The Circle - a Dangerous (?) Shape (Part iv - Conclusion)


by Karl Gatt <Kbouwde@hotmail.com>

PLEASE take note of the cautionary announcements at the commencement of each of the first three parts, as they all apply here, as well!!

The delay in submitting this, final, part was due not only to the MMSA's being off-line for a while, but also to my being undecided as to whether or not to include my 'Epilogue'; I have put it in, for better or worse, although it adds nothing to the real narrative, which continues:

The difficulty was, of course, that there was then nobody available to 'horse' Tommy. Bro. Mac had no idea of where to even start looking for any of the others, whereas, while Tommy, Steve and I all knew perfectly well where they probably were, we also knew that it would be very inconvenient and most unfair to go and drag one of them back to tbe Wall for this purpose. Normally, it would not have mattered very much, but I think that Steve and I both knew and that Tommy had more than a shrewd suspicion, that the one thing that had made the recent nine thrashings bearable had been that none of us had had to worry about how to 'stay down' for his hiding.

There was no reason why Tommy should not simply have touched his toes or bent over a bench or even The Wall, itself, but I felt that, as he could not avoid being caned, something should be done to provide him with at least as much 'security' as the rest of us had enjoyed (if that is an appropriate word). All of us also realised that to defer his caning, even for an hour or so, would have been sheer cruelty, considering that he had already had the agonising experience of having to watch nine bare tails being VERY soundly thrashed, with his own turn still to come; the torture of further anticipation would have compounded his suffering out of all reason.

However, it was Tommy, himself, who broke the deadlock, saying, resignedly, "Well, I suppose I'd better bend over something and get it over" Bro. Mac then suggested that I should sit astride his back and hold his hands out of the way and Steve bravely, but not very convincingly, said that he would "Give carrying him a try in a minute or two". As he could still not stand up without wincing, that was REALLY an empty gesture.

Suddenly a solution came to mind, spurred, no doubt by the fact that I had liked Tommy for years and had always hoped for some sort of contact with him. (That afternoon I would have given ANYTHING to have had him as my partner on EITHER side in the Circle, but, of course, it had not worked out like that). Now, I had my big chance, but whether I was strong or determined enough to see it through, was a totally different matter. Tommy was a clear head taller than me and must have weighed quite a lot more, but I heard myself pipe up, "I could carry him, Brother Mac." All three of them turned and looked at me as though I was mad - this weedy, skinny little naked kid, daring to suggest that a Senior should climb up on his back to get the father and mother of a hiding! It was clearly ridiculous, but by then, the idea of having Tommy's body on mine, was becoming more and more attractive, so I carried on, regardless, pointing out that my back and legs were very strong from carrying two ten-gallon buckets of milk at a time and picking up calves and young pigs, on the farm. In fact, I so badly WANTED to do it, that I honestly believe that I would have been able to carry Tommy, even if his bones had been made of lead and his veins filled with Mercury. I must have been quite convincing and, anyway, what was there to lose in trying it out, so, 'any port in a storm' and we had the odd situation of three stark naked boys and a man in full, clerical habit, all co-operating in one way or another in arranging for one of the boys to get his tail thrashed.

There was one obvious difficulty, namely that, because of Tommy's long legs, I would not be able to lift his dangling toes clear of the floor, even if I bent forward to the point of overbalancing, bearing in mind that I would not be able to use my hands to steady myself as they would be holding on to Tommy's wrists; also, my body was too short and my hips too narrow for him to do a 'David' on me, even if he had wanted to, which I doubt.

However, Tommy was obviously in favour of my idea and so the two of us set about packing a few of the slatted drainboards from under the showers, on top of each other, making a stack about 8 inches high. If I stood on that, Tommy's feet would just clear the floor, with his legs at full stretch, when he was 'horsed'.

Getting him up there could be a problem, though, as, if he had jumped on to my back, he would have knocked me flying, so a bench would have to be moved up next to me to enable him to get up without any major jerks. Now that the die was cast, things again moved quite quickly; the bench was pulled into position, I saw Tommy step on to it, felt his hands on my shoulders and then the hard warmth of his body as he lowered himself cautiously on to my back, obviously afraid that, in spite of my bravado, I would not be able to take his weight. So, it was a moment of truth for both of us, Tommy by so deliberately putting his bare bum at the mercy of the cane and me by having to make my cheek good.

