KEVIN PETTIFER: THE WARDEN
An Erotic Short Story
by
Jason Land
This is the third and last of a group of three related stories:
Petty Officer Pettifer
Pettifer the Gay Disciplinarian
Kevin Pettifer – The Warden
CHAPTER 1
Kevin Pettifer: Warrant Officer Kevin Pettifer, to give him his full title, stood, cane still in his hand, and looked with a sense of great personal satisfaction at the richly welted, muscular arse of the young man whom he had just finished beating who was still strapped across the punishment horse. Applying correction in the form of severe corporal punishment with a well-chosen, top quality, rattan-cane, in this case two dozen swingeing cuts, to the backside of the young delinquent, a cadet named Brian May, was part and parcel of his daily life as Chief Physical Education Officer and Head of Discipline aboard HMTS Great Endeavour: a floating training ship for hard core, young miscreants aged from sixteen to eighteen years old, owned and operated by the British Royal Navy in conjunction with the Department of Juvenile Corrections of the Home Office.
The punishment which Pettifer had just administered was the maximum allowed on any one occasion. It was rarely used, even onboard the Great Endeavour, which had a fair number of really violent, stop-at-nothing, young tearaways among its detainees; but Brian May, a violent young man aged just seventeen, had been caught with a knife in his hand threatening another cadet whom he had already thrown to the floor and kicked almost unconscious. So not surprisingly, the most severe of punishments was totally appropriate and Kevin Pettifer had had no compunction in giving the lad the hiding of his life.
Kevin had just recently been promoted from his previous rank of Chief Petty Officer to that of Warrant Office, the highest of the non-commissioned ranks, in recognition of his outstanding service on the Great Endeavour: quite an achievement for a young man who had pulled himself in less than a decade, out of a miserable, dead-end, and prospect-less life in a run-down part of Bradford. It can safely be said that Kevin was satisfied with his life aboard ship. As a physical fitness buff himself, he enjoyed being in charge of the physical education of the detainees; but he took equal pride in his disciplinary work: administering corporal punishment with a well applied rattan cane to the naked arses of the cadets and even occasionally to the younger sailors, whenever they deserved it. To be frank Kevin actually enjoyed, as many men do, the act of flagellation. He really wished he didn’t feel that way, but the fact of the matter was whenever he took up the cane – which was a fairly frequent occurrence – and applied it to a lad’s naked arse, he became sexually aroused; on-board ship, all beatings were always applied to the culprit’s naked arse, by the way. In fact the cadet who was being punished was totally naked, having been made to take off his only garment, his shorts, which he had been wearing as he was marched from the showers to the punishment room.
But today, the sense of satisfaction and pride in a job well done was particularly significant for Kevin Pettifer. Brian May was precisely the five hundredth cadet – they were referred to as cadets, but they were, in fact, detainees: prisoners on board the Great Endeavour – to have had the doubtful pleasure of having his arse beaten by Kevin. As our story opens in the year 2031, Kevin, now aged thirty, had been on board the Great Endeavour for just over five years and in that time has administered some hundred separate beatings a year since assuming his post. With that impressive number under his belt, one had to believe that Kevin Pettifer knew a thing or two about laying on the cane.
And it has to be said, that Kevin Pettifer was second to no one when it came to wielding the cane; as many a misbehaved cadet could testify to his sorrow, when he left the punishment room with his arse well and truly roasted and burning with pain. Kevin Pettifer was an absolute master at delivering the maximum pain – the object of the exercise – but without ever breaking the victim’s skin. He had a knack of looking at the pair of naked buttocks requiring his attention; of choosing the right cane with which to thrash them; always to maximum effect. It was this dedication to duty which had earned him a promotion to the rank of Chief Petty Officer after only two years and now to the highest non-commissioned rank of Warrant Officer. Strictly speaking he should now pass-on the task of wielding the cane to an officer below him; or even to a leading hand; but Kevin Pettifer was very attached to the administration of corporal punishment and he was not inclined to relinquish a task which, in spite of his own feelings of inner guilt, he knew he enjoyed.
Kevin Pettifer after five years of intense experience with the cane was both totally dedicated to its use and equally convinced of the beneficial effects that a good beating brought to any young miscreant who was interned for correction on board to the Great Endeavour. By now a consummate expert with the cane, he was an absolute master of precision who could place any stroke to land exactly where he chose. An inexperienced observer surveying the damage to Brian May’s arse would have said that the young man had been given a twelve cut beating, as to the casual eye, twelve, deeply-cut, well-defined welts were clearly visible; he would however, have been wide of the mark; for what to the untutored eye appeared at first glance to be a single deep welt, was, in fact the result of two separate strokes, the second of which had been overlaid with perfect precision on the first. Now anyone who knows the slightest thing about the finer points of corporal punishment with the cane will be aware of the fact that this precise overlaying of one stroke by another requires not only great skill, but also delivers indescribable pain to the recipient.
So to say after two dozen resounding cuts with the cane across his bare arse that Brian May was in pain was a total understatement of how he felt at that precise moment: he was in absolute, mind-bending agony; little wonder that the young man was in tears, for who under the circumstance would not have been? But Kevin Pettifer was always totally unmoved by the tearful histrionics which often accompanied his lavish administration of what he liked to think of as tender, loving care. Anyone who had the privilege of watching him in action realised that they were they witnessing what was little short of a master-class in the not-so-gentle act of corporal chastisement; like all professionals, Kevin Pettifer enjoyed what he was doing and put his heart and soul into it. He was not basically a sadistic man and never ever beat anyone who did not merit it; but when he exercised his duty, as he regularly did several times each week, he had nevertheless that that slight touch of sadism in his make-up, which elevated his performances with the cane to a level of perfection which few could equal. In a word, Kevin Pettifer was exceptionally accomplished in the art of beating arse, which he had, over the past five years, succeeded in elevating to an art form in its own right. In a word, he was the ideal man for the job he held and was personally completely satisfied with his naval life.
Whilst one’s first instinct is to feel sorry for Brian May and sympathise with him in his undoubted misery, such sentiments would be totally misplaced. Brian May, now approaching eighteen, was a hardened, serial offender, who had no thought for anyone but himself. He had, since the age of thirteen, been sentenced by a series of magistrates to short periods at various reform schools up and down the country, usually accompanied by a severe schedule of repeated corporal punishment; but to no avail; for as soon as he was released he took up again where he had left off and his misdemeanours restarted with ever increasing violence. The final straw, which had broken the proverbial camel’s back, was when he was brought before the magistrate of the day after having snatched a handbag from an old lady whom he had then knocked down and broken her arm in his rush to escape. That crime had led to a two year sentence aboard the Great Endeavour where such miscreants as he were subjected to a rigorous programme aimed at turning them into useful citizens to be released at the end of their sentence, hopefully reformed, into society – or so went the theory. It goes practically without saying that aboard the Great Endeavour, rigorous corporal punishment figured regularly in the agenda of the said reform programme; and as to Brian May, disobedience and thuggery were inseparable, he was a regular visitor to the punishment room where Kevin Pettifer had no compunction at all in subjecting the lad’s arse to the most severe and excruciatingly painful punishment.
In view of the of May’s violent nature, Kevin had had his long-term assistant, Stephen Shaw in attendance together with two of his strongest, able seamen; they had accompanied May to take the obligatory shower before he was punished and had then marched him, stark naked, directly to the punishment room where they had strapped him immobile, firmly in place on the beating horse ready for Kevin to work his magic with the cane on the lad’s arse. The two attendant sailors were both splendid, muscular specimens of young manhood and dressed as they were for the occasion – tight, crotch-hugging trousers and sleeveless T shirts which were moulded to their pectoral muscles and exposed their bulging biceps, any observer would have realised that these two young studs – for that is what they were – were in that high state of sexual arousal that observing a beating so very often incites; in a word, after having watched their superior officer shred May’s arse, they were both ready for sex. And sexual arousal was not limited to them. After five years of regular experience with the cane, whenever Kevin Pettifer stood over a pair of naked buttocks on which he was about to lavish the care for which had achieved fame – or possibly more accurately put – notoriety, that faithful indicator of erotic arousal between his legs never failed to rise to the occasion. and the same thing was true to Stephen Shaw his assistant.
Buggery, as a pastime, was officially banned in the Royal Navy, but making rules was one thing and enforcing them quite another. Kevin Pettifer, as a discrete but active gay himself, was well aware that as soon as he withdrew from the present scene, May’s arse would find itself declared open season and would be given at least two very thorough shaftings by the two sailors before he was released from the horse and allowed to retrieve his berth to nurse his very sore backside. Kevin knew as sure as night follows day that that would happen. As a gay man himself and regular practitioner of the gentle art of anal sex, he was all too well aware that in the all male environment in which so many young men, whether cadets, detainees or even the navy crew, quite irrespective of rank, found themselves, male-male sexual intercourse was inevitable.
I say male-male rather than homosexual sex, as many of the young men who indulged in the practice were not gay at all; it is just that human nature being what it is, and being young males, they needed sex with another warm body and as females were not available, they did the only think they could: they fucked each other. Usually it was purely a case of sheer lust, but human sexual behaviour being notoriously unpredictable, occasional true loving relationships did develop. In the main such permanent relationships were among crew members, who were more or less permanently assigned to the ship; and on board the Great Endeavour, there were a number of long term relationships, among which were Kevin Pettifer and his partner, the young rating called Stephen Shaw. In fact, at the time the above incident took place, Kevin and Stephen were an item and had been so for over four years. After a beating, Kevin and Stephen usually finished up together in bed, releasing the erotic tension which had been built up during the beating in an orgy of gay sex.
But to return to Brian May, still stretched in his naked agony across the beating horse; Kevin Pettifer finally put down the cane and told the two young sailors that they should attend to what was euphemistically called the clear-up. As he himself turned towards the door and prepared to leave to take a well-deserved, long, warm shower in his own cabin, he heard the inimitable sound of trouser flies being unzipped; and as he glanced back, he saw both the young studs were pulling off their T shirts and one had already undone the belt of his pants, as with obvious enthusiasm they prepared to give May’s arse a final dose of a different sort of rod before releasing him from the horse and letting him limp off back to his own berth. Kevin smiled inwardly to himself as he thought of what were, judging from the bulging crotches of the two sailors, two large, rock-hard cocks and where they would very shortly be docked. He doubted that what the unfortunate Brian May was shortly about to experience would fall into the category of anything vaguely approaching the concept of tender, loving care.
Both young studs were totally erotically aroused by the beating they had just witnessed and they now wanted – indeed needed – to release the sexual tension which had built up; and that release was to be attained by fucking Brian May’s arse. May himself who like many of his ilk was in some ways wise beyond his years; knew that his anus was about to be battered sequentially by two large cocks whose owners were interested only in their own sexual satisfaction; this was to be anal sex at its most brutal; May was to have his anus stretched and fucked hard in quick succession and there was not a damn thing he could do to prevent it. Of course May, like so many of his co-detainees, was not a novice in the matter of either the giving or the receiving of anal sex. Nor was this the first time that he had been beaten and then subsequently fucked; for the combination of a beating followed by a fucking was an absolute classic in the reform school ambit with which he was only too familiar.
And had he been asked whether he would like to have – to put it at its most delicate – his anus sexually stimulated, he might well have said yes. As one wag put it: “If you know you are going to be fucked and cannot avoid it, then you might as well sit back and enjoy it.” And it is quite true as May himself knew from past experience, that anal sex, even when brutal, can still be enjoyable for the receiver. And strange to relate it is a fact that anal sex immediately after a beating can have a very soothing effect on the recipient. So even though Kevin Pettifer more or less knew what was in store for May, he did not worry too much; in fact, he did not worry at all; to be brutally honest, he never gave the matter another thought; Brian May did really deserve all that was coming to him.
CHAPTER 2
Kevin Pettifer was just dressing himself again after his shower when an ensign knocked on his door, bearing a verbal message: “Sorry to disturb you sir, but the Commander would like to see you as soon as possible.” Kevin quickly put back on his full uniform and cap and reported fully dressed to the cabin of the ship’s commanding officer, a young upper-class, commissioned officer, Commander Simon Devere-Savile. As the Great Endeavour, although afloat, could hardly be said to be at sea as she had been moored just of Plymouth for the last five years, the Admiralty, in its infinite wisdom, had seen fit to dispense with a fully experienced, sea-going captain and had put a lower ranking officer in charge. Simon Devere-Savile was the latest of a series of young men who had been condemned for a year or so, to do their stint aboard the Great Endeavour, a posting which was seen as a sort of a half-way house to better things. The Royal Navy was there to defend the country and win wars but not to try to act as a reform school for irredeemable young miscreants; or anyway that was the generally held opinion; the Great Endeavour was considered by the upper echelons at the Admiralty as a bit of a joke: an anachronism, where an upper class twit like Devere-Savile, a classical example of a chinless-wonder, could be parked for a couple of years in the knowledge that he could not do too much damage.
The commissioned officers, especially the likes of Devere-Savile who anyway came from a privileged, upper-class background, found it very difficult to engage socially with members of lower ranks. On this occasion, Kevin could see from the outset that his commanding office was really very ill at ease with him. He had, of course, no idea why he had been summoned to this meeting. Dispensing with any attempt at small talk, Devere-Savile plunged straight into the matter at hand: “Pettifer, thank you for coming; stand at ease as I have some rather momentous and somewhat disturbing news to impart to you. I have just been informed by the Admiralty that at the end of this year, the rehabilitation mission aimed at the young miscreants on board the Great Endeavour will be terminated. In fact, the decision has been taken to sell off the Great Endeavour for scrap. The Admiralty has found that with it budgets severely curtailed, it can no longer afford to support the ship and its activities and as the Department of Juvenile Corrections, which as you know depends on the Home Office, is unwilling to pick up the entire tab for the Great Endeavour, I am afraid that this is the end of the long collaboration between the Navy and them. So, Pettifer, I am afraid at the end of this year you will find yourself looking for a new job in the Navy, if that is where you wish to remain; but I see looking at your file, that you signed on for five years, which period comes to an end more or less at the end of the year, at which time you will be free, if you so wish, to leave the Navy. However, I am sure, given your sterling services aboard this ship over the past five years, the Navy will only be too happy to find you another posting.”
