♥ Site recommended story ♥
Third part of this spanking story by Rod Cayenne. Strictly Over-18s only!
Part 1 is here
Part 2 is here
Jack Brightchurch was Junior PE Master at the school. How he had laughed as the misfortune that had befallen colleagues Adrian and Dennis was revealed. Six strokes of the cane each! Apparently, both of them had squealed like pigs under the rattan! At least, that’s what some of the guys in the smoky old Staff Room had said. He wondered whether any of the pupils had found out. Perhaps not, and perhaps they wouldn’t have believed their ears anyway. Those two colleagues were such wimps, he told himself. They obviously needed toughening up! If only they lifted weights, played rugby and ran cross countries like him!
Despite his general self-assurance, as his performance review on Saturday approached, some of his cockiness evaporated. He felt he’d had a good first year at the school. PE results were hard to quantify, but success on the rugger, hockey and soccer pitches had been apparent to all. Surely the headmaster, Mr Victor Timpson MA (Oxon), would be impressed?
Jack knocked nervously on the study door. He could see his reflection in the shiny brass plaque on the door. He mused that the sign was pretty superfluous, as every pupil and every teacher knew that this was the headmaster’s domain.
“Come!” commanded Mr Timpson.
Jack swung the door open, shaking the headmaster’s welcoming hand immediately. The old man gripped and crushed his subordinate’s hand. Even more alarmingly, Jack noticed his immediate boss, Senior PE Master Lawrence Smith, was in attendance.
“I’ve invited Lawrie along, Jack. I hope you don’t mind. We have a few performance concerns in common.”
“Oh! You do?”
“Yes, I’m afraid so, Jack. Now, be a good lad and sit down for a minute.”
It was an instruction Jack was not comfortable with. Why? Well, first off, he felt he wasn’t a lad. Lads got caned, didn’t they? Secondly, why would he sit down but only for a minute? Could it be that he would be bending over soon? Surely not? But then again, apparently there were performance concerns!
“Right! Sitting comfortably?” it was a question the headmaster didn’t wait for an answer to. “Let’s get started then. Good results with the teams, Jack. Cross countries have really taken off under your stewardship. Good to see so many trophies. However, my main worry is the general behaviour and motivation of the boys. As you know, I turn a blind eye to PE slipperings. On the whole, I think they are a good thing, They toughen the lads up, and make them more obedient in the academic classes. But there is a balance. We must not overdo it. PE slipperings are unofficial punishments, not recorded in the regulation Punishment Book. That’s why you and Lawrie are allowed to whack the boys even though neither of you have formal corporal punishment rights. In Lawrie’s case that’s an oversight on my part. I shall arrange for him to be given them immediately.”
“Thank you, Headmaster,” said Mr Smith.
“But I will not be giving them to you just yet, Jack. You have been far too liberal with the plimsoll. Look at these letters from parents.”
A tatty pile of parental correspondence was plonked on the desk.
“Complaints! These are complaints from parents, Mr Brightchurch! See this one for example, it refers to sadistic punishments. You have gone too far. I am not forbidding unofficial slipperings, but you are going to have to be more judicious about punishments in future.”
“Yes, I suppose I will, Headmaster. Thank you.”
“There’s no suppose about it, Brightchurch! You will do as I say or you will be out of here! Is that clear?”
“Yes, Sir, Headmaster, Sir. Sorry!”
“Very good. Apology accepted. Now, perhaps Lawrie, you can help me with the next bit of the review?”
“Certainly, Headmaster. What can I do to help?”
“Go to the cupboard, fetch the caning stool and choose a cane from the selection hanging on hooks at the back please.”
“A pleasure!” announced the Senior PE Master with a smug grin.
“What? No! Wait!” exclaimed the Junior PE Master.
“Oh, do be quiet! You are going to get a taste of your own medicine, Mr Brightchurch! Perhaps a sore bottom will remind you how painful corporal punishment can be.”
“But, I only slippered the boys, Sir! I haven’t even got a cane!”
“And that’s the way it will remain, Brightchurch.”
“But Sir! Can’t we make it a slippering instead?”
“No! That’s out of the question! I’m a headmaster! Headmasters cane! Deputies and ordinary teachers may use the slipper, but I don’t! Besides even sixth formers take a caning, so I don’t see why you shouldn’t! Give me the cane please, Lawrie. Yes, a very good rattan, this one. Well chosen.”
The awfulness of the situation was just dawning on Jack Brightchurch. Despite the fate of his colleagues, he really had thought he would escape the cane’s bitter caress. But it wasn’t to be! He started to unbuckle his belt.
“What are you doing, Brightchurch? I’m not a brute! I don’t cane my boys with their trousers down! God forbid! Just bend over the stool, like a good boy. I’m giving you six strokes. The same as my very naughtiest pupils get.”
Jack’s humiliation was nearly complete. He bent over, and his tight cords hugged the contours of his firm, manly arse. Senior PE Master Lawrence Smith gazed on, almost with disbelief. He comforted himself with the thought that it really was a taste of his own medicine for his junior colleague.
CRACK! The first stroke sliced into the teacher’s taut-trousered buttocks. Jack yelled loudly and sprung to his feet, clutching at his wounded bottom!
“My! What a cowardly display, Mr Brightchurch. I expect my boys to take their punishment properly. Back into position, please.”
Senior Master Lawrie smiled at his colleague’s discomfort. This beating really would bring him down a notch or two. Yes, goodbye cockiness! Still, he reflected, the cane hurt like mad, and even an adult would be sore after a solid six strokes.
