The Head Boy's Fag Ch. 02

Dr. Redvers-Grex swished the cane through the air a few times just to heighten the tension, before placing it gently across the middle of his victim's arse. He stood facing the left side of his victim, with the lad's arse on the extreme right and prepared to make the first forehand stroke. Unlike most prefects and masters who tap around with the cane, trying to decide on the exact place they wish to place the stroke, he immediately raised the cane well above his head and brought it down with unerring aim and precision, landing it directly across the midpoint of the boy's backside. The cane mated with the naked flesh with a resounding crack and its free end wrapped itself over the right buttock prolonging the cut as he had explained to the suppliant boy.

Lattymer-Smith could not believe how painful that first stroke had been. He felt as though his bottom had been cut in half by a red-hot knife. He emitted a howl of pain, as tears welled up in his eyes. It was much, much worse than he had ever imagined; much worse than what Mottram had done to him. But now there was the pause between strokes; to contend with; ten seconds seemed like an hour, as he waited there in agony for the next onslaught. During this time the Headmaster repositioned himself to the right of his target and then brought done the cane with a vicious backhanded swipe. Again the precision was extraordinary, as the second cut was closely placed parallel to the first. And from then on, always observing what might well be called the "pause for appreciation", stroke followed biting stroke from left and right until twelve excruciatingly painful cuts had left Lattymer-Smith with an arse covered with an impressive display of twelve bright red, evenly spaced, parallel welts.

Lattymer-Smith was in utter agony; his arse felt as though he had sat on a fire. He thought to himself that this must surely be the most well-beaten arse of all time. He had never imagined that a caning could be so awful; he asked himself if he would ever be able to sit down again, so agonising was the pain which Dr. Redvers-Grex had delivered. He wondered whether any of the strokes had drawn blood, but doubtless is classmates would tell him a little later. Poor Lattymer-Smith had just undergone the worst experience in his entire life. He had been beaten because he had not performed well in class; that much he knew quite clearly. But not in a month of Sundays could he have imagined just how painful his correction could be. As of Monday he vowed to himself that he would work hard in class, as he never wanted to go through what had just experienced ever again.

Philosphically, (but it easier for the observer to be philosophical than for the one who has just been subjected to a severe punishment) one has to suppose that the "treatment" had cured the problem, But equally any sensitive observer would have had to conclude that Lattymer-Smith had been subjected to an excessively severe beating. That he merited a beating, that was sure; but Redvers-Grex had allowed himself to act with too much vigour, to put it at its mildest. Bu this was typical of what happened in English public schools at the rune of the last century. And if what had just happened to Lattymer-Smith was classed as severe, how on earth did one classify the beatings handed out in in approved schools and reformatories? Could they have been any worse? Well yes they could and they were.

Finally, however, the ordeal was over. The Headmaster told Lattymer-Smith that he could get up and put back on his shorts. He extended his hand to the boy who shook it and crept away, rubbing an aching backside. He went straight back to his dormitory where his classmates were waiting expectantly to learn what had actually happened. In no time at all Lattmyer-Smith's naked arse was being examined intently by his classmates. No one had ever before seen a boy who had taken twelve cuts bare and if ever there way of encouraging boys to behave, then this was it: a real-life case of teaching buy example! It was obvious that Lattymer-Smith had undergone an exceedingly severe ordeal and none of his classmates wanted to follow the same path. Inevitably, some, of course, would!

That night, Lattymer Smith slept without his pyjama bottoms, on his face, with his flaming rump exposed for all to see. He could not even bear the touch of the bed sheet on his flesh; the poor lad was in utter agony. He had truly been taught a lesson in a way in which he would never forget. Alas, although he did not know it then, his problems were still not over.

