embraced and he danced us around in a circle and yelled, “For Eton!” at the top of his lungs.

I truly did share his excitement, though not as materially as he was presently, but was distracted that for the second time in a few minutes I felt that something was different. I had felt it with Nathan, now with Chad, and when he let me go and held me with his hands, but at arm's length he grinned,

“Think of it! We'll do things together with them, maybe even a holiday!” but I felt like I wanted him to embrace me again, but just then Aaron happened along as well as several other boys, including Mr. Sourpuss himself, James Geddison, the boy that Chad and I had gotten spanked over listening to him getting it in Dickson's room.

Aaron smiled and congratulated us, they all did, all but Geddison, who kind of sneered at us and shrugged,

“Big fucking deal, enjoy your extra treats and especially those extra spanks or paddlings you'll be getting, enjoy that sort of thing do you?” Geddison glared at us, one after the other.

Aaron wheeled on Geddison, “Shut it Geddison, you're just jealous. If anyone enjoys getting his bum whacked, it has to be you, you've done it enough lately!”

Chad's eyes got fiery as well and he stepped up to speak, but I leaned back. I hated confrontation and hadn't learned yet how to handle it in my new school.

“Don't bother with him Aaron, he's just a right wanker, that's all,” Chad strongly replied and Geddison backed off, then looked at me,

“Well Burke, have you fucked your American pet's arsehole there lately? He looks ripe for it, or are you letting Fisher take over for you now?”

I paled. I had never heard any boy say that to another.

“Why you little shite!” Chad reacted and was about to put his hands on Geddison, which if done roughly could have been a punishable offence, maybe even a Billing to the Head, but Aaron stepped between Geddison and Burke, shouting,

“That's ENOUGH!”

But just then another voice, an older one entered the fray, “Is there a problem?”

B Blocker Porter Shaw was coming up from behind us all. Aaron grinned,

“No sir! Just a heated discussion about who's side is better, sir, Chelsea or Liverpool!” and Porter looked at each one of us in a careful manner, then said, walking off and away from us,

“That's easy, Chelsea, now don't you all have somewhere useful to go and do? Or should I have the lot of you line up in front of Dickson's study?”

We scattered, quickly, each towards his own room or where ever he was headed at the time of the convergence. I went to my room, closed the door and sat on my bed, very upset. I was actually glad neither Aaron nor Chad was with me. I wanted to be alone because of how Geddison's crass remarks had made me feel. Boys can be so cruel to other boys. I decided to take up some of my studies and tried to forget about the harsh words and inferences.

“But you didn't so easily, did you?” Kevin said, feeling my tenseness.

“Why do I always react to that moment still, Kevin?” I always asked him and he always said,

“Some hurts never go easily or ever, no matter how ridiculous you think they are. You can forgive Geddison his youth and inexperience, but sometimes you cannot always let go of the feelings that his words caused, even decades later. What's important is what you learned and did about it,” and I smirked at myself, “or didn't, in this case” ...

It would be the first of many clumsy lessons that all inexperienced thirteen year old boys new to an all-boys boarding school had to learn one way or the other. The painful part was that I supposedly had a ready advantage, two really. I could have and should have spoken to Howard Dickson about how badly I felt, and right away at a minimum; but better than that, Nathan Fisher had just issued his offer of 24 hour problem solving and I had already wanted to visit him again after the first time.

But you know us new Eton boys, we sometimes didn't know are arseholes from our pieholes, no matter our intellects are up in the clouds, our common senses sometimes were not always that high.

So I followed the natural order of my inexperienced species and I let it fester all the way to the next day, to my last school period, the fifth. By then, I was so wrapped up in self-pity that even a relatively mild beak, my maths master, Mr. Collier, took exception to my inattention.

The next thing I knew, he gave me a Ticket, a small white disciplinary slip to take to my Housemaster and House Captain to be signed by both and my House Captain to decide on any punishment. I didn't mind the threat of punishment. What bothered me was that everyone would know I had been Ticketed including James Geddison who had the same fifth school maths as I did and worse than all of it, Nathan would find out, just a day after his generous offering no less. Now I did feel like a total loser and an unworthy fag for Nathan Fisher.

