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Second part of this spanking story by Rod Cayenne. Strictly Over-18s only!
Dennis Miller, Junior Associate Physics Master, couldn’t help noticing how well colleague Adrian Bruce and the headmaster had been getting on as the week wore on. Maybe that caning his friend had mentioned discreetly had brought the two men closer? Dennis was a little envious. All the same, he was sure that he didn’t want to go through the same thing. He couldn’t help wondering whether Adrian was the first junior master ever to be caned there at the school.
On the Saturday morning, Dennis reported to the office for his performance assessment. Headmaster, Mr Victor Timpson, cut an imposing figure in his distinguished tweeds. Dennis gazed at him with admiration, bordering on affection. Just then, however, the junior master noticed the whippy punishment cane lying on the desk. Surely, there was no prospect?
Timpson noticed his subordinate’s worried expression, and immediately picked up the cane, saying, “I don’t think we’ll be needing this, will we, Mr Miller?”
“No, I trust not, Headmaster!”
“No. I’ve been very pleased with your performance, lad.”
The 23-year-old blushed with embarrassment at the compliment and at being referred to as if he were indeed still a lad or schoolboy. He watched carefully as the headmaster placed the cane back in the cast iron umbrella stand behind him.
“Thank you, Sir. I’ve tried hard and I think I can honestly say that I’ve only stuffed up a couple of lessons.”
“Stuffed up, that’s a funny expression, what do you mean exactly?”
“Oh you know Sir, screwed up. Big time.”
“Screwed up? What a coarse expression. I don’t much care for that. Tell me about these lessons, please Mr Miller.”
“Well, you know Sir, ever since the moon landings ceased, the boys seem to be less and less interested in science. I’ve had to use the cane a few times to keep them motivated. I do appreciate being given corporal punishment rights.”
“Yes. Not all of my junior masters have those rights, you know.”
“No, I know, Sir. Thank you again.”
“So these stuffed up lessons, what do you attribute the problems to?”
“Oh my fault entirely, Headmaster. Lack of preparation, really.”
“I see. And what punishment do you deem appropriate for a pupil who hasn’t done his prep?”
“A good question, Sir. A caning is often called for, Sir. Especially for a repeat offender.”
“You seem very sure about that, Mr Miller. So let me ask you another question, then.”
“Fire away, Headmaster!”
“Oh don’t worry, Miller. I shall fire away. Most certainly. So, my new question is, what punishment should a junior master who hasn’t done prep for his lessons get? Especially if he is, how shall I put this? A repeat offender!”
“Yes, indeed! A caning!”
“But Sir! I’ve never had the cane before!”
“Hold on! I have given corporal punishment rights to someone who has never experienced a good, hard caning himself? How could I have been so stupid?”
“Well Sir. I may have slightly misled you when we discussed the matter before.”
“You are making things worse for yourself again, Miller. Every little revelation is dimming my view of you. Now, let’s just examine the official school punishment book. You are of course recording all beatings in here?”
“Oh yes, Sir. Your secretary has been most helpful in that regard, even tracking the pupils down to ensure that they countersign their entries.”
“Ah, yes. Jayne is assiduous in these matters, even despite her obvious distaste for the use of the cane. Let’s see. Yes. An awful lot of entries from you, Mr Miller. I hadn’t really picked up on that before. Mainly sixes, too, I see. Quite the little sadist aren’t you?”
Poor Dennis Miller stared with embarrassment at his scuffed suede shoes. There was nowhere else to look. He couldn’t bring himself to reply. He could not look Mr Timpson in the eye, just at that moment. There was a heavy sigh from the headmaster, who rocked back in his chair and leant back to grab a cane from the umbrella stand. He had picked, at random, a senior model. Its crook-handle and brown patina made it look old and distinguished, though it was actually a fairly new addition to the arsenal, chosen by his secretary, Jayne Wilkins, who was an expert in sourcing punishment rattans. Indeed, the headmaster’s study was well-stocked with canes. As well as in the umbrella stand, there were further canes hanging on hooks in the walk-in cupboard. The headmaster rose and approached the cupboard, opening the door and pulling out the wooden caning stool.
“My, my! I hadn’t expected to be doing this today, Mr Miller! It has to be six for you, of course. Just like the boys have been getting. You can keep your trousers on, but I shall expect you to take your beating with decorum. Is that clear?”
“Sir! There must be another way?”
“Not unless you want your cards, Miller. And arguing about your punishment is not good form. Hardly the decorum I just mentioned, is it? Take your jacket off and bend over the stool.”
Miller removed his brown cord jacket and draped it over the chair he had been sat in. Slowly, he bent over the official caning stool, his trousers riding up his pert posterior, causing a half-mast effect, displaying his lime green socks prominently. Timpson noticed the socks, they were ghastly and nothing like the sober grey socks of his usual visitors. To him, it was just another example of Miller’s poor judgement. The cane slashed down.
“AARGH!” cried the junior master, leaping up from the stool, and clutching at his backside.
“What did I say about decorum, Miller? That wasn’t a hard stroke, you know. Even a first year could have taken that one in his stride. Get back down, right now!”
Gingerly, the young master resumed his position. The headmaster surveyed the scene. Not a particularly shapely bottom, he mused to himself as he lined up his second stroke.
“OWWW!” Once again, Miller was showing his distress, much to the annoyance of Mr Timpson. The same thing happened with the third stroke.
The headmaster took a break and started to pace around the room, flexing and swishing the cane as he addressed the junior master, “Really quite a cowardly display! For someone keen on using the cane to maintain classroom discipline, I would have expected rather more.”
