Commander Hicks was faced with a problem. His rules for dealing with boys at the end of term were strict. Fathers were to be invited to witness their sons' disgrace; step-fathers only if the boy had taken his new parent's name; once or twice grandfathers had been the ones to fetch the boys home, and young Goodison was in his brother's care. In all other circumstances, he felt it only right to assume that the boy was fatherless, and act accordingly.
But here was a mother, sitting calmly in his armchair, while her son, Cox from the second form, stood in front of the desk, clearly in need of a good thrashing. And she was a good-looking woman. Dressed absolutely in the latest style, make-up perfect, legs elegantly crossed at the knee and sheer in silk. He did not know how to proceed.
"Am I to understand, commander, that you propose to cane Nicholas before I'm allowed to take him home?"
"Well, madam, I ...."
"That is what your letter implied."
"Yes, it had been my intention to punish him."
"And then you'd like me to punish him further, is that correct?"
"Certainly, in normal circumstances, that is what I would expect."
"Is there anything abnormal in the current circumstances?" Her eyebrows, pencilled in black, were arched in surprise under the brim of her hat.
"No, I mean. No, of course not."
"Then I suggest that that is what you do. I don't imagine you require me to remain while you administer the caning."
"No. If that is what ....I mean, certainly not."
"Very well. I shall wait in the motor. I'd be grateful if you would be as swift as possible. I have other engagements to keep. I shall of course make arrangements for his additional punishment." She rose, gathered her coat about her and made for the door, but then had to wait while the commander realised what was required, stumbled round his desk and came to her assistance by opening it.
The boy's beating was dealt with quickly. Junior boys were only required to lower their clothing if they had more than fifteen beatings in the book. Cox had sixteen. The commander might have found this strange, if he had investigated further, since until this term he had never been beaten at all. And that, in this school, was very strange. He would have noticed, moreover, that fourteen of Cox's beatings had been given by the same prefect.
But he didn't investigate. Sixteen beatings in the book meant a caning on the bare bottom, and the boy's mother was impatient to be gone. Cox's bottom was small and skinny, the skin white and pulled tight by his position over the back of the chair. Eight good strokes with the whippy rattan – six parallel and almost touching, given the smallness of the target, and two overlapping diagonals - reduced him to a sobbing, wailing waif, alternately clutching at his backside and wiping shameful tears from his eyes.
With tears still leaking from his eyes, Nicholas found his mother's car in the drive with his luggage already aboard.
"Oh, God, he's blubbing," said his mother. "Sit in the front with Cameron."
Miserably, he climbed in, lowering himself gingerly on to the soft seat. The pressure re-awoke the pain in the weals across his bottom and sitting still was almost impossible. The chauffeur gave him a smile, but he knew better than to trust him. For an hour they drove in silence and the horrible stinging began to fade till he felt merely as though his bottom had been roasted.
"How's it feeling?" Cameron asked.
"How many did he give you?"
"Eight. It was with nothing on, too."
"Did you deserve it?"
"You're getting another dose when we get home, aren't you?" The boy didn't say anything. "Another of our little sessions, eh? Looking forward to it?" Still nothing. "I am." And the chauffeur lay his hand briefly on his bare knee, moving an inch or two up on to the white thigh.
The rest of the journey passed in silence. Nicholas thought about his father. Oh how much he wanted him to be there. Even if it meant getting another caning, he wouldn't mind. But his father was somewhere in France, Nicholas didn't know where. According to his mother he was living with another woman – what was worse, a Frenchwoman. His mother had taken complete charge of his education and she must be opening letters addressed to his father. Otherwise, she wouldn't have come to the school.
There had been several men whom Nicholas had discovered in residence at home when he came for holidays. They came and went. But Cameron had been a constant presence for the last five years. Mrs Cox found that there was nothing to compare with the brutal, animal force of her chauffeur's prick up her cunt.
The car pulled up in front of the house. Cameron got out and opened the door for his mother. She opened the glass partition between the back of the car and the front. "Go with Cameron," she said. "I'm going to be busy. I'll see you at breakfast tomorrow." The chauffeur drove round to the back of the house and into the garage. Nicholas climbed out.
"Let's get on with it then," said Cameron.
"Couldn't you just say that you'd done it?" Nicholas tried.