Geddison just sneered at me as we walked away from the school room towards Bekynton for Boy's dinner (lunch), but he wisely said nothing and the closer I got to dinner the less hungry I felt, so I swerved away and headed for Slough Street and a quick walk to my House, Timbralls down at the corner of Sixpenny.

Then I caught a break, of sorts, at least I could be put out of my misery. I spied Nathan Fisher, my fagmaster, walking with three other Timbralls B Blockers towards Bekynton for dinner. He saw me and smiled and I decided right then and there that I wanted and needed to come clean of my “major crime” to him right then and there.

“Campion, not going to dinner?” he asked as they all walked up to me.

I courageously sighed, pulled out my Ticket and mostly bravely gave it to him to read. Nathan took it and immediately recognizing it said to his mates, “You men go on, I'll catch up later,” then they left and he read the Ticket, “So what's this all about then?” and slowly started to walk to dinner, me at his side providing the story.

I proceeded to work the evidence of my guilt backwards, all the way back to Geddison's hurtful remarks and for some reason prepared myself to be lectured and sent back to my House room, banished from his sight for incompetence or negligence or being a bad fag or something. I don't know why I felt that way, I just did, not to mention talking about Geddison's remarks aloud made them hurt all over again anew and my face fell.

He stopped walking, I stopped too, and slumping down some, also slid my hands into the pockets of my pin-striped dress slacks, pushing back my black tailcoat to do so. He slid his arm across the back of my coat and his hand gently squeezed my far shoulder,

“Now you listen here, first, James Geddison is a rude grunt. He'll get his due sooner or later, he always does. Second, none of what he said is remotely anything but rubbish and you are to immediately dismiss it as such, my orders. Third, I think you already know that you should have come to Dickson or certainly to myself even last night and not let this get out of hand. Fourth, because you did let it out of hand, you have to pay for that error, I'm sure Dickson will assign you punishment,” and Fisher paused to let it sink in. It already had and my ears were burning, but it was a good burn.

He went on, “Fifth, you may not go back to the House, you will proceed with me to Bekynton to eat and eat well Mr. Campion. No fag of mine is going to allow his nutrition to fail at such a critical moment. You need your strength. You have House football practice this afternoon, if you'd forgotten, and since I am not only your fagmaster and a prefect, but also your 3^rd XI Captain, I will not see you weak from hunger and finally, and most importantly, you are a good lad, and a deserving one and you must treat yourself better Campion, you must!” and his hand slipped down and powered my backside good, just with one hard spank on the seat of my trousers for emphasis.

It stung! But I was out of my fog and I looked up at him, my tender image of myself rebuilding on the fly and not without a little adoration welling up as well, knowing he had saved me. I nodded, “Yes sir!” was all I said and straightened up and walked to dinner with my fagmaster, feeling so much better that I could face Dickson later, settle it with him, but not worry about it in the mean time.

“And settle it you did!” Kevin said. I blushed, I always blushed at this point, mostly for having described how much Nathan Fisher's speech to me that afternoon was ten percent lecture and ninety percent inspiration and my cock hardened, realizing that I would go on to describe how the rest of the evening went after the football practice ...

“Geddison is spreading it around that Collier gave you a white slip!” Chad exclaimed to me as we met up after our respective sports practices. “You mean a Ticket?” I replied, Chad's alternate description registering clearly with me. See, every one thing at Eton has an official name, a beak's name and then the boys themselves might come up with two or three other names. It can get a bit confusing.

Anyway, he nodded and I confidently said, “Yes, I screwed up, it's a long story. The short version is that I'm to get my backside burnt, probably over Dickson's knee,” and I said it pretty proudly.

“Oh, well that's not so bad then, OK, well I'll see you later Camps, no worries, right?” he grinned.

I grinned back, “No worries.” He trotted off and now I was worried. Chad had helped me stumble onto a potential pitfall!

Kevin grinned knowingly, but silently at me now. I was no longer blushing, however, just enjoying the moment. His hand had slipped down to my erection and was gently stroking on it as well as on himself and I went on ...

