The Ingram-Lewis Chronicles Pt. 04

With the change of the form of address from Ingram-Lewis to Patrick, one did not have to be a mind reader to see what was coming next. Patrick sat there sipping his port, which was delicious, musing to himself as the Headmaster prattled on about times past etc. etc. etc. In fact Patrick did not really listen to what Mr. Godber was actually saying as he knew exactly what was going to be required of him. As Godber droned on, Patrick mused to himself: "In anno domini 1900, in the year of the Lord 1900, here I am "in loco domini", in place of the master, and in a few moments I shall be required to be "in ano domini", with my cock stuck up the old boy's anus."

And that is, of course, exactly what happened; it was more or less a repeat performance of their first encounter. Godber retired to his bedroom where Patrick followed him a few minutes later and proceeded to fuck the old boy's arse. But as before, Godber was satisfied with one good hard fuck and did not suggest a return bout. In fact Patrick never really got a good look at Godber's penis, as he was flat on his belly when Patrick entered. This was to become a regular pattern on Sunday evenings for Patrick throughout his final year at Rigby: an hour or so to review of the week's events accompanied by a glass of port and ending with a good hard fuck. But Patrick did not mind, for in a way he quickly came to be quite fond of old Godber and he wondered how he would fare when, alone, he left Rigby for ever at the end of the year. "A frightening prospect for the old man," Patrick thought.

CHAPTER 5

The following week, acting on the Headmaster's advice, Patrick went to see Mr. Patterson, the head- gardener, who lived in a bothy on the school grounds. He was greeted like a long lost friend by the gardener, whom he barely knew: "Mr. Patrick sir, the Headmaster told me about your position as Head boy and the heavy burden he had put on your shoulders making you responsible for all discipline in the school. You know sir, I remember when you first came here as a thirteen year old; my goodness what a tearaway you were in those days and I guess you must have felt one of my birches across your backside more than once. And look at you now: Head Boy and ordering birches to use yourself."

"Well sir, the Headmaster told me that as of now I should take my instructions from you as to the making of the birches. I've been here for twenty-five years, you know. I came as a fifteen year old apprentice and became head gardener fifteen years ago when I was only twenty-five myself. But you know, sir, I've actually been making the birches for the Headmaster for over twenty years. Now sir, as it's the beginning of term I suppose you will need a new supply as unlike the cane the birch does not have a very long life; especially those which were made from birch twigs themselves. Why sir, I can remember having to make at least three or four a week as the Headmaster used two on one boy; very fragile they were, which is why I moved onto a birch made of hazel twigs. But sir, I have now found something much better."

"I don't want to burden you with my life story, sir (which is, of course, exactly what he was going to do) but since my wife died about six years ago, I've been left a widower with two young lads, Herbert and Alfred to bring up by myself. They're a good pair of lads, really, eleven and twelve now, but recently they have been getting beyond themselves and the Headmaster at the village school where they go has caned them on the hand several times, for rudeness. So, I thought to myself that it was time to give them each a really good thrashing, just to put them on the straight and narrow, if you get my meaning sir."

"Until then I had never ever laid a finger on either of them, but they did truly need taking down a peg. So I thought to myself that if a birching is what the young gentlemen up at the school get to make them toe the line, then it's surely good enough for my Herb and Alfie. So last week sir, I made a couple, in fact three, birches which I intended to use on my two sons. Now sir, I came across, in the grounds, the stump of a maple tree, which had thrown up a lot of whippy young shoots from the base. It suddenly struck me, looking at them, that they would make a splendid birch; you know sir, the new shoots of the maple are very fine and bendy but they are also very strong, in many ways like fine bamboo. Anyway sir, I cut them, took them back to my work-shed and made them into three birches. And let me tell you sir, I've never had a taste of the birch myself, but these seemed pretty good to me."

