Peter Knowles's momentary bout of homesickness on his first night at the school was quickly forgotten. His life was far too hectic to allow time for thoughts of home. His main pre-occupation was, of course, his preparation, with the help of Andrew Wilson, for the prefects test. That was to be undertaken exactly two weeks after the beginning of term. Until then, Andrew, who was in the year above Peter, was directly responsible for the younger boy's behaviour. So much so that, were Peter to commit an offence, it would be Andrew who would be punished for it. Once the test had been satisfactorily completed (which meant getting at least seven out of ten answers right), Andrew's role would be over. Although Peter would be allowed to answer up to three questions incorrectly, he would not escape penalty for giving wrong answers. For each answer which he got wrong he would be given one stroke with a large gym shoe by a muscular prefect. Andrew would be given two strokes for each of Peter's wrong answers. Both had every reason to prepare thoroughly for the test. Although, as Andrew explained at an early stage, it was unheard of for a new boy to answer all ten questions correctly. If necessary, the prefects would ask at least one trick question to ensure that the gym shoe would be put to good use. Peter had accepted that, however much revision he undertook, he would have to face his first experience of school corporal punishment on the day of the test. The thought of that, though not a happy one, was not gravely distressing him. Indeed, a part of him was actually quite eager to find out what a slippering would be like. He felt somewhat embarrassed that, unlike almost all the other new boys (as far as he could tell), he had been to a prep school which did not use any physical punishment. He was keen to demonstrate to his new friends that he was no "goody-goody" and that he could take his punishment as well as any other proud member of School House.
There had been another matter preying on Peter's mind. Unbeknown to him, until the day of his arrival at the school, his mother had lovingly painted all his initials on his tuck box. Peter Richard Ian Charles Knowles was, not surprisingly, unhappy about that. Fortunately, Andrew had come to his rescue by inventing a nickname for him which, while having the same connotations, was not quite so explicit. They had agreed that Peter would be known as "Knob". Andrew, true to his word, had persuaded all the second year boys to use the new nickname. Peter had refused Andrew's offer to beat up any new boy who used the actual initials on the tuck box. He had said that, should such a step be necessary, he would carry it out himself. For the first twelve days, amazingly, no one had stepped out of line. It was, no doubt, because all the new boys felt themselves to be facing the same ordeals together. But it could not last. On the afternoon of the day before the prefects test a new boy called Wallace gave in to temptation. He and Peter were alone in the junior common room. Both were studying the incredibly complicated lists of offences which had to be memorised for the test. Peter was grappling with the Table A offences. Wallace was revising the Table B ones. Wallace suddenly looked up.
"Hey, Knowles, or should I say 'prick'?" That was as far as he got.
Peter instantly exploded. "If you ever call me that again I will give you the worst beating up you've ever had."
Well, Wallace could not resist. What boy could? If it was possible to provoke such rage so easily, it would be fun to keep doing it. Anyway, thought Wallace, he was about the same size as Peter. Both were fit and good at sports. Any fight would be evenly matched.
"Oh, very hard aren't you prick! Yeah, that's what I'll call you 'hard prick'".
No sooner were the words out than Peter launched himself across the room. With one mighty punch to Wallace's stomach he knocked the boy flying from his chair. Then he stood fiercely over him, fists clenched, waiting for him to rise.
"Get up you squit. That was just the beginning."
Wallace was tempted to stay on the floor. He was pretty sure, however angry Peter might be, that no School House boy would dream of hitting a chap when he was down. But then, he thought, what School House boy would bottle out of an evenly matched fight? No, he had to stand. He rose shakily to his feet. As soon as he was standing, Peter let loose another fierce punch, this time to Wallace's face. A satisfying trickle of blood began to flow from his nose. He made to retaliate, but Peter was too quick and another punch landed in his stomach. He was again knocked to the ground. How long Peter would have gone on if undisturbed I don't know. Wallace was lucky, perhaps, that, before he could get up again, the door was flung open and Robinson, a seventeen year old prefect burst in.
