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Harbrington College: A Schoolboy Discovered, A Master Revealed
A follow-up story to the first Harbrington College tale
"You will return to this study at precisely four this afternoon, Donaldson. Don't even think about being late unless you wish a substantial increase in the thrashing you're already due! Dismissed!"
The upper sixth boy's head, already well bowed down under the burden of the announcement of his impending punishment, quickly snapped up,
"Yes Headmaster!" Paul Donaldson quickly replied, eyes widening with wonder (horror?) as he quickly pivoted into brisk walking strides towards Headmaster's study doorway.
Just what could the threat of "substantial increase" possibly mean? A flogging with Headmaster's birching rods perhaps? The bright, talented and apparently excessively inquisitive seventeen year old pupil was already due twelve strokes of Headmaster's senior rattan on his bare breech, twice as many as he had ever suffered at once while at Harbrington.
That he might ever be subject to what he had heard was the worst kind of pain above and beyond a severe caning was too awful to contemplate! Otherwise, thank God his I.T. Science master, Gerald Barnes, had managed to convince Headmaster Figgens to keep the incident quiet and not inform his father. One severe beating from Headmaster Figgens would be quite enough.
Paul's father, an intense stickler for rules and comportment, would have given him a seemingly endless belt whipping once at home were he to find out that his eldest son had been found guilty of "hacking" into the school's main computer on a dare. As it was, the torturous many hours of waiting from morning and into the afternoon to pay up for his technological shenanigans was quite enough additional dread to bear, thank you very much.
As the study door closed, Cyril Figgens looked at his unexpectedly pensive I.T. Science master,
"What's the matter Barnes? You look quite distracted. You should be proud. You were admirably both strict to bring the little culprit's mischief quickly to my attention and yet quite persuasive on young Donaldson's behalf. I usually don't reprieve pupils from parental notification with such serious matters."
Gerald's eyes were looking a bit down and away, he was still processing significant guilty feelings about having trapped poor Paul. The lad reminded him of himself at the same age, just full of eagerness to learn. And yet, young Donaldson had crossed the line into a forbidden zone and that despite adequate warning.
"Oh, I am quite grateful about that Headmaster, it's just that I never suspected that my star pupil would have even tried to back-door the system, I thought I could trust him."
Gerald's reply caused Cyril to but briefly glance up at the center of the study's ceiling before answering,
"Oh come now, we discussed this weeks ago. Even our smartest boys can sometimes give into poor judgment and choose deceit. It's just their nature. Besides, you adequately warned them all to utilize their talents for good and not give into mischief. It serves Donaldson right to think he could have put one over on you. Believe me, once this gets around, you've likely cured any further attempts at chicanery for quite a long while to come!"
Gerald looked up and blushed, having not really heard the Headmaster's final statement.
"Something else on your mind Mr. Barnes?" Figgens asked as Gerald seemed caught in mid-thought.
"Um, no Headmaster, I suppose I should go onto my duties," Gerald quickly replied with a small sigh.
"Very well, see you back here at four to witness Donaldson's punishment," Figgens replied and after Gerald's egress, sat down behind his desk and drummed his fingers on his desktop, not so much thinking about young Donaldson. That was finished business, really. No, there was something else that distracted his attention and had for several weeks now.
Gerald strode from the building and over the school grounds walkways towards his cottage not nearly as pleased as he should have been with the invitation to observe young Donaldson's thrashing at four. Why could he not have just left well enough alone?
Upon entering his small abode and despite a growing uncomfortable conviction, Gerald proceeded directly to his bedroom and his personal computer. He pulled open the desk drawer and obtained one of the silvery CDs he had carefully sequestered there and placed the top one, his favorite, into the computer's CD player.
Once again, obsession overcame both guilt and conviction as Gerald's inevitable excitement rapidly built. The mostly clear black and white video file started to play on the monitor and as it did, Gerald stood up, lowered his trousers and pants and pulling out his erect member, started to stroke himself as he watched Headmaster Figgens give the poor lower six former six hard strokes of the cane across his bared buttocks.
