Junior Masters – Part 1 (M/M)

♥ Site recommended story ♥

Spanking fiction by Rod Cayenne, repeated from 2014.  All the characters are aged 21 or over.  Story strictly for over-18s only!

“Good of you to come along, Mr Bruce. I have taken the unusual step of reviewing your performance on a Saturday, so that I can give you my undivided attention.”

“Yes, Headmaster. Very thoughtful. Thank you.”

“Before I give you my impressions, may I ask how do you think things have gone then?”

“Not too badly, Sir. I really love the school, its history and traditions. The pupils are all eager to learn. I do like working for you.”

“I see. From my point of view, I remember a really good start, indeed the whole of the teaching staff was impressed. Especially those early outings to York that you organised. But let’s not beat about the bush. I’ve been very disappointed with your performance lately. After that encouraging start, things have gone downhill rapidly.”

“Really, Sir?”

“Don’t play innocent with me, Adrian Bruce! I realise that you are a junior master, and not long out of University. However, I feel my expectations are not unrealistic. You have failed to keep order in your classes, which has resulted in a steady stream of lads reporting to me. Even a few of the Lower Sixth! Those lads are not much younger than you. I’ve got better things to do with my time than chastise them. I feel that the cocky attitude you have shown towards Mr Williams as Head of History is partly to blame for this.”

“Sir?”

“Yes! How on earth can the boys respect him when clearly you do not?”

“I wouldn’t go that far, Sir.”

“I’m afraid that I would, Mr Bruce. If you do respect Mr Williams, you’ve got a very funny way of showing it. I have discussed the matter with him and clearly he feels aggrieved. He’s not a particularly sensitive soul, either. It’s not just me reaching damning verdicts on your behaviour. I also hear that you have been insolent to the kitchen staff and to Jayne Wilkins, my dear, dear secretary. Now then, how are we going to clear the air, give you a chance to show that you are sorry and discourage any repetition?”

“I really don’t know, Sir. I accept all your points of course and I’m most sorry to have let you down. What do you suggest?”

“I have an idea. I propose to treat you the same way as I would a disobedient, recalcitrant sixth former. That is to say, with a traditional six of the best with one of my finest punishment canes. On the seat of your trousers. I had considered more strokes, but really, you are just a naughty boy at heart and must be treated accordingly. What do you say?”

“What? You are joking, aren’t you?”

“No my dear Mr Bruce, I’m not joking. I’m not known for my jokes at all. In this matter, I’m deadly serious.”

“Well, Headmaster. Let me think. It’s an unusual proposal, to be frank. I suppose it may help clear the air. If you do it, will you be telling Mr Williams?”

“I’ve already discussed it with him. He’s in favour. It will be a secret between the three of us, unless you choose to publicise the matter. I would caution against the latter course, however. Your authority at the school could be further diminished. I would have to consider dismissal.”

“Oh, Sir!”

“Shall we proceed Mr Bruce?”

“No, Sir. Really there must be a better solution.”

“I’m listening, Mr Bruce, but it seems very quiet to me. In fact, I don’t hear a better suggestion at all, Mr Bruce. I put it to you that you are wasting my time.”

“Sorry Headmaster. OK, let’s get it over with.”

“Excellent! I knew you’d see sense eventually.”

“Right then my lad. Go to the cupboard over there, and bring me the caning stool. That’s it! Put it down here.”

Adrian Bruce surveyed the pale wooden stool with dismay. It had a worn green leather seat. He imagined dozens of lads bending over the stool had scuffed the padded leather over the years. He felt humiliated, even before the caning had started. Was he going to be the first ever junior master to be treated this way?

“And now back to the cupboard, Mr Bruce. You will find a selection of punishment canes hanging on hooks at the back. Select one, any one, and bring it to me.”

This was getting worse for Adrian. Now he had to pick the very cane that he was to be beaten with! He gazed at the selection hanging on the hooks at the back of the walk-in cupboard. They all looked much the same to his untrained eye. He grabbed one at random and gave it to his boss.

“A fine choice, Mr Bruce. It’s what I call a walloper, a senior cane, just right for sixth formers.”