Howard Dickson looked for Mr. Henderson's signature on the Ticket, and finding it, affixed his signature under it and giving it back to me, said, “Now, no repeats, understand? You let me and Mr. Henderson deal with Geddison in our own way, you get your bottom to Fisher and tell him that it's his responsibility to see that you're properly punished and come around and show me later.”

I nodded, “Yes sir, thank you for understanding sir!” and I left him.

Dickson had shocked me some, that after I explained to him the hows and whys of my Ticket from Collier, he said he was inclined to leniency, given the emotional aspects of it. I thanked him effusively, then explained my concerns about other boys knowing about the Ticket and knowing that I was Fisher's fag, that if I was not soundly blasted (one of many of Chad's clever descriptions I was accumulating in my brain as of late), they would think I was being played a favorite.

If anything, the opposite of leniency was my fate. For that, I got a rare head ruffle from Dickson, one wink and a wry smile, “Now you're using that good brain of yours Campion! You're right of course. In this case, I'm going to send you straight on to Fisher. You explain to him every concern as you did with me and he'll be good for it. Make sure that everyone knows that having a fag's privileges also carries stiff penalties for errors and the boys will admire you later for it too, now get!” and a nice swat to my seat propelled me out of Dickson's study door.

I wasted no time, well, Fisher was not immediately available, so I waited patiently in my room with the door open and kept checking. Finally, I thought I heard his voice booming about down near the stairs and bolted out of my room and walked quickly after him and caught up even. He was still in football training gear, kind of mussed here and there, but still looking, as I now knew the British word, “dashing,” in fact, to add my own combined touch to the thing, “bloody fucking dashing.”

Just the sight of his six foot one inch height, his twin thighs of muscle streaming down from his somewhat loose fitting white Eton College kit shorts, down towards strong knees that were not knobby like mine. They were modestly scarred, strong knees, from unnumbered battles on the pitch.

And I was about up to him, then had to stop, frozen in my tracks. His back was to me and he didn't yet know I was there as he stood among his fellows. He stripped off his jersey, a typical light blue number, to his bare skin, right there poised on the staircase! His back muscles appeared and when they did, my tummy tightened. I didn't know boys could have muscle outlines like that back there! His body shape was not like a swimmer's, with tapering from shoulder to waist, no. His was a footballer's, more squared and less tapered, but not so squared as a rugger's.

Then he turned and saw me, flipping the jersey over his right shoulder and my eye first caught his chest muscles, once again, a surprise, not because I had not seen an older boy's bare chest before, I had. It was just his chest, the muscle outlines, so clearly defined and his tummy, no baby fat. I still had mine and I hated it now and his had those shadowed lines coursing through, just like his chest and back, only finer and in smaller groups. Funny, his belly-button was an “innie,” just like mine!

“Goodness boy! You're making me want to stroke us both off!” Kevin said with a breathy grin and this time I slapped his hand away from himself, “Not yet! I'm not finished!” and Kevin chuckled, “Tease!” and I went on ...

“Business,” was all Nathan said to his three other B Block mates with a nod and they thundered up the stairs on their own, like a herd of large wild things, leaving me alone with him, me at the foot of the stairs gazing up at him, about three stairs up.

“Been to see Dickson have you?” he said, then balancing, removed one football trainer, then the other and then padded slowly down the stairs and handed the pair to me and then took the jersey and slapped it over my left shoulder for me to carry for him!

“Yes, he sent me directly back to you, said to tell you what we discussed.”

Then Nathan looked at me, “Did you shower off from football practice already? You don't look like you have.”

“No sir, I haven't!” and I had not, I had gone directly to Dickson's after practice.

He nodded, “Up the stairs with you. I'll not deal with a mussed up fag, you'll shower with me and then we'll deal with this thing and get it over with for God's sake!” and he turned his back to me and started up the stairs before me and now I was faced with what was probably the first time I was truly aware of another boy's arse, I mean truly aware and not just looking.

