An Inspired Idea
Original Fiction – for adult eyes only
Mr Carter was sat in the headmaster’s study
with his 18-year-old son Harry and he was as mad as hell.
‘You see Mr Carter,’ the headmaster spoke
evenly, ‘We found your son and two other Sixth-formers in the cricket pavilion
with a bottle of whisky. It was clear what they intended to do.’
Mr Carter’s eyes blazed, only last weekend
Harry had rolled home drunk at night.
‘I hope you see the seriousness of the
situation Mr Carter. I have no option but to suspend Harold from school pending
a meeting of the school governors who will decide if he should be expelled completely.’
‘Expelled,’ Mr Carter was aghast. ‘I agree
the situation is serious headmaster but is it necessary to suspend him. Can’t
you give him a damn good caning. I give you my permission if that’s a problem.’
‘Alas Mr Carter,’ the headmaster was truly
regretful, ‘you might remember last year the law was passed outlawing corporal
punishment in schools. A caning is no longer an option.’
‘But you agree that there might be an
alternative solution to expulsion.’ A germ of an idea was forming in Mr
Carter’s head. ‘Harold [he never usually called the boy Harold] is not a bad
lad. A bit misguided a times. His school reports say he is quite bright but
doesn’t always apply himself. His mother and I had rather hoped he might go on
to college, university even.’
‘I agree that he has potential, but I’m
afraid my hands are rather tied on the matter. I don’t have any option.’
‘May I ask headmaster, if corporal
punishment had not been banned would you have considered caning Harold with a
warning about his future behaviour. No need for suspension then.’
The headmaster thought for a moment. ‘I
could have been persuaded on that course of action Mr Carter, but as I say …’
Mr Carter interrupted the headmaster
eagerly. ‘What about if I did it.’
‘Did it?’ the headmaster was puzzled.
‘Let me tell you he’s going to get a good
hiding when I get him home. What about if I promised to do that and you saw it
like you had caned him.’
The headmaster was intrigued. He was a
supporter of corporal punishment and he had warned the school governors that
without the availability of the cane they might be forced to take more drastic
measures. A sound Six across the backside could put most boys back on the straight
and narrow. It was quick, simple, and effective. There was no need to involve
parents or to expel pupils.
Mr Carter continued, ‘I think you agree
with me headmaster that expelling Harold would be disastrous to his future. He
would miss exams and there would go any chance he might have for college. What
do you say headmaster?’
‘I agree that we do not want to jeopardise
his future unduly,’ the headmaster liked Mr Carter’s directness. If only the
parents of the other two culprits had the man’s imagination.
Mr Carter saw by a look in the headmaster’s
eye that he had hooked him.
‘I have an idea headmaster. Lend me a cane
and I’ll cane him here and now, so that you can see the job is done properly.’
‘Dad…’ Harry blubbered, speaking for the
first time since they had entered the study.
Both the headmaster and his dad ignored his
protest.
‘Unfortunately, Mr Carter I no longer have
any canes, they were removed at the end of last term.’
Undeterred Mr Carter leaned forward in his
chair. ‘Then it’ll have to be a spanking. Let me spank him in front of you. I
can do it right away.’
Harry’s face was beetroot. His dad had
threatened him with a good hiding last weekend if he was caught drinking. He
had meant it too. The last time he had his son across his knee the boy had been
fifteen. Harry thought he was too old then, but now he was eighteen.
‘Yes, I agree,’ the headmaster was captivated.
‘Good man. You won’t regret it.’ Mr Carter
stood up and removed his jacket and looking round the study, he hung it on a
coat stand in the corner. Then without fuss he moved the chair he had been
sitting on further into the middle of the room. He snapped his fingers at
Harry, ‘You. Get that blazer off. Hang it up.’ The headmaster was impressed by
Mr Carters sense of command, the headmaster would never click his fingers but
he adopted the same stern tone with pupils when he was about to punish them.
‘Get over here,’ Mr Carter sat on the chair
and waited for Harry to obey. The boy was nearly six foot tall and stood looking
down on his father. ‘Get those trousers down.’
‘Daddd!!’ Harry was close to tears. It was
bad enough being spanked by his dad, and in front of the headmaster but the
ultimate humiliation would be to drop his trousers and show his underpants.
‘I’m waiting,’ Mr Carter’s anger was
genuine. He feared hi son had a drink problem and as his father he must make an
intervention. A sound spanking would be the first step towards Harry’s
redemption.