"What the hell is going on in here?" He bellowed, as he looked at the dishevelled boys, one lying on the floor with a bleeding nose and a clearly painful stomach. He didn't expect an answer. "Fighting between boys of the same year is in which table Knowles?"
"Table C Robinson. But Wallace wasn't fighting. He can't be blamed. I was beating him up. It's all my fault."
"Why were you beating him up?"
"No particular reason. I was just angry about something and I was taking it out on him."
Robinson realised that there must have been some quite serious provocation, but he could see that Wallace had got the worst of the dispute and he decided not to press on with his interrogation.
"Beating up another boy is also a Table C offence is it not Knowles?"
"Yes Robinson."
"Perhaps you would be kind enough to present this red card to your mentor before evening prayers tonight?"
Peter suddenly realised what he had done. Andrew, who had been so incredibly kind to him, would have to face six with the gym shoe because, he, Peter, had been so impetuous.
"Please Robinson, can't you wait till after the prefects' test to give me the card. It's not Wilson's fault. He's told me endlessly not to get into trouble. I obviously knew what I was doing was wrong. It would be so unfair if he got slippered for it."
Robinson thought for a moment. The beauty of the mentor system was, generally, that a prefect got to thrash a mentor for his charge's misbehaviour in the full knowledge that the mentor would exact a painful revenge later. That revenge usually took the form of an illicit slippering, sometimes on the bare bottom. In other words, two junior boys would end of with sore bottoms for only one offence. But things did not always work out like that. Some mentors were too kind. And Wilson, he felt pretty sure, would be in that category, especially if there had been some serious provocation leading to Peter's assault on Wallace. Then there was another thing. He, Robinson, was due to be duty prefect on the day after the prefects test. That would mean that, if he delayed issuing the red card, he would be the prefect who would get to inflict six strokes on Peter's bottom. And that would be quite an experience. As Andrew had already told Peter, the younger boy had a very whackable bottom. It was wonderfully firm, round in just the right way and beautifully slim. Robinson had noticed Peter in the dorm and in the showers and he had thought that slippering the youngster would be a real delight. He knew Peter had never been slippered before. The thought that the first time would be the real article, "six of the best", and that he could administer it was very tempting. So tempting that he gave in.
"Very well, report to me after breakfast on the day after tomorrow and I will decide then which card to issue to you."
Robinson left the room. Wallace, who had managed to stand while the prefect had been in the room, was now cowering in a corner, terrified that Peter was going to resume. But that was not to be. Peter's rage had gone as quickly as it had arisen in the first place.
"Blimey, Knob", said Wallace, "that was really good of you, taking the blame like that. If Gimson", Wallace's mentor, "had had to take six for me I'd have got an even worse beating up. I really owe you."
"Well, you can repay me by doing two things. One, never ever call me that word again. Two, let it be known that anyone else who does will end up in a lot more pain than you got."
"Don't worry Knob, no one's going to mess with you again after today. Especially now you're bound to end up as the first of us to get six."
Word of the afternoon's events got around quickly. When Peter and Andrew met for their last revision session after tea, Andrew had already heard all the details. He was lavish in his praise of his charge.
"I reckon you're the best new bug there's ever been. You must have known that I wouldn't have beaten you up if I'd got six. After all, it was my idea that any new bug who called you that name should get a thrashing. No one's ever done this before. And six as well. You're just fantastic."
"Nonsense Chucker", Peter addressed his friend by his nickname, "I deserve what I'm going to get and you don't. Anyway, like grown ups always say, I'm sure it'll do me a power of good."
But there was no more time for this idle chatter. Both boys were determined that Peter would do brilliantly in the next day's test. They got back to their revision.