* * * * * * * * * *
Dread has many flavors as Paul Donaldson was now discovering. The proud upper sixth boy removed his blazer, followed by his trousers and pants, the day's dread of his Headmaster's promised painful thrashing finally at an end. But there would be more dread to face after that. Paul's peer group did not easily suffer failure and the news of his was already common knowledge back at Dempsey Hall. Consequences from his own upper sixth can be very unpleasant as he would soon find out upon his return.
Headmaster Figgens busied himself at swishing his best senior rattan about for a few moments before walking over to inspect Donaldson for soundness prior to his beating. Could one ever grow weary of insuring that a schoolboy's bared cheeks are ready to receive a Headmaster's just wrath?
Gerald sat a bit nervously to the side as he watched his pupil position himself over Headmaster's chair, legs well spaced to receive his promised caning. Gerald ordinarily would be unabashedly ecstatic at such a personally close view of a schoolboy caning; after all, Donaldson was exceptionally fit and handsome and indeed, the brash young man well deserved a good beating for thinking that he could put one over on his I.T. Science master.
Gerald knew what was holding back the kind of initial excitement he should experience, but even his honest reticence was worn down as Headmaster's stout rattan methodically tore into his pupil's backside. In the end, Gerald's libido could hardly resist a most full manifestation as the otherwise stoic upper sixth boy was brought to tears.
Donaldson was given a short lecture after his beating and then was dismissed out the study door. Gerald sighed and then stood up. Figgens felt a great satisfaction for the job done and looked at Gerald,
"So, what did you think?"
Gerald's hands were suspiciously clasped behind his back and his foot betrayed a nervous tracing of an ages old flaw in the hardwood flooring beneath. He had made up his mind halfway though his pupil's punishment,
"I think Donaldson is not the only young man who needs a sound thrashing Headmaster."
One corner of Cyril's mouth came up along with both knowing brows as the sheepish confession emerged,
"Oh? Why do you say that Barnes?"
Gerald give a small sigh, took out the small package from his jacket and placing it on Headmaster's desk, fetched a chair and placing it under the room's center placed chandelier, stood up on the chair and was able to reach up far enough to extract the tiny fiber optic cable that had been hidden within the fixture's workings.
Gerald climbed down and went right over to his boss, gave him the thin device as well as offered an explaination,
"When you asked me to put in the surveillance camera in the hallway to alert you to prying schoolboy ears, I knew I could not listen through the door any longer. I took advantage while you were away from your study and put one up in the chandelier so that I could still see you give the boys their punishments inside. Just as young Donaldson took advantage of my trust, I took advantage of yours Headmaster."
Cyril took the cable and placed it on his desk, "I take it that package has further evidence?"
"Yes Headmaster. All of the CDs of video of boys getting canings and such are there for you to use as evidence of my wrongdoing. I was … I was using them to get myself off in my cottage. I am deeply ashamed and saddened by my behavior."
Cyril Figgens, a man of the world and rarely prone to naiveté, very coolly paced about just a little before turning,
"Yes, I knew of the device a few weeks ago Barnes. I did not want to have to confront you with it, otherwise, I would have had to let you go. I can deal with temptation and even sins of the flesh Mr. Barnes, it's human. Young Donaldson was tempted and gave into his newly found passion for computers. You are not so much older than Donaldson and I am pleased that you chose to reveal your mischief to me of your own accord. That shows me that you are honest at heart and trying with some earnest to practice self-control and develop character."
"I shall resign if you wish it Headmaster," Gerald said with sincerity, but hoping he could stay on.
"Absurd Barnes. You are a favorite and popular master at this school Barnes. The parents rave of your presence. The board might have my head if the boys and parents complained. No, you will not resign. You will come to my cottage at precisely nine o'clock tonight and you shall be prepared to demonstrate to me your willingness to accept as much severe punishment as I wish to deal out to you, are we clear?"
"Yes Headmaster!" Gerald said, a huge burden of guilt and worry flying off of his shoulders.
