Other Boys' Kit
To all 'old boys': Waverly Hall is holding its yearly reunion this year on the 20th of June. All ex-pupils are welcome to a reception, speeches and a ball held in their honour at the Hall. Black tie. RSVP. Dr C Bamforth (Headmaster).
To Matt Burrows it was going to be the perfect opportunity to meet up with all his schoolmates again. It was the first time since he left Waverly Hall that the reunion had been planned on a date convenient for him, so he decided to go. He sent off his reply and brushed off his tuxedo in preparation.
The day of the reunion arrived. Matt donned his white dress shirt, dinner suit and black tie and set off for Waverly Hall, the public school he had not seen for seven years since he left at eighteen. He was hoping to see his old friends, to talk to his teachers again, and see how the old place had changed during his absence.
He was pleasantly surprised as he walked into the assembly hall. It had not changed one bit. Naturally, there were a few more names on the roll of honour, but the hall was still the same, even to the low bench that was used to position boys for public caning. The school's current pupils had been enlisted to serve drinks and canapes. Matt felt a pang of nostalgic regret; the school uniform had changed a lot since he had left the school. Long trousers replaced the shorts he wore, the shirt was light blue and a solid navy tie replaced the navy and yellow stripe tie of his memory. Nevertheless, Matt mingled effortlessly, greeting his old friends warmly and bragging of his successes to his old enemies.
But the old headmaster, Dr Bamforth, was nowhere to be seen. An announcement went out that the speeches would soon be starting. Matt didn't fancy hanging around listening to Waverly Hall's semi-famous ex-pupils waffle on about the place, so he took this as his cue to slip out of the assembly hall to see the places that held the most memories to him. He visited his old form room, and was disappointed to find that modern laminate tables had replaced the old-fashioned open-lid desks he remembered, and bright paint had ruined the traditional atmosphere of the room. Next he visited the PE department. He felt a rush of excitement upon entering the changing room - it was as if no time had passed at all. The room still held that faint odour of young sweat. He himself had contributed to the deeply erotic scent by being a keen sportsman, and remembered the high jinks the lads had got up to in the showers. Celebrating a win, or consoling each other on a rare bad game, the boys had always found themselves 'good company' to put it mildly. Matt was pleased he had continued sports after school, many of the old boys he'd played with at school had really let themselves go in the years following graduation. His figure, though, was trim, smooth and subtly muscled. His memory strayed back to one session following a four-nil win against a rival grammar school, where things had taken a new turn in the showers. Fuelled by success and lubricated by soap, the lads had really 'congratulated' each other that time! Before he knew what he was doing, Matt had his fly open and his cock in his hand, and was slowly pumping his rapidly hardening seven-incher, memories of the other boys in his team coming back to his mind.
"You boy!" boomed a voice, "what do you think you're doing?" Matt turned around sharply, guiltily, to face Dr Bamforth standing in the doorway of the changing room. Dr Bamforth looked at the young man in front of him, standing there in his tuxedo with his cock in his hand.
"I see," he said, then: "you filthy little boy, come with me." "Dr. Bamforth, sir, I..." Matt tried to explain. "I don't want to hear it, boy, I can see what you are up to with my own eyes." Dr Bamforth seized the young man by the ear. "Come along." Matt had no choice but to follow behind his old headmaster, dragged by his ear, with his hard-on still sticking out of his tuxedo trousers. Dr Bamforth took him, naturally, to the office. He ordered Matt to stand in front of the desk.
"So, it's you, Burrows," Dr Bamforth recognised the young man. "What have you got to say for yourself?"
"Sir, I thought I was alone, sir," said Matt.
"Do you think that excuses such disgusting and immature behaviour?"
Matt swallowed. "No sir, I suppose not."
"You suppose not," repeated Dr Bamforth. "It makes me wonder how you ever managed to graduate from Waverly Hall. I would have hoped you would have grown out of such self abusive habits by now. How long has it been since you left this school?"
"Seven years sir," said Matt.
"So you are twenty-five years old and you still behave like a dirty little boy."
Matt hesitated before answering. "Yes sir."
"Well I can only foresee one course of action fitting to your behaviour. Do you know what that might be?"
Again Matt hesitated. "N-no sir..."
"I am surprised at you boy. A pupil at this school for seven years and you don't know what discipline methods are preferred here? My, how much a boy forgets in seven years." Dr Bamforth got up from his big leather chair and crossed to his cupboard. He opened it and took out a cane. He laid it on the polished oak desk. Matt stood there, sweating nervously. He had known what punishment would be administered, but hadn't wanted to admit it. He swallowed again as he looked at the hard, lacquered cane on the desk before him. He absent-mindedly rubbed his bottom through his tuxedo trousers.
