Kevin Pettifer - The Warden

The day finally dawned when the first contingent of detainees arrived from the Great Endeavour. As Principal Secretary Chalmers had said, Commander Devere-Savile had certainly chosen some of the worst and most vicious elements, twenty in number, among whom was our old friend, Brian May. It was fortunate that armed guards had accompanied these twenty, young, died-in-the-wool, delinquent tearaways from the south coast to Moulton-Midmarsh, for there had already been a serious incident during the journey. For some unknown reason, Brian May, true to form, had pulled a knife and threatened his neighbour with it before being overpowered by the guards. This was the second occasion that May had threatened another cadet with a knife and for which, on the first occasion, Kevin Pettifer had already given the lad a twenty-four stroke – twelve-on-twelve – beating. Pettifer remembered that occasion well; how could he ever forget it? It had been a milestone in his naval career: his five hundredth beating since arriving on the Great Endeavour five years previously. Now here was Brian May again, with an offence which meant that his arse was to be the object of another session of painful loving care from Kevin Pettifer, the Warden and head of the school where May now found himself.

Never one to leave anything to chance given the potentially violent nature of many of his charges, Kevin had arranged to meet the arrivals along with Stephen Shaw, his right-hand man, together with a group of his senior warders, all of whom who were muscular young men, completely capable of quelling any dissent among the new arrivals. Two of the warders, Jessop and Evans, were experienced ex-sailors from the Great Endeavour disciplinary squad, who had been among those transferred to Moulton-Midmarsh at Kevin's request and knew precisely the drill for dealing with recalcitrant internees such as Brian May. The guards who had accompanied the coach had had the good sense to handcuff Brian May immediately after the knife incident and so there was no problem in dealing with him.

Kevin gave instructions for May to be taken straight the punishment room, told the warders to prepare May for immediate punishment and to send him a message when everything was ready for May to receive his – let us call it inauguration – into the joys of the life ahead of him at Moulton-Midmarsh. The remaining internees were taken to their sleeping quarters and told that the Warden would address them all after supper in the the dining room. Kevin also told the two warders dealing with May that he should later be isolated in a private room where he would sleep alone under close supervision for his first few nights at the school.

"Well Stephen, there you are; an opportunity to initiate you into the gentle art of arse beating has presented itself much sooner than either of us had envisaged. But we should seize this chance, for if anyone needs his arse roasting it is Brian May, as I am sure he is already aware. You and I are shortly going to thrash the living daylights out of the backside of that miserable and dangerously vicious example of the dregs-of humanity. Brian May is a danger to everyone: staff and fellow internees alike; he has to be made to understand that either he changes his ways or faces the next two years with an arse so permanently painful that he will never ever be able to sit down comfortably between beatings. If it sounds severe; well it is. But Brian May has to learn to toe the line or suffer; and with his history, insofar as I know it, believe me, as Warden, I have no compunction at all in making the lad suffer. So as soon as we receive word from the punishment room that May is ready and, let us say – raring to go – you and I jointly will give him the worst and most painful experience of his young life. This is to be a revelatory and exemplary arse warming occasion for May and we must not disappoint the lad; May must get up from his punishment wishing he had not been born."

A runner, in the form a junior warder, came up from the punishment room and informed the Warden that everything was now ready for him. Two birches, one light and the other heavy together with a selection of brand-new rattan canes had already been placed in the punishment room in readiness for its first client. Kevin and Stephen entered the room to find that May had been stripped totally naked and strapped across the new punishment stool. Both young warders wore only sleeveless gym vests, showing off their superb muscular physiques and their tight trousers were already bulging – attractively or menacingly depending on whose point of view you took – at the crotch. It was obvious to Kevin at a glance, that just the stripping off of May's clothes and strapping him stark naked over the punishment stool had already had an erotic effect on the two young warders; both were quite clearly metaphorically drooling at the thought of watching May get his arse shredded in the next few minutes.

