FISHER

Author: John Crouch sixbest675@aol.com

As I look back upon it with the accumulated wisdom of these many years. I can see that my motives were base. At the time, of course, I might have struggled to justify my behaviour but, more likely, I would have deceived myself anyway. Callow youth and all that.

I had been a House Prefect for three terms and as a "classic" rather than a "sportsman" I never in fact became a school Prefect. That honour was saved for the rugger buggers and the cricketers of the first school teams. Whilst a House Prefect could beat a pupil of his own house, only a School Prefect could beat any boy at all. In practice, many did not even do this. If they detected an offence they would often refer the matter to a house prefect of the boy’s own house to be dealt with , well, "in house", I suppose.

Fisher, of the upper fifth, had been the subject of my attentive interest for some time. Tall, fresh faced, sporty and with the typical fine head of fair hair he was a popular boy. Frankly, I resented his easy charm and his ability to get on so easily with those around him. In a word, I was slightly in awe of him and yes, frankly, I was jealous of him. How much of this attitude I understood then and how much I understand now with hindsight, I cannot be sure. More perhaps than I would care to admit.

One evening toward the middle of the winter term I was surprised, upon answering a knock at my study door, to find Fisher smiling at me and proffering an envelope. I asked him in, closed the door and, whilst he stood waiting, I took the envelope to my desk, sat down and opened it.

It was addressed in a rather solemn way "to whom it may concern" and was from a school prefect called Metcalfe. It seems that Fisher and another had been discovered by Metcalfe smoking somewhere down among the basement boilers under School House. A popular venue and one that I suspected Metcalfe may have been visiting for the same purpose! It seemed that he had given each of the miscreants a note to take "to one of their House Prefects". Now normally a School Prefect would have been more specific and would have written the note to a particular individual; Choosing perhaps someone with a fearsome reputation for severe beatings or equally, perhaps if they sympathised somewhat with the offender, they might chose someone who was viewed as "wimpish". This seemed a very lenient approach allowing a boy to select the House Prefect of his own choice! The risk, of course, might be the chance that the chosen one might just be too busy or too idle to bother and might himself direct the punishment boy to another Prefect, but this time not of his own choosing.

In any event, since it was Fisher and since my conclusion (from knowing that at least three other Prefects were about) was to realise that he must view me as a soft option, I found myself very irritated indeed. To cap it all Fisher seemed so relaxed and at ease as he stood there gazing round my study and with at least half of his smile still very visible.

"Lucky escape, Fisher", I said. "Metcalfe could have sent you straight to the Head and one of these days he’ll get around to expelling someone just as an example. You know his views on smoking, he gave it up. Hell hath no fury like a reformed soul!". Still no nerves showed on Fishers part, he just rolled his eyes and grinned. Perhaps he still expected to spend a cold hour or two picking up paper round the quad or washing a floor. I didn’t leave him long to dream of these annoying but harmless punishments.

I simply picked up the longest of two canes standing in a vase to the side of the fireplace. At least now he showed some surprise.

"Oh, steady on Robinson, that’s a bit over the top isn’t it?"

"Six, boy. I will tell you when to bend and I will tell you when to get up. If you get up before I tell you to, I will start again. Understood?"

No smile now, just a blank face betraying no fear, not quite insolent. I motioned to the desk.

With a resigned murmur that might have been a "yes, Robinson," he stepped up to the desk and with a smooth and fluid movement bent right over it, his hands grasping the far side of it. I folded over the hem of his jacket and tucked it back out of the way. There was no need to check or smooth his seat since the meaty but firm shape of his bottom showed clearly that he was wearing no more than the two layers expected.

I tapped the cane against his backside a few times and moved about a little like a golfer on the first tee, checking angles of swing, anticipating any obstructions and generally taking aim.

The thought crossed my mind that he thought that I was a soft option. I would not disappoint him. I wondered if he would disappoint me?

THWACK! A pause then...THWACK. I laid the first two on firmly but with no great relish. I watched his reaction and as expected I could see the tension go out of him. It was going to be easy. He wiggled about a bit but I could see that he had control. THWACK! Nicely centred. He gasped a bit. THWACK! The proffered backside jerked perceptibly.

"How many’s that boy?".

"Four, Robinson". He could hardly keep the cockiness from sounding in his voice. He thought it would be a doddle. It still might have been.

THWACK!. Accurate but not evil! A stifled gasp...THWACK! OUF!