So that was it; come the end of the year Kevin would be out of a job. And not only would he be jobless, but the entire crew would also be posted elsewhere. So not surprisingly, the problem uppermost in his mind was what he and his long-standing partner, Leading Hand Stephen Shaw, were to do. This unlikely sexual liaison between Kevin, a non-commissioned officer, and Stephen, a rating had endured for more than four years. Kevin and Stephen had been an item almost from the day they first met; it had been love at first sight which had occurred in the punishment room as Kevin wielded the cane on some poor unfortunate lad’s backside; and for both of them nothing in the intervening time had shaken their devotion to each other; theirs was a match made in heaven.
It is probable that the entire crew knew of their liaison, but in public both young men conducted themselves with utter decorum. Shaw always showed the expected deference due to his superior officer and in turn Pettifer treated his lover no differently to any other rating. But now their liaison faced a serious problem; how were the two to keep together when the Great Endeavour finally sank into the oblivion of the breaker’s yard? One way or another, Kevin had to to find a solution which would allow Stephen and him to remain together. Even to think that they might have to split up, make Kevin feel sick; it was just one of those things which could never be allowed to happen. For Kevin, Stephen Shaw was an indispensable and permanent part of his life as vital to him as was the air he breathed; and it has to be said that Stephen felt exactly the same about Kevin: they were a totally inseparable pair.
Kevin had really no idea what he should do, but fate, as it so often does, intervened some three weeks later, in the form of an official looking letter in an OHMS brown paper envelope, from the Department of Juvenile Corrections – the DoJC for short – which arrived out of the blue addressed to him. This contained an invitation and a travel warrant – first class no less – inviting him to go to London for a preliminary discussion about a new, as yet undefined, post which was about to be created and for which the writer of the letter at the DoJC thought he might be the ideal candidate. It was signed by a person unknown to Kevin, but who had the title: Principal Undersecretary. Armed with his invitation, Kevin sought and obtained permission from his CO, Commander Devere-Savile, to attend the interview and a few days later left the doomed Great Endeavour for a visit to London where he presented himself at the appointed hour at the offices of the DoJC.
As befits a British Government Department, Kevin’s interlocutor – I rather like that word as it sounds very-upmarket, which is precisely what the man who had issued the convocation – another up-market word – was. Clearly a member of that rarefied fraction of British society, which consider itself as being made up of the great and the good, Mr. Ronald Geoffrey Chalmers, for that was his name, Principal Undersecretary of…etc. etc. etc., addressed Warrant Office Kevin Pettifer RN in that slightly disdainful and condescending manner that so many of the British upper classes still affect as if it were their God-given right,whenever they deal with someone whom they consider beneath them in the social hierarchy, but with whom they are, nevertheless, forced to have – as they would surely refer to it –social intercourse – more commonly called talk. (Oh yes; don’t delude yourselves; class distinction is very much alive and well in Britain!)
“Well Pettifer (note the absence of his naval rank or even the honorific civilian civility: Mister) I am glad you were able to come today. Now to get down to the matter at hand immediately, I believe I am correct in saying that for the past five years you have been in sole charge of charge of physical education and – more importantly; indeed much more importantly in the view of many members of this Department, including, I have to say myself – discipline on board the training ship the Great Endeavour. Now as you probably know, the Royal Navy, in what passes for its infinite wisdom, has seen fit to tell us that it can no longer afford the luxury of what it quite correctly describes as a floating reform or approved school for a group of dyed-in-the-wool, irredeemable miscreants for whom it quite rightly, in fact, feels no responsibility whatsoever. It has therefore decided to scrap the ship at the end of this year and sell it off to the breaker’s yard. All this, Pettifer, I am sure you already know.”
“However what you may not know is that this department has been left holding the financial bag by this unilateral move on the part of the Navy; so we now find ourselves with some two hundred or so dangerous, young miscreants on our hands. We have therefore to find a solution of what to do with these youths, who are generally considered to be among the worst and most dangerous of young offenders, which is why they were isolated from society from the start on – well let’s not mince words and call it what it really is – a prison ship, from which escape is well nigh impossible. So we have decided to create a new, high security, approved facility designed specifically to house and hopefully reform just such hardened and physically dangerous, repeat offenders as you presently have under your care on the Great Endeavour.”
“The Department of Juvenile Corrections has had the good fortune to acquire, at a knock down price, a group of school buildings in a small town called Moulton-Midmarsh located on the Cambridgeshire fens. As these premises have been until recently used for more than a century as a boys’ public boarding school, they are more or less ready for immediate occupation with only a few minor modifications. Now Pettifer, I have read your file very closely and you appear to have done an excellent job of maintaining order on board the Great Endeavour, aided of course by the re-introduction by the Home Office some years ago of corporal punishment; I see from your file that you are considered an expert in matters of administering corporal punishment and that you have never flinched from wielding the cane, on the backsides of any of the detainees on board the Great Endeavour whenever it was merited.
Along with most of the general public, I share the view that a good sound beating never did a boy – or even a young man, for that matter – any harm; and frankly in a reform establishment where young miscreants are confined against their will, I and many like me, feel corporal punishment to be an essential element of daily life. And in your favour Pettifer, according to the comments in our file made by several of your superior officers, you appear to be someone who administers punishment without fear or favour both to the internees, whom you – quite mistakenly in my own view – grace with the title cadets, which they probably do not deserve, but also to the younger seamen ratings when, as they so often do, merit it. So Pettifer, to come to the crux of the matter before us, we think you might be the ideal man to take charge of the new reform school at Moulton Midmarsh, to which we shall move these worst of humanity who are at present on board the Great Endeavour. So for them and I suppose for you too, it will be more or less home from home.”
Kevin had listened to this discourse in total silence and when Chalmers had finished he could scarcely believe what he had heard. So scraping himself up off the floor where he had been metaphorically thrown by this totally unexpected announcement he said: “You mean sir – he automatically deferred as he always did to someone in authority, even though Chalmers was in no way in charge of him – that you are offering me the job of running the new school at Moulton Midmarsh.”
“That Pettifer, is quite correct; we are, in fact offering you the post of Warden of the Moulton-Midmarsh Correctional Facility for Young Offenders, for that is the somewhat portentous official name which has been chosen for this new establishment. In a word you will be totally in charge of the new facility and for the staff under you – and of course for the inmates. Now as to the terms of your appointment…….”
It is safe to say that Kevin Pettifer walked away from that meeting on air as he made his way back to the station to take the train back to Plymouth. He had had no idea – none at all – why he had been summoned to London; and now here he was with a contract in his pocket which only had to be signed to become effective and he would become the head and chief organiser of the new approved school; literally the master of all he surveyed; it was totally surreal; he could barely believe his good fortune. He had no clear idea where Moulton Midmarsh was; but did that matter? This was a job opportunity in a million and the salary was to be more than twice what he had been earning as a Warrant Officer in the Royal Navy. And to boot, this was an approved, reform school catering for exactly the sort of miscreant youths who needed the hands-on discipline with the cane at which he excelled; whether the lads would leave reformed was questionable; but at least they would know, after a year or so of discipline under Kevin Pettifer, exactly how painful a well-skinned arse could be and what an undesirably unpleasant state of affairs it was to its owner.
But more important than all these considerations, was the fact that he and his partner, Stephen Shaw, would not have to be separated, which for both young men would have been a fate worse than death; they had, over a four year period, become a solid item, as inseparable as if they had they been soldered together at the hip. But in total charge of the new school and its organisation, Kevin could offer Stephen a decent job there. And so it was with a feeling of unalloyed elation that Kevin returned to the Great Endeavour to impart this good news to his partner.
That night, in bed, Kevin and Stephen celebrated their good luck in what can but be described as a frenzied orgy of joyous, anal copulation. It is safe to say that never had they experienced together such intense sex; Kevin treated his partner to one of the hardest, but what was for both of them, one of the most rewarding anal fucks of their lives; this was followed a little later with a return bout by Stephen, who reamed out Kevin’s arse as if there were to be no tomorrow; he pulled out all the stops and fucked his lover with such unbridled passion, that he brought both of them to what was the greatest orgasmic climax of their long partnership. Both young men thought of themselves as sexual equals in their partnership, which indeed they were; but there is an expression, primus inter pares: the first among equals; and that night this honour had to go to Stephen, who had copulated like a prisoner released from his chains.
A little later, looking back at the occasion, both young men realised that their unbridled love making had been an outlet, both physical and spiritual, for the mutual relief that they now felt from the knowledge that they would not be parted from each other when Great Endeavour went to the scrap-yard at the end of the year. Of course neither of them were absolutely what the future would be like or exactly what Stephen’s position in the new school would be as Kevin still had to give some thought to that; but as they lay contentedly in each other’s arms that night, they both could bask in that priceless commodity: peace of mind.
It has to be remembered that the relationship between Kevin, a non-commissioned officer and Stephen, a leading hand was truly exceptional; the three ranks (commissioned officers, non-commissioned officers and ratings) did not normally fraternise; and even within the ranks, men knew their exact place and status and deferred, as had always been the case, to their superiors. So the intimate relationship which Kevin and Stephen had for several years enjoyed, was totally exceptional; indeed it was practically inconceivable in naval or military thinking. Ranks were rigidly respected otherwise discipline and strict obedience, which were the backbone of the entire structure of any military or naval force, would become impossible. But it has to be said in spite of their intimacy – and no two men could be more intimate than Kevin and Stephen were in private – in public they both always followed strict navy protocol to the letter; Stephen, the rating, always deferred to Kevin, the NCO. So strictly did they observe this protocol, that on one ghastly occasion for both of them, Kevin found himself obliged to give his partner a fifteen stroke caning to which he had been sentenced by a sub-lieutenant who had caught Stephen asleep on duty.
Kevin had been beside himself with what he was obliged to do to Stephen; but his position and duty demanded it of him and so he could do no other but obey. And as he looked down on his lover stripped naked across the beating bench and saw that beautiful pair of undefiled buttocks, which he knew so well in a totally different context but which he was now obliged to shred, he had to steel himself to bring the cane crashing down as his duty demanded of him and leave his partner writhing in agony after a severe fifteen stroke beating. And there was no question either of soft-pedalling on the punishment, as the young sub-lieutenant who had sentenced Stephen to the punishment had insisted on being present. But that same evening as they later lay together as lovers in bed, things between them had not changed one iota; Kevin and Stephen were a totally inseparable item: a match made in heaven.
CHAPTER 3
Although at the time of his appointment Kevin Pettifer was unaware of the fact, the school buildings in which the portentously named Moulton-Midmarsh Correctional Facility for Young Offenders was to be housed, had been purpose built by the Home Office in 1899 to house a brand-new reform school then called Moulton-Midmarsh Reform School. A totally new concept at the time of its creation, the school had survived only ten years before being close down due the scandalous mistreatment of the inmates by the then Warden. The buildings had then been taken over by a newly-founded, boy’s public school which, thanks to a very generous old-boy benefactor, had, after over a hundred year of occupancy, just moved out to more modern premises. And now in 2031, the Government of the day had re-acquired the buildings on behalf of the Department of Juvenile Corrections. So after well over a hundred years, the old buildings were again to be used for their original purpose: a reformatory for young offenders, thereby giving credence to the saying: “What goes around comes around.”
Fact can truly be stranger than fiction. But to give the present reader an idea of what and where Moulton-Midmarsh is, I can do no better than lift a paragraph from my earlier writings which describe the place as it was in 1900.
“Moulton-Midmarsh was, and for that matter, still is, a miserable sort of town, stuck in the watery wastes of the fens, which were less well drained then than they are today; for as its name so graphically describes it, it was located more or less in the middle of a great watery wasteland. Its attraction to the powers that be had clearly been the fact that in those days, where movement from place to place was by no means easy, it was, to all intents and purposes, practically isolated from the outside world, as, surrounded almost completely by the road-less fenlands, it was accessible by only one paved road. Even that great Victorian preoccupation, the railway, had not arrived at Moulton-Midmarsh and the nearest station was at Great Moulton, some five miles away. Thus, with the risk of absconding being a real problem from such correctional establishments, the school’s remoteness meant that escape from Moulton-Midmarsh was minimal: there was just nowhere to go or to hide.”
You can easily see why the then authorities had decided to build their new reform school in what was then a very remote place. Of course today, in 2031, it is less isolated than it was in 1900; the proliferation of the motor car in the intervening years has made the place totally accessible. This, coupled with further extensive draining of the fens, which are now given over to intensive vegetable cultivation, has, in the intervening years, turned Moulton-Midmarsh into a thriving and bustling, bilingual English and Polish small country town. But the old school buildings still remain: isolated and insulated from their surroundings by a high and forbidding perimeter wall: originally designed and still capable of exercising its original function: to keep the inmates in. So it was with a sense of adventure, that Kevin Pettifer, now the Warden to give him his proper title, and his – how shall I put it? – band of merry men, arrived in January 2031 to re-incarnate a reform school for the hardest and most irredeemable of repeat young offenders in Britain.