"But first, boy, I think it appropriate to match your attire with your behaviour. You are certainly not mature enough to wear a smart dinner suit like that." Dr Bamforth said. He crossed the room again to the cupboard and took out a cardboard box, then put it on the desk. "This is the kit box, boy, I'm sure you remember it?"
"Yes sir," said Matt, "the box of spare uniform." Matt noticed with great surprise that the uniform in the box was not the uniform that the current pupils were required to wear - but the uniform he himself had worn at Waverly Hall, seven years ago.
"That's right boy. For boys who have lost or spoiled parts of their school uniform. I keep it well stocked, so that a boy in an, ahem, 'emergency' can always look presentable. I think it's appropriate to bring it into use now. Strip."
"What?" said Matt.
"Strip to your underwear, boy, and don't forget to call me 'sir'" said Dr Bamforth, raising his voice.
Many things flashed through Matt's mind. He could just walk out, this man had no power over him, and hadn't for seven years. Yet if there was one thing he remembered about Waverly Hall that stuck in his mind just as much as the changing room, it was the memory of Dr Bamforth's punishment canings. Many times he had been here in his younger days, sweating and nervous before this very same desk. Not least of his thoughts at times like these was a strange stirring in his groin. This stirring was manifesting itself again now. He found himself slipping off his tuxedo and taking off his bow-tie.
"Good lad," said Dr Bamforth, when Matt was down to his underwear. Matt was confused; he didn't really know what he was doing or why he was doing it. "Now the uniform," said Dr Bamforth, and handed Matt a grey shirt...
Soon Matt was standing in a stiff smart school uniform. The shirt Dr Bamforth had given him was just too small in the collar, but the headmaster had told him to wear it anyway. The collar was tight, but he had fastened it, and knotted the navy and grey striped tie snugly in it. It felt strange being in his old school tie again. A navy and grey panelled cap was on his head, and grey knee socks pulled up over his calves, the turnovers revealing navy and yellow bands around the top of each sock. He had a pair of brown shoes on, which fit him comfortably. A grey wool blazer clung tightly to his grown-up frame, flattering and humiliating his figure at the same time. But the short trousers - grey school short trousers, were tight around his waist, bottom and crotch, showing off his now hard cock. In addition, they were very brief in the leg, only about four inches or so. He looked, and felt, every bit the schoolboy.
"I knew it wouldn't be too long before I got you in my study again, Burrows," intoned Dr Bamforth. "Do you have anything to say?"
"Sir, I'm sorry, sir," stuttered Matt. "I wouldn't have done it if..."
"If you'd known I wasn't going to come through the door? Ha. Not good enough boy, not good enough. No, punishment is unavoidable this time."
Matt was sweating in the starchy shirt and itchy flannel shorts. His throat was dry; he felt just like he used to when he was a junior at Waverly Hall.
"Right boy. Go and stand outside my office, face the wall and put your hands on your head. Wait there until I tell you that you can come back in."
Strangely compelled, Matt left the room and assumed the position outside in the corridor. After a few minutes a group of old boys walked past, smartly dressed in their tuxedos and black ties. Matt turned his head to see if he recognised the boys. He did; and waited with a knot in his stomach for them to pass, hoping they would not remember him. The group paused as they approached the uniformed boy standing in disgrace, and shared a joke, obviously directed at him. Fortunately, they continued on; it was not an uncommon sight to see a boy outside the head's study. They were probably happy to see things were continuing as normal. One of them, however, did deliver a stinging slap to Matt's bottom as they passed, laughing.
Matt couldn't have been more embarrassed. There he stood, dressed in a tight, smart junior uniform, in disgrace outside the headmaster's study. Worse, he had been seen by other ex-pupils, and probably recognised. Above all, there was the threat - no, promise - of punishment impending from Dr Bamforth and his cane...
Matt had been standing there for a good half hour when he finally heard Dr Bamforth's booming voice come from the office. "Come in, lad," he said. Matt gulped, took his hands from off his head and opened the door. He entered the room and stood, trembling a little, in front of Dr Bamforth's desk.
"Stand up straight boy," the headmaster said. Matt straightened, putting his shoulders back and lifting his head up. He could feel his erection pushing against the fly of his tight grey shorts, betraying his feelings to the man sitting opposite him.