* * * * * * * * * *
Needless to say, Gerald passed the hours before nine with a nervous anticipation, but not a little arousal either. Ever since accepting his position at Harbrington and his very first encounter of caning and spanking over Headmaster's knee, Gerald's libido had taken full flower. Regretfully, poor judgment followed with his misuse of technological skill and the reckless invasion of Headmaster's study privacy.
Perhaps a novice master is bound to learn unexpected lessons and Gerald found it hugely ironic that he now could fully empathize with his own pupil, Paul Donaldson. Donaldson had risked expulsion and his father's sure ire. Gerald had risked loss of job and a sullied professional reputation as well. But now that both were safe in that regard, Gerald allowed himself to dwell solely on the promised severe punishment for his behavior.
Visions of twelve angry and sore red stripes were easy to imagine. Would he join poor Donaldson and emit tears of painful regret? But surely there would be more than just the Head's mighty stick. Might there be the possibility of other painful implements or even another painful spanking across the Head's knees as before to add even more regret for his unwise deed?
Then as Gerald bathed and dressed himself just before the appointed hour, even more lewd fantasy consequences occurred to Gerald, the possibilities given credence resultant the Head's massive release that first time. But conjecture was useless and Gerald Barnes simply made sure of his timely arrival at Headmaster's cottage door at the appointed hour of nine that evening.
When the knock on Cyril Figgens' cottage door came, all was in place including a nice piping hot teapot of water along with Cyril dressed solely in his long red and black silken smoking jacket. Informal? Yes indeed. Barnes had exercised some imagination to have committed his crime, might not Cyril exercise some of his own secret ambitions?
"Come in Mr. Barnes and sit with me. Tea, Mr. Barnes?" Figgens offered after closing the cottage door behind them.
"Yes Headmaster, thank you," Gerald replied having been taken completely off guard by Cyril's stunning informality. Gerald sat and made a fast visual survey of the small cottage front room and saw nothing even remotely relevant to his expected fate.
Cyril passed Gerald his cup of tea with a flourish and settled into his favorite chair, quite pleased with Gerald's confused countenance.
"So you never really told me Mr. Barnes, do you think your pupil received his just desserts today?"
Gerald shifted his weight at bit uncomfortably,
"Well, I suppose he was fortunate Headmaster, especially excusing him from parental notification which may have cost him even more I suspect."
Cyril smiled, though not from humor,
"Oh, I think young Donaldson shall already have discovered some additional cost to the tab. The upper sixth does not tolerate fools or failed expectations within its body."
"Sir?" Gerald asked, his mind then recalling a partially overheard conversation between two upper sixth boys concerning a third peer who was under some kind of insider scrutiny.
Cyril put his tea-cup into its saucer,
"Let's just say that the consequences of behavior may not always be limited to the obvious. Now, shall we begin with your consequences Mr. Barnes?"
Gerald carefully put his cup aside and nervously nodded, "Yes, Headmaster."
Cyril stood up and Gerald followed his Headmaster down the short hallway and into a spare bedroom, the contents of which were all too revealing of their obvious purpose. Cyril closed the door behind them,
"As I said, the upper sixth does not suffer failed expectations and as you can see here Mr. Barnes, neither do I …"
Now Gerald did see a small corner stand with many canes ready for use, three different lengths of two-tailed Scottish tawse straps hanging side by side on the far wall and finally, a bucket on the floor holding the dreaded birching rods. Two chairs, a small bed, a chest of drawers and notably, a low slung padded kneeling bench right next to the bucket of rods completed the otherwise starkly appointed room.
" … unlike young Donaldson's punishment, a master's failure, your failure Mr. Barnes, calls for a much more severe response, don't you think?"
It was then that Gerald glanced at Headmaster's robe, a fairly obvious reminder of the end results of his last punishment tenting the robe forward. Gerald swallowed a bit difficultly,
"Yes, Headmaster … a long and very hard thrashing I imagine," Gerald stuttered, his eyes finally averting upward to Headmaster's eyes.