What I have just referred to as his band of merry men, might better be described as a number of young and muscular, highly experienced, ex-Royal Navy regular sailors, who, on board the Great Endeavour, had formed with Kevin the core of the punishment team. Kevin was acutely aware of the magnitude of the task he had taken on as Warden of the new facility, where corporal punishment was to be a daily fact of life for many of the detainees; and so he had persuaded the Department of Juvenile Corrections to twist the arm of the Admiralty and allow him to cherry pick a tried and tested group of experienced, young, strong-armed sailors who brooked nonsense and could be relied upon to quell any insurrections from the more vicious of the detainees.
Of course Kevin was fully aware that quite often his cohorts had exceeded their brief, which was to control the lads being punished; they usually went on, after he had finished administering the beatings himself, to bugger the last available arse before releasing its owner from his bonds over the beating horse and allowing him to go back to his berth to nurse his wounds; but provided he did not know officially about what happened after he had left his last victim to the tender loving care of his assistants, he turned a blind eye. Anyway it was a fact that although many of the lads he had just beaten, were more or less raped after he had left them to the not-so-tender-loving-care of his muscular sand sexually well-endowed assistants; but many of them actually enjoyed the post-beating stimulation of having their arses expertly reamed out by a sexually, well-equipped and well experienced, muscular young stud of a sailor.
So although homosexual relations between any men on board, from commission officers down to the lowest ratings – and let’s face it all ranks from top to bottom indulged in sexual practices of one kind or another – were not against the present law of the land, they were nevertheless frowned upon and actively discouraged – in vain one might add – by the navy. Kevin was acutely aware that his own long-term relationship with Stephen Shaw would not be approved of by his masters, although many of whom, he was sure, were as active sexually as he was, but had to wave the flag in defence of the naval directives; however, there was nothing at all the navy could do to interfere with such relationships provided always that both parties discharged their duties correctly.
And so in formulating his ideas about how Moulton- Midmarsh would be run under his direction, Kevin had already adopted an attitude of tacit acceptance of sexual mores: that there was no way he could control the sexual activities of a group of healthy young males, whether staff or detainees. So homosexual activities between staff members, between detainees, and between staff and detainees would just have to be accepted and lived with; they were part of the daily life of such institutions and no amount of talk would stop them; the human sex drive was just an unstoppable and uncontrollable force and was no respecter of rank.
Kevin was under no illusions that the young men under his care were to be the crème de la crème – or now I come to think about it, better put would be the dregs of the dregs – of British juvenile criminality: a group of young, physically-vicious criminals who would stop at nothing if it benefitted them: a group of young tearaways who had to be fully controlled at all times. And if they fell out of line, as many surely would, they would be controlled and disciplined in the traditional way; the order of the day at Moulton-Midmarsh was to be short, sharp, shock therapy, in the form of the cane and the birch; all approved of and sanctioned for regular and more or less unlimited use under the present laws, in an, alas often vain and unsuccessful attempt to reform and rehabilitate these young men. For it had to be accepted that many of the internees were practically irredeemable, and the excruciating pain of corporal punishment which was applied to their naked arses as a deterrent from future misdemeanours was to many of them akin to an antibiotic to which resistance had developed: it just did not work; it was painful but it had no lasting effect on their behaviour. So many of them would spend the majority of their days in Moulton-Midmarsh sporting very sore backsides with which the school was happy to provide them on a regular basis, in the hope – really a vain hope in many cases – of reforming them. They would leave the school at the end of their sentences to resume their former life as professional criminals: men who would drift in and out of prison all their lives. In a word, they were the equivalent of square pegs, which all the will and force in the world – and Kevin Pettifer had both in spades, neither of which he ever spared – could not hammer into round holes. In many cases he realised that he was dealing with a group of young men who were potential future old lags.
Kevin had no experience of running a reform school other than that which he had gained on board the Great Endeavour. And so he gave a great deal of thought as to how best to set up this new school, of which the Department of Juvenile Corrections, with that metaphorical sigh of relief, was happy to wash its hands and leave to the care of the man they had chosen as Warden. And so Kevin Pettifer, with a large budget at his disposal really was completely in charge. He really was the master of all he surveyed. The DoJC even though it complained of lack of funds, was happy to throw money at the school it and let someone else deal with the problems.
From his Great Endeavour experience, Kevin saw that most of the lads who were detained had no interest at all in learning anything. And so, in the new school he limited formal class-room instructions to what used to be known as the three Rs: reading, writing and arithmetic, all of which were administered to a basically uninterested group of youths in relatively small doses. Then for the rest of the time, the inmates were kept busy running the school. On a rotating basis they all had a hand in doing everything under supervision of muscular young guards each of whom carried a rattan cane at all times and had no compunction in swiping the backside of anyone whom they thought was slacking or making mischief. So, cleaning, cooking, gardening, laundry and so on, were all undertaken by the lads themselves. Additionally they were each made to learn a trade of their choice. Kevin set up tuition in joinery, plumbing, electrical work, brick laying and plastering in the hope that on their discharge the inmates would at least feel that they had a potential means of earning an honest living.
The school premises needed little or no modification for to be suitable for their new inmates. But the question of discipline and corporal punishment were upmost in Kevin’s mind as he organised the new school. The changing rooms and showers were adjacent to the school’s gym. So a spacious used room nearby was designated as the correction room where all corporal punishment, other than those he personally dispensed in his office, would be administered. He installed a professionally built, adjustable beating stool over which delinquent lads meriting punishment could be stretched, strapped down arse-naked and correctly beaten. Lads destined for punishment, which was always administered in the evening straight after supper, were first made to take a shower after which they put on a pair of cotton shorts and were escorted under guard to the corridor outside the punishment room where they waited to be called in to meet their fate.
In a way it was almost giving the lads a taste of what happened in many English public schools, where boys were made to wait nervously outside their Headmaster’s study, often wearing only their gym strips, to be called into face a beating on the bare. It is a psychologically very frightening and unnerving experience for those waiting to be beaten, as tension builds up, leaving them wondering what it will be like in a few minutes when they themselves are stretched across the stool waiting for the rod to bite into the bare skin of their own arses. And once the first lad is in there, and the crack of the rod mating with his bare flesh can be heard through the door, accompanied by the almost inevitable shrieks of pain which such treatments usually evoke, even old hands at the game, begin to tremble with fear. And well they might, for beatings at reform schools, of which Moulton- Midmarsh was to be no exception, are usually much more ferocious than those normally inflicted by a public school headmaster on errant pubic school boys. The rattan cane descends on its objective with that frightening and inimitable swish, before mating viciously and without pity with the bare buttocks of the punishee stretched helplessly across the beating stool; and as stroke follows stroke, the subject’s buns become covered with that close-knit series of deep welts some of which will probably ooze a little blood, where the cane has broken the skin.
Kevin Pettifer had decided that as Warden he would hand over to Stephen Shaw, whom he had appointed as Senior Warder and Chief Disciplinarian, all the regular punishment schedule where the inmates were beaten for misdemeanours committed during their internment. Stephen who had, for the past four years, been Kevin’s right-hand man at all punishment sessions aboard the Great Endeavour, was delighted to be offered this key post for he was as convinced as Kevin on the beneficial effects of the cane on the naked arses of recalcitrant internees. Enthusiastic though he was, he had had no previous experience of wielding the cane himself and felt somewhat nervous at the heavy responsibility which Kevin had laid upon him. But Kevin assured his subordinate and long-term lover, that everything would be OK and that he would have no difficulty at all in applying hard corporal punishment to the naked arses of offenders. Kevin had, however, decided that he would personally still administer all beatings and birchings of new arrivals which had been ordered by the courts and which were increasingly an integral part of the sentence imposed on newly convicted miscreants who were sent to the school.
It has to be remembered that many of these young men were vicious young tearaways: aged but sixteen or seventeen, and already young hardened criminals, they had no compunction in inflicting bodily harm on unsuspecting members of the public. Brain May, was a case in point. With the general reintroduction and acceptance of corporal punishment by the vast majority of the public after the UK had left the European Union, the courts had taken to handing down draconian sentences to young offenders. I was not uncommon for a new arrival at a reform school, such as Moulton-Midmarsh, to find himself not only confined there for two years, but also to arrive with a judicial schedule of mandatory beatings – usually birchings – to his name. Typically a lad aged sixteen or seventeen who had assaulted a member of the public, might find himself facing four or even six birchings during his imprisonment, all of which as ordered by the court had, by law, to be administered after his arrival at the school. Such beating baggage, as it came to be known, was independent of the internee’s behaviour at the school where he was subject to all the strictures and rules which if he broke would lead to another very painful beaten arse. It was just such cases as this that Kevin Pettifer reserved for himself. For a new entrant, there was something quite frighteningly judicial to be faced, more or less on his first day, with a beating from the Warden himself.
CHAPTER 4
As Moulton-Midmarsh was a new school, Kevin had to ensure that the necessary instruments of punishment were to hand. The Department of Juvenile Corrections had designated several school furnishers as suppliers of all requisites and so it was to the catalogues of one such supplier; Universal School Supplies Ltd., that Kevin addressed himself to select the necessary punishment equipment: a sine qua non for a place like Moulton- Midmarsh. The government of the day which had passed the laws reinstating corporal punishment in schools had left the matter very loose. The only restriction was that the number of strokes could not exceed twenty-four on any one occasion and the whip in all its many forms was forbidden. Even that had proved a contentious issue in parliament, as the Scots had insisted that they be allowed to reintroduce the taws, their traditional implement of corporal punishment, which being made of leather was maintained by some observers to be tantamount to a whip. But schools were more or less free to equip themselves with the punishment instruments of their choice; which is what Kevin Pettifer did with considerable relish.
You might think that a cane is a cane other than the diameter of the rod from which is made; however, you would be so wrong. That a simple rod used to thrash boys’ or young men’s arses could have given rise to such a plethora of implements defies the imagination; but given rise it had and the choice was vast. First there was the source of the raw material from which the canes were made: the rattan vine. This is a tropical plant of which the best is considered to be the Indonesian Malaccan rattan vine. But whatever the source, rattan is generally agreed to be the best material from which to make punishment canes. Some canes which are superficially identical to others are cheaper as they are made from what is considered to be an inferior grade of rattan. Frankly, when either of them lands the arse of the unfortunate lad being beaten, I doubt that he would notice the difference. But remember we are in the year 2031 and everything is branded and marketed to death. Punishment canes have not yet appeared on TV advertising but someday soon they probably will, as purveyors try to extend their acceptance into the home, inciting fathers to discipline their sons. Can’t you just see it in a TV advert?
Your son is unruly – you can no longer control him. Why not try a dose of a good old-fashioned, professional rattan-cane across his bare bottom? Experience has shown that a good bare-bottom beating is worth a thousand words. Take advantage of our introductory reduced price offer: 50% discount off the recommended retail price. Choose now from our large selection of professionally-made, traditional, straight-handled, rattan punishment-canes. For full details of this introductory offer and a complete list of canes available, visit our web site: rattanforyou.com
Offer must end December 31st.
But at the end of the day, what makes rattan the best material for punishment canes is that it is denser than bamboo, has a solid structure which splits less after repeated usage and has both the necessary rigidity combined with the flexibility, which when it lands with force on its target, allows it to marry with the anatomy of the individual benefitting from the experience. Other than the density of the original rattan material from which the cane is made, only two factors are important: the calibre or diameter of the cane itself and its length. The rattan cane can be made in diameters ranging from 4 to 12.5 mms and good suppliers offer a range of canes in 1mm increments between those sizes.
Some perfectionist’s in the art of arse-beating keep a full selection of canes, rising in 1 mm increments. Such devotees of the cane claim that they can choose the perfect implement to suit the anatomy being addressed thereby ensuring the addressee has the benefit of a perfect beating.(One does have to wonder though; perfect from whose standpoint: the beater or the beaten?) Cane calibres above 12.5 mm are considered by most practitioners of the (not so gentle) art of flagellation, to be too thick; they are less flexible and tend to lack the essential bite which is so important in producing the much desired welts across a lad’s naked arse which in turn ensure that when he rises from the beating stool he does so sporting a truly well-beaten arse worthy of inspection by his mates. Beyond the diameter, the only other important thing is the length of the cane; the longer the cane, the greater the force when it lands on its target and the greater pain it delivers. So lengths vary from 70 cm to a little over 100 cm. Combine the diameters and the lengths you will see how a simple rod used for arse beating could, and in fact, does occupy several catalogue pages. A simple rigid bamboo rod may not be as effective as a well balanced rattan cane; but believe me; in the right hands it is also a lethal implement capable of delivering real pain; and that at the end of the day is really all that matters.
And then there is the question of the birch; that fabled scourge of yore which was generally the most feared of all punishment implements in English public schools. Kevin had used the birch only occasionally on board the Great Endeavour; however, faced as he now was with new arrivals sentenced by the juvenile courts to one or even several mandatory birchings by the school, he could do little other than accept that the birch would have to become an integral part of the regular punishment scene at Moulton-Midmarsh. And if for newcomers who arrived with a mandatory birching schedule to their names, then why not use it also for the internees, many of whom were regular miscreants and needed sharp correction. The day of the true birch, made of freshly gathered twigs from the eponymous tree or other suitably twiggy shrubs such as the hazel, was long gone. But the supply houses had risen to the occasion and now offered several different options of what I suppose one has to classify as synthetic birches.
The best, or from the recipient’s point of view the worst, of these are made from a number of semi-rigid strands of stressed stainless steel cable enclosed in a polythene outer casing. Firmly anchored into a hollow, metallic handle and made in number of different calibres, these implements, which have a more or less indefinite life, faithfully mimic the true birch; they are capable, thanks to their spreading nature, of inflicting pain across the whole area of a recipient’s arse, unlike the cane which leaves distinct welts. But the great advantage of this modern introduction is the fact that due to the greater density of the material, which gives it greater weight, in the hands of an experienced user, it is capable of inflicting what can but be described as transcendental pain. The old natural birch had long been considered the worst of all punishments; but the pain it delivered fades into insignificance when compared to that of the synthetic birch applied by capable hands.