Kevin smiled inwardly to himself as he took in this highly erotic scene in which Stephen and he were to play the major part. Beating, especially on the bare as it would be done tonight, was always a highly arousing, erotic experience for the onlookers and especially for the likes of Jessop and Evan who had been involved in setting up the scene. A beating itself is practically always guaranteed to harden the cocks of any male observer, not least the two warders who would be entrusted – as they surely would – with what was euphemistically referred to as the post beating clear-up: the ultimate perk attached to their job. And a Kevin knew full well, Jessop and Evans were always very thorough in the post flagellation, clear-up process; Brian May could not have been in more competent or better hands; although he may have taken a different view on the matter.

"So May, once again you have proved yourself unable to control your baser instincts. Frankly May, I would have thought that the beating I gave you earlier in the year on board the Great Endeavour after you had pulled a knife on one of your co-cadets would have served as a lesson to you and helped you moderate your obviously vicious behaviour. But I see by your actions on the coach bringing you here today that I have been proved wrong. Once again you threatened one of your companions with a knife and for that you are now stretched naked across the beating stool. You, young man, are one of the worst type of offenders and need to be taught a lesson yet again; and as you probably remember from your previous experience with me, I pride myself on the fact that I am a very good teacher: an excellent one in fact, as I shall shortly have the pleasure – probably all mine under the circumstances – of reminding you.

The last time I beat you was a special occasion for me, in that on that day you were precisely the five hundredth cadet whom I had beaten over my five years as Chief Disciplinarian on the Great Endeavour; so as you can see, I had not shirked my responsibilities, which I still take very seriously. Well your punishment today – and you are to be punished as even you must have divined from the position and state of undress in which you now find yourself – will be exemplary in terms of its extreme severity, in the hope that you will finally realise that unless you mend your ways you will find your backside in a permanent state of agony throughout your entire time at this school. And May, I can tell you that you are the first of the internees of this newly founded school to have the distinction of being punished in this newly furnished correction room with its brand new equipment. And so May you will have the pleasure of knowing that this evening, you will be enjoying the maiden performance of the birches and canes to be used on your arse. But make no mistake, Brian May, unless you improve your behaviour, the thrashing which Chief Disciplinarian Shaw and I are jointly about to give you may be taken as the norm. I hope I make my position and yours quite clear. May; I shall have no hesitation in ensuring that your backside reaps the painful harvest of any further of your bad behaviour."

May remained sullenly silent whilst Kevin was speaking before uttering one phrase: "You can bloody-well fuck off! And that goes for the lot of you!"

Kevin went across to the stool and adjusted its height so that May's arse was well and truly stretched. He then picked up the lighter of the two birches, stood on May's left side, laid the birch gently across May's naked buns, tapped it around for a few seconds before raising it high above his head and bringing it down with a swishing sound to land right across the centre of May's right bun. Now the old, traditional birch made of twigs did not appear very painful at the first stroke; it was the gradual build up of pain to an almost unbearable level as stroke followed stroke that gave it its reputation as the worst of all punishments. But the modern, synthetic implement was quiet different; the greater weight of the polythene-covered strands of tressed steel wire ensured that every single stroke delivered immediate and absolute agony to the recipient. The efficacy of this new birch was evident when immediately after the first stroke, Brian May let out a shrill cry of pain and an oath: "You bloody mother fucker; what do you fucking-well think you are doing to my arse?"

Kevin ignored May's outburst but noted mentally that on future occasion the lad would have to pay for his use of the foul language he had just uttered. But at that moment Kevin was more interested in the results of that first stroke of what for him was a brand-new instrument of punishment. He saw that the strands of the birch had spread themselves out and that with his first stroke he had covered the centre of May's right bun with a slewof fine, closely spaced welts. It was clear from this one preliminary blow that this modern version of the birch was much more effective than its twiggy predecessor in that the pain it delivered was immediate; and as if to testify to the veracity of this visual appraisal, Brian May trumpeted his appreciation with a loud howl of pain and spat out that mouth full of foul, abusive language for which, unbeknown to him at that moment, his arse would again suffer on a future, not-too-distant occasion. Kevin left a long period – some fifteen seconds – before continuing; time to allow May to stew in the painfully bitter juice in which his arse was being bathed; his second stroke was aimed this time at the upper third of the same bun; this was followed fifteen seconds later by the third stroke; this time aimed at the most sensitive part of May's lower anatomy: the so-called sit-spot, where the crease of the upper legs begins. At each stroke, Kevin noted with some considerable satisfaction, May let out an increasingly loud cry of pain.