“Sorry, Sir,` croaked the junior master, still obviously in distress.
The next stroke elicited only a loud groan from Dennis Miller, but it was only a temporary display of courage, as the fifth stroke hit him with agonising pain accompanied by a loud squeal! How his bottom throbbed and ached from the cruel punishment being meted out to him!
“Last one! See if you can take it quietly, Miller. I don’t like all this unnecessary fuss.”
With a loud crack, the cane landed right on target for the last time. Miller leapt to his feet, clutching his backside and cursing indistinctly.
“Well! Have you learnt how much a caning can hurt, Dennis?” asked the headmaster with a slightly more friendly tone.
“I’ll say so, Sir! That really hurt.”
“Good! But I feel I have no choice but to withdraw your corporal punishment rights until such time as you can prove to me that you can take it as well as you give it out. That was a most cowardly performance. Let me know when you feel ready to discuss the matter again.”
“Let’s fill out the punishment book, shall we? It’s a shame there isn’t a comments column, as I’d record ‘poorly taken’ if there were one.”
The poor junior master felt utterly humiliated. As he walked home, he reflected that the only way he could get his much-loved corporal punishment rights reinstated was to take a further beating from his employer, and that was out of the question.
A dejected Dennis Miller opened the front door, only to be met by his step-father, Jim. A recent addition to the household, there was sometimes friction between the two men. This time, however, Jim gave a friendly smile and a firm handshake.
“You look a bit got at, young Dennis!” the older man laughed.
“Yes, the headmaster wasn’t very happy with me. Don’t tell Mum, but the bastard whacked me!”
“I said the bastard whacked me! Six of the best with the cane, just like the boys get. Said I hadn’t been preparing for lessons and was too keen on beating the boys.”
“Aha! Power corrupts, doesn’t it? A bit too free with the cane, eh? I was the same when I was a prefect!”
“What? Prefects caned at your school?”
“Oh yes! It was what they call ‘old school’ in many ways…”
“Gosh! That caning bloody hurt. And he withdrew my corporal punishment rights! Bastard!”
“No more jollies for you then, eh lad?”
“I’m not sure I know what you mean.”
“Oh, I’m sure you do! Anyway, this is a pretty dire situation. If you don’t want me to tell your mother, you’d better allow me to top up your caning.”
“What? You’re joking! That’s blackmail!”
“No, no, Dennis. Your behaviour towards your mother has been disgraceful lately anyway. I know that maybe something to do with jealousy caused by my arrival. You’re obviously in need of some friendly family guidance from your dear old stepfather. As it happens I’ve got a cane here, a souvenir from my prefect days. It might take me a minute or two to find as I still haven’t unpacked everything! Up to your room now, I’ll be there as soon as I can!”
“No Jim! Really!”
“Shut up, Dennis. And you can call me Sir!”
For the second time that day, Dennis felt trapped. Even worse, for the second time that day he was facing a caning. Until that day, his backside had been virgin territory as far as the cane and its ravages were concerned. But all that had changed earlier, and was now about to be reinforced. Desperately unhappy, Dennis made his way upstairs to his untidy bedroom.
Jim burst in with a flourish. In his right hand he held a cane dating back over two decades to his own school days. But first, there was another shock for Dennis.
“I want to inspect your bottom, Dennis. I need to see how badly it is marked to determine how hard I need to be.”
“Oh, Jim! No!”
“That’s ‘Sir’ and ‘yes’ to you, boy!”
“Sorry, Sir,” said Dennis realising perhaps that he had no choice. He bent over the bed and slipped his jeans and pants down so that his stepfather could examine his bottom.
“A few nice marks. Not too deep, just surface scarring. It’s quite a large bottom, isn’t it? I reckon I could fit another eight strokes in there. Any more could be a touch cruel. We’ll keep the bottom bare though.”
Things were going from bad to worse for Dennis. Eight strokes instead of a maximum of six that he had anticipated, and now they were to be bare bottom! He could only hope his stepfather was out of practice! But it was to prove to be a forlorn hope…
CRACK! The first stroke landed with presence and determination. Poor Dennis yelped with pain. Clearly, his stepfather has lost none of his ability acquired all those years ago.
CRACK! The second stroke just added to the pain. Again, Dennis yelped, quite inappropriately for a 23-year-old.
CRACK! CRACK! Jim upped the ante by adding two strokes in rapid succession. His stepson just gasped and groaned.
CRACK! An epic fifth stroke made Dennis leap up, clutching his fleshy cheeks, gasping and trying to massage the pain away.
“GET DOWN IMMEDIATELY! I hope you weren’t like this with the Headmaster! Well?”
“Sorry, Sir. The Headmaster’s caning was hard to take, but if anything yours is even worse.”
“That’s the way it should be! Now back into place. Three more strokes to come. Think yourself very lucky I’m not adding extras for disobedience!”
“Sorry, Sir.” Dennis bent back over the bed, offering his smarting and striped cheeks for further chastisement.
CRACK! A sixth stroke hit home with an almighty sting. Dennis cried out again, and Jim just tutted and swished the cane through the air as if practising his swing.
CRACK! CRACK! Two final, diagonal strokes soon had Dennis crying and clutching at his bottom once again.
“I can see we’re going to have to toughen you up Dennis,” said Jim flexing the cane with menace.
To be continued…
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.
Story © MMXIV by Rod Cayenne
with special thanks to Jim for his inspired ideas
All rights reserved