Kevin Pettifer had spent considerable time perusing the cane and birch pages of the supplier’s catalogue and finally opted for top- quality, Indonesian, Malacca canes; straight handled with a firm leather grip and a full metre long, he selected two different calibres: 6mm and 10mm. He ordered twenty of the lighter canes with which to equip the guards and ten of the heavier calibre, destined for his own use and for general use in the correction room by Stephen Shaw. Then there was the question of the birches; an absolute must in view of the increasing fondness of magistrates to include a schedule of birchings – always the birch and never the cane – along with their custodial sentences. It was Kevin’s intention to administer such mandatory punishments in his own office as well as in the correction room. He therefore ordered four birches, two of each of the 2 and 4 mm calibres. And then there was the need for the professional, adjustable beating-stool; he ordered two of them; one for the correction room as already mentioned earlier and one for his own office, as he had every intention of skinning in private, the backsides of any suitable candidates who arrived with the appropriate – well let us call them – paper qualifications.
CHAPTER 5
The school was fully equipped and the warders had arrived and settled awaiting the first wave of inmates, when another of those brown paper OHMS envelopes arrived from the department of Juvenile Corrections. It was addressed impersonally to the Warden with no mention of his name and read as follows:
Dear Sir,
We have to inform you that the first contingent of young detainees will be arriving at the new Moulton-Midmarsh School in two weeks time. As agreed, the first detainees to be received by the school will be those being transferred from the soon-to-be defunct, correctional facility on board HMTS Great Endeavour. However, the Department has decided that only those most dangerous and difficult to control of the present detainees from the Great Endeavour will be transferred to Moulton-Midmarsh. The remaining detainees will be dispersed and transferred to other similar correctional facilities located across the country.
The Commanding Officer, Commander S. Devere-Savile, has been charged with selecting those detainees who will be transferred to Moulton- Midmarsh. The transfer will be effected by road in a high security coach and the detainees in question will be under armed guard for the entire journey. This Department requires you as Warden of the school, to make sure that you are ready to receive the twenty young men from the Great Endeavour all of whom who will require immediate strict supervision.
According to the report from the Reform Schools’ Inspectorate, who has visited the new facility, it appears that all arrangements for the school to function are in place and therefore you should have no problem in accepting an immediate initial intake of twenty young men from the Great Endeavour. The names of those detainees whom you will receive are listed on the attached schedule and their files will be sent to you in the next few days.
The Department has decided that Moulton-Midmarsh, as a high security establishment where the strictest control and discipline can be exercised over the inmates, will become the prime location for detaining the worst of our young offenders: those hard-core young men who pose a threat to both the general public and to other detainees: young men who require the strictest control and supervision at all times. You will therefore be receiving over the next two months, contingents of young offenders transferred from other correctional facilities across the country, and Moulton- Midmarsh will become the site of choice for the confinement of those youths whom the Department thinks require special supervision and frequent discipline.
The Department also draws your attention to the fact that the juvenile courts throughout the country are handing down ever more severe sentences in an attempt to stamp out juvenile crime. Such sentences are increasingly accompanied by mandatory birching orders. Moulton-Midmarsh, as the prime reform school in the country for such serious young offenders, will be one of the key places of choice to which such young criminals will be sent by the courts. We would draw your attention to the fact that the schools to which such offenders are sent is legally obliged to carry out any mandatory corporal punishments imposed by the courts. We would further add that mandatory birching orders must be carried out with a birch and not with a cane as a substitute. We would therefore suggest that, if you have not already done so, you equip ourselves with a supply of the necessary modern birch rods which may be obtained from one of the approved supply houses, as you will certainly need them in the near future.
Moulton -Midmarsh, is destined to become the most important of all the reform schools in the country and by the end of the first year of operation the Department expects it to be operating at its full, two-hundred inmate, capacity.
Yours Truly,
R. G. Chalmers,
Principle Undersecretary.
Kevin Pettifer and Stephen Shaw, as Warden and Chief Disciplinarian discussed the contents of the letter in bed that evening before they indulged themselves, as they so often did, in a couple of hours of their favourite activity: intense anal copulation; an act which no matter now often and frequently repeated never fails to please. And another thing had to be said now that the two of them were free of the straight-jacketed, rank-conscious, naval atmosphere where position dictated every aspect of life; the relationship between Kevin and Stephen, which had, in spite of going against naval protocol, always been very good, now became even better. Although Kevin was still in charge and Stephen was hierarchically beneath him, they were now very much partners in running a completely new ship. Kevin had realised how lucky he was to have Stephen as an experienced second; and Stephen was relieved that he had Kevin to support him as he started on his rather serious duties of Chief Disciplinarian. It was one thing watching lads being thoroughly thrashed as he had watched Kevin do for the past five years, but quite another to actually carry out the beatings oneself.
“Well, Stephen, there you have it; Moulton-Midmarsh is not to be the place to which the present internees of the Great Endeavour are to be transferred, which is what I understood it to be when I was offered this job. In a word my friend, we are to become the repository of what I can but describe, if it is not a contradiction in terms, as the crème de la crème of the dregs of the dregs of juvenile criminals. Like it or not; that is our future as now programmed by the Department of Juvenile Corrections. So you and I will have to steel ourselves to preside over a group of young tearaways, many of whom are definitely dangerous, good-for-nothing- stop-at-nothing, young thugs, who will eventually number some two-hundred in all; that is the target for the school set by the Department. My guess is that the cane and the birch will never be still for long.”
The day finally dawned when the first contingent of detainees arrived from the Great Endeavour. As Principal Secretary Chalmers had said, Commander Devere-Savile had certainly chosen some of the worst and most vicious elements, twenty in number, among whom was our old friend, Brian May. It was fortunate that armed guards had accompanied these twenty, young, died-in-the-wool, delinquent tearaways from the south coast to Moulton-Midmarsh, for there had already been a serious incident during the journey. For some unknown reason, Brian May, true to form, had pulled a knife and threatened his neighbour with it before being overpowered by the guards. This was the second occasion that May had threatened another cadet with a knife and for which, on the first occasion, Kevin Pettifer had already given the lad a twenty-four stroke – twelve-on-twelve – beating. Pettifer remembered that occasion well; how could he ever forget it? It had been a milestone in his naval career: his five hundredth beating since arriving on the Great Endeavour five years previously. Now here was Brian May again, with an offence which meant that his arse was to be the object of another session of painful loving care from Kevin Pettifer, the Warden and head of the school where May now found himself.
Never one to leave anything to chance given the potentially violent nature of many of his charges, Kevin had arranged to meet the arrivals along with Stephen Shaw, his right-hand man, together with a group of his senior warders, all of whom who were muscular young men, completely capable of quelling any dissent among the new arrivals. Two of the warders, Jessop and Evans, were experienced ex-sailors from the Great Endeavour disciplinary squad, who had been among those transferred to Moulton-Midmarsh at Kevin’s request and knew precisely the drill for dealing with recalcitrant internees such as Brian May. The guards who had accompanied the coach had had the good sense to handcuff Brian May immediately after the knife incident and so there was no problem in dealing with him.
Kevin gave instructions for May to be taken straight the punishment room, told the warders to prepare May for immediate punishment and to send him a message when everything was ready for May to receive his – let us call it inauguration – into the joys of the life ahead of him at Moulton-Midmarsh. The remaining internees were taken to their sleeping quarters and told that the Warden would address them all after supper in the the dining room. Kevin also told the two warders dealing with May that he should later be isolated in a private room where he would sleep alone under close supervision for his first few nights at the school.
“Well Stephen, there you are; an opportunity to initiate you into the gentle art of arse beating has presented itself much sooner than either of us had envisaged. But we should seize this chance, for if anyone needs his arse roasting it is Brian May, as I am sure he is already aware. You and I are shortly going to thrash the living daylights out of the backside of that miserable and dangerously vicious example of the dregs-of humanity. Brian May is a danger to everyone: staff and fellow internees alike; he has to be made to understand that either he changes his ways or faces the next two years with an arse so permanently painful that he will never ever be able to sit down comfortably between beatings. If it sounds severe; well it is. But Brian May has to learn to toe the line or suffer; and with his history, insofar as I know it, believe me, as Warden, I have no compunction at all in making the lad suffer. So as soon as we receive word from the punishment room that May is ready and, let us say – raring to go – you and I jointly will give him the worst and most painful experience of his young life. This is to be a revelatory and exemplary arse warming occasion for May and we must not disappoint the lad; May must get up from his punishment wishing he had not been born.”
A runner, in the form a junior warder, came up from the punishment room and informed the Warden that everything was now ready for him. Two birches, one light and the other heavy together with a selection of brand-new rattan canes had already been placed in the punishment room in readiness for its first client. Kevin and Stephen entered the room to find that May had been stripped totally naked and strapped across the new punishment stool. Both young warders wore only sleeveless gym vests, showing off their superb muscular physiques and their tight trousers were already bulging – attractively or menacingly depending on whose point of view you took – at the crotch. It was obvious to Kevin at a glance, that just the stripping off of May’s clothes and strapping him stark naked over the punishment stool had already had an erotic effect on the two young warders; both were quite clearly metaphorically drooling at the thought of watching May get his arse shredded in the next few minutes.
Kevin smiled inwardly to himself as he took in this highly erotic scene in which Stephen and he were to play the major part. Beating, especially on the bare as it would be done tonight, was always a highly arousing, erotic experience for the onlookers and especially for the likes of Jessop and Evan who had been involved in setting up the scene. A beating itself is practically always guaranteed to harden the cocks of any male observer, not least the two warders who would be entrusted – as they surely would – with what was euphemistically referred to as the post beating clear-up: the ultimate perk attached to their job. And a Kevin knew full well, Jessop and Evans were always very thorough in the post flagellation, clear-up process; Brian May could not have been in more competent or better hands; although he may have taken a different view on the matter.
“So May, once again you have proved yourself unable to control your baser instincts. Frankly May, I would have thought that the beating I gave you earlier in the year on board the Great Endeavour after you had pulled a knife on one of your co-cadets would have served as a lesson to you and helped you moderate your obviously vicious behaviour. But I see by your actions on the coach bringing you here today that I have been proved wrong. Once again you threatened one of your companions with a knife and for that you are now stretched naked across the beating stool. You, young man, are one of the worst type of offenders and need to be taught a lesson yet again; and as you probably remember from your previous experience with me, I pride myself on the fact that I am a very good teacher: an excellent one in fact, as I shall shortly have the pleasure – probably all mine under the circumstances – of reminding you.
The last time I beat you was a special occasion for me, in that on that day you were precisely the five hundredth cadet whom I had beaten over my five years as Chief Disciplinarian on the Great Endeavour; so as you can see, I had not shirked my responsibilities, which I still take very seriously. Well your punishment today – and you are to be punished as even you must have divined from the position and state of undress in which you now find yourself – will be exemplary in terms of its extreme severity, in the hope that you will finally realise that unless you mend your ways you will find your backside in a permanent state of agony throughout your entire time at this school. And May, I can tell you that you are the first of the internees of this newly founded school to have the distinction of being punished in this newly furnished correction room with its brand new equipment. And so May you will have the pleasure of knowing that this evening, you will be enjoying the maiden performance of the birches and canes to be used on your arse. But make no mistake, Brian May, unless you improve your behaviour, the thrashing which Chief Disciplinarian Shaw and I are jointly about to give you may be taken as the norm. I hope I make my position and yours quite clear. May; I shall have no hesitation in ensuring that your backside reaps the painful harvest of any further of your bad behaviour.”
May remained sullenly silent whilst Kevin was speaking before uttering one phrase: “You can bloody-well fuck off! And that goes for the lot of you!”
Kevin went across to the stool and adjusted its height so that May’s arse was well and truly stretched. He then picked up the lighter of the two birches, stood on May’s left side, laid the birch gently across May’s naked buns, tapped it around for a few seconds before raising it high above his head and bringing it down with a swishing sound to land right across the centre of May’s right bun. Now the old, traditional birch made of twigs did not appear very painful at the first stroke; it was the gradual build up of pain to an almost unbearable level as stroke followed stroke that gave it its reputation as the worst of all punishments. But the modern, synthetic implement was quiet different; the greater weight of the polythene-covered strands of tressed steel wire ensured that every single stroke delivered immediate and absolute agony to the recipient. The efficacy of this new birch was evident when immediately after the first stroke, Brian May let out a shrill cry of pain and an oath: “You bloody mother fucker; what do you fucking-well think you are doing to my arse?”
Kevin ignored May’s outburst but noted mentally that on future occasion the lad would have to pay for his use of the foul language he had just uttered. But at that moment Kevin was more interested in the results of that first stroke of what for him was a brand-new instrument of punishment. He saw that the strands of the birch had spread themselves out and that with his first stroke he had covered the centre of May’s right bun with a slewof fine, closely spaced welts. It was clear from this one preliminary blow that this modern version of the birch was much more effective than its twiggy predecessor in that the pain it delivered was immediate; and as if to testify to the veracity of this visual appraisal, Brian May trumpeted his appreciation with a loud howl of pain and spat out that mouth full of foul, abusive language for which, unbeknown to him at that moment, his arse would again suffer on a future, not-too-distant occasion. Kevin left a long period – some fifteen seconds – before continuing; time to allow May to stew in the painfully bitter juice in which his arse was being bathed; his second stroke was aimed this time at the upper third of the same bun; this was followed fifteen seconds later by the third stroke; this time aimed at the most sensitive part of May’s lower anatomy: the so-called sit-spot, where the crease of the upper legs begins. At each stroke, Kevin noted with some considerable satisfaction, May let out an increasingly loud cry of pain.