He stood up. That damned smile back on his face. He offered his hand to shake on it, an established procedure. But I did not take it.

"I told you, Fisher, that if you stood up before I told you to, I would start again. I didn’t tell you to and I will start again".

I pointed at the desk. Disbelief gave way to confusion, then anger perhaps directed at himself for being trapped so easily, then anger at the perceived unfairness.

"But please, Robinson..........." Seeing no sympathy and certainly no relaxation upon my part he reluctantly resumed his position across the desk. I could still see the lack of tension within him. He barely grasped the edge of the desk and it was obvious that at this stage he still felt that he could easily cope with a further six. So be it-he was after all warmed up now!

I set up my aim once more. This time I took the cane back far further, swung as if to hit right through and beyond the target. THWIP! The crack of the bamboo finding it’s mark was twice as impressive. A sharp hissed intake of breath tailed off into a yelp. I tapped and aimed. This time I added a longish pause to the previous steady rhythm. He flexed slightly agonising over the anticipation. His head rose slightly. THWIP. The second was exactly where I wanted it, just in that fold at the very base of the buttocks and just above the thigh. The tenderest spot of all! This time I was rewarded with a strangled howl. Still just in control then. For the third I lined up a diagonal hoping that it would cross at as many spots as possible. It seemed to work. OWWWW....! For a glorious moment I though that he would stand up. Just in time he collapsed back onto the desk. He was shuddering now. Bending at the knee so that the desk took all of his weight and his feet rose almost level with his bottom. He was sobbing.

I waited whilst he subsided. After a few moments he contained himself and carefully assumed the required position. I placed the cane gently against the burning arse and tapped lightly. A perfect shot halfway between the middle line of his buttocks and the base of the spine. Virgin territory. Another shudder and he turned his head awkwardly so that he could look toward me. At the same time careful to keep basically in position. The smile had gone. The tearful red eyes pleaded silently from his now puffy face. Seeing no sign of sympathy or comfort he turned his head back and his forehead sunk to the desk top.

"How many’s that Fisher?"

"Four, Robinson" a slight shudder then, as if in a desperate effort to garner some sympathy, "Ten Robinson, please Robinson"

The final two were again part diagonal, one tip upward and the last tip downward. They were just as hard and over the intersecting ten just as effective.

I stepped back and paused. He stayed glued to the desk, in truth had he got up, I do not think I could have continued. He was beaten in every sense of the word. He would never bring to me another note addressed "to whom it may concern".

"I am going out now, Fisher, when you have composed yourself and are quite ready, you may go, please close the door behind you when you do so".

I dropped the cane and left quickly leaving him to gather what remained of his dignity. He could take his time to recover his bravado and I hope for the sake of his reputation to lose the marks of his crying.

* * * * * * * * * * *

It cannot have been more than a week or so later, the reason will become obvious, when Fisher had the misfortune to fall into my clutches again.

I was making my way back toward my study and cut through the changing rooms rather than go the long way round. Other than someone with the same idea there should not have been anyone there at that time of day. However, as I passed through, I thought that I heard some hurried whisper or warning and stopped instantly to investigate. Moving quickly round the pegs, lockers and other obstructions I was in time to see two figures hastily rearranging themselves. Not hastily enough though, for even without their red embarrassed faces, there could be little doubt that I had blundered onto some very illicit recreation. As my eyes adjusted to the light of this gloomy hideaway I realised that it was Fisher with a fourth form boy from another house. The frantic expressions on their faces were almost comic as they stood rooted to the spot and taking in that their discoverer was not just a source of forthcoming jeering from their peers but of retribution. My decision was immediate.

"You boy" for I did not know his name "take yourself off. As the younger lad, I shall assume that you were led astray. Don’t behave like this again!".

He needed no urging for after one agonised look toward Fisher he sped off as fast as his legs would carry him. I looked at Fisher. His face was blank.

"Tonight, after supper and before prep’, get into your PT kit and report to my study". I walked off without awaiting his reply.

At six fifteen there came a knock upon my study door. I summoned him to enter. He had taken care not to create any more trouble for himself and had on a spotless white singlet, white shorts, socks and plimsolls. His hair had been carefully combed.