Adrian Bruce wasn’t sure how to feel. Should he be reassured that a cane deemed suitable for 17 and 18-year-olds would be used on him? He himself hadn’t been caned for many years, and, of course, had felt immune from the threat of it. Now he was facing a nightmare. He would have to be stoic, and remain composed and silent during his beating. Gradually, he bent over the caning stool, offering his buttocks to his headmaster for chastisement. This had to be the most humiliating day of his entire life!

“That’s not quite right, Mr Bruce. Let me help you get into position.”

The headmaster manhandled Adrian into the correct position. Now, the junior master’s pert arse was even more vulnerable to the forthcoming onslaught.

CRACK! The first stroke landed right on target. The agonising pain caused the victim to yelp with surprise and discomfort. He gripped onto the rung of the stool and gritted his teeth.

“Quiet, boy! I expect you to take your punishment like a man!” admonished the headmaster. The junior master really resented being referred to in that manner, but even more he resented the throbbing pain in his boyish bottom! Could he stand another five strokes? He would have to, like it or not!

CRACK! The second stroke landed and was again accompanied by a barely-disguised yelp from Adrian Bruce, Junior History Master.

“What did I just tell you, lad? I said to be quiet, did I not?”

“Yes, Sir. Sorry. It really hurts though.”

“Obviously, you’re not listening to me, yet again! I told you to be quiet and yet here you are giving me useless, superfluous information about the fact that a caning hurts. Of course it does. I know that already!”

A shame-faced Adrian shuffled back into position on the stool. Wishing to pacify his headmaster, he stuck his bottom out just that little bit further, ready for a third stroke. When it came, however, it was even harder than its predecessors. A squeal escaped from the junior master, despite his best intentions. This time the head just tutted and sliced another hard stroke down. The walloper cane was living up to its reputation!

The penultimate stroke slashed down with a sickeningly sharp retort. Wave after wave of pain racked through the bottom of the junior master. He gasped and gasped again. This was all too much!

The final stroke was the hardest of all, accompanied by a shrill “AAARGH”, which echoed around the bare walls of the study.

 

The headmaster shook his head in disbelief. “A very poor display, that, Mr Bruce. I’ve had tougher third formers over that stool. Get up! Put the stool away. Not the cane though, we’ll leave that to cool down here,” he said placing the rattan rod down on the top of his desk. That was a strange idea, thought Adrian, although he dared not query his headmaster’s decision.

“Sit down!” the head commanded. “There’s just the small matter of the punishment book to complete. Here, I’d already filled in the details. You just need to sign it.”

The headmaster handed the book over. Through misty eyes, Adrian Bruce studied the entry:

Date: 1st February

Name: Adrian Bruce

Form: n/a

Offence: Insolence

Strokes: 6

Location: Seat

Administrator’s signature: V Timpson, Headmaster

Pupil’s signature:

Adrian scratched his signature in the final box using the Waterman fountain pen he’d been lent by the headmaster. As he wrote, he reflected to himself that it had been quite a morning!

“Right! Let’s sum up before you go. More effort and more respect! Discreet apologies to Williams, the kitchen staff, my secretary. Make a point of praising Mr Williams in all your classes. Now, I suppose you may wish to tell the other junior masters about this. I have no problem there. I will be conducting similar performance reviews with them too.”

After Adrian Bruce had gone, the headmaster rang his secretary at her home. “Hello Jayne. Yes, all to plan. Six hard ones. No, no. He didn’t take it at all well. I had to restrain myself from laughing. Yes, a very nice bottom, as you said, just made for caning. No, I made him keep his trousers and pants on. Didn’t want the blighter enjoying it! I can stop the night as Bill’s away. Yes, of course I’ll bring the cane I used with me. See you soon darling. Bye.”

Adrian laid low for the rest of the weekend. His parents were surprised when he scrapped his plans to go to Scarborough on Sunday. Instead, he spent a great deal of time in his room, reflecting on his humiliation and his rather sore bottom.

On Monday, at school, Adrian shared his shame with his fellow junior masters. His friend, Dennis Miller, was a star performer as Junior Associate Physics Master, but even he was concerned about his forthcoming appraisal. “You’ve got nothing to worry about, Den. I’m sure it was a one-off. I’d just annoyed the old man, that’s all. He seems to be really pleased with you. It may be the comparison with you that highlighted my perceived shortcomings,” said Adrian.

