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Harbrington College: Flogging The New I.T. Master
Back in the good old days (well before Twitter!) …
To say that Gerald Barnes was young was not an exaggeration. At merely twenty-one years of age, Gerald was too young to ever have been seriously considered to be given the special services contract sought by the board of trustees of Harbrington College, but for the price they wanted to pay, it was either Gerald, one of his less desirable pony-tailed peers or bust. "Bust" was not an option, so let's get to the story!
* * * * * * * * * *
If technology must now be served in the form of revamping the college's badly outdated computer system, then one must hire one of those … you know … I.T. chaps, an enthusiastic young man of high technical skill who seems to natively know how to build and maintain literal dozens of those small infernal machines that everyone was now depending on … you know, all at once, in one of those, how do you say it properly? Computer networks?
Honestly, once the country's financial systems and especially the banks fell into the grubby hands of the Almighty CPU, there was no hope for the rest of the country and given the task by the board to hire "the right sort," Cyril Figgens, Headmaster, took to the task with his usual verve, just not very happily at the first.
Cyril, though being decently youngish by head-masterly standards, was definitely old fashioned by other measures. Yes, Cyril had a cell phone, one of those small metallic things that pivots open on itself in order to mock its user. He kept it in his office desk; it had been forced on him.
For months after, Cyril cringed whenever the thing buzzed at him. He had to answer it, Alder Covington, Harbrington's chairman of the board and his purported boss, had become far too fond of his cell phone and loved to irritate Cyril by not using the conventional telephone to converse with him. Now he demanded to talk to Cyril by using the infernal little … "little THING!" as Cyril referred to it.
But there was compensation; a possible compromise if you will that might very well appeal to Figgens' more old fashioned notions about schools and the boys in them. Yes, he would have to learn and use new technologies in the day-to-day running of the school. No, he would not be permitted to be left out of the computer network in his own private office, but yes; he would be totally in charge of whichever I.T. "master" he would eventually choose.
The board also wanted the chosen one to teach a mixed form class in computer technology and the only way to gain the boys' respect was to give him a proper title, Master of I.T. Science. Indeed! Goodness! The very idea! Even the college's youngest sports masters were at least twenty-four years of age with a decent amount of university training. Must Cyril put up with what would amount to an overgrown, non-university trained sixth former?
Yes, Cyril would be in charge all right. The more he fumed about it, the more his mind was driven to find some way to put a cap on any potential young usurper of some of the college's most urgent modernization needs, but how?
* * * * * * * * * *
I.T. experts of any chronological age are more like headmasters than one would ever think. Often just as eccentric as an old headmaster, an I.T.'s eccentricities were often just simply different, more modernized versions of the old. Gerald had tried to be a conventional British pupil in step with his peers, but was constantly out of bounds and unable to blend. All Gerald ever wanted to do was fiddle with computer programming all of his life and when networking computers came to the fore, he was all over that like the proverbial white on rice.
There was however one exception to Gerald's otherwise lack of conformity, an eccentricity if you will. Gerald, in his many failed attempts to blend, had been subjected to quite a lot of, shall we say, enthusiastic attempts by various of his own headmasters to force him into an otherwise conventional state of mind by means of lots of spankings and canings, the sort that headmasters are all too willing to give to boys who either lack motivation, have an excess of bad habits or tomfoolery or occasionally just because a boy's bum is simply too spankably nice to resist!
Over time, Gerald's young libido grew attached to his headmasters' ever failed attempts at educational reformation. He finally dropped out of school, but not because of cane, slipper, strap, tawse or hand. No, if it were up to Gerald Barnes, the school he might attend might be full of computers, little else and have a tyrannical headmaster whose sole purpose was to beat on the bare bottom of any I.T. student there who cared to break an impossible list of ridiculous rules … or not, simply if the man sought a bit of pleasure at a boy's agreeable expense. Pure fantasy, yes? Read on …
* * * * * * * * * *
Well, occasionally, west meets east and the yin-yang circle simply blends right into itself, if you will. Cyril was bringing in potential I.T. master candidate after candidate, none of them even close to tolerances. Why did they all seem so out of touch? Mavericks of the worst kind it seemed, priding themselves on what they called "hacking." What in blue blazes was that? When he had one of them explain it, even a technologically naïve person like Cyril could understand that hacking was nothing more than a criminal attempt to defraud, deface or otherwise disrupt a computer system! The very idea!