The next morning was Saturday: a day without classes and a day devoted largely to sporting activities at Ollerton. Lattymer-Smith who, due to his hitherto private education, had not participated in any team sports prior to entering Ollerton. But he had, during his first month at Ollerton, discovered that he really enjoyed rugby and had become an enthusiastic member of the junior team of his house. In spite of a sore backside, he was looking forward to Saturday afternoon, when his team would have a friendly match with the homologue from another house. So preoccupied was he with his own thoughts, that the fact, Saturday or not, the fact that he still had his duties as the Head Boy's fag to discharge had gone completely out of his head. It was not until he glanced at the dormitory clock and saw that it was already almost seven-thirty, that he was brought back to earth with a bang. He was himself not yet dressed and he still had to fetch the hot shaving water for his fagmaster, which he had completely forgotten and which he was supposed to take to Mottram by seven-fifteen sharp. And then, of course, there was the question of Mottram's breakfast and laying out of his clothes and so on and so forth. The poor lad's heart sank as he realised that he was probably, once again in deep trouble.

Mottram did not have a very forgiving nature; in fact he did not have a forgiving nature at all and was a stickler for punctuality and precision on the part of his fag. Lattymer-Smith remembered Mottram's exact words to him at their first meeting: "You and I, Lattymer-Smith are going to get along just swimmingly provided that you do exactly as I say." He shuddered inwardly as nearly a half hour behind schedule, he finally delivered the shaving water to Mottram's study.

"Well, Lattymer-Smith; very nice of you to put in an appearance; better late than never, I suppose. Do you realise that I have been sitting here twiddling my thumbs for half an hour, waiting for you to arrive with my shaving water? Where the hell have you been until now? When I say seven-fifteen, I mean seven-fifteen and not quarter to eight. What have you been doing and why are you so very late? Oh don't bother trying to explain now. You've got a lot of time to catch up so you'd better get on with my breakfast otherwise it'll be lunch time before you bring it to me."

Any hope that Lattymer-Smith had had that Mottram might be in a forgiving mood because it was Saturday was clearly not going to be realised as the Head Boy was in a bad temper. As he had feared, when he arrived with his fag-master's breakfast, the atmosphere had not improved; if anything it had got worse and Mottram was obviously out for blood. He looked at the toast which had been slightly charred around the edges and said: "Lattymer-Smith, I don't know what are playing at, but this toast is burned. I am not in the habit of eating charcoal. Take it away and make some fresh and don't burn it this time."

The fag scuttled away to rectify his mistake, to be greeted on his return with more toast by yet another complaint: "Lattymer-Smith; after a month of fagging for me, I would have thought that you knew how to boil an egg. I like my eggs soft-boiled.; that is to say boiled for four and a half minutes. These eggs are hard-boiled and are not the sort of thing a gentleman expects to be served at breakfast time. It's becoming increasingly clear to me that you need extra guidance in your duties. Now, whilst I finish this totally unsatisfactory breakfast, kindly go and lay out my clothes for today; and when you have done that, you had better go and get your own breakfast otherwise you will be too late for that. But I want you back here by eight thirty sharp as you and I have certain business to transact before the day grows much older."

Lattymer-Smith's heart sank as he listened to the catalogue of errors thrown in his face by his fag-master. He knew only too well what business Mottram intended to transact with him on his return and the thought of what was likely to happen to him was not a pleasant prospect, especially not on a Saturday morning and even mor especially in view of the delicate state of his arse. However, his master's word being law, he was back in Mottram's study punctually at eight-thirty.

"Lattymer-Smith, I am very disappointed in you and your performance. I have noticed for quite some time that you are becoming more and more careless in the attention to detail which is the hallmark of a good fag. I have refrained until now from saying anything, in the hope that things would improve, but your performance this morning has left a lot to be desired; indeed to be frank, it has left let everything to be desired. Not only were you late but you made an absolute mess of my breakfast; and after that, in the full knowledge that I was displeased, or at least I imagine that you were aware of my displeasure, you laid out my clothes for today without brushing down my coat and the crease in my trousers had not been refreshed with the iron as required. You are well aware of the fact that I expect a knife edge crease in my trousers every day; that is the way I like them and that is the way you must keep them."