"I don't doubt for a minute you have forgotten my preferred method of punishment, have you boy?" said Dr Bamforth.
"No sir," Matt replied.
"Then tell me what it is, lad, come on," said the headmaster a little impatiently.
"Th-the cane, sir," Matt answered. "S-six of the b-best, sir." "Six may have been good enough for little boys, Burrows, but you are older now, despite your immature behaviour and bad habits, and more severe correction is required. That is why you are back in school uniform, and I hope you realise the significance of that."
"Oh, yes sir," said Matt. He was well aware of how humiliating the tight uniform was. He could feel it against his skin with each slight movement he made. Yet his cock was as hard as it had ever been, fettered by the shorts but nonetheless highly visible. God, this was turning him on!
"Furthermore, I will administer not six or twelve, but twenty-four strokes of the senior cane, the last six of which will be on your bare bottom, to really hammer home the message. Do you understand and agree?"
Matt had not even anticipated being asked for his consent. He had broken out in a sweat at the mention of the senior cane - the thick, lacquered cane on the desk between him and his headmaster. He knew it would be painful, but it was incomprehensible to him to refuse the punishment. Not simply because he was so very turned on, but because he now knew that he should be punished, and that Dr Bamforth was the man to administer it. All this went through his head in a moment, and so he said simply, "yes sir" to Dr Bamforth.
"Good lad. It's always good to hear that a boy has the maturity to accept his punishment," said Dr Bamforth. Then with a slight smile: "It doesn't mean he will get out of it, of course! Bend over the desk, young man."
Matt swallowed again. It was time. He was going weak at the knees in anticipation of the punishment he was about to receive, and it wasn't because of fear, more some kind of strange nervous excitement. He went over to the desk and bent over it. He presented his shorts-covered bottom as smartly as he could. Dr Bamforth tapped the inside of each of his legs with the cane, meaning for him to spread them a little. He did, and Dr Bamforth stepped back to admire the sight. It had been a long time since this particular bottom had been in his office! The boy trembling with anticipation, and - yes - excitement was ready for his punishment. And Dr Bamforth was pleased to note that Matthew Burrows had turned into a handsome, fit young man, and that he looked so good back in school uniform.
Dr Bamforth picked up the cane from the desk and swished it in the air a couple of times, to check his action, and to tease the boy a little. Matt flinched.
"Don't move, boy, or it will be worse for you!" said Dr Bamforth. He ran his hand over Matt's bottom to check for padding, and let it linger for a few seconds, cupping the lad's firm round cheeks in his hand, relishing the feel of the material of the grey shorts material under his fingers.
Matt prepared himself for the first stroke. It landed across the centre of his bottom with a loud crack, and Matt jumped despite his attempt to compose himself. There was a gap of about five seconds before the next one landed, in almost exactly the same place as the first. Dr Bamforth had not lost anything in his technique in the seven-year gap! Matt wondered if his headmaster had been practicing in the interim. He did not have long to wonder, however, as the third stroke struck his tight ass. The fourth followed after another five-second gap, and Matt found himself almost settling down into the punishment. His ass was soon burning, and by the tenth stroke he was sweating. He took eleven and twelve with short grunts - the pain was beginning to get to him. The next six were delivered in quick succession, causing Matt's grunts to turn into moans. Matt's burgeoning erection showed no sign of going away, and he was getting more and more aroused.
"Right boy," said Dr Bamforth, his voice dropping to a threatening tenor, "it's time to get those shorts down." And he tapped Matt's thighs with the cane quickly, not hard enough to hurt, but Matt jumped nonetheless.
The young man's shaking fingers moved to the waistband of the tight grey shorts he was wearing. He fumbled with the fastener a couple of times before managing to get it open, and slowly undid the fly. The shorts slid off his stinging ass and fell to the floor around his ankles.
"Your underwear too, boy," ordered Dr Bamforth. "Then put them neatly on my desk."
Matt pulled his white cotton briefs down to the ground to meet his shorts. His throbbing hard-on jutted out in front of him; no matter how nervous he was, Matt knew that this was the evidence of his feelings. He stepped out of his briefs and shorts and folded them neatly on the desk, before reassuming the position. He was shaking and nervous, but was not hesitant to obey his former - no, current - head master.