Taking a leaf out of his own book, I locked my knees, got a good grip on the slats with my toes, took a firm hold on Tommy's wrists and was ready to 'go'. At that moment I also felt a definite shudder pass through Tommy's body into mine and realised, with sympathy, that he was bound to be nervous, as he had just about literally prepared a rod for his own back(side).

Because of being so much taller than me, Tommy had to lie with his chest high up my back to get his bum level with my hips, so he would be bent forward for his cuts. His chin was against my ear and I heard him whisper, "Please hold me tight even if I fight you." It came as a bit of a shock to realise that this big boy was REALLY more scared of a caning than I was and, as I saw Bro. Mac retrieve his cane and move in behind us, I also felt Tommy brace himself, virtually from his toes up, so that I could feel the hard ridges of his tummy muscles against my back. I was, in effect, getting a dose of what I had wished on Steve, the pressure of Tommy's slickly angled loins and sturdy thighs against the tender ridges on my tail, but, far from being painful or uncomfortable, that felt so good that my erection, which had subsided during the preparations for Tommy's hiding, revived with a rush and created yet another problem for me. Tommy's long arms brought his hands down far below my chest and they were actually pressing quite hard against my stomach, not at all far behind my _c_o_c_k_, which was so stiff that it was standing out away from my body; however it could have brushed against the back of his hands at any time and I knew that, if that happened, I would explode all over the place - a totally embarrassing disaster. So I moved my hands, taking Tommy's with them, to below my hips, becoming aware, as I did so, that probably the only part of Tommy's body that wasn't rigid, with fear or whatever, was his quite bulky _c_o_c_k_, which was lying, limp and undemanding, in the groove between my bum cheeks; I prayed that it would stay like that and not become restive, once his thrashing started.

I heard Bro. Mac ask Tommy if he was 'ready' and wondered how much more ready a guy can get, than hanging naked over someones back with his bare bum perfectly positioned to be thrashed. Tommy whispered his 'Yes', I felt the light tap of the stick on his cheeks as Bro. Mac took aim and then everything vanished into the sharp hiss and swish of the descending cane and the loud snap as it met naked flesh. It was as though I, myself, was being caned all over again, but without the actual pain, of course. The shock of the cane's landing on the other side of a firm young bottom was transmitted through the intervening inches of muscle as clearly as if they had not been there at all and I subsequently found out that each of the others had had the same experience, when horsing the boy behind him in the line; it was, to me, at any rate, a very pleasant and exciting sensation, particularly in view of the way Tommy's whole body seemed to be trying to melt into mine as the bright, burning heat of that first cut set his backside on fire.

Beyond doubt, having someone 'ride' you while he is being beaten is a very intense experience if you have any feelings at all for 'the rider'. It was as if Tommy's body was an extension of my own. AS anyone who has been caned bare bum will know, the cane, if vigorously applied, seems to double in length and flexibility on impact and to reach out and curl further and further around naked hindquarters as the thrashing progresses. What really happens is that its last few inches, which cause most of the pain and do almost ALL the damage, accelerate rapidly and cause the tip to bite and sink into an unprotected flank, all of which, including the spasm of pain at each stroke, was faithfully transmitted through Tommy's pounding loins to mine. In effect, I was experiencing everything I liked about being thrashed, but without the actual pain, for the second time that day. Perhaps to avoid my having to hold Tommy up for too long, Bro. Mac seemed to be caning him much faster than he had any of the rest of us. The first three cuts came in such quick succession that Tommy didn't really have time to catch his breath between them. Then there was a pause before the fourth ripped into his bum at an angle across both cheeks. That was something new - the last four (he was obviously also getting eight) would cross THAT welt, instead of the other way around and the last, reverse diagonal would work the same way as mine had. My tender backside contracted in sympathy with Tommy's agony, but I can't deny that I was loving every moment of this, almost vicarious, bonus caning!!

As that fourth cut bit home, Tommy found his breath and a pent-up yell of pure, compound agony paid its tribute to the havoc that was being wreaked on his naked tail. Only then did I realise that Bro. Mac had started from my right, so those first four very hard cuts had bitten high into Tommy's more tender left cheek - no wonder the poor guy had screamed like that. It seemed to take an age for Bro. Mac to get into position round my left side but, once he did, he lost no time in finishing off what I readily concede was the most severe caning of the afternoon. I still don't know why Tommy, of all of us, should have 'got it' so stiffly, but HIS theory was that Bro. Mac had been waiting to catch him out at something BAD for years, without success and, once he got his chance, he made the most of it.