It was with mixed emotions that Peter retired to bed that night. There was, of course, some trepidation about what the following day, and the one after, would bring. He felt a little queasy as he contemplated the feel of rubber sole on bent bottom. Even if he did exceptionally well in the test, he knew he would have a sore bottom when he went to bed on the next night. But more than that, of course, he knew that, on the day afterwards, he would have to take six strokes from a very strong looking Robinson. So it would be wrong to say that he was in a state of great pleasure as he slipped between the sheets. On the other hand, his behaviour that afternoon had undoubtedly made him something of a hero amongst both new boys and mentors. And he was definitely enjoying that. So long as he could get through his thrashing without making a fool of himself, and he reckoned he could, life should become quite fun at his new school. He eased his right hand under his pyjama trousers and gently stroked the cheeks of his white unmarked bottom. It felt cool to the touch, but he knew, if only from his father's occasional spankings, that it would be decidedly hot in forty eight hours time. Then he heard the familiar squeaking from Andrew's bed springs. He had resolved not to do the same himself, but, for some reason, whenever Andrew started, he found he could not stop himself. Whatever happened in the test, he thought, he was sure of one thing tomorrow and that was seeing several new boys and mentors bending over for their slipperings. It felt a little disloyal, he thought, but he couldn't help allowing his mind to concentrate on the picture of Andrew clutching his ankles and feeling the thwack of the gym shoe on his firm buttocks. Andrew, who had been around a bit more than Peter, was feeling no guilt as he imagined Peter getting six of the best.
The time for the test had come. All new boys and mentors were in the junior common room. A prefect was sent to summon each pair in turn. No one was allowed out until he was summoned. After the test, in the main hall, each pair would be escorted to the library pending the final session when all would be brought together in the main hall. The prefects were very careful to ensure that no boy who had undertaken the test should be allowed to speak to one who was still waiting.
There was a hush in the junior common room as they waited for the first summons. Wallace and Gimson went first. Five minutes later Smith and Clinton were called. Next were Preston and Thirbald. Then came the call for Knowles and Wilson.
Peter's legs felt slightly shaky as he walked with Andrew to the doors of the main hall. They walked in to see ten prefects sitting at the large table in the middle. They took their position facing the older boys, but standing. The questions started at once. The first was easy.
"In which form can you first walk on the sixth form lawn?"
You would think the answer would be the sixth form. But Peter knew better.
"Upper Fifth".
"Correct answer. In which table is the offence of having your jacket unbuttoned?"
This was a bit of a trick. But Peter was not taken in.
"Table A in school, Table B in town."
"Correct answer". And so it went on. It was with enormous relief that Peter got through the first seven questions without getting any wrong. He was just beginning to think that he might achieve the impossible and answer all ten correctly when number eight was put to him.
"What is the latest offence to be added to Table A?"
He thought hard. He knew the answer, but it seemed to be evading him. Then, suddenly, it came.
"Throwing stones into the school pond."
"Incorrect answer. The offence of sitting on the new bench in the memorial garden when in a form below Lower Sixth was added this evening. It's on the house notice board."
If it was, and he supposed it was, it must have been added after all the new boys and their mentors were safely shut into the junior common room. So Peter had indeed been asked a trick question. He assumed more would be coming. But, perhaps because everyone knew what he was facing on the next day, the final two questions were straight forward. Both his answers were met with "correct answer".
The questions were over. It only remained for sentence to be passed.
"Knowles, one incorrect answer means, I am sorry to have to say, that you will be given one stroke of the slipper. Wilson, you will have two. You may leave."
Back in the library, Wilson was again enthusing about his young charge.
"You were just brilliant Knob. You could tell they were getting worried when they had to cheat with the memorial garden bench. Only two strokes, fantastic."
Not everyone had been so lucky. Wallace, in particular, had managed to clock up three wrong answers and Gimson was not looking at all pleased about the prospect of having six. Smith and Preston had each got two wrong. The next new boy to come in was Turner, with his mentor Killen. Turner had also got three wrong. At the end, out of twenty new boys, five had got three wrong, fourteen had got four wrong and Peter alone had only got one wrong. They were all ushered back into the main hall. The prefects were now standing. Each was holding a large gym shoe in his right hand.