Dr Bamforth again stood behind the boy, and again put his hand on Matt's bottom. This time there was no doubt as to his intentions, he was not checking for padding. His own cock was hard, and he could see his pupil was similarly aroused. He took this as a cue to give the boy's bottom a tender feel, stroking his hand over the burning, tingling flesh. He could actually feel the heat radiating from the young man's bottom, and see the welts from the previous caning beginning to rise. He let his hand linger for a moment only, before its tender, lustful touch was replaced by the stinging hot lick of the cane against the bare flesh.
This time Matt yelped out loud. Dr Bamforth smiled a little. "Now it seems we are making some progress, wouldn't you say, young man?"
To his own surprise Matt fond himself saying: "Oh, yes sir, yes sir." He didn't know what to feel - his bottom was burning yet each stroke made his cock jump with excitement. He could feel an orgasm welling up deep inside. Surely he couldn't cum just from being caned?
Dr Bamforth delivered five more expertly aimed stinging blows to Matt's abused bottom. The tears were now flowing down Matt's face. He put his hands to his bottom and felt the deep welts rising under the burning cheeks, and felt a kind of thrill at the tenderness and heat of his chastened ass.
"Now, young man," intoned Dr Bamforth, "do you have anything to say for yourself?"
"I'm sorry, sir," said Matt simply.
"Why sorry, boy? Sorry you misbehaved?"
Matt considered. "Yes sir," he replied.
"And are you sorry you were punished?"
Again Matt thought before answering: "No sir, I'm not sorry I was punished. I deserved it, sir."
"Yes boy, yes, you did. You deserved it for being filthy and immature. Behave immaturely, and you get treated the same way. Remember the lesson: do unto others what you would have done unto you."
"Yes sir, I remember."
"Particularly appropriate here I think. Now I do not doubt that you will want to think about what you have done, and think carefully about the consequence of your actions today."
"Yes sir, I would like that."
"Then I will give you the opportunity. Put your briefs and shorts back on and go and stand in the corner - and put your hands on your head."
Matt put on his white cotton briefs. As he slowly pulled them up around his burning bottom, he could feel every fibre of the material as it rubbed against the hot flesh. His shorts, too, tingled as he pulled them up, the rough, tight material scratching gently against his skin. He was fastening the waistband of his shorts when Dr Bamforth stopped him.
"Come here, boy."
With his fly and waistband open, Matt went to stand in front of his headmaster. Dr Bamforth brought a sprung clip, like a clothes peg, out of his desk drawer. He pulled the waistband of Matt's briefs down and took hold of his cock, which was still semi-hard. Matt did not have time to say anything before the peg was clipped over his foreskin, trapping his erection inside its own envelope of skin - and preventing it from growing larger.
"Just to ensure that no...fidgeting goes on in that corner. A boy like you can't be trusted to keep his hands away from himself. That is, of course, the reason you ended up here this afternoon."
Matt said nothing in reply; he just fastened his shorts and went to stand in the corner as directed. Looking at the wall, he took the time to reflect on what had been going on. His ass was undoubtedly red raw and marked with a series of brutal welts across both cheeks. He envisioned himself standing in the corner of his headmaster's office, hands on head, a twenty-five-year-old man dressed in the uniform of a junior schoolboy, cock bursting to reach full erection. Why did this turn him on? He was being punished after all!
Such questions were still running through Matt's confused mind when Dr Bamforth ordered his to stand in front of the desk. Matt obeyed quickly and stood smartly before Dr Bamforth.
"Well now lad," said Dr Bamforth, "it would seem I have made some progress with you today. But, from the evidence," - and he indicated the bulge in the front of Matt's short trousers, "we still have some way to go before you become a gentleman. Wouldn't you agree?"
Again Matt's mouth took over. "Yes, sir."
Dr Bamforth took off his glasses and put them on the desk in front of him. "When corporal punishment was outlawed I adopted new methods of discipline to correct my pupils. However I have always felt that certain boys will never respond to anything other than the cane. I think that you are one such individual."
Dr Bamforth paused, but Matt said nothing, and he didn't need to.
"For this purpose I have set up a weekend school for young men such as yourself who need to be taught how to behave as a proper gentleman. I have a class of ten boys, and we have an opening for one more. They wear a smart uniform at all times, and receive formal schooling under strict traditional discipline. School hours are from nine in the morning until half past three in the afternoon every Saturday and Sunday, and the boys will attend until I judge they are properly behaved. The question is, do you feel you need such an education?"
There was absolutely no way that Matt could have resisted saying, "Yes sir, I do."
To be continued...