"As Head Boy, it is up to me to set certain standards at this school and I will not tolerate your sloppy attention to detail preventing me from maintaining them. That is what a gentleman's gentleman does. He ensures that his master is always impeccably turned out in public. And then there were my shoes. The polish you had achieved was far from satisfactory. So all in all, Lattymer-smith, you have a lot to answer for today. What do you have to say for yourself, before I ask you to pass me your cane and take corrective action?"

Poor Lattymer-Smith listened with an ever more sinking feeling to this diatribe from his fagmaster. Mottram was a fault finder "par excellence" if ever there was one; he had that key fault-finder's attribute of being able to find faults where none existed. Lattymer-Smith did not have any idea what to say in his own defence. He knew that part of the reason why he had been late was that he was still in a state of shock and pain after his encounter with the Headmaster the previous evening; so he attempted to explain to Mottram what had happened to him; how much pain he was still feeling; and how he felt he could not take another beating.

But Mottram, as ever, was having none of it: "Lattymer-Smith, what the fact that you took a beating from the Headmaster yesterday evening has to do with your lateness this morning and your general poor performance of your various tasks, I totally fail to see. As I remember it, I personally have beaten you only once and since then have watched your steadily declining standards. Clearly my hope that you yourself would realise that things had to improve was misjudged and I can but blame myself for having allowed things to slip. Pass me your cane, if you please and let us get on with things. I presume that you still remember what is now required of you."

Lattymer-Smith remembered all too well what he had to do when his fagmaster proposed to beat him. And so it was with a heavy heart he boy took down his personal cane from behind the door handed it to Mottram, went across the room , pulled out the hated chair, dropped his trousers and pants, bent across the chair and presented his naked arse to his tormentor. By this morning, Lattymer-Smith's corrugated backside had turned a reddish purple. The welts left by the Headmaster's cane were all clearly defined and it was clear to any observer that the boy had recently undergone a monumental beating.

As Mottram looked at his fag's arse, even he realised that there was no way that he could use the cane on what he saw. He whistled audibly as he took in the state of his fag's anatomy; and he gazed in secret admiration at what Dr. Redvers-Grex had achieved with his cane; no skin was broken but the good doctor had clearly gone to the limit with the severity with his strokes. If ever a boy's arse could be described as "well beaten", then this was the definitive example of that painful state. Lattymer-Smith's arse was a showpiece of virtuoso cane work which few could achieve to such a degree of perfection. Mottram stood in awe of his Headmaster and prayed to god that he would never have to submit his own arse to the ministrations of Dr. Redvers-Grex.

"Lattymer-Smith, I see that the Headmaster truly went to town on your backside yesterday evening. I am not sure what you did to deserve such a thorough beating, but clearly Dr. Redvers-Grex thought that you merited a very severe correction. But last night's beating does not in any way excuse your performance this morning. Now I am a great believer in striking whilst the iron is hot and, metaphorically speaking, I am sure you will agree with me when I say that your "iron" is now not only hot, but red-hot. I am very loath to put off correcting you to another day, but being nothing if not a realist, Lattymer-Smith, I am aware that in your present state I cannot administer the normal punishment I would give you with your personal cane. I shall therefore content myself with giving you a simple "refresher" with the back of my bath-brush."

Lattymer-Smith, his naked arse stuck in the air, had listened to this monologue. Clearly Mottram was out for his blood and nothing was going to stop him taking it there and then. And so, the poor lad said nothing, closed his eyes, braced himself and waited for the "refresher" assault on his arse with the bath-brush. Philosophically he thought, it could have been worse, for Mottram who, as he now realised, was a sadistic bastard, could have thrashed him with his cane, which would surely have drawn blood given the present data of his buttocks. So the brush was what one might consider a soft option. But the back of a brush, especially a long handled bath-brush, when applied with force, as it surely would be, was also a very painful implement. He asked himself as he waited, what Mottram was doing with a bath-brush, for he had no bathroom and took his showers with the other boys. Clearly he had this added implement of torture in reserve for such such occasions when the cane was unsuitable. Was his motto "be prepared" Lattymer-Smith wondered.