The odd thing about the scene which was now unravelling was that no one in that hall thought that there was anything peculiar about the proceedings. Although the new boys had only been at the school for two weeks they had so absorbed the traditions of the place that it did not occur to them for a second that there was anything the slightest bit unusual in the prospect of twenty new boys and twenty mentors being soundly thrashed for such a trivial reason. Even the mentors, all of whom had been working round the clock to coach their charges, were convinced that what was about to happen to them was absolutely fair and normal. Of course, no one was actually happy about being beaten. Those mentors, particularly, who were to get six were in a state of considerable anxiety. Andrew was still elated at the performance Peter had put on, but even he, who was only to get two, was not looking forward to it. As for the new boys, none had ever been beaten by a seventeen year old prefect and all, rightly, guessed that the slipperings would be a great deal more painful than those they had received at prep school. Peter, who had never been slippered at all, was enormously relieved that he was only to get one, but his lack of experience was such that he was still dreading that one, and he was conscious also, of course, that a further six were to be applied to his tender buttocks on the following evening. As the boys lined up along the walls of the hall, mentors on the left and new boys on the right, several of them could be seen nervously stroking their bottoms.
When all were in the hall the most junior prefect closed the doors and Stevens, the house captain began his address.
"You all have cause to be proud of your performances today. This is the first time for several years that every single new boy has passed the test at the first attempt. Of course, none of you got all the answers right and you and your mentors will have to pay the price for that. It will be painful, but I am sure that every one of you will live up to the high standards of School House and take your thrashings like men. The mentors will be familiar with the procedure, but for the sake of the new boys I will explain what we will do. There are forty beatings to be administered. We prefects will take it in turns to give them. The first boys to be beaten will be Wilson and Knowles. Knowles, highly commendably, only got one answer wrong. I will beat Wilson and then Knowles. After that, we will take all the boys who got two answers wrong in alphabetical order of their mentors. So, you new boys who are to be given two strokes will step forward immediately after you have seen your own mentor take his four. Each prefect in turn will beat one mentor and one new boy. When all ten prefects have given two beatings, the last to have done so will give the next two and so on until we get to the last mentor, Killen, to whom I will give six and the last new boy, Turner, to whom I will give three. The prefects are already aware that I have decided that they may not take a run up of more than three paces. Are there any questions?"
No one spoke.
"Very well, Wilson perhaps you would step forward."
Andrew marched smartly towards the table, removed his jacket, placed it on the side of the table and walked to its centre. He then turned to face Stevens and slowly paced four steps towards him. When he came to a halt, he turned round, facing the table, placed his feet six inches apart and bent over. He clutched his ankles and waited. All eyes were on his tightly trousered slim bottom. Stevens slowly walked forwards until he was by the boy's side. He tapped the waiting bottom with his gym shoe, then paced out three steps backwards. Slowly, he pulled the shoe behind his back and then, with a sudden surge forwards, he leapt towards his target. As he got there he swung the shoe forwards, putting the full weight of his body behind it. Andrew gripped his ankles all the more tightly as the blow was about to land. There was a resounding crack. A moment after the impact there was an audible sound as the watching boys, all of whom had been holding their breath, let out a united sigh. Andrew stayed firmly in place. Stevens was undoubtedly a most proficient boy beater and his bottom was already incredibly sore, but he had taken much worse and he did not worry about his ability to get through this.
Peter had closed his eyes when that first stroke landed. He could see, from the run up and the expression on Stevens's face that this was no mild spanking. He felt his legs shaking and his stomach was turning somersaults. He opened his eyes again and saw Stevens pacing back to prepare for the second stroke. This time, he told himself, he would watch the whole thing.
Stevens paused for a couple of seconds and then launched himself again at Andrew's waiting bottom. Some, when punishing boys, try to make the last stroke more painful than the earlier. That was clearly not going to be possible here. Stevens was obviously the type to use full force for every stroke. So, while the second was not harder than the first, it was delivered with equal force. Peter was struck by the size of the shoe compared with that of his friend's bottom. Almost the whole surface of his buttocks was struck. The crack was again followed by a collective breath being let out. Andrew was in a great deal of pain, but he waited in his place before the order to stand was given.
"Well done Wilson. You may stand. Knowles take your place."