“I hope you’re right. The last thing I need is my arse caning. Never again,” laughed Dennis, as he slapped Adrian playfully on the bottom.

By the evening, Adrian made his way home. At least he’d had some sympathy from Den and the other junior masters. Assembly apart, he’d managed to avoid Vic Timpson, his dreaded headmaster!

Back home, Adrian’s parents were sat enjoying tea on the veranda. “Ah, Adrian. Good day at school? You and I need to have a little chat, I think. In my study, please,” his father said.

Adrian’s face fell as soon as the two men arrived in the poky study. For there on the desk, was not only his father’s punishment strap, but also a school cane!

“I thought you’d got rid of that strap, Dad?”

“No. I didn’t expect to have to use it on you again though. But you have brought shame on the family name. Vic rang me and told me all about your poor performance. I went straight over to see him and to apologise. Then he insisted on giving me this cane. It looks wicked, doesn’t it?”

“Well yes, Dad. But I’m 24! Too old for the strap and cane!”

“I don’t think you believe that do you, Adrian? Vic told me you were only too happy to take your punishment from him. As you are only two days older than when you were punished last, I don’t think it’s worth pursuing that age argument, do you? Bend over!”

Adrian was caught, for sure. His father picked up the nut brown punishment strap and cracked it down on his own palm. He winced a little, having forgotten what a sting it could impart.

“Let’s have your bottom bare, too.”

“What? Even the headmaster didn’t want that, Dad!”

“Just do as you’re told. You’re just making things worse for yourself.”

“Oh Dad!”

“I’m sorry son. Your mother has agreed too. As long as you live with us, your arse is on the line. Is that clear? Now, trousers and underpants down!”

Slowly, the flannel trousers and string briefs fell to the floor. Adrian’s peachy arse was ready. Ready for chastisement and contrition.

The leather strap cracked down again and again. The punishment seemed relentless, as Mr Bruce (Senior!) lashed left and right cheeks alternately. A crisp dozen was delivered. Adrian cried out every time the leather connected with his naughty bottom.

“I seem to remember you taking it better in the past, son. Certainly, a lot quieter. I think you need a few refreshers. Now, how about this cane?”

“Oh Dad! Not the cane too?”

“Well, I did consider saving that for another day. But to be honest, I’ve never used one before, and I’m itching to give it a try. But I am feeling kind. Let’s make it eight strokes instead of the full dozen.”

“Eight? The head only gave me six!”

“Yes, he is a bit of a softy isn’t he? But seeing as you’re in an argumentative mood, let’s go for the full dozen after all.”

The cane lashed down, causing Adrian to cry out.

“One!” his father counted out loud.

A second strike whipped down, wrapping around Adrian’s right haunch.  That really hurt him, and caused a sharp gasp.

“Two!” Dad laughed sadistically.

“Three!  Four! Five!” The older man was really getting into his stride now, whipping the cane with real gusto.

“Six!”

“Owww!  No more, Dad!  Please?”

“You should have thought about the consequences before you caused all this trouble.  Your mother and I are not amused.  We paid for your education and this is how you choose to repay us?”

“Seven!”

“AARRGGH!”

“Eight!  Stick your bottom out more, Adrian!”

“Dad!  Please, no more!”

“Nine! Ten! Eleven!”

“OWWW!  I’m sorry!”

“Yes, I’m sure you are now.  Last one!”

“ARRGH!”

“Twelve.  That’s your lot.  By God, what a cane!  I’m glad that I brought the strap out of retirement, but this cane is even better!  I must thank Vic.”

Adrian’s bottom was red raw that evening. His father caned hard, if not entirely accurately. Suddenly, Adrian was giving serious consideration to a career change. After all, if he got away from the school environment, then the threat of the cane would be gone, wouldn’t it? Then he remembered the relish his father had felt in using the cane there at home.  Perhaps there was no immediate escape?  He wondered whether he should he tell Den and the other junior masters about his evening reckoning?  Perhaps not; he felt sure that they would only laugh at him.

 

To be continued…

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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.

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Story © MMXIV by Rod Cayenne

with special thanks to Jim for his inspired ideas

All rights reserved

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