The headmaster had been mildly surprised at the decision of the school governors to allow the boys the option to wear short trousers as part of their uniform during the summer term. After all, this was England and the sun rarely shone for too long.
It turned out that the boys got it into their heads that the tailored short trousers made them look sexier to the girls. The headmaster supposed it depended on the shape of the boy’s legs and the roundness of his bottom, but he felt it safer not to think about such things.
A large number of the senior boys, many eighteen years old, now came to school in short trousers. At first they got stares and comments from members of the public, but pretty quickly everyone got used to it.
There was one significant problem. Because they looked like little boys, some of the seniors began acting that way. Suddenly they sported water pistols and pea shooters. They even brought catapults into school to shoot stones at pigeons, and more than once at one another. The headmaster had to step in before a boy had his eye taken out. All pistols, shooters and slingshots were banned, on the headmaster’s order.
And that was how Alfie Rodgers came to be in the headmaster’s study. Rodgers was one of those eighteen-year-olds who believed rules did not apply to them. Well, the headmaster was determined to demonstrate, that they did. “If it were a first-form boy before me,” he intoned, “I should cane him and frankly Rodgers I see no reason why I should not do the same with you.”
Rodgers’ face blanched. “You cannot be serious,” he thought the words but knew better than to say them aloud. The headmaster’s icy stare demonstrated he was deadly determined in his course of action. This was confirmed when he strode across the room to a tall, narrow cupboard. Within moments he was flexing a long, whippy rattan cane between his hands. Rodgers stared hard.
“Bend over.” It was a calm command, the boy might be a senior but the headmaster expected to be obeyed. And he was. With mounting trepidation Rodgers leaned forward. “Would this hurt much?,” he silently asked himself and when he answered in the affirmative he decided to grab hold of his ankles; he would need to steady himself somehow.
The headmaster watched the boy present himself submissively. Rodgers was a long way from being a “boy”, he had the muscles of a rugby player and dark hairs covered his legs and arms. His short trousers seemed a little too short and stretched across his beefy bum. Was this a sight the girls admired, the headmaster wondered.
He sawed the cane across the highest point of the tight shorts. “Brace yourself boy,” he advised kindly as he raised the cane high and flogged it across the seat of the shorts. Whack! Whack! Whack! “Arrrhhhh!!” Rodgers was stunned by the pain. It felt like his backside was on fire. Whack! Whack! Whack! “Oooowwwwwww!!” It was six of the best . The very best. The boy howled. What had the headmaster used on him? A red hot poker?
“You may stand Rodgers.”
The boy gripped his backside in both hands and jigged from foot to foot. The headmaster suppressed a grin, he had seen first-formers take a caning better than this strong young man.
“You may go,” he said and Rodgers went howling down the corridor
Picture credit: Sting Pictures
PLEASE VISIT MY NEW WEBSITE
Traditional School Discipline
https://traditionalschooldiscipline.blogspot.com/
Other stories you might like
A whopping for Warminster
The sling-shot
Rev. Harris does his duty
Charles Hamilton the Second
Male on male spanking stories 