"Three in fact Mr. Barnes. One this evening, with my cane. One next week, with my collected tawse straps there on the wall and the final one two weeks hence, a sound flogging with the birching rods. Three sets of six each time Mr. Barnes."
It was then that Cyril saw that he was not the only man in the room fairly affected by all of this talk about stern punishments and confirmed by the look of distressed pleasure crossing Gerald's face. One corner of Figgens' mouth curled up,
"Shall we begin Mr. Barnes? I'm sure you know the routine."
Gerald solemnly nodded, stood and divested himself of clothing below the waist. Figgens placed a chair in a good space and obtaining a stout rattan, watched Gerald position himself over the back of the chair. A few swishes of the cane through the air, a quick inspection of the target and then Gerald felt the warning tap. He courteously raised his hips a bit higher than expected, causing Figgens' grin to widen more than expected, as with the tenting of his robe. Swish … crack !!
Several months later …
Upper sixth pupil Paul Donaldson sighed with the fatigue of another week's schoolwork completed. It was Friday night once again in Dempsey Hall and walking across the third floor commons room, he leaned forward and lifted the sash window to gather in a bit of cool fresh air into an otherwise musty and overly warm atmosphere caused from young male laughter and raucous horseplay.
It was dark outside of course, but his eyes caught the figure of a man walking briskly along a college walkway away from a familiar academic hall towards the small grouping of masters' quarters in the distance. He well knew this figure, it was his I.T. Science master, Mr. Barnes. Paul smiled at his recognition, though just briefly.
Paul's mind then quickly traced back to that awful day and evening months before when his awkward attempt to hack into the college mainframe computer resulted in twelve terribly painful red stripes across his bare bottom and yet, the man who now was nearly out of his sight had managed to spare him the further indignity of his father's wrath. Father had never found out, but then again, his own peers made sure that very evening that Paul should either never again fail to deliver on a dare or better yet, simply leave well enough alone.
Even then, as Paul closed the sash window, he could still hear their stern taunts and even feel their probing finger tips across his freshly raised welts. He stood straight up and heard his name impatiently called to join in a game of backgammon.
He must play, he was the Backgammon Club president after all; but his mind still did not spare him a final recurring vivid recollection of that dreadful evening born of the upper sixth's own additional indignant wrath. Paul's buttocks clenched hard together just then, helplessly so, and his face but briefly winced before he turned and managed a proper smiling response,
"I'm coming, what's the bloody hurry?"
* * * * * * * * * *
As always, Cyril marveled at Gerald's taut upturned arousal that inevitably accompanied the fresh flaying of his bare buttocks. Never a hint of regret, none, only his plaintive, but delicate moaning; that and now a not so subtle upturning of those scarlet-swollen cheeks, his usual sign of invitation.
Cyril smugly glanced at that evening's used implements, cane and tawse (not the birching rods this time), not that any of them specifically mattered. He then parted the hems of his smoking robe, the same red and black one as at the first.
Figgens then slowly kneeled behind the padded flogging bench and began his final approach towards Barnes' offering by placing his strong hands on Gerald's slender quivering hips, both parties silent. There hadn't been need for words for weeks now, months actually. What was there to say? It was simply their ritual, every fortnight or so.
It was always just right at this moment that Gerald's mind indulged a fantasy of himself as a schoolboy not so long ago or was it a more recent image of pupil Donaldson, one of them bent over at any rate, his freshly thrashed bottom throbbing from a stern Headmaster's punishment and now facing the Headmaster's or his indignant peers' unsatisfied advances.
As for Cyril Figgens, now he rather enjoyed both his cell phone and his computer and had no need of fantasy. Despite technology, schoolboys would always still be schoolboys and in need of the Headmaster's cane. A certain young master of technology would need it and more as well, all was balanced and right with the world after all.
© Copyright PJ Franklin January 23, 2010
Your comments are appreciated. pjfranklinboy2@earthlink.net
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Main Story PageLast updated: January 23, 2010