The Pompous Headmaster
Original Fiction – for adult eyes only
Drake stood in the study on the rug in
front of the desk, hands behind his back and head slightly bowed, listening to
his pompous headmaster droning on. From the corner of his eye, he saw two crook-handled
canes dangling from the hatstand. Pretty soon he expected to be spreadeagled
across one of the nearby leather armchairs, trousers at his ankles (probably)
and pants at his knees (possibly) for a severe swishing on the bare. Despite
this, he wished the headmaster would just get on with it.
The headmaster’s study was a solemn place,
adorned with portraits of past headmasters and shelves filled with dusty old
books. The desk was an
imposing piece of furniture, made of dark, polished mahogany. Behind
it, the headmaster sat as if on a throne in a sturdy, high-backed, be
well-cushioned, leather chair. It had armrests and a tall back, conveying an
air of authority and gravitas.
On the hatstand with the two whippy,
rattan canes was the headmaster’s academic gown, made of rich, black fabric with flowing
sleeves, and adorned with academic regalia denoting the headmaster’s
qualifications and position. A mortarboard, a flat, square cap with a tassel,
rested atop the gown.
A heavy, foreboding atmosphere hung in the
air.
Dr. Thornton, the headmaster, intoned, his
voice a blend of disappointment and anger, ‘You have once again managed to
disrupt the peace of this school. Your reckless actions cannot go unpunished.
‘You have repeatedly demonstrated a
complete disregard for the rules and the well-being of your fellow students.
‘Discipline is the
bedrock of this institution. It’s what sets us apart, what moulds us into the
men we're destined to be. We have the solemn duty to ensure that this
discipline is upheld.’
‘You are a senior boy
and it is expected that you set an example to others. You have dishonoured the
position of prefect and the traditions of this school.’
Drake stood unmoved. The
headmaster was quite correct; he had deliberately caused an explosion in the
chemistry laboratory that could easily have set the room on fire. The whole
school might have burned to the ground.
The headmaster
demanded an apology: Drake was sorry; sorry that his prank hadn’t caused more
disruption, but he knew better than to tell Dr. Thornton that.
‘Pah!’ the headmaster shifted the weight
of his body and ascended from his throne. The time for speech-making was over,
now was the time for action.
Drake watched, his heartrate increasing as
the headmaster walked from his desk to the hatstand. He looked intently at the
two canes; both were a dark yellow in colour and one was a little longer and
thicker than the other. This was the one the headmaster selected. He turned and
faced Drake; he showed the eighteen-year-old prefect the cane and flexed it
menacingly between his hands.
Drake rubbed the sweat from the palm of
his hands on his trouser leg. Dr. Thornton swished the cane through the air, a
chilling reminder to Drake of the consequences of his actions.
‘Take off your blazer, place it on my
desk.’ The order was stern but also softly spoken. The headmaster expected to
be obeyed. Drake slipped the jacket from his shoulders and folded it carefully
on the shiny desk top. The headmaster flexed the cane once more. ‘Turn that
chair around,’ he nodded to one of the small armchairs that had its back to the
wall. With mounting apprehension Drake took hold of the chair, it was hard to
get a grip on the shiny leather and it was heavier than it looked but he
managed to swivel it. He waited for further instructions.
The headmaster was a bit of a ham actor
and he liked to build the tension at times like these so he flexed the cane
some more and swished it a couple of times. Then, he gave the order, ‘Lower
your trousers.’
Drake had anticipated this eventuality but
still he found his fingers reluctant to obey his brain’s command to unbuckle
his belt and undo the buttons on his fly. The headmaster muttered his
impatience until at last the pale-grey trousers slid down Drake’s legs and
bundled at his feet.
There was another long pause during which
Drake said a silent prayer: ‘Please don’t make me take down my pants.’ But
there is no God: ‘Underpants too,’ the headmaster tormented.
The humiliation of standing half-naked in
front of the headmaster was greater than the pain of a bare-bottomed caning.
Drake had no choice. He could refuse to be caned, and then what? Dr. Thornton
was quite capable of having him hauled in front of the entire school to be held
down over a table for the headmaster to administer a severe birching.
