Barrington’s Caning

 Original Fiction – for adult eyes only

‘He caned me six; good ones, real stingers.’ Barrington grinned and opening the vent in the back of his blazer, pointed his bottom at his chums. One just above the crease where arse meets the thighs. Didn't half hurt! Here.’ Barrington was rather proud that he had been the first sixth-former ever at Seltoun Manor to be caned. Juniors got it all the time, but Barrington was eighteen and by far the oldest pupil to be ordered to bend over in the headmaster’s study.

It was all because of the new headmaster Dr. Filbid-Studge. He had joined Seltoun at the beginning of term and his impact had quickly been felt across the school. ‘Discipline is slack,’ he told his bemused staff members, ‘And I intend to do something about it. Starting,’ he growled, ‘at the very top. With the sixth-form.’

The senior masters didn’t think discipline was that bad, but no one wanted to get on the bad side of the new headmaster, not so soon into his new reign. ‘They are all children and we should treat them as such,’ he hectored. This was 1967 and the so-called ‘youth’ across the world were in revolt. A revolution might start, even in England, if some discipline wasn’t imposed and damned quickly, he told them.

‘We shall treat them as children, we lay down the rules, they obey,’ he added menacingly, ‘And if they don’t they will fell the wrath of my cane,’ he sweated profusely as he shared his vision for the future of Seltoun. ‘They are children and they will look like children. At the earliest opportunity I intend to change the school uniform regulations so that every boy is required to wear short trousers. Yes, even the older boys. Everyone.’

So, the gauntlet was thrown down and it would only be a matter of time before one of the senior boys picked it up and ran with it. The sixth-form was divided between prefects who had many more privileges than other pupils and ordinary sixth-formers who were not deigned by the school authorities to be worthy of privilege. Barrington fell among those lesser boys.

All the sixth-formers ignored many rules and masters turned blind eyes. So, the seniors smoked unhindered in their studies whereas juniors caught with cigarettes could expect a stiff six-of-the-best from their housemasters. The town was strictly out of bounds, except again the Sixth thought themselves above such restrictions Indeed, they regularly frequented the Three Fishers, a pub of doubtful repute for games of snooker and to drink pints of beer.

They did not believe Dr. Filbid-Studge when he sent out word through housemasters that the seniors would be treated as juniors and they were expected to obey the rules like anyone else.

Barrington was a self-centred arrogant boy and he told his chums he’d be blowed if he was going to stop visiting the town. He led them to believe that he had a ‘wench’ tucked away there and that he was ‘getting my oats’ regularly. No eighteen-year-old would willingly give that up.

Of course, it was only a matter of time before his absence from school was noticed and as had been previously advertised he found himself before Dr. Filbid-Studge.

Barrington flapped the back of his jacket so his audience might have a better view of his backside. It was round and firm and fitted snugly inside the seat of his trousers. The boys had to conclude that Dr. Filbid-Studge had been rewarded with a terrific target.

Barrington was enjoying his moment in the spotlight. ‘He has this leather armchair. I think he brought it with him from his previous school. Bit of a monster really. It’s terribly old and worn, especially the back. I can’t imagine how many boys have been across that over the years,’ he grinned.

‘So, he jaws me and he jaws me. On and on. He tells me I should not think that the rules do not apply to me, he whined on and on,’ Barrington rubbed both hands over his bottom. In truth his buttocks were still throbbing like mad and he would find it uncomfortable to sit down for some considerable time. Barrington didn’t want his pals to think he had been hurt at all so he widened his grin and continued with his tale.

‘At last he got to the point. He walks across the study and goes to a grandfather clock. The stupid thing doesn’t work, but he opens the door and inside he’s got four or five canes,’ he paused to allow the magnitude of this revelation to sink in before continuing, ‘All sizes. He delves around for a while finding the one that he’s going to use on me.’ Barrington rubbed his bottom again, trying to increase the tension in his story.

‘He selects a monster. Dark brown, easily four feet long,’ he exaggerated, ‘and thick as my thumb. He stands there flexing it between his hands and then he swipes it through the air. SWOOSH! SWOOSH! Well, my blood ran cold.’

Barrington inspected his fellow sixth-formers to see who was most impressed by his story. They all seemed to be gripped so he continued, ‘“Bend over the chair,” he growls at me. So, I stand there like a lemon for a moment not quite sure how I was supposed to do it. Did he mean to go over the arm? Or the back, or stand in the front? It’s an enormous chair and I could have presented in any of those ways.

‘‘Bend over the back of the chair,’ he tells me. So, I do.’

‘Then, WHACK! It felt like my arse was on fire. Have you ever had a red-hot poker pushed into your flesh? No, me neither, but I reckon that wouldn’t have hurt as much as that first stroke.

‘He left a good long time between each stroke; felt like a couple of minutes, but I expect it was a lot less, really. Time drags when you’re bending there in agony, gritting your teeth trying to keep quiet, listening for the whine of the cane coming down for the next one. Then one right across the middle. The rest I think were between those two. Feels like it, anyway.’ Barrington ran a hand across his bottom again. ‘After the sixth cut, he said I could get up, when I was ready. He put a box of tissues by the chair; but I didn't need them!’ he lied.

‘God, my arse is throbbing, though!’ He touched it gently; it was still too sore to rub. He traced the lowest weal, and winced. ‘Come on lads, follow, me, I need to soak my bum in a washbasin of water.’

With that he strode into the building and several fellows followed.

Picture credit: Generated by Artificial Intelligence (A.I.)

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