E-mail the author: tony.b@naughtyboy.co.uk Or at boyjack99@hotmail.com Other Boys' Kit
To all 'old boys': Waverly Hall is holding its yearly reunion this year on the 20th of June. All ex-pupils are welcome to a reception, speeches and a ball held in their honour at the Hall. Black tie. RSVP. Dr C Bamforth (Headmaster).
To Matt Burrows it was going to be the perfect opportunity to meet up with all his schoolmates again. It was the first time since he left Waverly Hall that the reunion had been planned on a date convenient for him, so he decided to go. He sent off his reply and brushed off his tuxedo in preparation.
The day of the reunion arrived. Matt donned his white dress shirt, dinner suit and black tie and set off for Waverly Hall, the public school he had not seen for seven years since he left at eighteen. He was hoping to see his old friends, to talk to his teachers again, and see how the old place had changed during his absence.
He was pleasantly surprised as he walked into the assembly hall. It had not changed one bit. Naturally, there were a few more names on the roll of honour, but the hall was still the same, even to the low bench that was used to position boys for public caning. The school's current pupils had been enlisted to serve drinks and canapes. Matt felt a pang of nostalgic regret; the school uniform had changed a lot since he had left the school. Long trousers replaced the shorts he wore, the shirt was light blue and a solid navy tie replaced the navy and yellow stripe tie of his memory. Nevertheless, Matt mingled effortlessly, greeting his old friends warmly and bragging of his successes to his old enemies.
But the old headmaster, Dr Bamforth, was nowhere to be seen. An announcement went out that the speeches would soon be starting. Matt didn't fancy hanging around listening to Waverly Hall's semi-famous ex-pupils waffle on about the place, so he took this as his cue to slip out of the assembly hall to see the places that held the most memories to him. He visited his old form room, and was disappointed to find that modern laminate tables had replaced the old-fashioned open-lid desks he remembered, and bright paint had ruined the traditional atmosphere of the room. Next he visited the PE department. He felt a rush of excitement upon entering the changing room - it was as if no time had passed at all. The room still held that faint odour of young sweat. He himself had contributed to the deeply erotic scent by being a keen sportsman, and remembered the high jinks the lads had got up to in the showers. Celebrating a win, or consoling each other on a rare bad game, the boys had always found themselves 'good company' to put it mildly. Matt was pleased he had continued sports after school, many of the old boys he'd played with at school had really let themselves go in the years following graduation. His figure, though, was trim, smooth and subtly muscled. His memory strayed back to one session following a four-nil win against a rival grammar school, where things had taken a new turn in the showers. Fuelled by success and lubricated by soap, the lads had really 'congratulated' each other that time! Before he knew what he was doing, Matt had his fly open and his cock in his hand, and was slowly pumping his rapidly hardening seven-incher, memories of the other boys in his team coming back to his mind.
"You boy!" boomed a voice, "what do you think you're doing?" Matt turned around sharply, guiltily, to face Dr Bamforth standing in the doorway of the changing room. Dr Bamforth looked at the young man in front of him, standing there in his tuxedo with his cock in his hand.
"I see," he said, then: "you filthy little boy, come with me." "Dr. Bamforth, sir, I..." Matt tried to explain. "I don't want to hear it, boy, I can see what you are up to with my own eyes." Dr Bamforth seized the young man by the ear. "Come along." Matt had no choice but to follow behind his old headmaster, dragged by his ear, with his hard-on still sticking out of his tuxedo trousers. Dr Bamforth took him, naturally, to the office. He ordered Matt to stand in front of the desk.
"So, it's you, Burrows," Dr Bamforth recognised the young man. "What have you got to say for yourself?"
"Sir, I thought I was alone, sir," said Matt.
"Do you think that excuses such disgusting and immature behaviour?"
Matt swallowed. "No sir, I suppose not."
"You suppose not," repeated Dr Bamforth. "It makes me wonder how you ever managed to graduate from Waverly Hall. I would have hoped you would have grown out of such self abusive habits by now. How long has it been since you left this school?"
"Seven years sir," said Matt.
"So you are twenty-five years old and you still behave like a dirty little boy."
Matt hesitated before answering. "Yes sir."
"Well I can only foresee one course of action fitting to your behaviour. Do you know what that might be?"
Again Matt hesitated. "N-no sir..."
"I am surprised at you boy. A pupil at this school for seven years and you don't know what discipline methods are preferred here? My, how much a boy forgets in seven years." Dr Bamforth got up from his big leather chair and crossed to his cupboard. He opened it and took out a cane. He laid it on the polished oak desk. Matt stood there, sweating nervously. He had known what punishment would be administered, but hadn't wanted to admit it. He swallowed again as he looked at the hard, lacquered cane on the desk before him. He absent-mindedly rubbed his bottom through his tuxedo trousers.