"So last week, one evening after the boys had gone to bed, I called them down to the kitchen, made them drop their pyjama trousers and bend across the table and I gave each of them a real good thrashing. My god sir, how my two sons howled; but I pressed on regardless and gave them a dozen really good hard cuts each; no point in half doing the job I thought. When I had finished the two lads were in tears and their backsides were bright red thanks to my efforts. Well sir, since then I have out heard a peep out of them and the two have been as good as gold. So I feel very satisfied with my efforts. But the thing is, sir, I made these birches only last week so they are more or less brand new and I still have them in my shed, so if you think that you could use them up at the school then you have three ready-made birches to hand now."

So Patrick and Mr. Patterson went to the shed where Patrick was shown three magnificent bundles of maple twigs. As Patterson had said, they were really very strong and the implement made a very satisfying noise as it was swished through the air. Patrick looked at the gardener's handiwork with admiration and realised that he was an expert in the fabrication of this implement of corporal punishment and that the three examples he had in front of him were in their own way, masterpieces of the art. Mr. Patterson explained that he had made one birch somewhat longer than the other two: "You see sir, some of the shoots were a bit longer than the others and I saw no reason to cut them down. So if you like sir, there are two what you might call junior birches and the longer one is sort of a senior birch. Believe me sir, with the longer one and the greater length of stroke, you'll be able to give the older boys a really good thrashing; let them know what a good birching feels like; that should keep them out of future mischief sir. A really sore backside works wonders with boys in my view."

Patrick realised that Mr. Patterson took his job as maker of birches really seriously and that he himself was a firm believer in their efficacy. So he thanked Mr. Patterson for his handiwork and asked him if he would kindly deposit the three rods in the punishment room to which he knew from the Headmaster, Mr Patterson had a key. To this Mr. Patterson readily agreed saying he would deposit the three new rods he had made there later that day. So Patrick went back to the school in the knowledge that he had all the tools he needed to open for business; all he now needed were some "customers".

Patrick did not have long to wait long to test out his newly acquired birches as a suitable opportunity soon presented itself. As is often the case, it happened quite unexpectedly. However, as we shall see, what started small soon blossomed into the discovery of a major piece of delinquency which ultimately left quite a number of second formers with very painful arses.

It was the Saturday evening in the third week of term that Patrick was walking along the upper corridor off which a series of twelve bed dormitories let, when he detected that inimitable smell of cigarette smoke. Smoking was, of course, strictly forbidden along with alcohol consumption and a variety of other acts and closer investigation seemed to indicate that the source was located in the linen room at the end of the corridor. Throwing open the door, Patrick found two boys lounging nonchalantly on a pile of clean towels, puffing away like hardened smokers. "What do you two think you are doing (a rather stupid question as it was as plain as a pikestaff what they were doing?) Put out those fags at once step outside into the corridor and explain yourselves."

The linen room had been lit by a single gas-light but once in the corridor, Patrick discovered that one of the miscreants was that habitual offender, that regular breaker of any and all school rules, that "arse in wafting to the cane" Tomlinson Major. The other boy was called Newton: Jonathan Newton. "Tomlinson, why am I not surprised to find that you are the source of the smoke? Where did you get the cigarettes from; come on; out with it Tomlinson. And don't tell me, please that they were a present to you from last Christmas or that your mother kindly packed them for you for the new term. You know Tomlinson, your bum and the cane seem to have a remarkable affinity for each other; an affinity which once again is going to be turned into a reality as I thrash your miserable arse for the second time this term. And you, Newton, where did your fags come from?"

"Oh Ingram-Lewis sir, we weren't really smoking," began the agile minded Tomlinson, "We were just conducting a test to see whether it irritated our throats as some people say and we did not intend to continue; indeed, Ingram-Lewis sir, we did not; it was purely in the interests of medical science as you can surely see, sir. And Newton did not have any cigarettes of his own, so I just lent him one of mine so that he could take part in this ground breaking experiment. So, as you can see, it was completely innocent and instructive, and we were not, in fact, breaking any school rule, Ingram-Lewis Sir."