Despite his deep embarrassment and with
trembling hands Harry dealt with the buckle of his belt and the trousers’ fly
and he let the trousers slip down his legs. ‘Bend over my knee,’ Mr Carter said
unnecessarily as his intention was obvious. Harry sucked on his bottom lip, perspiration
began to form on his forehead. He rubbed his sweaty palms together and without
a word he leaned forward and spread himself over his dad’s knees.
The eighteen-year-old’s bottom filled out
his white cotton Y-front underpants. Mr Carter had not previously noticed Harry
had quite an athletic body, the teenager’s bottom was rock hard and the muscles
in his legs and back were well formed.
The headmaster watched fascinated while Mr
Carter took a moment to push the boy’s shirttail away from the buttocks and to
grip the elasticated waist the pull the cotton tighter across his cheeks. They
now fitted like a second skin. Mr Carter raised his hand high and brought it
crashing down across the centre of Harry’s right cheek. The spanking was rapid,
rat-a-tat-tat, with maybe one slap per second hitting home. In no time Mr
Carter had covered the entire target: both cheeks, high, low and across the
peaks of the mounds. The headmaster watched with unconcealed admiration: Mr
Carter was clearly a master.
After a couple of minutes Mr Carter paused
and looking at the palm of his hand for dramatic effect he said, ‘This is no
good, my hand’s hurting more than his backside. Headmaster do you have
anything?’
The headmaster looked puzzled.
‘Do you have a slipper or a hairbrush or
something. Oh sorry,’ Mr Carter ginned he had only just noticed the headmaster
was as bald as a coot and had no legitimate use for a hairbrush.
The headmaster opened and closed the
drawers of his desk as if he genuinely expected there might be a slipper or a
brush concealed.
‘Perhaps your secretary …’ Mr Carter added
lamely.
‘No here,’ the headmaster reached in a
drawer and triumphantly extracted a 12-inch solid wooden ruler. It would be as
effective a spanking tool as any paddle.
‘Excellent,’ Mr Carter reached for it
eagerly. ‘The very job,’ he took it in his fist and returned his attention to
his son who had been laying submissively across his lap. ‘You know what,’ Mr
Carter said as if only to himself, ‘These serve no useful purpose at a time
like this.’ He took hold of the waist of the white cotton underpants.
‘Dad!’ Harry shrieked and he wriggled his
body and kicked his legs in a fruitless attempt to free himself. In no time his
dad had the pants at the boy’s knees. ‘You’ll thank me for this one day. When
you graduate college and have a good career,’ his dad chided. There was a
reddish blush on Harry’s cheeks but no sign really that so far the spanking had
caused him much discomfort. That was about to change.
Mr Carter whacked the ruler hard and
rapidly across the left cheek. Immediately red tattoos appeared in the shape of
the rectangular ruler. That gave him
encouragement to do the same on the other buttock. It was as if Harry had
suddenly wakened. He twisted and turned and his kicked his legs and waved his
arms, it was like he was trying to swim away off his dad’s lap. Mr Carter held
his left arm around the boy’s boy and continued his relentless spanking. Gentle
‘ow, ow ows’ soon increased to yaps and fall out yells.
The headmaster watched with growing alarm.
The sound of the whacks of wood against bare flesh resounded around the study
and the boys hollering must surely be heard down the corridor. He was pleased
that this secretary had gone home for the evening, but the school janitor might
be lurking somewhere nearby.
‘Mr Carter, Mr Carter,’ he protested, ‘Perhaps,
that is enough,’
‘Not yet, headmaster, Mr Carter gasped.
‘Not yet,’ and he aimed his ruler at the undersides of Harry’s naked cheeks and
across the back of his thighs. That had the lad hollering more than before.
‘Mr Carter, I must insist,’ the headmaster
snapped.
‘Sorry headmaster,’ Mr Carter panted, ‘I
only wanted to do the job properly.’
‘Well, I think we can agree you have done
that.’
Mr Carter released his grip on his son and
the boy shot to his feet and dragged first his underpants and then his trousers
up. The pain was obvious. His hair was soaked with sweat and his eyes swam with
tears.
‘I hope headmaster, there will be no more
talk of suspensions,’ Mr Carter said as he reached for his jacket. His back was
soaked with perspiration and he decided not to put it on.
‘Indeed, Mr Carter. It was an inspired
idea.’
‘Come on you; home,’ Mr Carter pushed Harry
towards the door leaving the headmaster to worry about how he should deal with
the other two miscreants.
Picture credit: Sting Pictures
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