Bob Lender looked down at the seat cushion inches in front of his face. It was patterned in greens and browns. Autumnal colours.
The eighteen-year-old concentrated carefully. He needed to focus on something. Such as the large, round, greasy, indentation. Hundreds, possibly thousands, of posteriors had contributed to the dent. It was an old chair. It had seen much action.
He gripped the cushion edge tightly. Waiting.
His heavy grey trousers were at a puddle at his feet. His grubby off-white underpants hovered at his shins. His school shirt was bunched at his shoulders, neatly tucked away from the target area.
He couldn’t have felt more self-conscious. Embarrassed. Humiliated, even. His bare buttocks were on full view to the room.
He was not alone. Tony Brown and Keith Green stood facing the bookcase; hands on head. Waiting their turn.
A cool gust of wind brushed his naked haunches. The study window was slightly ajar. The sounds of schoolchildren talking, some laughing, wafted in on the breeze.
He could feel the headmaster’s cane pressing into his flesh. Dr Fortescue was finding his spot. Taking his aim. Preparing himself. It would be any moment now.
St Septimus Independent Grammar School is going to the dogs. Send for Dr Fortescue, the Tyrant Headmaster. He knows how to turn a school round. And he intends to start at the very top – with the prefects.
The Tyrant Headmaster is a new series of as-yet unpublished stories. Starting Monday 14 March 2016 and continuing Wednesday 16 March and Friday 18 March, follow Dr Fortescue as he imposes discipline on the eighteen-year-old lads at St SIGS.
“No smoking and no drinking. If any boy is caught in these activities I shall consider it to be a breach of the headmaster’s direct instruction, and I shall not hesitate in thrashing that boy with the utmost severity!”
“But, Sir, Dr Fortescue, Sir,” a tall fair haired boy rose to his feet. “You can’t do that. Sixth-formers can’t be caned.”
How wrong can you be?