"But first, boy, I think it appropriate to match your attire with your behaviour. You are certainly not mature enough to wear a smart dinner suit like that." Dr Bamforth said. He crossed the room again to the cupboard and took out a cardboard box, then put it on the desk. "This is the kit box, boy, I'm sure you remember it?"
"Yes sir," said Matt, "the box of spare uniform." Matt noticed with great surprise that the uniform in the box was not the uniform that the current pupils were required to wear - but the uniform he himself had worn at Waverly Hall, seven years ago.
"That's right boy. For boys who have lost or spoiled parts of their school uniform. I keep it well stocked, so that a boy in an, ahem, 'emergency' can always look presentable. I think it's appropriate to bring it into use now. Strip."
"What?" said Matt.
"Strip to your underwear, boy, and don't forget to call me 'sir'" said Dr Bamforth, raising his voice.
Many things flashed through Matt's mind. He could just walk out, this man had no power over him, and hadn't for seven years. Yet if there was one thing he remembered about Waverly Hall that stuck in his mind just as much as the changing room, it was the memory of Dr Bamforth's punishment canings. Many times he had been here in his younger days, sweating and nervous before this very same desk. Not least of his thoughts at times like these was a strange stirring in his groin. This stirring was manifesting itself again now. He found himself slipping off his tuxedo and taking off his bow-tie.
"Good lad," said Dr Bamforth, when Matt was down to his underwear. Matt was confused; he didn't really know what he was doing or why he was doing it. "Now the uniform," said Dr Bamforth, and handed Matt a grey shirt...
Soon Matt was standing in a stiff smart school uniform. The shirt Dr Bamforth had given him was just too small in the collar, but the headmaster had told him to wear it anyway. The collar was tight, but he had fastened it, and knotted the navy and grey striped tie snugly in it. It felt strange being in his old school tie again. A navy and grey panelled cap was on his head, and grey knee socks pulled up over his calves, the turnovers revealing navy and yellow bands around the top of each sock. He had a pair of brown shoes on, which fit him comfortably. A grey wool blazer clung tightly to his grown-up frame, flattering and humiliating his figure at the same time. But the short trousers - grey school short trousers, were tight around his waist, bottom and crotch, showing off his now hard cock. In addition, they were very brief in the leg, only about four inches or so. He looked, and felt, every bit the schoolboy.
"I knew it wouldn't be too long before I got you in my study again, Burrows," intoned Dr Bamforth. "Do you have anything to say?"
"Sir, I'm sorry, sir," stuttered Matt. "I wouldn't have done it if..."
"If you'd known I wasn't going to come through the door? Ha. Not good enough boy, not good enough. No, punishment is unavoidable this time."
Matt was sweating in the starchy shirt and itchy flannel shorts. His throat was dry; he felt just like he used to when he was a junior at Waverly Hall.
"Right boy. Go and stand outside my office, face the wall and put your hands on your head. Wait there until I tell you that you can come back in."
Strangely compelled, Matt left the room and assumed the position outside in the corridor. After a few minutes a group of old boys walked past, smartly dressed in their tuxedos and black ties. Matt turned his head to see if he recognised the boys. He did; and waited with a knot in his stomach for them to pass, hoping they would not remember him. The group paused as they approached the uniformed boy standing in disgrace, and shared a joke, obviously directed at him. Fortunately, they continued on; it was not an uncommon sight to see a boy outside the head's study. They were probably happy to see things were continuing as normal. One of them, however, did deliver a stinging slap to Matt's bottom as they passed, laughing.
Matt couldn't have been more embarrassed. There he stood, dressed in a tight, smart junior uniform, in disgrace outside the headmaster's study. Worse, he had been seen by other ex-pupils, and probably recognised. Above all, there was the threat - no, promise - of punishment impending from Dr Bamforth and his cane...
Matt had been standing there for a good half hour when he finally heard Dr Bamforth's booming voice come from the office. "Come in, lad," he said. Matt gulped, took his hands from off his head and opened the door. He entered the room and stood, trembling a little, in front of Dr Bamforth's desk.
"Stand up straight boy," the headmaster said. Matt straightened, putting his shoulders back and lifting his head up. He could feel his erection pushing against the fly of his tight grey shorts, betraying his feelings to the man sitting opposite him.