Perhaps because I was so very much in tune with Tommy, the vicious 'Thwip' of each of the next two cuts, as they tore into the lower half of his bum, managed to convey a 'pain' message to me as well. Each time I felt Tommy's hips thump against my arse as the sting got to him, I swear that I felt that sting too, so that, by the time his hiding was over, I was quite sore, myself!

I mentioned earlier how the force of my own cuts had seemed to be driving my body up Eric's back; now I was feeling the same thing in reverse - Tommy's heaving loins were definitely pounding into my tender bum higher and higher up my crack. His 6th cut also seemed to release some locked nerve or muscle, because that was when I started to feel what I had half wanted, half dreaded - Tommy's _c_o_c_k_ begining to stir and stiffen, sliding back and forth between my bruised, ridged cheeks. I could clearly feel the length of his developing erection in between my buttocks, although well away from my arsehole but I wondered, nevertheless, if either or both of us might have to cope with an orgasm before his hiding was over, which would have made me, in my deeply stooping position, literally shoot myself in the eye!

Luckily, though, things went too fast for that; cut No 7 slammed into the very bottom of Tommy's tail, drawing a sharp yelp of agony from him and then I felt him go almost cataleptic as he braced himself for that last, terrible, diagonal cut.

I'll never forget how the shock of that eighth cut just seemed to keep on flowing through Tommy's bare bum into mine, until I half expected the tip of the cane to curl round and really connect with my right hip It must have been a perfect example of a 'follow-through' cut and it left an almost 18-inch, thumb-thick, partially open welt across both cheeks, broken only by the deep, but not very wide, cleft between Tommy's tightly clenched and rock hard buttocks. Of course, I only found all this out later; at the time I was just conscious of Tommy's panting hard and fast against my hair as his body heaved and writhed while the fire in his VERY well-whipped bottom continued to build. I wondered if he would be able to stand, let alone walk, and I was quite prepared for Bro. Mac and me to have not one, but two, disabled victims to get back to the House.

Then, suddenly, it was all over. Bro. Mac said that I could let Tommy down, Tommy stopped squirming, I felt his slippery body glide down my back as I let his wrists slip out of my hands and then I had the GREAT pleasure of watching a Senior, who was known to be REALLY tough, hop around, with his face contorted in agony, rubbing his battered bum furiously and wincing, as he did so, each time his hands pressed against a blazing weal or the bruised, tender flesh between the actual stripes. As I straightened up, trying to hide my own raging erection, I realised that the whole operation, which had taken under five minutes, had been so thrilling that I wasn't even tired.

Typically, Bro. Mac didn't hang around, either to gloat or to 'sympathise', but, almost ignoring what he had just done to Tommy's tail, he paid attention to Steve, who was still clearly in a different sort of pain. After exploring his hip area with gentle, practised fingers which, nevertheless, made Steve yelp, Bro. Mac told me to fetch a towel and put it round Steve's waist. He then hitched Steve's right arm over his own shoulders and half carried him off towards the 'San'. I was about to follow with the rest of Steve's clothes, when Tommy, who had recovered amazingly quickly from his ordeal, although he had again lost his erection, put his hand on my arm to hold me back. As the others left the ablution block, he whispered, "Hang on, let's have a look". I couldn't believe my ears. Here was this Senior, for whom I had had a 'thing' for a long time, inviting me to show him my bum and, presumably to give me a good look at his, as well!! Be sure that I needed no second bidding and in seconds we were concealed behind the Wall with him stooping over a bench and giving me a perfect, close-up view of a backside which, I'm sure, even my sister would have preferred to Steve's, but which was crossed by eight beautifully separate and clearly identified bars of deep reddish purple, which stood out, hard and clean, above the surrounding flesh, with dots of already blackening dry blood marking the crossover points of weals on both cheeks. I couldn't help myself; my hands went out and my fingers stroked those hot, obviously tender welts and, to my amazement Tommy, instead of pulling away angrily, pressed his bum against my hands, while his _c_o_c_k_ did its own vertical flip, equalling mine in readiness for action. Without a word, he guided my right hand to it and, when I hesitated, closed my fingers around it. Then, with me ready to do what he obviously wanted, he gave my already heavily bruised and swollen backside the same sort of treatment that I had just given his and the touch of his fingers on those throbbing, pleasantly smarting stripes nearly made me lose control spontaneously. He then took my almost bursting _c_o_c_k_ in his hand and we finished off, for each other, what had been started with different partners and collapsed together in a heap, before finally soaping each other from head to toe, with due and pleasantly careful attention to corrugated tails, and joining in a long, relaxing hot shower, which combined with my throbbing, burning tail to make that afternoon living proof that, no matter how dangerous THE CIRCLE might be, it was one of the best facets of my school life.

