The following story is fiction about a former prefect caning a much older school master.  The story contains scenes of a caning.  If this subject is offensive, uninteresting or if you are a minor (i.e., child) please leave now.

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Cold Sea and Hot Bum Crossed

By

YLeeCoyote@juno.com

"What are these?" asked my visitor looking at one of the frames mounted on my wall in my home study.  I said it was a long story, as we got comfortable in the big easy chairs with our drinks, I began my recollections.

It was some twelve years ago when summer holiday was almost over and I was about to start at a new school.  I was wrapping up my summer holiday in Amsterdam with a busy day touring and due to take the evening ferry back to the UK.

Fortunately, I had shipped my luggage ahead so I was only carrying my overnight bag for I had to run for the ferry at the dock in Amsterdam for the overnight trip to Newcastle.  It was a big mistake to have set my watch when I listen to the morning news on the BBC.  Without thinking I reset my watch to British time while the Captain was following the timetable in European time which was one hour ahead.  I went to stow my bag in my cabin so I could enjoy the steaming through the harbor and out to sea before dinner.  It was then that I met my cabin mate for the voyage.  York was a young gentleman who was heading for uni while I was heading for a public school where I had secured a position after my former school had closed.  Had that happened a few years later, I might have retired but then I still needed to work a few more years to bring my pension fund up to the needed amount to have a full pension.

As it became dark, I commented that it was getting dark early.  My new acquaintance also checked his watch and it was revealed that my watch was a full hour slow.  We went for dinner and learnt about each other.  He had been a prefect at his public school which maintained a very traditional approach to discipline and order.  It was much like the school I had attended decades before and like the one I was going to teach at.  Then we both realized that my new school was his old one.  His uni was in the same town.

York told me that he had gradually come to like the initially unpleasant duty of using CP on the other lads when it was fair and proportionate to the offence.  If the lad he had to cane, slipper or spank agreed that he deserved it, then it was taken without resentment and, he believed, had the salutary effects desired.  When it was unfair, it was bad for all.  There were various instances when he had deferred CP because the intended recipient objected it was unfair.  Several times a lad was proven right as more information came to light while other times a lad returned after a while to own up and admit he should be punished.© YLeeCoyote

It turned out, that York had witnessed my tardy boarding and further informed me that I had been fortunate that the gangway was still in place as it normally was raised four minutes earlier.  This day there had been some mechanical issue with the ship and some workmen had to depart before we sailed.  He could not help but to recall eight times when some fifth and sixth form lads just squeezed through the school gates because the porter was late in closing them.  Some of them confessed their transgression and accepted, albeit reluctantly, six-of-the-best from him although that never happened with any of the other prefects.  This was, he explained, important because the Headmaster was most concerned with punctuality and personal responsibility.

We retired a little latter and I made use of the facilities first.  When I returned he went to do his ablutions and it was then that I saw a senior cane on the bunk.  It was clearly a message.  I knew that it was not a request to cane him as he never indicated any interest in that but just the opposite.  My new job required that I would have to (directly or indirectly) punish the students at times.  York certainly was suggesting that it was only fair that I be held to the same exacting standards as they were.  I could not blame anyone but myself since I had forgotten I had prematurely reset my watch while deeply engrossed in touring in Amsterdam.  It was not anything that would have been known by the Head for I still had a couple of days to get to my school on time although there would have been an economic price.

I stood there thinking and handling the cane.  I had not been caned since I had been in school more than a third of a century ago.  All sorts of ideas passed through my head.  «I deserved this.», «This is absurd!», «This will hurt.», «It's none of York's business.», «This is exciting.», «This will hurt – a lot.», «He does not have any right to even suggest this much less do it.»  In short, my head was spinning.

When York spoke on his return, I snapped out of my reverie.  "Ready to do the right thing, Akeley?" he asked.  He was deadly serious.

I must have sounded like a scared first former as I tried to answer.  He told me to hand him the cane and after removing my robe and dropping my pyjama bottoms to assume the position with my hands holding my shins in the one spot he could cane me in the small, crowed cabin.  He spoke with such great confidence and authority that he commanded immediate obedience.  I disrobed and presented my bum for his cane as quickly as I had done for my Headmaster four decades before as a student.

He flipped the tail of my pyjama top up out of the way and found his proper spot quickly.  I felt the positioning tap of the cane and heard the whoosh as it came crashing down on my tender bottom.  It was worse than I recalled from my school days and it was very difficult to hold my position.  It got worse with each cut and I knew that I would have six tracks across my bum.  The sixth one crossed the first five to form a gate.  When he told me to get up, I immediately grasped my sore arse and cried: "That bloody hurt, York."

"That unseemly and vulgar outburst will cost you two more, Akeley.  Back into position." he snapped instantly.  As I obeyed, I wondered why he was being so kind with only two extra.  Actually, he wasn't.  The first was across my thighs and the second right in the sensitive crease where thigh and butt cheek met.

I was a well-trashed lad and, without a doubt, I knew it.  When he said to get into the upper bunk, I did so immediately.  Just like when I was in school, my little soldier was demanding attention but I was afraid to give it to him as it might invite an additional punishment since the prefect was in the other bunk.  But my little soldier was harder than he had been in many years.

* * * * * * * * * *

York woke me early so that we could have breakfast on the ferry.  He examined his handy work and was pleased.  I checked out the marks in the mirror and it was clear that he was an expert with the cane.  We shared a compartment on the train to our common destination.

We talked of my caning on the train.  I told him, honestly, that it was most memorable and he was an expert with the cane.  He smiled at that since he had known for some time.  I admitted that I probably would be less generous with canings now that I had been so forcefully reminded how terribly painful they were.  He filled out a card (in duplicate) that was an index card version of a school punishment book page.  Naturally, it had my name, the date, the offence (negligence, tardiness, profanity) and punishment (six plus two extra).  I had to sign both copies but he gave me one.

"Compassion is a good thing, Akeley." he said.  He even gave me his contact information explaining: "This is for when you know that you need another thrashing."  When we parted, he asked me to give his regards to the Head.

When I met with the Head later, there were several of us there and I, unfortunately, got stuck on a hard wooden chair.  When the meeting was over, the Head asked me to stay a bit.  He apparently spotted that I was fidgeting like freshly caned lad and since I had mentioned York he jumped to the obvious conclusion. That York had caned me did not surprise him in the least.  "York was my best prefect ever.  He caned the hardest and was strict yet there was never any resentment against him because he was so fair.  The others would seek him out even though he swished harder." said the Headmaster.

"I certainly can believe that.  He got me to bend over after just a couple of hours with him on the boat." I said quietly not wanting to get into any details.

A couple of weeks later, the Headmaster was displeased with me.  Towards the end of our, er, discussion, he said that it would be good for me to visit York promptly and the matter would be forgotten.

I called York and then went to see him in his digs.  He heard my story and plea for a proper swishing.  I stripped off my coat, trousers and pants and bent over his desk like I had bent over the head's desk when I was in school.  I was glad that I could hold on tightly to his desk as he thrashed me once again with that senior cane.  Each precisely delivered cut was fierce and caused great pain.  By the time he crossed the first five I was practically in tears.  There was additional pain when I put my pants back on.  He gave me a punishment record card like the first time.  The offence was left for me to fill in.  I stood on the bus returning to school wondering if the Head would want to see the card.  He never asked for it.

Over the next few years I collected a couple of more such cards.  While I was a master, I looked at them frequently for they kept me humble and the world in perspective.  I even thought of framing them and hanging them on my study wall but I did not have the courage to so until after I retired where you saw them today.

The End

© Copyright A.I.L. August 16, 2010

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