"I don't doubt for a minute you have forgotten my preferred method of punishment, have you boy?" said Dr Bamforth.
"No sir," Matt replied.
"Then tell me what it is, lad, come on," said the headmaster a little impatiently.
"Th-the cane, sir," Matt answered. "S-six of the b-best, sir." "Six may have been good enough for little boys, Burrows, but you are older now, despite your immature behaviour and bad habits, and more severe correction is required. That is why you are back in school uniform, and I hope you realise the significance of that."
"Oh, yes sir," said Matt. He was well aware of how humiliating the tight uniform was. He could feel it against his skin with each slight movement he made. Yet his cock was as hard as it had ever been, fettered by the shorts but nonetheless highly visible. God, this was turning him on!
"Furthermore, I will administer not six or twelve, but twenty-four strokes of the senior cane, the last six of which will be on your bare bottom, to really hammer home the message. Do you understand and agree?"
Matt had not even anticipated being asked for his consent. He had broken out in a sweat at the mention of the senior cane - the thick, lacquered cane on the desk between him and his headmaster. He knew it would be painful, but it was incomprehensible to him to refuse the punishment. Not simply because he was so very turned on, but because he now knew that he should be punished, and that Dr Bamforth was the man to administer it. All this went through his head in a moment, and so he said simply, "yes sir" to Dr Bamforth.
"Good lad. It's always good to hear that a boy has the maturity to accept his punishment," said Dr Bamforth. Then with a slight smile: "It doesn't mean he will get out of it, of course! Bend over the desk, young man."
Matt swallowed again. It was time. He was going weak at the knees in anticipation of the punishment he was about to receive, and it wasn't because of fear, more some kind of strange nervous excitement. He went over to the desk and bent over it. He presented his shorts-covered bottom as smartly as he could. Dr Bamforth tapped the inside of each of his legs with the cane, meaning for him to spread them a little. He did, and Dr Bamforth stepped back to admire the sight. It had been a long time since this particular bottom had been in his office! The boy trembling with anticipation, and - yes - excitement was ready for his punishment. And Dr Bamforth was pleased to note that Matthew Burrows had turned into a handsome, fit young man, and that he looked so good back in school uniform.
Dr Bamforth picked up the cane from the desk and swished it in the air a couple of times, to check his action, and to tease the boy a little. Matt flinched.
"Don't move, boy, or it will be worse for you!" said Dr Bamforth. He ran his hand over Matt's bottom to check for padding, and let it linger for a few seconds, cupping the lad's firm round cheeks in his hand, relishing the feel of the material of the grey shorts material under his fingers.
Matt prepared himself for the first stroke. It landed across the centre of his bottom with a loud crack, and Matt jumped despite his attempt to compose himself. There was a gap of about five seconds before the next one landed, in almost exactly the same place as the first. Dr Bamforth had not lost anything in his technique in the seven-year gap! Matt wondered if his headmaster had been practicing in the interim. He did not have long to wonder, however, as the third stroke struck his tight ass. The fourth followed after another five-second gap, and Matt found himself almost settling down into the punishment. His ass was soon burning, and by the tenth stroke he was sweating. He took eleven and twelve with short grunts - the pain was beginning to get to him. The next six were delivered in quick succession, causing Matt's grunts to turn into moans. Matt's burgeoning erection showed no sign of going away, and he was getting more and more aroused.
"Right boy," said Dr Bamforth, his voice dropping to a threatening tenor, "it's time to get those shorts down." And he tapped Matt's thighs with the cane quickly, not hard enough to hurt, but Matt jumped nonetheless.
The young man's shaking fingers moved to the waistband of the tight grey shorts he was wearing. He fumbled with the fastener a couple of times before managing to get it open, and slowly undid the fly. The shorts slid off his stinging ass and fell to the floor around his ankles.
"Your underwear too, boy," ordered Dr Bamforth. "Then put them neatly on my desk."
Matt pulled his white cotton briefs down to the ground to meet his shorts. His throbbing hard-on jutted out in front of him; no matter how nervous he was, Matt knew that this was the evidence of his feelings. He stepped out of his briefs and shorts and folded them neatly on the desk, before reassuming the position. He was shaking and nervous, but was not hesitant to obey his former - no, current - head master.