Mottram returned with his brush and Lattymer-Smith soon felt the full horror of the back of a brush against his still throbbing arse. The brush, a time honoured implement of punishment in many countries, does not have the cutting qualities of the rattan cane, but due to its superior weight can produce considerable bruising when applied with force. And as Lattymer-Smith now found out, Mottram did not spare him as he applied the brush with considerable force to the boy's buttocks. The pain he delivered was excruciating as the target was already raw and painful from the previous evening. Lattymer-Smith cried out loudly with pain as each of six blows landed on his arse. He had thought that the caning by Redvers-Grex had been the worst moment of his life to date, but now he was no longer sure.

When he was finally allowed to leave Mottram's study every step he took was agonising. His arse was just so very sore, he could hardly bear to walk. Any thought he had had of an afternoon of sport, on the rugger field had disappeared: he was just too sore even to think of it; the poor lad could barely move. Relentless as ever, Mottram said to him : "Oh just so that you know, I shall require tea for five in my study at four-thirty this afternoon; and I've ordered and paid for a cake at the baker's in my name so just pop in there and get it. Try not to forget; and Lattymer-Smith, and please try not to, burn the toast this afternoon; there's a good chap!"

As ordered, Lattymer-Smith went and fetched the cake, and served tea and toast (not burned!) to Mottram and his four guests, punctually at four-thirty as ordered. He was somewhat surprised to see that one of of the guests was Thompson, who along with Cartwright, had had the doubtful pleasure of undergoing Dr. Redvers-Grex's "percussive therapy" the previous evening, whilst he himself had stood in the corridor awaiting his own fate. Thompson said to him as he served the tea: "I had not realised that you were Mottram's fag. How did you make out with the old boy last night? I hope that he didn't beat you as hard as he did me." Lattymer-Smith made as if to reply only to be cut off by his fagmaster who told him that he could leave to get his own tea in the junior common room and come back later to clear away the tea things.

It was around six o'clock, after the guests had left, or so he thought that he went back to Mottram's study to remove the tea things. He knocked on the door and entered what was ostensibly an empty study. He was in process of loading the dirty crockery onto his tray when he heard a strange sound, someone moaning, coming from the bedroom. Mottram had a suite of rooms as Head Boy and from the main room led of a sort corridor, off which was the wash room and lavatory and at the end of which was the door to his bedroom. Lattymer-Smith's curiosity was aroused, but then whose would not have been? So he crept very quietly down the corridor to find the bedroom door partially ajar. Without touching the door he gazed upon what was for him a scene he had never before witnessed; a scene, the significance of which, he did not at all understand..

His fagmaster, totally naked was on the bed on his knees with his arse sticking up into the air. Behind him crouched over Mottram, also naked, with his well beaten backside on full display to the Lattymer-Smith's gaze, was Thompson. As he watched, fascinated by what was happening, he saw Thompson thrusting and withdrawing his body from Mottram with ever increasing force and amplitude. Mesmerized by what he was seeing but without in any understanding of what was happening, Lattymer-Smith finally saw Thompson make one last thrust as he shot his load into his partner. He had no idea at all of what the two young men, for at eighteen going on nineteen they could no longer truly be called boys, were doing. Thirteen year old boys in 1900 were rarely showing signs of sexual maturity and what they knew about sex was practically non-inexistent. They were still children in those days and the precociousness of today's teenagers, who know everything there is to know about sex by the time they are twelve (or less!) was then quite unknown.

For Lattymer-Smith, this was the first time he had seen a sex act between two young men; or for that matter a sex act at all. In the coming months he was to mount the learning curve very rapidly so that by the end of his first year at Ollerton he would be as fully aware as anyone of what adults, both men and women, did together. But for the moment it was all a mystery to him; he was completely innocent. He had witnessed an act of anal sex between the two young men: an act of buggery: an act punishable as a crime by the then law; but he had neither the slightest idea of the significance of what he had seen nor of why the two of them were so clearly enjoying themselves in this strange position. But nevertheless his instinct told him that whatever the significance of what he had witnessed, it would certainly be against the school rules; of that he felt quite certain.