I followed him up carefully as I was carrying the warrior's things, but it was difficult. My eyes saw how Nathan's ample bottom cheeks still managed to take up the loose slack of his white, grass-stained shorts, but just then he turned the corner of the stair case, which was a good thing. I was in danger of losing track of what I was supposed to be doing, walking and not gawking.

Kevin groaned. His cock-tip was reddish and was starting to leak. I knew I had him by the short-hairs finally. He loved my physical descriptions, it drove him nuts to hear me flesh out my fagmaster's body as I had, it drove me nuts for that matter. I grinned at him, “Wait for it!” and he reached out to slap my face with comical frustration, but I jerked back and away just in time and he missed, I continued ...

When we finally got to his room, I was getting nervous. He meant for me to shower with him naked. Big deal right? I had seen everyone's naked bodies by now, Chad's, Aaron's, even Geddison's and all my other mates on the lower boy's floor, but not an older boy's as yet. The older boys did parade about the House pretty nearly naked at times, sometimes horse-playing with towels, snapping them at other boy's arses and thighs.

I determined to keep my cool, but he said, “Strip!” and a bath towel flung my way and he was already fully naked and hiding nothing, acting as if he was but a pale proud member of one of those native tribes you used to see on the cover of the National Geographic and fairly strutted out of the room. His bath towel was casually dangling out of one fist, me scurrying my clothes off and covering my front with my towel, then rapidly came up behind him.

Just for a brief moment before he opened the washroom door to the upper floor showers, I saw his naked buttocks for the first time, not only fully fleshed, but wonderfully muscular and my eye caught the dimples in his lower back just above their generously shelved downward curve, then he disappeared.

“Whew!” Kevin blurted and I grinned and then toyed with his erection, almost bringing it to my lips. His face screwed up in a small scowl, “Stop that! Finish for God's sake you heathen!” and I laughed, then went on, dropping my head back to his chest ...

As we stood together side by side, the hot steamy and prickly downward flow of water shooting from their aging chrome plated heads, I tried not to look at him too closely as I explained how Dickson and I had reasoned together. His eyes were closed and I thought he was paying only half attention to me, why? Because his dick was half hard! What was he thinking about in that state? A girl? A Boy? Me?!

God forbid that, I was nothing to look at, but it did give me a chance to determine that his testicles seemed roughly twice as large as mine and his penis, well, no comment as to compare. His seemed enormous, larger than I had ever seen before, then again, look what age group I had to compare. Chad was the biggest of us all in our F Block, but even his would be amply dwarfed by Fisher's.

Mine felt too small for words just then in any case and no matter if I was hard as a rock and that was not even to mention the state of my body hair compared to his. Mine was dark, that was fine, Fisher's was a tawny blonde and brownish type of color, dark in places, lighter in others and I noticed how a trail of it traced from his navel, an innie as I described, to his pubic hair without interruption. I had no such thing started and seemed in no danger of having it, soon anyway.

Suddenly his eyes opened and he caught me looking. I jerked my eyes ahead.

“Wash up, we've work to do!” and he broke my daze quite effectively and rushed to finish and did but wasn't fast enough.

I tried to dash by him, but his large paw reached out and slapped my buttock cheeks one on each side, rather hard really, propelling me a little faster towards the drying area,

“Move your arse Campion! Can't take all night!” and I heard him, but was distracted by how painful the swats had been and it wasn't even true punishment yet!

“OK, now you've got my ear, go on!” and Kevin had this smirk on his face, his head resting back on his clasped hands. “Pervert! You always get smug at this part!” I grinned and sighed, but even I loved the next parts ...

He followed me to the drying area and then grabbed my towel from me, “Give me that, and stand still,” and his tone was a little on the frustrated sounding side and I stood there and watched him use my towel to dry himself off rather quickly, then tossed it aside and grabbing his original, started to towel me off! My mouth gaped open. The last time anyone toweled me off like this was my own mother! Years ago! And even then I complained to her. Not now. I said nothing. I stood there like a rigid lamp post.