Kevin now stood back and admired his handiwork so far; with three resounding cuts he had already endowed May's right-hand bun with a rich series of painful welts across its entire surface. He now waited a full half minute, allowing May to digest the agony of the pain from which he was now suffering, before moving around to the lad's right side and addressing his left hand bun in the same way. So with the leisurely pace adopted by Kevin, the first six cuts with the lighter birch had already taken practically two minutes. Readers may not appreciate the importance of these pauses to the whole procedure of beating a subject. But just take a look at your watch and see how long, when you are doing nothing, fifteen seconds take to elapse; well of course they take fifteen immutable seconds; but taken together in a state nervous tension, stretched stark-naked across a beating stool, waiting for the next stroke to land on some as yet undefined spot on your arse, those fifteen seconds can and often do seem like an absolute eternity. And try also to imagine how Brian May felt with his arse already aflame after the first six cuts of the lighter birch; the lad had no idea whether his punishment was over or not; of course, unbeknown to him, it was not yet even at the halfway stage. Psychologically May found himself in an awful, tension-inducing situation; one which he richly merited by his continued antisocial and life-threatening behaviour towards his companions.

Kevin now took a pause of a full minute to let May appreciate what had happened to him so before he gave the lad another another six resounding cuts on top of the six he had already taken. By the time Kevin had finished the six-on-six thrashing, May was sporting what had to be one of the best birched arses ever: an incomparable, visual testimony to the fine art of arse beating. By now, May was weeping continuously and begging to be released; but it was all in vain; he was wasting his breath as his punishment was only half completed. For any one offence, twenty- four cuts were authorised by law and if ever there was an offence or a person who deserved to feel the full weight of the law, it was Brian May at that precise moment. One has a tendency to feels sorry for Brian May and think that he had already received punishment enough for his offence; but such sentiments would be totally misplaced and misdirected. The likes of Brian May, who was a typical example of the sort of repeat juvenile offender with whom Moulton-Midmarsh would have to contend en-masse on a daily basis, were a permanent danger to the general public.

During what was to be a ten minute pause, Kevin now informed May that in view of his repeated behaviour with the knife and as a deterrent to any such future episodes, he was to received the full twenty-four strokes allowed by law; his punishment would now be completed by twelve strokes of the cane applied to his to his naked arse and that the school's Chief Disciplinarian, Kevin Shaw, would officiate.

Through his tears, May nevertheless managed to snarl: "You can't be serious. You've just shredded my arse with that fucking whatever- you-call it and now you want to go on and thrash me with a cane. There is no way I am going to let you loose on my backside again; I won't stand for it. It's not fair and I don't think I can take any more pain. I'll have the law on you for grievous bodily harm; I bloody-well will. You really are a fucking set of mother fuckers." May could not refrain from using foul language repeatedly and insulting his tormentor. But in so doing, unbeknown to him, he was digging himself into an ever deeper hole out of which he would in the near future be pulled and once again find his arse answering for his misdeeds in the form another painful session in the punishment room.

"May you have brought all this upon yourself and as for stopping us doing our duty, I suggest you consider where you are and how you intend to go about it. So May, I am afraid you will just have to grit your teeth and take what is coming to you, which is frankly exactly what you deserve. Young man, at this moment, I can think of no one who deserves the maximum punishment more than you do."