EPILOGUE:

I would like to be able to say that that afternoon's activity sparked a friendship, if not something more, between Tommy and me, but the 'Social' and age gaps at school were just too vast. We did, of course, always have a bond between us and, in defiance of 'the Rule' sometimes deliberately got together in a Circle. However, the most dramatic result of that afternoon's debacle was the effect it had on Bro. Mac and on life in the Houses in general.

That evening after prayers, each one of us was summoned individually to Bro. Mac's study. There was none of the traditional examination of welted backsides, stroking or prodding of stripes or gloating over the after-effects. It was a straightforward, "Are you all right, my boy? Do you need Matron to do any repairs for you? No? All right, off you go, sleep well." Only Eric insisted on pulling down his shorts to show Bro. Mac, by displaying a swollen, purple-welted but whole, pair of bottom cheeks that he had succeeded in coming through what everyone agreed had been a 'hell of a hiding' without bleeding. Bro. Mac must have congratulated himself on how sucessfully he had, in one operation, tanned a boy's bum and saved his face!

Here I must mention that Eric was never beaten on his bottom at our school again. He got the strap on his hands a few times, something which he hated as much as I did. I don't believe that he stayed out of trouble on purpose to avoid another thrashing, but, being a clever kid AND a great sportsman, he wasn't really much in line for the cane. So, by the time he was moved to Canada at the beginning of the next year, his new-found 'toughness' had never been put to the test; perhaps just as well - to thrash such a delicate bare, or even covered, backside so thoroughly but without breaking its fragile 'hide', was possibly a tour de force which not even Bro. Mac could have repeated.

However, I think that that night's 'review', bringing before him ten well thrashed but unresentful, cheery and impenitent delinquents, mostly in play clothes and bare feet, busy getting on with their lives and all already a little bored with showing off their striped tails to all and sundry; the insidious rumours of what had gone on in 'the bogs' after the hidings were over plus his own possible suspicions about what had taken Tommy and me so long to arrive with Steve's clothes, must have convinced the good Brother that he was up against overwhelming odds. The details of both our 'offence' and its results spread like wildfire through the school and although, for a few weeks we all had the dubious distinction of being called "The Rostov Tecs", this was done without malice and almost as an accolade, clearly carrying no stigma at all.

It was put about, supposedly 'on good authority', that ANY boy who was caught at the same pursuit thereafter, would be called on to the Stage at Assembly, be made to strip completely bare and would then be given 12 cuts with the strap on each hand (or 24 if he 'was on bone') followed by 25 with the cane on his bum (36 if he was STILL on bone), all in front of the entire school and would then be publicly expelled. No-one really believed this entire horror-story, but... there WERE 10 very discoloured tails around to prove how seriously the Brothers DID take the issue, so.....

What ACTUALLY happened was that, a week later, while all of us were still sporting juicy stripes and bruises, another pair of 12- year-olds were caught in the act of 'doing it to each other' in their dormitory in broad daylight!! I couldn't believe their careless stupidity, especially so soon after 'our' incident and could only advise them to act as innocently humble and contrite as possible and to hope to 'get off' with a not QUITE lethal, but, obviously, still bare bum, thrashing.

When they were eventually summoned, after hours of agonised waiting, they were met by a 'sorrowful and disappointed' Bro. Mac, who quietly explained to them why their activity incurred disapproval, didn't lay a finger on them, reduced them both to floods of quite genuine tears of remorse (and, no doubt, relief) and elicited promises of permanent abstinence, which was far more than all his canings had got out of us, although I doubt whether the long-term results were any different.

My own relationship with Bro. Mac had its ups and downs, but I have always admired the man since that day. He set very high standards and whipped me (and others) soundly if we failed to meet them, but he never again 'invaded' a Circle, nor beat any boy or boys just for 'tossing off'. It soon became accepted lore that, to 'get flogged for _s_e_x_' you had to do something TERRIBLY bad, which Simon, who was older (and wiser?) than most of our Circlers, interpreted as "Bum-rushing, or _c_o_c_k_-sucking at LEAST", which had no appeal for young schoolboys of those times.

So, I suppose, THE CIRCLE and especially those Circlers who were martyred that Wednesday, should have gone down in the School's Annals as 'Benefactors of future generations of pupils'. I could just never work out after which of the Saints we would best fit in, or how to classify our contribution.

THE END


More stories byKarl Gatt