Well, now Cyril Figgens had some handle on the subject of a potential hire and the next several candidates were grilled like a constable grills a guilty criminal,
"Have you EVER or would you ever INTEND to teach the pupils here at Harbrington how to 'hack' !?"
Let's face it, back in the day, most I.T. inclined males were socially inept, private creatures with all the social abilities of an umbrella holder. Figgens' new and improved interview technique was sorting out the wheat from the chaff now, by golly! That is until one exceptionally clean cut young man appeared in his office and took the seat offered for an interview.
Cyril looked at him and blinked, realizing for the first time that this young man looked more like one of his older sixth formers and all of the prior candidates had been exceptionally … well, let's just say not nearly as handsome as, what was his name again? Oh yes, "Gerald Barnes" was it?
"Tell me Barnes, you look like a decent young man, why did you fail at school?" Cyril asked with much less fervor than with prior interviews.
Gerald was not naïve. He had done his own homework concerning this particular possible employment opportunity. Headmaster Figgens and Harbrington in general was one of the few remaining colleges with rather old fashioned methods of dealing with its all-male pupils. He had talked to one "old Harbrit" who had nicknamed Cyril Figgens as Flogging Figgens or Corporal Cyril (and not the military corporal either!) Naturally all of it referred to Cyril's penchant to thrash a boy's bottom first and ask questions later, so to speak.
Well, to Figgens, a boy's bottom had been specifically engineered by the Almighty for sitting, caning and spanking. Any other use was obvious pragmatic biology and even then, Figgens was not unfamiliar with the branch of human biology called sexuality.
Not that he had ever misbehaved towards one of his pupils while at Harbrington. He had not, but that did not mean that dear Cyril had not had his own libidinous experiences growing up through the forms of his boarding schools. He had in fact liberally indulged himself in those days now well gone past.
Now-a-days, one simply relied on one's own devices and left the boys to knock-about with each other and as long as they remained discreet, cane would not meet bottom on account of a simple consensual dalliance.
Gerald was pleasantly cheeky, "Not enough thrashing I imagine, Headmaster, "Gerald said with a slight grin. Cyril did not expect such an answer and sat back a moment. Barnes was impeccably groomed but not pretentious, hair auburn and neatly cut short as well,
"Oh really, do enlighten me Barnes?" and Gerald did. Some facts don't need to be spoken. Facial expressions will do and each detailed account of one of Gerald's encounter with a variety of spanking implements was impressive, but it was Gerald's comfortable way of describing these incidents that struck the headmaster as very unusual. But then, the subject of computer hacking was brought up and the question asked, in a firm tone of course.
Gerald did not resist temptation, "Headmaster, soon hacking will be an official crime and besides, any boy or man who should be caught hacking another computer while here at Harbrington should be given a sound and severe thrashing, don't you think?"
Figgens sat, elbows on his desk, the finger-tips of his hands lightly tapping on each other. This Barnes was becoming very interesting, so Cyril asked the question, "Including the I.T. Master, Mr. Barnes?"
Gerald, cool as a cucumber and beginning to feel a bit of internal garment-stirrings, replied, "Of course Headmaster, no exceptions."
* * * * * * * * * *
News of the new I.T. Master and upcoming computer science program spread like wild fire throughout not only the school, but beyond to the school's financial patrons and boys' parents. Monies flowed in "to do the job right proper" as they say. The school gave Gerald a small and quaint on-premises cottage to inhabit and it quickly became cluttered with all manner of networking cables, computer cases, monitors and a host of other hardware and software items.
Gerald was quickly known and greeted by all forms of boys. "Hello Mr. Barnes!" "Good day Mr. Barnes!" "When do the new studies start Mr. Barnes?" "When does Devonshire Hall get connected Mr. Barnes?" but Gerald's favorite was Headmaster's periodic smiling and supposedly rhetorical inquiry,
"Done any hacking lately Barnes?" but would never stay for an answer, leaving poor Harold with night after night of increasing tension that was easy enough to fix, but increasingly more difficult to ignore.
Figgens knew exactly what he was doing of course. His own fantasy life concerning his handsome bright young hire was becoming its own distraction. Barnes had taken to brisk running on the school's oval athletic track for exercise early in the morning when Cyril was out for his morning walking exercise near-by. The young man's form was impeccable and he filled out his running shorts, well, as good as any of the older boys to be sure!