“Damn beaks, always wanting something before all the others as if THEIR school is more important than the rest, well bugger him anyway. It will get done, when it gets done!” he muttered aloud and then I knew he wasn't frustrated with me, he was having a bit of what they called the B Block Blues, fewer but more intense studies and one of his beaks was tasking him pretty harshly, apparently out of proportion. Even I knew at my early stage that all beaks were not created equally when it came to self-importance. It didn't worry me, only that I hoped he wouldn't be taking out his peripheral frustration on my bare bottom!

Other than that, I really enjoyed his attentions and he was gentle in the right places and didn't hesitate, by the way, to towel off my goolies or my arse OR down my arse-center as well! When he had finished, he stood back with an evil grin and I barely, and I mean barely, had time to quickly dash past him and out the washroom door as he had wound up his towel and was taking dead aim at my backside or worse, my rear thighs!

In fact I not only heard the snapping sound, but felt the tip get to about one tenth of an inch from my tender skin, his laughing voice yelling from behind me, “I'll get you eventually Campion!” and I just ran for his room door, got inside and backed up, my hands covering my bare bottom as he strode in and threw both moist towels at me,

“Make sure they get to the hamper, our clothing too, and put my trainers away in the closet, that's an order Mr. Fag!”

I sighed. At least the lethal towels were under my control and I went about my orders, actually no longer paying any attention to the fact of my nudity. When I had hampered the clothing near his door and put his trainers away into his clothing closet, taking some time to see just what an F Blocker's closet actually contained, I turned and saw that he had put on some fresh clean white footy shorts.

He saw my survey, “That reminds me, you can take some time perhaps on Saturday after school, clean and organize that closet for me, that will be your next task, that and your solo performance of the Boating Song, now come here, time to get this done,” and then he reached to his desk and picked up his slipper, a very old looking white tennis trainer.

And then Kevin picked up the old tennis trainer that he had used on me just a short while ago and taunted me with it a little, sporting a knowing grin. I grabbed it from him, “You already had your run with this, now stop fidgeting and listen!” and I went on ...

My hands went back to my naked buttocks and I became conscious that I was frontally hanging out in front of him, but it didn't matter or feel badly to do so. Besides, he looked solemnly at me,

“Come here Campion, stand in front of me, hands at your sides!” and I walked over, trying to gulp through a suddenly dry mouth. I took up position and gave out a little sigh of resignation, but strangely did not feel overly vulnerable. Then his eyes scanned me up and down, head to toe, his hands reaching out to steady me, firmly grasping me at my upper arms, level.

“Needs a little work, but overall not bad. We'll spend some time together, working out in the College weight room, besides, a strong footballer is a better footballer, now listen closely Campion,” and I did, despite his apparent approval of me had not finished making me stand up even taller than I was already,

“What Geddison said to you yesterday was ridiculously infantile and moronic, but, it still can hurt badly and nobody, least of all me, expects you to just throw it off like an old blanket. What I do expect, however, that if it does come back on you, you are to come and confide in me your suffering for it, do you understand?”

I gratefully nodded, “Yes, Fisher.”

Then his hands dropped and he picked up the slipper again in his right fist and pointed at me, “Twelve hard pops, traditional position, then a very hard spanking over my knee. I want to see a hard effort on your part Campion. You're my fag and not just anyone anymore and you must bear up and when it gets too much, well, you'll know what to say, hell, you invented it for God's sake!”

Fisher then showed me traditional positioning, knees straight, bent over at the waist, palms extended flat with fingertips pointing at my toes, keeping my balance. Americans were allowed to hold their ankles for their paddlings, Brits were not allowed in this manner.

I turned sideways to him, bent over slowly and when I felt balanced and steady, I turned my head slightly to my left and very apprehensive, “Ready, Sir.”

Besides those four Colours Test pops, I had never been officially slippered for real punishment. An old tennis slipper doesn't look like much really, that is until you are solidly smacked with its bottom side to your bottom side. Fisher started to whack me, on one cheek and then the other, the sting amazingly strong from the first, making me flinch and involuntarily move my cheek away from the source.