"Not a chance. You know where to go."
At the back of the garage was a door into a little inner storeroom that was almost empty. Nicholas went in, closely followed by the chauffeur. The boy turned, his eyes scared and pleading.
"Look. Let me keep my clothes on. Please. She won't know the difference."
"But I will. Strip, you little bastard." He closed the door and turned the key in the lock, and Nicholas knew that there was to be no escape from this. He hung his clothes one by one on the peg that he always used, until he was completely naked. He wasn't big for a thirteen-year-old but his body was lean and hard from all the exercise boys were put through. "Still no feathers on your bollocks I see," Cameron said, making a grab for the boy's genitals. Nicholas jumped away, his hands protecting himself. "Don't be shy. You know I can do what I like in a minute. Here," and he reached again for the boy's groin. This time Nicholas let him take hold of his penis and stroke it in his big fingers. "There. That's not so bad, is it?" Despite himself Nicholas's penis started to swell. "Well. Looks like you enjoy it a bit anyway. I bet you and your little mates get up to all sorts of things. Who's got the longest _c_o_c_k_ in the class, eh?" Nicholas pulled away from the man. Tears were beginning to leak once more from his eyes.
"Well, never mind. Better get on with it, eh? Let's have you over the bench." There was a sawing horse which he now pulled out into the middle of the room. It was just the right height for Nicholas to bend over. There was a cushion tied to the top of it and now he lowered himself over the horse, presenting his bottom. Cameron quickly fastened his ankles and then his wrists with straps that were attached to the four legs. He was helpless and bent over in an ideal position for further beating.
The chauffeur considered the state of the boy's backside. The weals were black and purple, thin hard swollen stripes across the white of the skin. With the flat of his hand he felt them. "Now that's what I call a beautiful job. I bet you felt them. He's a real professional, your headmaster."
He went to an old metal locker against one wall, opened it and took out a cane that was almost the duplicate of the commander's. "It'll have to be the cane to match a lovely job like that, won't it?"
"Oh, please, Cameron, not the cane. Please don't cane me."
"You know what it'll have to be if you want me to go easy, don't you?" Nicholas's head sank and a sob escaped from him. "Eh? Is that what you want?" The helpless boy said nothing.
Cameron went round to the other side of the bench, taking off his jacket. He hung it on the peg next to Nicholas's clothes. Then his shirt came off. He was a strong, deep-chested man with only the faintest hint of white-blond body hair. His boots were unlaced and stood by themselves. Down came his trousers and joined the other clothes on the peg. Socks off, folded, placed neatly on top of boots. Lastly, off came his drawers and he was naked, his erection huge and shocking in the gloom. He stepped round to the boy's head, standing with his legs braced apart.
"Come on, then, you little cunt. Get on with it." Nicholas raised his head and took the enormous head of the man's prick into his mouth. It tasted salty. He held it for what seemed like an age, his whole mind concentrated on willing the man to take it away. "You're not sucking. Put some action into it, or I'm taking the skin off your arse." He did it and the man pushed his prick further into his mouth, making him gag.
But Cameron was thinking only of his time in the Borstal. Every day he had tried to get the screw to go easy on him, but no matter how long he sucked his prick, there was always the cane at the end of it. And her little bastard wasn't going to get off either. He withdrew his prick and the kid's head dropped between his arms. There was nothing more he could get from him.
"All right," he said. "I reckon that was worth a couple of stripes off your punishment." The boy didn't even bother to protest the unfairness. Cameron walked round behind him again. Once, he had tried ramming his dick up the kid's arse, but it hadn't worked. Instead, he lay the length of his prick up the crack between the boy's buttocks and thrust to and fro. It didn't take long – a spurt of white on the boy's lower back.
And then he caned him. He aimed for the area where the headmaster's cane had landed, but missed it as often as he hit it. But Nicholas still yelled good and loud, just like any boy should when he's getting a _f_u_c_k_ing good hiding - just like Cameron had done as the screw's four foot cane lashed into his bare arse – just like he had when the birch covered his poor little bottom with a bleeding tracery of cuts – just like he had when his _f_u_c_k_ing father leathered him with the razor strop every Saturday night when he came in from the pub – just like he had when the headmaster caned him in front of the whole school.