Something had to give and did. One late afternoon, Gerald decided to give Headmaster's office a visit during school hours to do some sleuthing of some networking glitches that seemed to be coming from Figgens' office. Gerald conjectured that there might be a loose connection somewhere or a corruption in software.
Gerald almost just knocked and entered, but before he could, the unmistakable sounds of a boy's bottom getting a good hard caning started to come from behind the door. There was nobody else about, so Gerald dared to carefully press his ear to the door, his arousal fast and complete.
Now he could clearly hear the crash of rattan slamming into the bare flesh of what happened to be an ill-behaved 5th form boy eliciting the boy's plaintive groans and at the last, after a surprising count of eight, the boy uttered, "Please sir!" To Gerald's chagrin, he spontaneously messed the front of his trousers in the midst of a knee shaking orgasm, the likes of which he had seldom had for even his short years.
Chagrin quickly turned to shame and he rushed off, out of the building and flew towards and finally into his cottage to change and gather himself, shaking like an addled child. But like all risks survived, especially ones involving a young man's libido, the experience addicted dear Gerald to do it again and again for a good week after.
Figgens' suspicions finally arose one day when after another of his passing taunts about hacking to Gerald was finally answered with a very cheeky, "Thinking about it headmaster!" The off-handed response stopped Cyril in his tracks and the very next time that a boy was sent to his office for a good thrashing, mere intuition stopped Cyril right in the middle of it and jumping to his door, swung it wide open.
Gerald jumped back, his face red, his trousers tented forward about as lewdly as if it was stiffly naked in the quiet hallway air.
"Caught you red handed Barnes! You'll wait here for me to finish with this boy," and then triumphantly slammed the door shut and taking his time to enjoy his favorite past-time, caning bare school boy bottoms, finished the job with a great flourish.
Meanwhile, outside the door, Gerald felt like a real school boy now, shaking and trembling. Was his job, his contract with the school now in jeopardy? Would Figgens think him a pervert? Why had he taken so many risks?
Finally, the boy, a red-haired fifth former came out of the door, tears running down his face and holding his thrashed back side, took only a glance at Gerald, but still greeted him affably "Hello Mr. Barnes!" but quickly walked away.
"Inside now Barnes!" Figgens bellowed and Gerald was inside in a moment, the door shut behind him.
"Stand here!" Cyril barked to the worn out carpet in front of his desk and Gerald jumped to the spot immediately, his embarrassment quickly subsiding from nerves.
"I'm so sorry headmaster, I … "but was cut off, "SILENCE!" so Gerald stayed silent.
Figgens was relishing the moment like never before. Suddenly this handsome self-assured, but clever computer expert was all his! Maybe finally, Figgens should get to see what was under those full round running shorts that taunted him each time he saw Gerald on the athletic track. Figgens drummed his fingers,
"How long have you been listening to boys getting punishments Barnes?"
"This was … the fifth headmaster," Gerald confessed but in telling the truth, felt this huge strange shudder of immense relief course through his mind.
"And you masturbated yourself after each occurrence up until today Barnes?"
Gerald's fists were working as hard as his mind now and he was getting aroused again, just from his easy confessions! He nodded, "Yes Headmaster, sometimes twice!" and then sighed. Headmaster would surely see yet more evidence of his easy arousal any time now.
In fact Figgens did, only he didn't have to point it out. Instead, Cyril stood up, hands behind his back and slowly walked out from behind his desk.
"Barnes, I don't think you would be surprised if I told you that you have a choice. I should like you to stay on; you are doing a superb job. The boys seem to enjoy your presence and are anxious to be eligible for your new course of study, but … your behavior in this matter must be attended to, don't you think? Your choice is simple, resign or ask to be beaten."
It was as simple as that. Gerald expected the threat of losing his position at Harbrington, but to be offered a way out that not only seemed fitting, but exciting?
Gerald nearly breathlessly responded, "Beating … please?"
"What? Louder Barnes?" Figgens said just to be sure.
"A … a good hard beating headmaster, please, your worst!"
Cyril smiled at Gerald or was that a leer?
"My worst? You mean my best Barnes. Very well, have you forgotten the routine? Trousers and pants off, over that chair, you will get six of the best with my senior rattan, followed by a very hard spanking over my lap!"
Gerald's head tipped back, "Yes Headmaster," he quietly said and quickly divesting himself of his garments, erection waving madly through the air, went over the back of Headmaster Figgens' chair. It was like old times, but also new times. Was Figgens perhaps the headmaster of his I.T. computer school fantasy? He would soon find out, at least in part.