Dr Bamforth again stood behind the boy, and again put his hand on Matt's bottom. This time there was no doubt as to his intentions, he was not checking for padding. His own cock was hard, and he could see his pupil was similarly aroused. He took this as a cue to give the boy's bottom a tender feel, stroking his hand over the burning, tingling flesh. He could actually feel the heat radiating from the young man's bottom, and see the welts from the previous caning beginning to rise. He let his hand linger for a moment only, before its tender, lustful touch was replaced by the stinging hot lick of the cane against the bare flesh.
This time Matt yelped out loud. Dr Bamforth smiled a little. "Now it seems we are making some progress, wouldn't you say, young man?"
To his own surprise Matt fond himself saying: "Oh, yes sir, yes sir." He didn't know what to feel - his bottom was burning yet each stroke made his cock jump with excitement. He could feel an orgasm welling up deep inside. Surely he couldn't cum just from being caned?
Dr Bamforth delivered five more expertly aimed stinging blows to Matt's abused bottom. The tears were now flowing down Matt's face. He put his hands to his bottom and felt the deep welts rising under the burning cheeks, and felt a kind of thrill at the tenderness and heat of his chastened ass.
"Now, young man," intoned Dr Bamforth, "do you have anything to say for yourself?"
"I'm sorry, sir," said Matt simply.
"Why sorry, boy? Sorry you misbehaved?"
Matt considered. "Yes sir," he replied.
"And are you sorry you were punished?"
Again Matt thought before answering: "No sir, I'm not sorry I was punished. I deserved it, sir."
"Yes boy, yes, you did. You deserved it for being filthy and immature. Behave immaturely, and you get treated the same way. Remember the lesson: do unto others what you would have done unto you."
"Yes sir, I remember."
"Particularly appropriate here I think. Now I do not doubt that you will want to think about what you have done, and think carefully about the consequence of your actions today."
"Yes sir, I would like that."
"Then I will give you the opportunity. Put your briefs and shorts back on and go and stand in the corner - and put your hands on your head."
Matt put on his white cotton briefs. As he slowly pulled them up around his burning bottom, he could feel every fibre of the material as it rubbed against the hot flesh. His shorts, too, tingled as he pulled them up, the rough, tight material scratching gently against his skin. He was fastening the waistband of his shorts when Dr Bamforth stopped him.
"Come here, boy."
With his fly and waistband open, Matt went to stand in front of his headmaster. Dr Bamforth brought a sprung clip, like a clothes peg, out of his desk drawer. He pulled the waistband of Matt's briefs down and took hold of his cock, which was still semi-hard. Matt did not have time to say anything before the peg was clipped over his foreskin, trapping his erection inside its own envelope of skin - and preventing it from growing larger.
"Just to ensure that no...fidgeting goes on in that corner. A boy like you can't be trusted to keep his hands away from himself. That is, of course, the reason you ended up here this afternoon."
Matt said nothing in reply; he just fastened his shorts and went to stand in the corner as directed. Looking at the wall, he took the time to reflect on what had been going on. His ass was undoubtedly red raw and marked with a series of brutal welts across both cheeks. He envisioned himself standing in the corner of his headmaster's office, hands on head, a twenty-five-year-old man dressed in the uniform of a junior schoolboy, cock bursting to reach full erection. Why did this turn him on? He was being punished after all!
Such questions were still running through Matt's confused mind when Dr Bamforth ordered his to stand in front of the desk. Matt obeyed quickly and stood smartly before Dr Bamforth.
"Well now lad," said Dr Bamforth, "it would seem I have made some progress with you today. But, from the evidence," - and he indicated the bulge in the front of Matt's short trousers, "we still have some way to go before you become a gentleman. Wouldn't you agree?"
Again Matt's mouth took over. "Yes, sir."
Dr Bamforth took off his glasses and put them on the desk in front of him. "When corporal punishment was outlawed I adopted new methods of discipline to correct my pupils. However I have always felt that certain boys will never respond to anything other than the cane. I think that you are one such individual."
Dr Bamforth paused, but Matt said nothing, and he didn't need to.
"For this purpose I have set up a weekend school for young men such as yourself who need to be taught how to behave as a proper gentleman. I have a class of ten boys, and we have an opening for one more. They wear a smart uniform at all times, and receive formal schooling under strict traditional discipline. School hours are from nine in the morning until half past three in the afternoon every Saturday and Sunday, and the boys will attend until I judge they are properly behaved. The question is, do you feel you need such an education?"
There was absolutely no way that Matt could have resisted saying, "Yes sir, I do."
To be continued...
E-mail the author: tony.b@naughtyboy.co.uk Or at boyjack99@hotmail.com