There was no question of disobeying. Drake
turned his back on the headmaster, hoping the grizzly old man wouldn’t see his
private parts and then with a vigour he didn’t really feel he tucked his thumbs
into the waistband of hi pants and in one continuous movement he had them at
his shins. Without waiting for further instruction, Drake rubbed the palms of
his hands together, took a deep breath and hauled himself over the back of the
chair.
‘Head lower boy, legs apart,’ the
headmaster like to add to the tension of the moment, even when these directions
were not strictly necessary. Drake wriggled his legs and his hips and his
buttocks until the headmaster confirmed he was in a perfect situation to
receive his thrashing.
The headmaster gripped the cane and took
three or four paces around the study. The creaking of the floorboards increased
the drama. Drake held his breath when he felt the headmaster take up position
to his left. He heard the cane swish through the air, and Drake clenched his
teeth in anticipation of the inevitable pain. But the headmaster wasn’t ready
yet. He tap-tap-tapped the cane across the centre of the teenager’s buttocks,
pressing it into the naked flesh. Then he ‘sawed’ the cane from left to right
to find his aim. And then … the sharp crack of the cane striking its target
echoed through the room, and Drake gritted his teeth, determined to tolerate
the punishment with stoicism.
He had been caned before; which boy at
Kingsley Court Academy had not (it was that type of school), but never had he
experienced such pain from a single stroke. It was as if the headmaster had
pressed a white-hot wire into his flesh. Drake’s knees buckled and his hips
swayed and he held on desperately to the arms of the chair. Already tears were
forming behind his eyes.
Swish, crack! The cane struck again, and
again. With each stroke, Drake felt the sting and burn intensify, but he
remained resolute. He felt welts rising on his bare bottom and he knew from
painful experience that sitting down any time over the coming hours would be an
ordeal.
The headmaster paused after three strokes.
He did this every time he delivered ‘six-of-the-best’. It gave time for the boy
across the chair to absorb the intense pain before the headmaster continued to
pile on the agony. It also gave the headmaster a moment to admire his own
handiwork. He saw three expertly delivered strokes that landed perfectly
parallel to one another.
He rested the cane on his desk, delved
into his trouser pocket and extracted a handkerchief, which he used to rub
sweat from the palm of his right hand. He replaced the handkerchief to the
pocket and picked up the cane. He resumed the tap-tap-tapping and ‘sawing’ and
satisfied that his ‘eye’ was once again ‘in’ he delivered stroke number four
and was delighted that Drake’s attempt to stifle a yelp was unsuccessful. The
next two had him sobbing uncontrollably.
The headmaster replaced the cane on the
hatstand and with that task completed he looked across at the boy still
submissively bent over the back of the chair. Even from a distance he could
tell Drake’s buttocks throbbed, almost beyond endurance. ‘That’s over, you may
stand,’ he sighed as if he carried all the worries of the world on his
shoulder.
Drake clambered to his feet and obviously
in pain he reached down for his underpants. The headmaster could hardly
disguise his satisfaction at the wince Drake made as the cotton of his
underpants caressed the wounds on his bottom. Soon the trousers were in their
rightful place and buttoned up.
Now the punishment was at an end, Dr.
Thornton spoke with a stern finality, ‘Drake, it is my hope that this time you
will truly learn the importance of discipline and responsibility. You have the
potential to be a fine young man, but you must choose the right path.
‘Remember this
lesson. Discipline is the foundation of success. Remember, Drake, with great
responsibility comes great accountability. Your actions reflect not just on
yourself but on the entire school.
‘You have shown a
lack of respect for the traditions and values of this institution. This is your
opportunity to learn and grow.’
‘I hope this serves as a lesson to you. Discipline
is the bedrock of this institution,’ Dr. Thornton declared, his words echoing
off the mahogany-panelled walls, ‘and it applies to every pupil. Use this
experience to reflect on your actions and strive to become a better person.
‘You are dismissed.’
And with Dr. Thornton’s pompous words
ringing in his ears, Drake hobbled towards the door.
Picture credit: Generated by Artificial
Intelligence (A.I.)
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