Andrew straightened up slowly. Some boys would rub their bottoms furiously after a slippering, but he merely permitted himself a gentle stroke with his right hand. He walked towards his jacket, picked it up and was putting it on as Peter reached the same spot to deposit his jacket. Andrew gave him a wink and grinned, perhaps slightly artificially, to give the younger boy more confidence. Peter was grateful. He was feeling decidedly wobbly. He managed a thin smile in return, placed his jacket on the table and walked back to the centre. He then did just as Andrew had done. He walked four paces towards Stevens, turned and bent over.
Stevens could not prevent a small smile from forming on his face. Just as Andrew had said on the very first day of term, Peter had an eminently whackable bottom. It was perfectly proportioned and his school trousers were admirably tight, showing it off in the best light. The legs were long and slim, and clearly those of a fit young sportsman. Stevens walked forwards and, again, tapped the waiting bottom with his gym shoe. He could tell that the flesh was wonderfully firm. He knew that Peter had never been slippered before and that knowledge added to the thrill he had already felt on first seeing the boy bending over. He lingered a moment. Then he paced back as he had done before. One stroke was hardly going to be a major ordeal for the boy, but Stevens reckoned he could make it memorable nevertheless. He hurled himself forward, throwing all his weight behind the swinging gym shoe. Peter was gripping his ankles so tightly that they were hurting. He shut his eyes tightly and gritted his teeth. It was strange, but he was conscious of the loud cracking sound as the rubber sole connected with his bottom before he was aware of any pain. But then, a split second later, he felt the burning hot agony which is so familiar to schoolboys throughout the land, and which was to become very familiar indeed to Peter in his days in School House. The shock of the searing pain almost caused him to jump up immediately, but Andrew had impressed on him that the first ever stroke of the gym shoe felt by any boy was likely to make him want to leap in the air. To that extent, he was prepared and he managed to stay firmly in place. When, after a couple of moments, he was instructed to rise, he was sufficiently composed to be able to do so slowly and steadily, just as Andrew had done. He rubbed his bottom with a little more energy than the more experienced boy, but, all in all, he bore himself as well as any School House boy.
As he reached his jacket he was joined by the next victim, a tall and rather handsome fourteen year old mentor called Adamson. The boys smiled at each other as one put on his jacket and the other took his off. Peter then turned and walked back to his place against the wall. He was relieved to find, as he did so, that the fierce pain in his buttocks had receded somewhat. It still hurt quite a bit, but it was becoming more manageable. Indeed, by the time Adamson was rising at the conclusion of his beating, Peter felt little more than a warm and rather comfortable glow. As the beatings went on, instead of becoming bored by the succession of young teenage boys bending over for their thrashings, he was slightly surprised to find that he was becoming more and more fascinated. He found himself comparing the different prefects' methods and comparing the proportions of the victims' bottoms. The whole thing, he was alarmed to note, was also beginning to cause him to become somewhat excited. He hoped that no one would notice and was grateful for the fact that he was not yet as well developed as he would one day be.
The fifth and sixth beatings were administered by Robinson. Peter watched him carefully as he sized up his first victim, Smith's mentor Clinton. He noticed that the prefect made no attempt to disguise his obvious pleasure at wielding the slipper for the first time. There was a glint in his eye which revealed, almost as if he had spoken out loud, that he was fully intending to make the punishment as painful as he could. Clinton was a tough lad, with highly developed muscles built up in long hours on the playing fields. But he was still a boy, and far from being a large one. It was quite clear to all watching, however, that Robinson had no intention of going easy on his first victim. He, like Stevens, used the whole of the permitted run up. As he did so, Peter noticed that he was baring his teeth like a charging tiger. The glint in his eye was brighter than ever. He swung the shoe as though possessed by a devil. Peter's appointment with him on the following evening was obviously not going to be a pleasant one. Clinton, of course, took the thrashing as well as any other product of School House would have done. But Peter was in no doubt that the boy would be in real agony.
Any hope that Peter may have had that Robinson would not be so hard on a new boy was quickly shattered when he saw Smith taking his two strokes. The poor boy was almost knocked over by the first one, though he somehow managed to stay in place. When his punishment was over his hands flew to his bottom with such speed and vigour that everyone watching knew he had been very soundly thrashed.