"Mr. Shaw, if you please; twelve cuts of the cane across Mr. May's birch-pre-conditioned buttocks; and make sure that you take your time, leaving a good pause between strokes so that he fully appreciates the care and skill you are lavishing on him. Oh and just one other thing; please try to place each stroke parallel to the previous one so that our friend here leaves us today with an arse which is a perfect example of the fine art of caning. I would like May to feel that he has not been been short changed and leaves here as the proud possessor of a well birched and well beaten arse; one that he can show with pride to his companions and one of which we too can be proud as the founders of the traditions-to-be of this school."

What May thought of this piece of rather over-the-top rhetoric, we shall never know. And as for the traditions of the school; well as this as this was the very first day of the school, there was not much to be traditional about. But at that precise moment, tradition was far from May's thoughts as he braced himself for the next inevitable onslaught on his already painfully well-birched posterior.

Whilst Kevin was spouting forth to May, Stephen Shaw was feeling rather nervous about his ability to perform adequately with the cane. He had been delighted to be offered the post of Chief Disciplinarian and had watched Kevin literally hundreds of times over the past five years as he had expertly caned cadets on the Great Endeavour. But now, with no prior warning, an unforeseen situation needing immediate attention had developed. Stephen felt very jittery about the part he was now about to play as he had had no practice at all with the cane he was about to wield. He felt as if he had been thrown naked into a swimming pool of ice-cold water, not knowing how to swim. But he knew Kevin had taken the right decision to deal with May immediately; the lad was a menace and needed thrashing. But as he gripped the rattan cane by its straight leather-bound handle he felt very uncertain himself.

It was not that he had any compunction about beating May's arse, as he approved of corporal punishment as much as Kevin did; but it was just taking that first step and giving May's arse that first stroke which was going to be very difficult; and it was doubly difficult as he had an audience of the two young warders, in front of whom he did not want to make a mistake; and so he was just very, very nervous. In a way it was no different from the first time a gay guy takes another guy's cock up his arse. He knows he wants to be fucked yet there is always that fear of the unknown. Stephen remembered the first time he had been fucked; he was eighteen at the time and itt was before he had known Kevin; but he had trembled with fear as his then partner, an older man of twenty-five, had pushed his hard cock against his anus and had finally penetrated him. But once his partner inside of him, all fear had suddenly evaporated and he lay back and let his partner fuck him and he had really enjoyed it. That first time incident had confirmed what he had long suspected: that he was gay; and after that he had never looked back.

Kevin and Stephen had been an item for five years and Kevin could read his partner like a book; and so as they prepared to give May his his second round, Kevin pulled Stephen to one side and said: "Stephen, I can see that you are nervous; but just relax; you have seen me use the cane times without number and you know exactly how it's done. So just take your time and prepare each stroke by laying the cane exactly where you want it to land on May's arse. Then when you are ready, raise your arm and bring the cane down as hard as you can and make that young delinquent howl with pain. Remember the name of the game is to inflict the maximum pain and your aim should be to leave May with a backside on which he cannot sit comfortably for the next week. So just take your time; don't rush and make every stroke count. You'll do just fine; believe me."

And as Kevin had predicted, Stephen did exactly that; in fact he did brilliantly. After that first difficult stroke under the eagle eye of the two warders, Jessop and and Evans, he discovered that in common with many men whose duty it is to inflict corporal punishment on others, he rather enjoyed what he was doing: in fact not to mince words, he thoroughly enjoyed it! By the time he had finished with Brian May, he himself was almost cumming in his pants, so sexually arousing had been the experience. As Kevin and he stood back to view their handiwork, Brian May was crying liberally; and little wonder, for his arse had truly been turned into a work of art. On a well-prepared, even, deep red and angry looking ground of fine birch welts, which covered May's entire arse, Stephen had overlaid twelve, very deep welts with his cane, all strictly parallel and stretching from the bottom of May's back to the top of his legs; the welts, which were excruciatingly painful and were a livid deep-red already tinged with the blue of bruising. It is safe to say that not one inch of May's arse had escaped punishment and it is hard to imagine a better contender for that ultimate accolade: A Very Well Beaten Arse. And what was most appropriate was that if anyone had deserved it, Brian May had.