Kevin now stood back and admired his handiwork so far; with three resounding cuts he had already endowed May’s right-hand bun with a rich series of painful welts across its entire surface. He now waited a full half minute, allowing May to digest the agony of the pain from which he was now suffering, before moving around to the lad’s right side and addressing his left hand bun in the same way. So with the leisurely pace adopted by Kevin, the first six cuts with the lighter birch had already taken practically two minutes. Readers may not appreciate the importance of these pauses to the whole procedure of beating a subject. But just take a look at your watch and see how long, when you are doing nothing, fifteen seconds take to elapse; well of course they take fifteen immutable seconds; but taken together in a state nervous tension, stretched stark-naked across a beating stool, waiting for the next stroke to land on some as yet undefined spot on your arse, those fifteen seconds can and often do seem like an absolute eternity. And try also to imagine how Brian May felt with his arse already aflame after the first six cuts of the lighter birch; the lad had no idea whether his punishment was over or not; of course, unbeknown to him, it was not yet even at the halfway stage. Psychologically May found himself in an awful, tension-inducing situation; one which he richly merited by his continued antisocial and life-threatening behaviour towards his companions.
Kevin now took a pause of a full minute to let May appreciate what had happened to him so before he gave the lad another another six resounding cuts on top of the six he had already taken. By the time Kevin had finished the six-on-six thrashing, May was sporting what had to be one of the best birched arses ever: an incomparable, visual testimony to the fine art of arse beating. By now, May was weeping continuously and begging to be released; but it was all in vain; he was wasting his breath as his punishment was only half completed. For any one offence, twenty- four cuts were authorised by law and if ever there was an offence or a person who deserved to feel the full weight of the law, it was Brian May at that precise moment. One has a tendency to feels sorry for Brian May and think that he had already received punishment enough for his offence; but such sentiments would be totally misplaced and misdirected. The likes of Brian May, who was a typical example of the sort of repeat juvenile offender with whom Moulton-Midmarsh would have to contend en-masse on a daily basis, were a permanent danger to the general public.
During what was to be a ten minute pause, Kevin now informed May that in view of his repeated behaviour with the knife and as a deterrent to any such future episodes, he was to received the full twenty-four strokes allowed by law; his punishment would now be completed by twelve strokes of the cane applied to his to his naked arse and that the school’s Chief Disciplinarian, Kevin Shaw, would officiate.
Through his tears, May nevertheless managed to snarl: “You can’t be serious. You’ve just shredded my arse with that fucking whatever- you-call it and now you want to go on and thrash me with a cane. There is no way I am going to let you loose on my backside again; I won’t stand for it. It’s not fair and I don’t think I can take any more pain. I’ll have the law on you for grievous bodily harm; I bloody-well will. You really are a fucking set of mother fuckers.” May could not refrain from using foul language repeatedly and insulting his tormentor. But in so doing, unbeknown to him, he was digging himself into an ever deeper hole out of which he would in the near future be pulled and once again find his arse answering for his misdeeds in the form another painful session in the punishment room.
“May you have brought all this upon yourself and as for stopping us doing our duty, I suggest you consider where you are and how you intend to go about it. So May, I am afraid you will just have to grit your teeth and take what is coming to you, which is frankly exactly what you deserve. Young man, at this moment, I can think of no one who deserves the maximum punishment more than you do.”
“Mr. Shaw, if you please; twelve cuts of the cane across Mr. May’s birch-pre-conditioned buttocks; and make sure that you take your time, leaving a good pause between strokes so that he fully appreciates the care and skill you are lavishing on him. Oh and just one other thing; please try to place each stroke parallel to the previous one so that our friend here leaves us today with an arse which is a perfect example of the fine art of caning. I would like May to feel that he has not been been short changed and leaves here as the proud possessor of a well birched and well beaten arse; one that he can show with pride to his companions and one of which we too can be proud as the founders of the traditions-to-be of this school.”
What May thought of this piece of rather over-the-top rhetoric, we shall never know. And as for the traditions of the school; well as this as this was the very first day of the school, there was not much to be traditional about. But at that precise moment, tradition was far from May’s thoughts as he braced himself for the next inevitable onslaught on his already painfully well-birched posterior.
Whilst Kevin was spouting forth to May, Stephen Shaw was feeling rather nervous about his ability to perform adequately with the cane. He had been delighted to be offered the post of Chief Disciplinarian and had watched Kevin literally hundreds of times over the past five years as he had expertly caned cadets on the Great Endeavour. But now, with no prior warning, an unforeseen situation needing immediate attention had developed. Stephen felt very jittery about the part he was now about to play as he had had no practice at all with the cane he was about to wield. He felt as if he had been thrown naked into a swimming pool of ice-cold water, not knowing how to swim. But he knew Kevin had taken the right decision to deal with May immediately; the lad was a menace and needed thrashing. But as he gripped the rattan cane by its straight leather-bound handle he felt very uncertain himself.
It was not that he had any compunction about beating May’s arse, as he approved of corporal punishment as much as Kevin did; but it was just taking that first step and giving May’s arse that first stroke which was going to be very difficult; and it was doubly difficult as he had an audience of the two young warders, in front of whom he did not want to make a mistake; and so he was just very, very nervous. In a way it was no different from the first time a gay guy takes another guy’s cock up his arse. He knows he wants to be fucked yet there is always that fear of the unknown. Stephen remembered the first time he had been fucked; he was eighteen at the time and itt was before he had known Kevin; but he had trembled with fear as his then partner, an older man of twenty-five, had pushed his hard cock against his anus and had finally penetrated him. But once his partner inside of him, all fear had suddenly evaporated and he lay back and let his partner fuck him and he had really enjoyed it. That first time incident had confirmed what he had long suspected: that he was gay; and after that he had never looked back.
Kevin and Stephen had been an item for five years and Kevin could read his partner like a book; and so as they prepared to give May his his second round, Kevin pulled Stephen to one side and said: “Stephen, I can see that you are nervous; but just relax; you have seen me use the cane times without number and you know exactly how it’s done. So just take your time and prepare each stroke by laying the cane exactly where you want it to land on May’s arse. Then when you are ready, raise your arm and bring the cane down as hard as you can and make that young delinquent howl with pain. Remember the name of the game is to inflict the maximum pain and your aim should be to leave May with a backside on which he cannot sit comfortably for the next week. So just take your time; don’t rush and make every stroke count. You’ll do just fine; believe me.”
And as Kevin had predicted, Stephen did exactly that; in fact he did brilliantly. After that first difficult stroke under the eagle eye of the two warders, Jessop and and Evans, he discovered that in common with many men whose duty it is to inflict corporal punishment on others, he rather enjoyed what he was doing: in fact not to mince words, he thoroughly enjoyed it! By the time he had finished with Brian May, he himself was almost cumming in his pants, so sexually arousing had been the experience. As Kevin and he stood back to view their handiwork, Brian May was crying liberally; and little wonder, for his arse had truly been turned into a work of art. On a well-prepared, even, deep red and angry looking ground of fine birch welts, which covered May’s entire arse, Stephen had overlaid twelve, very deep welts with his cane, all strictly parallel and stretching from the bottom of May’s back to the top of his legs; the welts, which were excruciatingly painful and were a livid deep-red already tinged with the blue of bruising. It is safe to say that not one inch of May’s arse had escaped punishment and it is hard to imagine a better contender for that ultimate accolade: A Very Well Beaten Arse. And what was most appropriate was that if anyone had deserved it, Brian May had.
Kevin said to May: “Well May, there you are; you have just reaped what you have sown and I hope that the pain which you have endured and which you totally deserved, will teach you a lesson and that you will mend your ways. But I have to tell you, May, that once you have recovered from the ordeal to which you have just been subjected due to your inacceptable behaviour, you still have to answer for the foul-mouthed comments you made to me this afternoon. I am afraid that within the next ten days or so, your backside will have to face another unavoidable appointment with the cane, when it will answer for your rudeness. May, if I were you, I would get it through my head right now, that bad behaviour – any bad behaviour of any kind – will be severely punished in this school. And make no mistake May, I will have no compunction to beat your arse raw as often as necessary until such time as you learn to behave as a civilised human being. So if I were you I would be on my best behaviour as of now and let your future appointment with the cane be your last. But make no mistake, May, there is no escaping another beating as punishment for your foul-mouthed comments this afternoon; a beating which I personally shall give you as soon as you are fit enough to face it.”
Whether May took in any of this sermon, is difficult to say as he was in so much pain that all he now wanted was to escape from the dreaded punishment room and be left in peace to nurse his wounds. But as you might have guessed that was not to be; at least not for some time anyway.
“Well May that concludes your punishment for today.” Then turning to the two warders, Jessop and Evans, who were practically panting at the leash to get at May’s backside, he said: “Well gentlemen, our part in the proceedings is now complete so I will turn May over to you in the usual manner. You may now release him from the beating stool and take him to the showers and help him to clean himself up. And in view of the severity of his punishment, you have my permission to apply a little of the approved antiseptic lotion to May’s buttocks. Now as I have told you, May is to spend his next few days in isolation will sleep a locked room. Tomorrow mornings you will take him to the stores where he will be issued with the regulation clothing. For this evening and tonight he will wear what he has brought with him from the Great Endeavour. Now I rely on your good graces and previous experience to deal with May until tomorrow. You will be responsible for him until role call tomorrow after breakfast.”
Jessop spoke for the two of them whilst Evans nodded his head in agreement: “You can leave it to us sir; we have everything in hand to deal with May, sir. We know what we are doing and what has to be done as we have done it many times in the past on the Great Endeavour, sir. Have no fear, sir; May will be safe in our hands until tomorrow morning sir. And as you suggest sir we will give May’s buttocks all the care it needs after the punishment it has just taken. May will be absolutely fine with us sir.” Kevin and Stephen knew of course, exactly the sort of care – officially forbidden – Brian May’s buttocks would receive; but he saw no need to enquire any further into the matter.
As they left May to the tender mercies of Jessop and Evans, Stephen said to Kevin: “You know Kevin those two young studs are going to fuck the living daylights out of May. I can just see it in their eyes; and did you see their crotches; their cocks were practically breaking out with their desire to get at May’s arse. I can see that there is something terribly erotic about fucking an arse which has just been beaten and I can tell you, that is what that pair intends to do to May.”
“My dear Stephen; Queen Anne’s dead! What they intend to do to May’s arse is par for the course. On board the Great Endeavour it was normal practice for the two guys on punishment duty to bugger the last lad to be punished that day. You know that as well as I do as you were always present when I beat the cadets. All these guys are either as gay as we are or are so starved of live sex on board ship or stuck out here in the sticks of Cambridgeshire as we now are here in Moulton-Midmarsh, that they see buggering the odd inmate as a perk of their job. They are all young men like you and me and as such just like us, they need sex. You can legislate against it until you are blue in the face, but you will never stop it. One has to face facts; young guys need to fuck; and not only do they need to fuck but they also need to fuck regularly, and if there are no women around then even if they are straight, they will settle for another male.”
“Just ask yourself what we ourselves would do if someone tried to interfere with our relationship. Short answer: we would ignore them and go on anyway. So the Department of Juvenile Corrections forbids homosexual relations between staff and internees; between staff members themselves (that’s you and me by the way just in case you had not realised it); and between internees themselves. It is time they got real; they are living in cloud cuckoo land if they actually believe that all their rules are being obeyed. Every all-male environment, where the men are cut off from all outside sexual possibilities for longish periods of time, is a hotbed of male-male sex whether between straight or gay men. You can forbid copulation until the cows come home, but you will never stop it.”
“And there is another thing. The sort of environment which the Great Endeavour or Moulton-Midmarsh provide, attracts the type of single guy, gay or straight, who is drawn to, or obsessed by, corporal punishment, though he may never administer it himself. It is often enough to witness a bare arse thrashing to turn him on and give him a sexual thrill. Just look at Jessop and Evans; their cocks were practically popping out of their their pants just with what they were witnessing and with the anticipation of what was to come. And we should thank our lucky stars that there are guys like them around: guys who are unattached and prepared to live out in the sticks; otherwise a place like this would be without staff.”
“Most of the guys whom we employ as guards are turned on – erotically aroused – just by witnessing corporal punishment, which is why they take the jobs we offer. But it is the combination of corporal punishment and sex which attracts them; otherwise if they were just motivated by sex alone they could make themselves a much more congenial life elsewhere. Stephen I am sure you are right that Jessop and Evans, who, by the way, are very likely as gay as we ourselves are, are going to fuck the living daylights out of May’s arse this evening; but you know what? He will probably enjoy it. So you know my view; turn a blind eye and let sleeping dogs lie; young men need sex and need it regularly and nothing will keep them from it. And in case you had not noticed it, you and I are both young men and are no exception to that rule: we both need and indeed get sex regularly; so come on lover-boy let’s go and eat and then if you are good and ask me nicely, I might just agree to drill your hole for you to end a perfect day!”