He stood meekly across the desk from me as I read him the usual riot act and the homily about cold showers and immoral behaviour. The silly grin was no where to be seen. He shivered from time to time although my study fire is twice as big as it needs to be since it used to heat a room of double the size when the house was first built. I ended my lecture with the confirmation that I had taken no action with regard to his "little friend" but that that left only him to take the punishment for two. He actually thanked me for this.

Finally I got the cane and from the moment I picked it up his eyes never left it for an instant.

"Remove your shorts". He jumped, startled at this unexpected instruction. He hesitated for a fraction of a second and the colour rose in his cheeks. Resigned to his helpless situation he pulled down the shorts. He teetered about slightly as he pulled the shorts over his plimsolls, lifting first one foot, then the other. I had imagined that he would be wearing a Jock strap beneath the shorts but in fact he wore a pair of white "Y" fronts. One more layer I suppose however thin. I pointed at them:

"Remove those too". He did so. He now looked so cowed and vulnerable his only protection a singlet, socks and two plimsolls. But he stood up straight and again his eyes were on the cane.

"Over the desk. I’m going to give you eight. It would have been twelve but as you are to have it bare it will be just eight."

He stepped forward and as he did so he pulled the singlet up so that it formed a band of rolled cotton across his shoulders. He looked more naked than naked somehow. Summer was a long way off now and only the slightest hint of tan contrasted with the even paler swimming trunk line of the last holiday. The fleshy white buttocks were of perfect shape, smooth, firm and with a feint shadow of bruising bearing witness to our last encounter but the lines and welts had disappeared. The PT masters’ efforts were paying off as witness the sturdy legs and flowing defined muscles. A fine golden down caught the light and shimmered on the legs. His large genitals hung down perfectly.

I swallowed at the thought of spoiling this vision. But consoled myself that he would recover as quickly as before.

THWUP!......then again...THWUP! Ouch....OOOH! This time, of course, I could see the immediate effect of my efforts. No need to remember and envisage each stroke. There, magically arrived, each line, flaring red, then swelling gently to a clear stripe as I waited between strokes. He took the first four better than I could have hoped. Yelping, yet staying resolutely in position. His writhing and wiggling on the second four did him no good. I just waited patiently for him to resume the position and all he succeeded in doing was prolonging the time taken to absorb the cuts and store away all that pain. For the last two he was past the point of assisting himself and I had to put down the cane twice whilst I carefully rearranged him in position, spreading his legs a little wider as I did, so that his broad buttocks would receive their deserts across the whole area. On the last occasion before the final stroke, as I pushed him carefully back into place, his hand gently clasped my forearm and gave it the slightest of squeezes as if.......as if what......asking that I desist? Acknowledging that he was defeated, mine to do with as I would, to simply punish for ever.......? Or simply that he believed that he could take no more? But he could and he did take the last shot. Laid on with just as loud a CRACK!... and this time causing no interruption whatsoever to the wracking sobs.

Finished, I stood back for a moment. The lovely cheeks were not so perfect now. Livid lines and welts and a bluish bruise or two where the lines crossed. One slight puncture to the skin where the tip of the cane had visited the same spot once too often. The shape has subtly changed too. They had become slightly swollen overall and a less defined shape and I was aware that they must throb like the fires of hell.

"You may get up now. You have taken your punishment well and the matter is closed ."

He stayed down for a moment or two. Then flexed slightly, then waggled his bottom from side to side. As if he were checking that everything was still there and still working. Then he straightened. I thought that his hands would go straight to his seat to rub at the pain. They did not. But he strained to look over his shoulder and downward at the damage and he winced.

Finally, he turned back to me. His smile was back now but cautious, wintery. He offered his hand and I shook it firmly. As I did so I noticed that he had a semi erection. If he was aware of it then he didn’t give any sign of it. But a moment later as he folded himself back into the "Y" fronts I saw him look down sharply and he turned away from me and performed some hasty rearrangement. When he turned back as he recovered his shorts, I noticed that his expression was at once surprised and embarrassed. I looked away as he pulled on the shorts and tucked in the singlet.

By the time he was ready to go that damned full smile was back. He stood straight, head up and looked me in the eye. He said:-

"I hope I can stay out of trouble for a bit Robinson, I’m very sore". I was lost for a moment but replied;-

"The choice is yours, stay out of trouble or don’t. At least you seem to heal quickly". I added.

I was more surprised, though, as on leaving, he looked me in the eye and said:-"Well I don’t plan to get into trouble with anyone else Robinson" .and he smiled knowingly as he departed.