I was not sure I could keep my balance, and this being my first time, Fischer had it covered. He used his free hand, placed it forward and high up on my left thigh, so that I could counter pressure. It pleased me that he did, it meant he cared and understood that I was not a pro at this. Twelve slipper pops is quite a lot from a boy as strong as Nathan Fisher. It actually stung tons more than the redness of my rear afterwards would immediately show, but he was not finished with me.

Let's just say, each of those slipper pops could have made me dance around like a puppet on a string twelve separate times if I were allowed. I was not, of course. I was tempted to vocalize, but did not and that pleased me, and I think him as well. He tossed the slipper to the side,

“Very well done Campion. Your crime really did not warrant so many pops or their strength, but I think you know what the upside is of it, so slowly ... stand upright for me.”

I did, the temptation to rub my throbbing rear very strong, but I resisted, stood and waited, hands at my sides, very pleased that it had been some of his best work and few boys could now brag above me, in fact none at the moment and especially for my few weeks at school.

“Over my knee Campion,” he said and I went right over, anxious to get it all over with, worried that the spanking over the slipper pops would break down my resolve to take it like that man I wanted to be for him.

I put my arse high up for him and he adjusted me more to the center of his lap as he talked, “Actually, I will take it easy on you now. The point as had been made, I just want to add some color so that you have something to show off. I have no need to cause you much more pain than I already have Campion, you don't deserve that ... this time.”

I didn't answer, other than closed my eyes to thank my lucky stars. I was certain that if he had wanted, he could blast me to Mars with his hand alone. Then he started in.

A dozen spanks later, I thought to myself, “This was taking it easy?!”

My God, the spanks came down, one every three or four seconds, hard, solid ones but just short strokes too, not long winding up ones as I was sure he could do if called upon. Still, I was bouncing up and down on his lap, my mouth and face wincing away, much as before with Dickson, but I really didn't want to have to reach the point of yelling, “For Eton Sir!” or anything else. I just wanted to silently take it and endure, and that wasn't an easy task with Fisher's hard hand exploding onto my arse.

But I did survive sans vocalization and he stopped. He just let me lay there, both of us panting a bit for air and then I noticed a fullness at my left thigh. I didn't think much of it, I was too pre-occupied from a pair of throbbing hot bottom cheeks at the moment, thank you very much! His hand smoothed slowly up one side and down the other.

Nathan then seemed to utter a single sigh, “Well done Campion, let me help you up,” and so I stood, a little lightheaded at first, but he was right there. I looked back and didn't touch my cheeks, but they did look like a fine display of a wide array of red colorings that the College's Art Department might be interested in, I thought anyway.

“Get dressed now,” and I did as he watched, his knees drawn up to his chin. When I had finished, he stood up, hands oddly clasped in front of himself.

“So, what did you learn from all this Campion?” he asked.

I sighed, “To not let things and bad feelings fester sir, it's not wise and detracts from a very busy college life!”

He smiled, “Precisely, and?”

I thought a moment, “That my fagmaster spanks and slippers like a devil and it would be better to wake him out of a dead sleep and talk a problem through than test his strength.”

Nathan laughed, “Right again, off you go!” he said, but I stepped forward to offer my hand and glancing down to his white footy shorts, finally recognized the fullness for what it really was and then quickly looked up at his face, I think blushing some.

I quickly shook his hand and he mine, “Thank you sir,” I said, “You're welcome,” he said and I turned and left the room a bit in a hurry , shutting the door behind me. I stopped. Had Fisher popped a boner? And that was all I could think about for the rest of the night, well, after Chad, Aaron and few other guys invaded my room and got a good look (Chad a good feel!) of my red and sore arse.

“And you beat yourself off silly over him didn't you!?” Kevin grinned and I sat up, “Noo! Well, not quite that night, I was too afraid of my dick yet and how the spanking and slippering had felt,” but as always, Kevin still liked to tease me about it and so I let him and reacted as usual just to please him, but it had been true. I was uptight about things just a bit still at that stage, a lot of first time boarders were but I couldn't stop thinking about Nathan Fisher either ...

NEXT: Michaelmas Half – Chapter Four

© Copyright PJ Franklin June 13, 2009

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Last updated:  June 13, 2009