CHAPTER 6
Kevin and Stephen left the punishment room with the two guards about to release a sobbing Brian May from his bonds. Jessop and Evans hauled May to his feet. Evans picked up May’s clothes which had been stripped of him and manhandled the lad towards the shower room which was only a few yards down the corridor straight opposite the gym. As May hobbled towards what he hoped would be a soothing shower of warm water to calm the agony of his arse, Jessop indicated to Evans that he would go and find the approved antiseptic ointment destined to alleviate somewhat May’s suffering. Evans reminded his partner not to forget to bring what he obliquely referred to as the other stuff. Meanwhile, Evans produced, seemingly from nowhere, a round stick about a foot long, which was covered over most of its length with some sort of padding. “Come on boyo, bend over and let’s get your hole cleaned up properly; cleanliness is next to godliness if you didn’t already know that and we do want to do things properly, don’t we?” Poor Brian found himself forced to bend over whilst Evans thrust this dildo-like implement deep into his anus and gave it a few hard jabs effectively cleaning both his anus and rectum. It was at that moment that Brian realised that his immediate fate was sealed; there guys were going to bugger him and there was not a damned thing he could do to stop them.
He had great difficulty in drying himself off with the towel, which was not exactly of the softest, as the slightest touch of anything to his inflamed backside was unbearably agonising. They told May to forget attempting to dress himself and marched him still stark naked to his solitary confinement room which contained a bed, a table and a chair but nothing else. Once inside, the guards ominously locked the door and told the naked Brian to bend across the table so that they could anoint his arse with the antiseptic ointment. Incredibly in view of the the thrashing he had just taken, Brian’s backside was not bleeding; it was clearly very, very painful, but there was no broken skin: no blood.
“Guys please go gently on my arse; it’s just so fucking painful and every touch is fucking agony for me; so put that stuff on, but please, please go gently.” After a few minutes it was evident that the pain had subsided at least somewhat as the analgesic effect of the ointment started to work its magic. Brian’s whimpering had almost ceased and Evans, who was applying the ointment, increased the force with which he was massaging his buns. He nodded to his partner indicating that in his view Brain was now was ready for prepping for the next phase.
“Spread your legs Brian; come on Brian, quick about it; spread our legs lad so that we can see your hole; quick about it now or my partner Jessop here, will spread them for you.”
Brain, who was not unfamiliar with what was about to happen to him; like many lads in his position, in his long career in a series of approved schools, he had been buggered many times; and so he realised immediately what was going to happen and made but a feeble attempt to avoid what he knew was more or less inevitable. He was already weak from the beating and still in great pain and he knew from the outset that he did not stand a snowflake in hell’s chance against the two muscular bruisers who were intent on fucking him. But he made an attempt nevertheless: “Please guys, have a heart; I’m still hurting a lot, so please don’t bugger me; please just let me go and lie down and go to sleep; but please don’t fuck me; I don’t think that I could stand it!”
But even as he uttered those words he knew his anus was doomed. He had seen with his own eyes the bulging crotches of both of his guards as they had led him to the showers and he knew that both studs were sexually fully aroused, psyched up and raring to go; they both wanted only one thing, which was to fuck butt: his butt! Unless some senior officer intervened there could be no escape from the inevitable. But he also knew that no knight in shining armour was going to come to his rescue; he knew that what was about to happen to him was part and parcel of life in such correctional establishments as Moulton-Midmarsh. In fact, Brian May’s arse was on that standard punishment track which would end in an orgy of anal sex over which he had no control whatsoever; he knew he was flogging a dead horse even trying to avoid the inevitable. The officers who had beaten him, had left his aftercare to these two thuggish, over-sexed, cock-rampant young guards, whose only aim now was to ream out his hole; what was officially forbidden was nevertheless about to take place and nobody was going to do anything to stop it. May was going to get his hole buggered and so he might as well, in those famous words of advice for people in his present predicament: “Sit back and enjoy it.”
And in fact, in the event, it was as Kevin Pettifer had predicted; Brian May did not really object to having his arse fucked; in fact far from it; from past experiences he had had, he knew he rather enjoyed being fucked. But today was a bit different as his backside was just so sore from the beating he had taken that he shuddered at the thought of the two young musclemen banging away with their cocks at his raw flesh. He had already abandoned any hope that it would be an either or situation as he just knew that the two of them would each want their pound of flesh. He was on track for an inevitable two-man fuck-fest, in which his arse would play a starring role: the starring role!
Jessop fished the other stuff out of his pocket, in the form of a tube of anal lubricant: “Keep your legs well apart Brian, so that I can lube you up just relax and stop trying to avoid what you know is going to happen. Come one Brian; you’ve had your arse fucked before for sure; so just let me lube up your hole properly and let’s get on with it. You know Brian; there is something super-sexy about fucking an arse which has just been freshly shredded. Of course the ideal is to fuck an arse you have just beaten yourself; but as our two bosses reserved that privilege for themselves today, then the likes of us have just got to making the best of it and picking up the bits. But believe me Brian your butt will do just fine; just leave it to me and my buddy here and we will do you proud. And you know what Brian? Well let me just tell you something; when we have finished with you today, you’ll want to thank both of us for the stimulation we have given to your aching butt. I think you will find that we do a first class job together and you will feel a lot better after having taken a couple of decent sized dicks up your hole than you do right now. Just believe me, what we are going to do to your arse, you will really find very, very, therapeutic.”
Brain had made his stand and could do nothing more; the die was cast and he knew that barring a miracle, which was not going to happen, he was about to be fucked. He made one last plea before surrendering himself mentally to what he knew was coming. “Guys, please go a bit gentle with me today; just look at the state of my arse. So please, please, please not too hard; I really don’t think I could stand it.”
Suddenly he found himself being pulled up from the table, spun around by the two guards who then forced him flat onto his back on the table. Jessop lifted his legs up into the air and pulled him forward so that his arse was at the edge of the table; then Evans grabbed hold of his legs spreading them to expose his vital port of entry and pulled them back over his body; Brian found himself almost trussed like a chicken, bent double flat on his back, with his legs over his body, where Evans held them firmly in place. Jessop pulled him forward to ensure that his arse, with his anus now fully exposed and accessible, was at the edge of the table. Brian was absolutely terrified at what was about to happen to him as he saw through his legs, Jessop pull off his shoes, gym vest and trousers before ripping off a leather thong he had been wearing to support his kit. Freed from its constraint, Jessop’s cock suddenly leapt to attention. Brian, totally helpless, watched all this but could do nothing to avoid the inevitable.
But as he looked at the superbly muscular figure of Jessop in front of him and that massive penis which he was about to experience, he suddenly had what can but be described as an epiphany. He suddenly realised that he was about to be taken by a superbly equipped young man who knew exactly what he was about to do; and in those few moments that Jessop stood there before penetrating him, he felt his own cock stirring at the thought of what he now saw was probably going to be an extraordinary sexual experience. Within seconds Brian himself was as hard as a rock; OK he was about to be more-or-less raped, but he suddenly accepted that he did not mind: not only did he not mind, but he knew he was was actually looking forward to being fucked by the cock of this superb specimen of sexually-attractive, young manhood who stood in front of him.
All fear he had had of unbearable pain at the thought of Jessop banging his arse had just vanished; after all, what was an extra bit of pain after all he had just suffered under the birch and the cane, compared with the pleasure that the sex act would bring him? He now simply wanted to be fucked; and not only to be fucked, but to be fucked really hard. The extra pain he would undoubtedly experience as Jessop’s pelvis hammered his arse repeatedly was all worth it, for the pleasure that only sex can bring. The changed state of Brian’s sexual arousal did not escape Jessop’s eye; but then how could it as he was standing there cock poised to strike when suddenly he saw that Brain, after all his protestations, had himself become hard.
“Well this is a turn up for the book! Brian says he does not want to be fucked; meanwhile, Brian’s cock, which is the sole arbiter in matters sexual, says that he does. So Brian which is it? Are you the reluctant fuckee of a few minutes ago, or are you now raring to go? It really does not matter one way or the other to me, as both me and Evans are going to fuck you whether you like it or not; but it would be nice to know whether we were shafting a hostile or a welcoming partner; come on Brian, spill the beans; which is it?” Brian did not really know how to answer such a direct question so he said nothing; but he did not have to as his erection said it all for him. “You know what I think Brian? I think that you are really looking forward to getting your hole well and truly drilled; that my friend is what I think. So why don’t you just grab hold of your kit and keep it out of the way and let me work my magic on your hole with my cock as I am sure that is what you want.”
Brian still said nothing; but by grabbing hold of his own erect dick and pulling it and his balls onto his stomach, he more or less indicated his tacit agreement for what was about to follow. Jessop, whose own cock was rock-hard and already in the pre-cum stage and raring to go, pushed its tip firmly against Brian’s sphincter. Brian who now, although he had not admitted it to his guards, knew that wanted nothing more than to feel that long, hard shaft enter him; so he relaxed and did not resist at all and Jessop, thanks to his generous application of lubricant, was easily able to share the full length of his tool with Brian. Brian winced with pain as Jessop’s long, hard shaft brushed by his prostate, to be followed by an even sharper pain as his partner’s pelvis bottomed firmly against his arse, still throbbing with pain from the beating. Evans held Brian’s legs firmly across his body as Jessop commenced to pound Brian’s hole. First with shorter but then, as passion built up as it always does in any form of sexual intercourse, with ever longer and more powerful strokes, he treated Brian’s arse to a classic, text-book, hard fuck. Brian for his part automatically started to work his own cock as the tension built up, until finally, totally un-programmed and unforeseen, both he and Jessop climaxed together in huge simultaneous orgasms, in which the two young men sprayed each other with massive ejaculations of sperm.
For Evans, the only witness to this totally unexpected spectacle, it was evident that both Brian and Jessop had really enjoyed their coupling, For Brian to pretend that he had been more or less raped: a reluctant partner to what had just happened, would have been as absurdly ridiculous as declaring that black was white. Brian had enjoyed having his arse fucked just as much as Jessop had enjoyed fucking it. By this time, Evans whose own cock was fully ready to go, was almost drooling at the mouth at the thought of what he himself would now do to Brian’s hole. The lad was clearly a willing partner and Evans had every intention of having an absolute ball. And it has to be said that now the – let us call what it had become: a party – had got started, Brian himself was thoroughly enjoying the supine role of bottom he was being forced to play. The additional pain his still tender arse suffered time and time again as his partner’s pelvis butted against it, faded into insignificance compared to the sheer pleasure of the sex act: one of the greatest joys that life had to offer and one which, no matter now often repeated, never fails to please. And let us be quite clear that what had started life with a reluctant Brian forced to face the fact that whatever he himself did or said he was going to be buggered by his two guards had now, by some miracle, turned into a two-hour orgy of mutually enjoyable sex. Yes, Brian had been well and truly fucked by both men several times, but, at the end of the day, he had not been buggered against his will. When Evans and Jessop finally left Brian on his face in bed for the night, it is safe to say that all three of them had had an experience which nobody could have predicted.
The only sour note to what had just taken place was when Jessop, in parting, said to Brian: “Well Brian perhaps we can get together again in a few days time, after your next session with Warden Pettifer.” The birching and beating followed by the sexual stimulation provided by Evans and Jessop had somehow sublimed themselves into a sort of euphoric state of contentment in which Brian now found himself. It was therefore disagreeable to be reminded that he had another beating to look forward to: a beating which he again richly merited and one which would surely be neither forgotten nor forgiven by Warden Pettifer; his arse would once again be made to suffer for the foul language he had directed at the Warden. But who knows? Perhaps it might prove the turning point in Brian’s unfortunate career to date as a serial miscreant. And it was with the unpleasant prospect of another assault on his arse with the cane or birch, or even – god forbid – both that Brian finally managed to fall asleep that night.
CHAPTER 7
But for the time being we will leave Brian May nursing his agonisingly welted and well-fucked arse, feeling very nervous – as well he should, by the way – at the prospect of another painful appointment with the Warden and turn our attention to the rest of that misbegotten band of miscreants who had made up the transfer of cadets from the Great Endeavour: the lads who, to give them a name, were the founder group: the first detainees at the new Moulton-Midmarsh Correctional Facility for Young Offenders.
Brian May, due to his bad conduct had been singled out and separated from the group immediately on arrival. The warders on duty then took the remaining lads to the stores, where they were issued with the regulation uniform and other clothing which they were to wear during their time at Moulton-Midmarsh. Next they were taken to the showers where they were stripped of their travel clothes, made to take a shower and dress in their new attire, after which they were taken to the dining room and given supper. Until then calm had reigned, possibly because Brian May had been taken away on arrival, clearly destined for punishment. But once in the dining room, for some unknown reason, trouble broke out and in no time at all the entire group was involved in a furious fist fight. Additional warders were called to quell the fracas and the Warden, Kevin Pettifer and his second in command, Stephen Shaw were called. Kevin was never one to allow such behaviour to pass and was very much a nip-it-in-the-bud enthusiast. The new arrivals merited a severe lesson and Kevin Pettifer did not hesitate to give them one.
So at eight that evening, the entire newly arrived group, minus Brian May, who had already been dealt with, were taken under guard again to the showers where they were subjected to the ritual which many of them were to come to know quite well during their time at the school: the standard preparation for corporal punishment in the form of either a beating or, more occasionally, a birching. After showering they were each handed a pair of shorts which they donned, before being marched to the corridor outside the correction room; a place they would come to know and dread: Made to stand shivering in the corridor, naked other than for the shorts, the nineteen young miscreants, with their hands on their heads and under heavy guard of numerous warders, each brandishing a cane, were then called one by by one, into the dreaded room; each to meet his own Waterloo in the form of a very painful, naked arse beating. There, two physically well equipped young guards stripped off the lad’s shorts and strapped him, totally naked, to the beating stool that they then adjusted to ensure that the his arse was fully stretched and in the perfect position to receive the cane.