CRACK! The second strike lashed the teacher’s backside. Raw pain was accompanied by a most unedifying squeal! Secretly, both Head and Senior PE Master were finding their junior’s evident displeasure most gratifying! For a tough PE master, Jack was letting himself down.
CRACK! A forceful third stroke caused the stool to rock, and a loud gasp from the victim. Silent tears were forming in his eyes. He was 23, but felt ten years younger, and not in a pleasant way. Yes, this beating was reducing him in status to that of a disobedient teenager!
“OWWWW! That’s enough, Sir. Please let me off!” cried Jack as the fourth stroke sliced into him. It was possibly the worst yet. Pain upon pain piled into him.
Headmaster Timpson paused. There was no way he would let Jack off. He flexed and swished the cane a few times. How he loved the cane. It was like a natural extension to his arm. It allowed him to exercise his own sadism. It was a perk of the job, after all. Indeed, he began to wonder whether caning his junior masters was perhaps the most enjoyable part of his job. He sighed and then lined the cane up again.
“AAARGH!” Jack squealed as the fifth merciless stroke landed right on top of the previous stroke. His arse throbbed and throbbed.
“Last one, Brightchurch. Try to take this one quietly please,” the headmaster requested with little sincerity.
SWISH-CRACK! A deliberately extra hard stroke lashed down, causing young Jack to yell and stand up clutching at his assaulted bottom. The headmaster and Lawrie stared on with ill-disguised delight. Jack danced around, still clutching and kneading the flesh hidden by his trousers.
“Right! That’s enough of that! A poor display, Brightchurch. I’ve seen more mature behaviour from the boys. We’ll fill in the punishment book in a minute. In the meantime, I’m going to give this cane to Lawrie here, as he is getting full corporal punishment rights. He might be glad of a cane to keep his most recalcitrant pupils in line. He might also want to use it on you if you step out of line, too. Do I make myself clear?”
The headmaster’s threat was all too clear. Lawrie Smith guffawed as he reflected on his new-found power over his gym deputy.
Jack Brightchurch was still kneading his sore buttocks. After signing the punishment book, it was time to leave. Not a minute too soon. As he drove his feisty Fiat home, he started to think how he could conceal news of his beating from his colleagues. Especially as the headmaster had said that he had taken his caning so badly. He’d have to hide it as best he could and he certainly didn’t want his colleagues laughing at him.
Arriving home, Jack was a little dismayed to find his father washing his Jag on the gravel drive. He didn’t want his father getting in a lather with him, after all. But his luck was out. His father ordered him into the living room.
“Well, how was the appraisal, son?”
“It could have been better, Dad, but I think Mr Timpson was fairly pleased with me.”
“That’s not what I heard, son. He just called me.”
“Oh!”
“I heard it all. A blow-by-blow account, you could say.”
“Oh Dad!”
“Didn’t we have a rule, son?”
“Eh?”
“If you got a beating at school, you were to let me know. And I would give you the same again at home. To reinforce the lesson.”
“Yes, but Dad, that was when I was a teenager. At school. As a pupil.”
“I don’t remember rescinding the rule.”
“But Dad! Really, I’m 23! And surely you don’t still have that old cane?”
“I do still have it. It’s hanging in your mother’s wardrobe, funnily enough. Go and get it now. Don’t worry, the coast is clear. Your mother’s just gone out shopping. I think she could smell trouble.”
“Oh Dad. No!”
“GO AND FETCH THE CANE, JACK!”
Jack made his way upstairs. Gingerly, he opened the wardrobe on his mother’s side of the bed. He spotted the cane straight away, hanging in among some shiny satin blouses. He took it out and held it, and then cracked it down on the bed. What a fearsome noise it made! Dust rose from the bedding and a clear line was left where the cane had landed. Shit, it was his arse that would soon be getting similar lines! He was almost disappointed that the cane didn’t break there and then as it made impact. Still, that would have really annoyed his father.
“Six at school, so six at home, son. Just remember, no trousers or pants at home. Get them off and bend over the table. Hurry up, I’ve got to finish the car!”
“Oh, Dad! Not bare, please!”
“You know how I feel about it, son. Just get on with it. You are annoying me.”
For the second time that day, Jack started to undo his belt. This time, however, the task did get finished, with the beige cord trousers falling to the floor.
“What the hell have you got on there, lad?” asked his father, noticing his son’s skimpy underwear.
“Oh these? They’re all the fashion, Dad. Really! Girls love them!”
“I’m not surprised! They look like something a girl would wear! Thank goodness the headmaster didn’t see them. Wouldn’t have done your sporting image any good at all lad!”
“What would you know, Dad?”
“That’s enough of your cheek, son! Hurry up and get them off! Two extra strokes!”
Jack wasn’t sure if the extra strokes were for the underpants or the cheekiness. It didn’t really matter. There was no point in arguing any more, He was once more subject to the rule of the cane. He thought he’d seen the last of it, but he was now worried that this wouldn’t be the last time his father would cane him. If only he and Dennis had gone for that flatshare they’d considered!
Jack’s father caned fast and loose. There was no waiting for the pain of each stroke to subside with him. No, he just caned hard and fast. The marks the headmaster had left were soon eclipsed by harder strokes the father left on the naked flesh. The deep red marks criss-crossed Jack’s bottom, and with each stroke, he cried out in agony. Meanwhile, at the shop, Jack’s mother slipped some cold cream into the wire basket. Jack’s bottom would benefit from it, and experience told her that the cane would most likely get some use in the parental bedroom over the coming days once Jack was back at school teaching. Yes, it was something for her to look forward to!
Part 1 is here
Part 2 is here
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D I S C L A I M E R
All characters appearing in this story are fictitious. Any resemblance to real establishments, businesses or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