"Tomlinson, can you stick to the question and not indulge yourself in another of your flights of utter fantasy. The question I asked you, boy, was where the cigarettes came from and while you are at it, just tell me now many more you still have. And I would draw your attention to the fact that you do not lend someone a cigarette, for once it is smoked it is gone and cannot be returned; and it was quite clear that the pair of you were smoking. So come on Tomlinson, let's be having an answer. Now, the only clear fact so far is that Newton did not have any fags of his own and that you gave him one, which he was foolish enough to smoke, and so the pair of you were smoking which is against the school rules and a very serious offence. So now, Tomlinson, I want to know where you got your supply from."

Tomlinson finally realised that he had to come clean and said: "I brought them with me from home at the beginning of term. I actually got them from my father's smoking room. (By way of a historical note; gentlemen at that time often avoided smoking in the presence of ladies and had one room to which they retired to smoke). You see my father always keeps a supply of cigarettes and I just sort of helped myself to a few. He only smokes cigars himself and keeps the cigarettes to offer to friends who prefer them. So it's not as if I have deprived my father of his own pleasure, for I did not take any cigars."

"Let me get this quite clear, Tomlinson, are you telling me that you stole the fags from your father's stock? And while you were at it, just tell me exactly how many you appropriated?"

"Well, Ingram-Lewis, sir, I wouldn't actually call it stealing; I just sort of pocketed a few. After all they were in the house and it's not as if I pinched them for a shop or anything is it?" By this time Tomlinson was beginning to realise that he was in deep trouble; not only had he been nabbed smoking but smoking stolen cigarettes to boot.

"Well, Tomlinson, if you did not steal them from your father, how exactly would you describe your actions? And, let me ask you this question. If your father had caught you in the act what would he have done to you and if I tell him now that his son had stolen cigarettes from him what would he say?"

Tomlinson blanched as he now realised that there was no easy way out of the predicament in which he found himself and said: "Well, I suppose you might just call it stealing, Ingram-Lewis, sir, but the cigarettes were just lying there so I helped myself. If my father had caught me he would have thrashed me hard. He's an army man, you know, who believes in order, rules and discipline and all that sort of stuff and he has beaten both me and my younger brother on numerous occasions."

"So finally Tomlinson, we agree that you stole from your own father, but you still have not told me how many cigarettes you took. Come on, out with it boy; I want to know and I want an answer now."

Newton had been trembling in his metaphorical boots (both boys were in fact in their pyjamas as they were supposed to have been in bed when caught) as he listened to this inquisition. A very chastened Tomlinson finally said "Two packets, Ingram-Lewis, sir. But I have only smoked five so far so there are still about thirty-five cigarettes left."

"So, Tomlinson, far from conducting any medical experiment as you claimed, you are in fact a hardened smoker and and intended to smoke the lot. Frankly, Tomlinson, I am utterly astounded that you took two full packets from your father's stock and that he never noticed the loss. Well gentlemen, let us return to your dormitory when you, Tomlinson will hand over your remaining stock."

The atmosphere in the dormitory among the other ten boys, all of whom were in bed but awake, was tense. They had all half overheard what had been said in the corridor and it was clear to everyone that Tomlinson and Newton were in trouble up to their necks.

Patrick adopted his sternest expression and said: "Now these two of your classmates here, have just been caught smoking in the linen room; and, as you all know, smoking is a very serious offence. Now, I wonder how many of you here also have cigarettes which you are hiding away. So, here is what is known as a deal; all of you who are hiding cigarettes have one minute from now to step forward and hand over your forbidden fags to me. And woe betide any boy who has cigarettes hidden away and does not now come forward, for later when it comes to light, which it inevitably will, then the wrath of god will descend upon him."

The atmosphere was tense; the silence was deafening; the boys looked around knowingly at each other, for whether guilty or not, everything was known to the entire dormitory. Then one boy stepped slowly forward and handed Patrick an unopened packet of cigarettes, knowing that in so doing he was going to get his arse beaten. He was followed shortly afterwards by three others who tipped up their illicit stocks.