That evening, which was to lay down what was to become the standard procedure for initiating new arrivals into the environment of relentlessly and strictly enforced discipline in which they were to spend their entire stay at Moulton-Midmarsh, can best be qualified as an absolute blood-bath of flagellation: a definitive example of how to put down an insurgency among the inmates. One after the other, at a leisurely pace, lad after lad was brought into the room, strapped down and given a twelve stroke, six on six beating across his naked arse with a senior rattan cane. If anything was destined to bring home to these young miscreants of what the future held for them if they dared to disobey any of the school rules under which they had to live, this was it. But of course many of them did become regular visitors to that correction room in spite of the painful horror of what a visit there inevitably implied.
Kevin and Stephen shared this marathon, nineteen-man beating-session between them. Proceeding at a very leisurely place, they systematically gave each lad a twelve stroke, six-on-six beating, thereby insuring that each and every one of them left with an indescribably painful arse. It can safely be said that those who waited the longest to be dealt with as they saw mate after mate called in to pay for his sins, suffered almost as much during the enforced waiting; the nervous tension and fear built up to electrifying levels among those in the corridor; it was palpably a mentally, very disturbing experience for all those waiting as they were forced to listen to the screams emitted by their mate being punished whilst they themselves waited trembling in the corridor, knowing that their own arses were shortly to meet the same fate. And what made it even worse was the fact that they were practically naked, obliged to keep their hands on their heads and were not and were not allowed to speak to each other.
Frankly it was a truly demeaning experience; for having effectively wrung out each of the young miscreants one by one, they were then hung out to dry. But of course, given the erotic nature of beatings which have a strong tendency to lead to sexual arousal among observers, both the guards as well as those who had just experienced the bite of the cane themselves, it is more than possible that several of the young men found their already burning backsides the attention not only of the more horny of the guards but also from their own mates, once they were back in their quarters. It was more a less a fact of life in such junior penal institutions as the Great Endeavour and Moulton- Midmarsh, that beatings had a nasty tendency to lead to officially forbidden sexual activity, which as we all know was usually overlooked.
This maiden – to coin a name – beating-fest, was the first time Stephen Shaw had exercised the cane on young, naked arses in his new capacity as Chief Disciplinarian at Moulton-Midmarsh. And like many a public-school prefect who first discovers the erotic delights of caning his schoolmates, he had enjoyed himself enormously at what he thought of as a worthwhile job well done. There was somehow a very satisfying feeling in knowing that he personally was holding young tearaways to account and making them suffer for their misdeeds. In this respect he had in his make-up that same slight streak of sadism which men who punish others need to have to make their work memorable. It is that touch of sadism – and only a very slight touch is needed – which distinguishes a great beater from a mediocre one. He had, times without number, witnessed Kevin Pettifer shred the naked arse of cadets on board the Great Endeavour and he realised now that it was that self-same touch of sadism in his make-up, which led to Kevin being a consummate master with the cane.
Kevin had, over his five years on board the Great Endeavour, raised the act of arse beating to a fine art. He was able to double strokes so accurately that a twelve stroke beating delivered six on six, was visually totally indistinguishable from a text-book six-of-the-best; except for the fact that the welts left by the cane were deeper and the bruising more severe. But now with the sensation of power and fulfilment which the act of wielding the cane himself gave him, Stephen Shaw found it was one of the most satisfying things he had ever experienced in his life. He felt that he had acquitted himself well in his maiden performance; and what a baptism into the art of caning it had been; for how many men, complete beginners, totally inexperienced as he had been, were offered the chance to thrash some ten sets of truly deserving buttocks one after the other?
But one also has to remember that both Kevin and Stephen, figures of authority though they were, were nevertheless both young men, who were subject to the same erotic arousal by what they were doing as were the warders and guards who were controlling the inmates being punished. And so, by the time they had finished skinning the backsides of some nineteen young arses, both Kevin and Stephen themselves were, to say the very least, in a high state of sexual arousal. And with that typical disdain that a man’s penis has for it owner’s wishes, by the time the last strokes had been delivered, both of them had rock-hard cocks, straining to break free of the constraint of underwear and trousers. In fact, Kevin and Stephen were in exactly that same mind-set of anticipative sexual preparedness as the warders, guards and even some of the inmates; in a word, irrespective of rank or position, they all wanted exactly the same thing; to have sex; to fuck butt.
So that evening, after that first inaugural mass beating at which the inmates and warders alike had all learned that the Warden, in the form of Kevin Pettifer, was in charge and that his word was law at Moulton-Midmarsh, everyone who had half a chance plunged into the pleasures gay sex. It did not really matter who was fucking whom; it was just a question of the need of a group of young men, whether warders, guards, inmates or even the Warden himself and his Chief Disciplinarian, to relieve the omnipresent sex urge which had been brought to the boiling point by the exceptional events of that evening.
Later that same evening, it goes without saying that Kevin and Stephen liberated their own pent-up sexual desires in their own mini- orgy of intense anal copulation. As Kevin lubed his partner’s anus prior to his first penetration that evening, Stephen said to him: “Kevin that was my first real time with the cane. How did I do? Was I OK?”
“How did you do? Were you OK? Stephen do you really need me to answer that? You were absolutely amazing; you know Stephen for a total beginner you performed like a master. Frankly the inmates will come to dread an appointment with you in the correction room once the school is up and running as the cane will form part and parcel of the daily life. It’s the one sure way of getting through to most of these young delinquents; and as the law permits its use there is no reason at all why we should not lavish their arses with the care that they need. But you know what? This evening’s mass execution, in the wake of that mini-riot, has convinced me that a liberally applied cane is undoubtedly the best means of establishing our authority in a way which words and warnings would never have done. So what I have decided to do from now on is that you and I will treat each and every new batch of detainees to an initial – let us call it – welcome beating immediately on arrival. It will really show them who is in charge and what they can expect if they do not toe the line.”
“Now Stephen, I think your arse looks ready for the undivided attention of my cock to celebrate the triumph of your successful debut into the not-so-gentle-art of arse beating. So just lie back and let me give you the best fuck of your life.” And Stephen did exactly that before going on to give Kevin an equally exhilarating return round. By the time they had finished with each other, some two hours later, there was no doubt about it; being psyched up and sexually super-aroused as they had been by the canings they had just given, gave added spice to their normal love-making. I say love-making rather than just fucking, as Kevin and Stephen had been together for so long that sex had become a true act of love between the two of them. But tonight had been different; so totally aroused as both of them had become, all pretence of making love had, for once, been abandoned as the two of them exercised their basic instincts on each other and threw themselves into two hours of totally uninhibited, hard-core sex.
When they were lying there, more or less exhausted in that delicious nether-world of post-coital bliss that had followed their efforts, Kevin reflected on his attitude towards ignoring the regulations and turning a blind eye on sexual activity in the school in general. He decided that it was the right approach as he was honest enough to accept that he himself could not live without regular sex with Stephen. So however ever bad the inmates were, it seemed totally unreasonable to forbid them and punish them for indulging in one of the most natural acts in the world. So live and let live in respect to the forbidden act of gay sex at Moulton-Midmarsh became Kevin’s unspoken philosophy. Let an inmate break other rules and Kevin would shred his arse without a second thought; but curtail and forbid him to do what was basically a god-given-right; no! And on that though he drifted off into sleep.
CHAPTER 8
Some ten days later Kevin Pettifer and his Chief Disciplinarian, Stephen Shaw, made a detailed visual assessment of the state of Brian May’s arse and deemed it to be ready for a refresher course with the cane. Kevin had decided that as May’s foul language had been directed at him personally, he would give himself the pleasure – and make no mistake; in this case it was to be an absolute pleasure: a payback for May’s foul remarks directed at him personally – of shredding his arse with his very best Malaccan cane. Kevin had been so incensed by May’s offensive remarks that he intended to give the lad’s backside the caning of its life. He had every intention of leaving May with an arse so painful that he would not be able to sit down in comfort for a full week. After the initial inspection, May had been informed that he was to be punished again, this time for his use of foul language. His arse had been examined by the school doctor that morning and declared fit for a further beating, which was scheduled for the same evening at eight; so the lad had ample time to contemplate his fate and to prepare himself for what was once again the inevitable.
At the appointed hour, the same two guards, Jessop and Evans, brought Brian May up to Kevin’s office, where he had decided that he would personally deal with May. Once the lad had been stripped naked and strapped over the brand new beating stool that he was to have the signal honour of initiating into what would become regular use in the days to come, Kevin dismissed the guards and told them to wait outside in the corridor. Alone with the Warden and the Chief Disciplinarian, Brian May was already trembling with fear of the certain agony which was about to be visited on him for the second time in two weeks. The lad now dearly wished that he had held his tongue on the day of his arrival at Moulton-Midmarsh; but he had not done so and was now about to reap a very bitter harvest of what he had sown that day. But he wondered – in fact, he hoped – that as the same two guards as had been on duty two weeks ago were again on duty today, they would give his arse the same post-traumatic care as they had done on that first occasion. He had not seen either of them since that private fuck-fest to which they had treated him, but he had the fondest memories of just how much he had enjoyed, even with his arse in utter agony, having his hole repeatedly reamed by two such well equipped young studs. It might almost been worth taking a beating to have a repeat performance of that mind-bendingly delicious sexual sequel.
They had been right when they had observed to him that he had been fucked before – an inevitable fact of life in his chequered career as juvenile delinquent in and out of reform schools for the past several years – but his previous experience had never even approached the way they had done it to him. There was no doubt at all that Jessop and Evans were in a league of their own when it came exercising their cocks on someone else’s arse; but this time it was different; the Warden had told the two warders to wait outside his study, so they would not have the pleasure of watching him take his second beating within two weeks of arriving at the school. So he wondered whether when they took him back to his room, as they inevitably would, whether or not they would be sufficiently sexually aroused to give his arse the loving care it would doubtless again need. All this was throbbing around in May’s head as he waited for the Warden to do his worst. But things were not to go quite as quickly as he had hoped.
As everyone knows, anyone waiting to have his arse roasted, normally wants to get it over and done with as quickly as possible. But Kevin was not prepared to let Brian May off the hook quite so quickly and so with him stretched naked under his gaze with his arse raised to the perfect position for caning, he made the lad wait and suffer psychologically by lecturing him on the error of his ways.
“May, this is the third time in less than a year that I find that I am forced to punish you. Frankly, I would have thought that in view of the severe beating I gave you at the beginning of the year on board the Great Endeavour, when you pulled a knife on one of your fellow cadets, that you would have learned your lesson; but evidently not, as you did the same thing in the coach transferring you here two weeks ago for which you took another severe beating. But as if the second incident with the knife was not enough, you then chose to direct foul, unacceptable insulting language against me personally; that May, coming from a cadet with your history, I cannot and will not allow to pass unpunished. And that, young man, is the reason why you find yourself here today, naked across the stool again, waiting to have your arse re-addressed by the cane for the second time in two weeks.
Now your insulting remarks are nowhere near as bad as your two attempted attacks with a knife; but they do indicate your total lack of responsibility for your actions; and that May, is why on this occasion, in spite of the lesser nature of your offence, I intend to be very severe indeed with you in what I see as a last attempt to set you on the straight and narrow and to dissuade you from your worst self. If you continue as you have done so far in your life, you will leave this school in a year’s time and will find yourself sliding back into a life of crime and will, over a period of time, become a hardened criminal: one who spends all his life in and out of gaol. I feel it is my duty to try to discourage you from following that path. So this, young man, is one last attempt to convince you that your present attitude to life must change.”
“You will, I am afraid, find what I have in store for you agonisingly painful; but I hope that through the intense pain I am about to inflict on you, you will see that everything we are doing for you in this school is ultimately for your own good. Brian May, this going to be the most painful experience of your life to date. I intend to give you the full twenty-four strokes of the cane allowed under the present law; but I also intend today to ensure that this beating is as painful as possible, to bring home to you the extreme gravity of the situation in which you find yourself. And so I shall use the most painful of all canes, a senior dragon cane, for your punishment today. I shall also use again what is known as the stroke on stroke procedure. To refresh your memory, I shall first lay on twelve stripes from top to bottom of your backside; and then, after a fifteen minute pause to allow you fully to appreciate what you have just received, I shall lay on another twelve strokes exactly over the first twelve.
Thus when your punishment is complete, you will have received what is known as a classic, twelve on twelve, parallel beating, which in view of the fact that the second stroke lands in exactly the same place as the first, is generally considered the most painful beating which can be administered with the cane. I think May, that you will find that the dragon cane, adds a new dimension to the gentle art of arse beating. May, I sincerely regret that I have to be so severe with you; but I see no other way to rescue you from your present self-destructive path. There is a saying: Redemption through pain. Well let us hope that this applies in this case.”
Brian May had kept silent through this long-winded and somewhat preachy monologue. His first reaction to what he had just been forced to listen was lone of rage and he wanted to tell the Warden to piss of and do his worst. But then it suddenly hit home to him that without any verbal repartee from him, the Warden had every intention of doing his worst; but which looked at from the other side of the fence, the Warden probably considered was his best. And as he waited what seemed like an age for the first of the promised two dozen cuts with the dragon cane he was to receive, Brian May suddenly looked at himself metaphorically in the face and accepted that he had brought all this on himself. He had no idea why he had become so enraged in the coach as to pull out a knife and threaten one of the others with it; he himself knew that he had had no intention of actually using the knife; so why had he done it? It had all been a macho act: a bit of braggadocio, for which he had suffered. And now thanks again to his own stupidity; here he was stretched naked again waiting to be beaten. From what the Warden had just said, this was to be the mother of all beatings; his goose was to be well and truly cooked and would be done to a turn by the time the Warden had finished with him. So in those few frightening moments whilst he braced himself for the horrible pain which was about to be visited on his backside, for the first time in his unhappy life, Brian May mentally looked before he leapt and held his tongue. He suddenly accepted that he had to endure what was coming; there was nothing at all he could do to avoid it; and finally he himself accepted the fact that he deserved it.