And so the performance went on. About half an hour after Peter had bent over for his single stroke he finally watched Stevens in action again as Killen bravely took six of the very best and then Turner was subjected to the final three of the day.
When Turner was back in his place Stevens again addressed the assembled boys.
"I am not in the least surprised that the mentors took their punishments so well. They have been in School House for a year and it would be amazing if they had not acquired the bearing of School House boys in that time. But one can never be so confident about new boys. It is therefore with great pleasure that I can congratulate you all on the excellent way in which you took your thrashings. I will not say that I hope you never have to be beaten again because such a hope would obviously be futile. School House boys, and those you definitely now are, do not lack spirit. Spirit, in a school boy, inevitably leads to the occasional beating. It is true also that those beatings, in the future, are likely to be rather more painful than the ones you have just endured. But I am sure you know that every stroke of the slipper or cane which every one of you has to take over your time here will be given to you with the sole aim of improving you. You will now go to your dormitories and prepare for bed. As a special dispensation, you will be permitted an extra fifteen minutes before lights out tonight. You may leave once the prefects have left."
He turned to the door and, followed by the other nine prefects, left for their common room. When the older boys had gone there was an immediate buzz of conversation. Mentors and new boys mingled together again. Andrew made straight for Peter.
"Well, Knob, what was it like having your first slippering?"
"It bloody hurt, but I'm glad I've had it. At least tomorrow I'll know what rubber on bum feels like, even if it's going to be a thousand times worse."
"You'll be fine, don't worry. It'll be ten minutes of agony, but after that you'll feel great again."
The boys all made their way to the dormitories. Peter was no longer embarrassed by the practice of washing while stark naked. He was certainly not averting his eyes this time. There were two things he wanted to see particularly. One was Andrew's bottom. He was eager to find out whether it would look anything like he had imagined it would after a slippering. The other, of course, was Killen's bottom. How much worse, he was wondering, was a chap's bum after six than it was after two or three? Fortunately, he found that his earlier state of excitement had abated. He had been terrified that he would be absolutely erect when he had to undress. It was still firmer than when it was fully at rest, but he was relieved to see that that was the case with several other boys, including, he noticed with some pleasure, Andrew.
Peter looked at his own bottom as he pulled down his trousers and pants. There was the clear red mark of the sole of a shoe covering most of both cheeks. The colour was considerably more vivid than he was used to, even after six spanks from his father. He looked over at Andrew as his friend's underpants were being lowered. The second stroke had not landed absolutely on top of the first, but there was a great deal of overlapping. His mentor's bottom was probably slightly redder than his own, but they looked quite similar. As he went towards the wash basins he saw Killen already there. It was not possible to make out the shape of the shoe on that. It was just entirely scarlet with the fist signs of bruising which would undoubtedly be very vivid in the morning. It looked extremely painful. He had to know what it felt like.
"I say Killen, is your bum as painful as it looks?"
"Don't worry Knob, it looks a lot worse than it is. I might not lie on my back tonight, but it's not going to keep me awake. All you feel by this time is a sort of really hot feeling. Do you want to touch it to see?"
"Gosh, can I? That's really kind".
Peter gently placed his hand on Killen's buttocks. Sure enough, they were much hotter than his own.
"Wow, I see what you mean."
"I'll show you a trick", Killen said. He picked up his flannel, held it under the running cold tap and then placed it on his fiery bottom. After a couple of minutes he removed the flannel and told Peter to touch his bottom again. This time the firm young cheeks were only warm.
"That's cool" said Peter. "I must remember to do that tomorrow."
The extra fifteen minutes were a real bonus. By the time they were up, all the boys had shown their red bottoms off to all the others. One or two, including Andrew, retired quite quickly to bed so as to conceal their aroused members. Others, even though they would clearly be indulging in nocturnal exercise very soon, were less embarrassed. Peter stayed out of bed for as long as he could, but eventually he realised that his own excitement must be becoming apparent and he hid safely under his bed clothes.
Within five minute of the lights being turned off the discordant sound of squeaking could be heard from most of the twenty beds. The new boys' initiation into the ways of School House was complete.
To be continued.