Cyril took his time, carefully watching Gerald's every moment and positioning, his eyes drinking in the sight of a set of young full bare buttocks that certainly rivaled any that his older boys could present to him; but better yet, this lad was unabashedly aroused to the point that Cyril wondered if the thrashing or spanking might tilt him over the edge! Wouldn't that be nice?
Gerald's ears drank in and even felt the sounds of Figgens' rattan swishing through the air with a wicked vibration. It was just a practice swing, but already Gerald sensed that the old Harbrit might be spot on. Flogger Figgens was about to display his might!
The first cut through the center of his naked arse was maddeningly painful and drove Gerald's breath from his lungs. Six did not seem like a big number at first, but the mind forgets such relative things over years of time, does it not? He never felt like crying out, but Gerald's voice groaned loudly at times as his arse was given to much stinging and at the end unmistakably felt like a throbbing red-hot griddle! And there was still the spanking yet to go!
Cyril's own arousal was well underway now, but years of proper clothing and practice hid its not inconsiderable form as he sat in his special chair reserved for naughty boys of any age who needed a more domestic touch.
"Stand here, at my knee Barnes, you took that quite well, "Cyril praised Gerald after releasing him from a long moment's pause with Gerald still over the caning chair. Figgens used the time not only to drink in the lovely sight of the six perfectly balanced thick welts, but also allowed for his imagination to delve into forbidden longings long since suppressed by years of careful head-masterly practice. Not so slowly, Gerald's erection returned as he stood at Figgens' knee, but instead of deriding it, Cyril took a chance on a hunch, "Handsome, very handsome Barnes. Most boys even your age could not muster such a nice response, especially after such a good hiding, you seem a man of many talents!"
Gerald was beginning to believe in miracles. At times, Cyril Figgens seemed an ordinary self-controlled headmaster with the usual reserve; but at others, there seemed a smirky playfulness or was it just a wicked sense of humor when he was around Gerald? No matter now,
"You as well Headmaster. I can't recall a better caning. I can just imagine the spanking now, hard and painful."
"Indeed, over you go and … don't mind your arousal, that should soon be gone, hey Barnes?" Figgens challenged with a small lilt in his voice.
Gone? How could it leave when after Gerald laid himself over Headmaster's lap, the man spent not a short time repositioning Gerald to the point of friction nearly making him masturbate himself right then and there! Not only that, the spanking was so slow, seemingly deliberately so!
The fact was, even Cyril was getting carried away. He had always wanted to lose control of himself, just once spill seed into his trousers during a boy's spanking, but had never dared to do so with a real school boy. This was different, this was possible and Gerald's naked side was soon rubbing up against Cyril's tented trousers.
Gerald knew what he was doing now and as each hard but measure spank fell, Gerald ground his crotch deeply into headmaster's knee, simultaneously shoving himself up against headmaster's bulging trousers!
"Oh my!" Cyril suddenly blurted and Gerald felt his coming on at the same time, "Oh yes!" and now there was this long pause accented by two bodies spasming a bit about, each desperately trying to get all he could out of the spectacular feeling of blessed relief.
When it was done, Cyril closed his eyes, "Good, that's enough, up you go Barnes, well done," in an even tone as if nothing else had happened.
Gerald sprang up but the mess was comical to say the least. Gerald's front side was wet and gooey, but so was Cyril's trouser front and thigh. Soaked would be a better word.
"Um … sorry Headmaster, "Gerald sheepishly said.
Dredging up the necessary dignity, Cyril said, "Tut, tut, wash and wear, couldn't be helped. Now get dressed and don't let me catch you meandering about my door again Barnes. I have a strap, a tawse, a slipper and a hairbrush not to mention many more canes to set you to rights if you care to challenge me again."
Gerald read between all the lines and quietly dressed himself, but just before he opened the door, he heard a noise outside of it. Figgens heard it too and waved Gerald to quickly open the door. When he did, no fewer than three school boys, all from the 4th form rushed back, faces as red as tomatoes.
"Mr. Barnes! What a surprise!" young Chris Tottingham squealed for all of them … but that is another story, for another time, perhaps?
© Copyright PJ Franklin October 11, 2009
Your comments are appreciated. pjfranklinboy2@earthlink.net
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Main Story PageLast updated: October 11, 2009