And so Brian May waited in complete silence for the worst and when it came it truly was worse than he could have ever imagined. It was exactly as the Warden had said; the dragon cane was capable of producing the most exquisitely excruciating pain imaginable; the Warden did not soft pedal on any stroke and by the time the first round of twelve cuts had been delivered, Brian May was already a howling, broken wreck. There was that agonising pause of appreciation between each successive stroke and then that fifteen minute pause between the two halves of the punishment seemed to go on for prolonging the agony forever. Then there was the exact overlaying of the first twelve welts with another dozen cuts, masterfully administered by the Warden. If the first cuts had been awful, the pain produced by this second series, where the cane landed on already beaten flesh, defied description; this was the worst beating Brain May had ever experienced in his life; worse than he had ever imagined it could ever be; and he screamed with pain at every stroke. When it was over, Kevin Pettifer and Stephen Shaw, who had witnessed the beating, stood back to admire what was by any standard a superbly well-beaten arse: a masterpiece of the experienced flagellator’s art. Already the twelve deep, double cuts were turning from angry red to blue as the bruising set in and a few drops of blood were oozing out from places where the skin had been had been broken.
But – and it is a very important point it make – as he lay there in his agony, spread-eagled across the beating stool, Brian May suddenly realised that he had to change his ways. This horrible session of corporal chastisement – and, by any standards, it had truly been horrific – had finally got through to Brian May. And even as he lay there still unable to move because of the restraining straps, he knew that he was already a changed man. Never again would anyone do to him what had just been done to him; and the lad knew now that the remedy was in his own hands.
Kevin Pettifer opened the door and called in the two guards,
Jessop and Evans. He told them to release Brian May from the beating stool and to take him straight back to his room with the instruction: “See that his backside is well massaged with the approved antiseptic ointment before you leave him for the night; he must receive no further attention of any kind from anyone. Do I make myself clear?” Kevin knew full well that he was killing off the guards opportunity to work their forbidden sexual magic on May’s arse; but on this occasion he truly wanted May to suffer from the pain he had just inflicted on him, in the distant hope it might have some beneficial effect on the lad whom he frankly saw as an irredeemable young miscreant: a lad who would leave Mouton Midmarsh and immediately revert to his criminal and antisocial activities.
And so although Brian May, when he had first been strapped across the horse before receiving the first of those twenty four, swingeing strokes of the cane, had hoped that he might be treated later, as he had some two weeks ago, to another dose of sexual stimulation by his two guards, found himself totally alone after the antiseptic ointment had been applied. But, in fact, stewing in his own juice of agonising pain as he had been left to do, brought home to him even more than ever that he had to change his ways. And so the young man finally managed to drop off to sleep well on his way to becoming a reformed character. Had Kevin Pettifer known how what he had just inflicted on May, had had such a radical influence on the lad’s thinking, he would have been very pleased.
But as he did not, he said to Stephen Shaw as they sank into each others’ arms that night for a session of gentle sex: “I hope that what I have just done to May will have the desired effect on his behaviour; but you know Stephen, I don’t actually hold out much hope.” But time was to prove him wrong; for when May, again a free man, left Moulton-Midmarsh some two years later and was finally let loose on the society which he had abused, he was a totally reformed young man. Never again, after that that monumental beating he had been given, did his arse and the cane meet. So Brian May was to prove to be one of the success stories of the new reform school; but there were many more failures, where inmates, when released, promptly reverted to their former lives of crime.
CHAPTER 8
The arrival of the first group of inmates transferred from the Great Endeavour accompanied by the incident en route provoked by Brian May, followed by the riot at supper the first evening, both of which had forced Kevin to take strict measures against all concerned and subject the entire group to severe corporal punishment had convinced Kevin of the need to show all new arrivals that they behave correctly form the moment they arrived at Moulton-Midmarsh. And so, in consultation with Stephen Shaw who was in charge of discipline, it was decided that all new entrants, whether transfers from elsewhere in the reform system as many were, or new entrants into the system sent there by juvenile court order, with or without mandatory birching orders as part their baggage, would automatically, on their very first day, be given an introductory, twelve cut, naked-arse beating initiate them into the rigorously enforced regime in which they would spend their time at Moulton-Midmarsh. Over the course of the next six months, as the school gradually received its full complement of detainees, Kevin and Stephen jointly thrashed their way through some two hundred lads. Add to this that during this time inmates, as lads inevitably do, committed offences which required correction, the cane was rarely still for long at Moulton-Midmarsh.
The birch was more or less the preserve of Kevin Pettifer, who as Warden was legally obliged to carry out birching sentences ordered by the courts on many new entrants. As time progressed, Kevin noticed that the courts were handing down heavier custodial sentences often accompanied by severe birchings, in an attempt to cut down on juvenile crime. As all arrivals whether transferred from other reform schools elsewhere or new arrivals from the courts, were subjected automatically to let us call it – the Mouton-Midmarsh Warm Welcome – Kevin usually delayed starting any mandatory birchings for about ten days to allow the lads’ arses to recover from the initial, first-day encounter with the cane, which left all who experienced it with extremely sore backsides for a least a week. Then the lad in question was brought under guard to Kevin’s office where he had to face the often draconian sentence of the court.
On these occasions Kevin always had Stephen Shaw on hand to assist him if necessary. On one occasion question, the lad in question, Colin Newton, was first made to stand to attention in front of Kevin who read out his sentence which he was told would be carried out immediately. The courts were always very specific in their sentences which left nothing at all to chance or to the discretion of the person administering the punishment. The precise number of strokes as well as the exact calibre – 2 mm or 4 mm – of the synthetic birch to be used were spelled out as was the fact that the birch was to be applied with maximum force and that any skin which was broken – as it surely would be with this vicious modern implement applied with maximum force to a victim’s naked buttocks – was to be treated with an antiseptic ointment immediately following the punishment; then, leaving nothing at all to chance, the instructions went on to say that where a person had been sentenced to a series of birchings, he had to be declared fit and able stand subsequent punishments by a qualified doctor.
Now it has to be said that the young offenders who arrived with such birching schedules to their names were some of the worst and most dangerous of juvenile criminals in the country: young men who had no respect either for persons or property and all of whom had inflicted grievous bodily hard on some unsuspecting member of the public: as such, the courts had no compunction at all in handing down severe and painful mandatory birching sentences. In doing this the courts were bending to public opinion which was largely in favour of corporal punishment for young offenders; it was a reaction to the laissez-faire society which had been allowed to develop in the UK over a forty year period; a return to what most people thought of as the good old days.
But as Kevin, himself totally in favour of corporal punishment which he had practised for five years on the Great Endeavour, read some of the birching sentences handed down and which he as Warden was obliged to carry out, even he shuddered inwardly at the severity of the beatings which he found himself obliged to visit by law on the naked arses of these lads. Yes, they deserved to be punished; and yes, he would be more than happy to beat their arses; but did it have to be quite as severe as the law demanded?
It was eight o’clock that evening that the first lad to submit to a mandatory court ordered birching, Colin Newton, stood trembling in front of Kevin who read out his sentence to him; three birching sessions of twelve strokes each with the 4 mm birch – the heavy grade one – at monthly intervals. It was all very specific; totally cut and dried and left nothing to chance; Kevin’s job was merely to follow orders. Asked if he had anything to say, Newton remained silent. Kevin ordered him to strip completely naked. The lad hesitated and did not move; but at a nod from Kevin to the two guards, he quickly found himself bound hand and foot, stripped totally naked across the beating stool. Kevin adjusted the height to ensure that the lad’s arse was properly stretched before picking up the birch and starting the punishment. He saw that only slight traces remained of that first arrival-day beating which he had undergone, before he lifted the birch into the air and brought it down with a resounding crack in the middle of the lad’s right buttock, producing an immediate howl of pain.
And then as stroke followed inevitable stroke, covering the whole of the lad’s arse with the fine welts so characteristic of this modern implement, the howls grew ever louder until towards the end, Newton was screaming for Kevin to stop. But of course, his pleas went unanswered as he must have know they would and the sentence of twelve cuts was completed before the lad was finally released and taken by the guards back to his dormitory. But in view of the severity of what he had done, Kevin deprived the two guards of what they considered their normal perk; he told them to apply some antiseptic ointment to Newton’s inflamed backside, but to go no further. So Newton’s arse was spared a session of post-birching fucking, which, forbidden or not, would almost certainly have taken place had Kevin not specifically intervened.
This was only the second time at Moulton-Midmarsh that Kevin had used the birch; the first time had been on Brian May but with the lighter implement. And that occasion, although he had given the lad a thorough beating, leaving him screaming with pain, he had not applied the rod with anything like the maximum force he had now been obliged by law to do to Colin Newton. The twelve complementary strokes of the cane, which Stephen had given to an already birched Brian May, had left the lad with a truly well-beaten and very painful arse. But as Kevin assessed the results of his present handiwork before allowing the guards to take charge of Newton again, he saw that what he had done with the heavy grade birch had taken corporal punishment to an hitherto – for him at least – unheard of degree of pain, leaving the lad with what can but be described as a fully skinned arse.
The lad’s buttocks had been scourged completely raw by the heavy-grade, 4mm birch and it was quite clear the he was in unbearably excruciating pain:pain which unbearable or not, had to be born. Luckily a lad’s arse is able to support the apparently unsupportable and however bad it looks in its immediate post-flagellated state, it quickly heals and suffers neither permanent damage nor lasting effects. But notwithstanding the absence of any lasting effects, a beating with the heavy grade birch is not anything that any sensible lad would ever wish to repeat. But given his sentence, that evening as he tried to sleep, Newton suffered not only the temporary, physical agony of his well-deserved punishment, but also the mental stress that he knew he had two more sessions of the same to endure: not a pleasant prospect for the next two months. One would imagine that Colin Newton was well on the way to learning his lesson!
This experience had taken corporal punishment to a hitherto unimagined level for Kevin. Undoubted expert though he was with the rattan cane, every nuance of which he had mastered by practical application of the cane to the naked arses of hundreds of cadets on board the Great Endeavour, he had never before seen anything like the results produced by a heavy-grade birch applied with maximum force; the words, “frighteningly awesome,” sprang immediately to mind! It added a whole new dimension to the not-so-gentle-art of corporal punishment. He saw at first sight, that results of the 4mm birch compared to the lighter 2 mm version were astoundingly different. But then he remembered from his hazy knowledge of mathematics, that a 4mm circle had not twice the area but four times that of a 2 mm circle; from which it followed that, for a given length, the 4 mm cylindrical rod had four times the mass of its 2 mm homologue; and four times the mass meant four times as much force; when that rod lands on its target, the recipient’s naked arse, it stops dead in its tracks, yielding up in the form of extreme pain, all that kinetic energy which it had been given on its downward trajectory by its wielder. So it was not surprising that the results of this onslaught were very much worse – or from the beater’s point of view better – than those obtained with a 2 mm rod.
This is, in fact, a fine example of Newton’s second Law of Motion applied to solve a simple problem: put in terms of beating a lad’s arse, the pain delivered depends on the force of the impact of the rod and the force is the product of the mass multiplied by the deceleration. Musing on all these fact, Kevin realised that he had just performed what had to be his most memorable act of flagellation ever. Kevin found himself in a high state of sexual arousal after he had finished with Newton. Stephen Shaw too, was in a similar state as the tenting of his trousers testified. Kevin realised that it had been a wise decision to make the two guards wait outside whilst the punishment was administered, for had they witnessed what had been an extreme punishment, they would surely have been so erotically psyched up by what they had seen that poor Newton would have barely got back to his dormitory before being raped.
That evening as Kevin and Stephen relieved their own pent-up sexual tensions as they always did, in a long bout of gay sex, Stephen said: “You know Kevin, what you just did to Newton has opened up new ground as far as beating arse is concerned. How the lad supported what you were legally obliged to do to him, I have no idea, And how he is going to live with himself for the next two months in the knowledge that he will twice again to received the same treatment; frankly if that does not straighten him out, then nothing ever will.”
This exemplary punishment, which was to be the fate of numerous delinquents as they arrived at the school with birching sentences in their hands, complemented the strict punishment regime which Kevin and Stephen imposed on the inmates. All new detainees were systematically beaten on the day of their arrival at the school irrespective of whether they had a mandatory birching sentence hanging over their heads or not. Kevin saw this procedure as a “we-will-stand-no-nonsense-from-you” warning to new entrants that they had better be on their best behaviour forthwith unless they wished to spend their time at the school with permanently sore arses. Then individuals with mandatory birching orders, such as Colin Newton, suffered their court-imposed “fate-worse-than death” a few days later. Add to these two procedures the necessity for corrective beatings on a regular basis to keep the inmates in order and punish them for the misdemeanours lads inevitably commit, and you will see that the cane and birch were seldom silent for long at Moulton-Midmarsh.
The iron will Kevin Pettifer imposed on his charges led to a relatively stable environment in which the most serious young offenders in the country were confined and disciplined for their misdeeds. If at the end of their confinement many lads left unrepentant and unreformed, ready to revert to the life of crime which had brought them there in the first place, it was not for a lack of trying to reform them. At Moulton-Midmarsh, if detected, no misdeed, however small, went unpunished. The Department of Juvenile Corrections sent its inspectors to Moulton-Midmarsh and expressed itself extremely satisfied with the results of its new high-security venture. Kevin Pettifer and Stephen Shaw basked in what I suppose must be classed as glory. But more importantly they were happy with their lot at Moulton-Midmarsh and happy to have each other.
And here concludes the amazing history of Kevin Pettifer.
THE END
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