"Well gentlemen, if that is the sum total, then there are six of you who have broken a very serious rule of the school and six of you who are, to use the classical illusion, purer than Caesar's wife. Well the six of you cigarette hoarders know full well that you are to be punished, so each of you stand at the head of one of the six beds down this side of the room and wait there until I come back with a suitable cane with which to warm your backsides. Oh, Tomlinson and Newton you two will be at the end of the line up."

Patrick turned round and left the boys to their own devices whilst he went back to his study and selected a long flexible cane with which to deal with miscreants. He was himself quite looking forward to thrashing a series of six naked arses as he re-entered the dormitory, swishing the cane through the air to add a touch of drama to the whole proceedings. "Right, gentlemen, kindly drop your pyjama trousers, bend across the end of the bed where you are standing and present your naked bums for my attention."

Patrick viewed the initial vista with inward delight; six sturdy sets of buttocks bent over, tightly stretched and just asking to be caned. He felt his cock already stirring as he went slowly along the row of waiting arses, giving each bum a slight tap with the cane, telling the odd boy to bed over further or to raise his arse higher into the air. He then walked to the first boy in the row, gave him a few gentle taps in the centre of his buns before suddenly bringing down the cane with a tremendous crack onto the boy's rump. There was an immediate howl of pain, for Patrick had really well and truly laid on the stroke. By any standards this was a serious beating which was being administered. Patrick paused for a few seconds and then moved on to the next boy in line and repeated the whole procedure with the same cries of pain as the cane landed smartly on naked flesh.

Slowly and methodically with great precision and force, Patrick completed his first pass before returning to the first boy who was now in tears with the pain of that first stroke. And methodically Patrick then gave each boy five more strokes, one at a time so that by the time he had finished the six lads had all had six very painful cuts of Patrick's cane across their arses. "Now, all of you pull up your pants and get back into bed."

By the time he had finished all the boys were weeping profusely, which was not at all surprising, for Patrick had the knack of getting the best out of every cane in his hand; he was a real crack, of that there was no doubt; his reputation as the hardest caner ever was assured. None of the boys had gone to bed that evening with any idea of the bloodbath that Tomlinson and Newton would bring upon them by their stupid act of smoking in the linen room. The two lads were decidedly unpopular that evening. But it was not yet over for Tomlinson and Newton. Patrick said: "I wish to see the two of you tomorrow afternoon at three o'clock in my study; that's three precisely and come in our gym strips."

"But Ingram-Lewis, sir," protested Tomlinson, "You have just punished us. Surely you are not going to beat us again tomorrow?"

"As I said; three o'clock tomorrow afternoon in my study." And with that Patrick left and returned to his own study and bedroom. He was desperate to relieve the sexual tension which had built-up inside him as he had thrashed the six arses. By the time he had finished whacking the last arse, he was practically about to climax, a phenomenon that happened to many men, prefects and masters alike, when they beat a boy's naked arse. But he manage to control himself and get back to his study where intended to relieve himself in the time honoured way when a young man is alone. But he had no sooner entered his study, than a knock came at the door and his friend, sex partner, and lover, Roderick Pennington entered.

"Boy, am I glad to see you." said Patrick. "A friend in need is a friend indeed and what I most need right now is your friendly arse. If ever a guy need to fuck butt, well you are looking at him right now."

Roderick laughed, locked the door behind himself and started stripping off with no further questions. "I guessed you might be in a state of super arousal," he said, "As he prepared to offer his arse to his friend. I came by a little earlier, thinking that we might get together this evening, for I could do with a good fuck myself, but as I came around the corridor, I saw you beetling off towards the dorms. with a vicious looking cane in your hand. So I followed you up there to see you enter one of the second year dorms. Ever curious, I stood by the door and listed and realised that you were intent on thrashing a whole raft of arses, I don't know how many, but I heard that distinctive crack of the cane as it mated firmly with naked flesh and the howl of pain that it elicited from some lucky lad who had just received it. But it seemed to go on and on so I guessed you were having a bloodbath in there and I thought I would come back later when you had finished your labour of love, correcting those miserable specimens of humanity in the second year. What did they do?"