The Ingram-Lewis Chronicles

PART 6 - PATRICK'S FINAL TERM AT RIGBY

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CHAPTER 1

Patrick Ingram-Lewis, the Head Boy had just returned to Rigby School after the Easter holidays. It was the last time he would be returning to the school at which he had been a pupil since the age of thirteen. At the end of this, his final term, he would be leaving the place for ever to start the next phase of his life as a young adult. As we all know, Patrick was a sexually very active young man; handsome, muscular and sexually very well endowed; he enjoyed sex with both men and women. When he was at school deprived of female company, he never missed an opportunity to fuck the butt of any of his willing classmates of the upper sixth: all boys, or rather young men, now in their final year.

Since his appointment as Head Boy, he had, however, cut back on his sexual adventures with his contemporaries and restricted his activities to his close friend, Roderick Pennington. But towards the end of the previous term, he had also developed a new liaison with a senior prefect called Atkins. This was a particularly attractive relationship, for Atkins liked to be beaten and then have his freshly caned arse fucked hard. Patrick loved both aspects of their liaison, for he loved beating arse and the cream on the cake was then to able to shaft what he had just beaten. For him it was a marriage in heaven of two acts which gave him great pleasure.

And, of course, we have not to forget the extraordinary relationship Patrick had with the Headmaster, Mr. Godber, for whom he had become what we, today, would call a sort of toy- boy. Mr. Godber was himself an aging, lonely homosexual whose life partner had died a few years earlier and who had found in Patrick a willing means to meet his occasional urge still to have sex. And so Patrick had found himself giving his Headmaster what was referred to in polite terms as "anal stimulation" each Sunday evening. After the first few occasions, Patrick had discovered that he had developed quite an affection for the old boy, who was to retire at the end of that term after lord knows how many years in the service of the school. But Patrick had also to thank Mr. Godber for giving him the status "in loco domini", which, coupled with his position of Head Boy, gave him practically full control over all corporal punishment out-of-class time at the school. And as readers of the earlier episodes of this story will know, Patrick loved thrashing boys' arses almost as much as he enjoyed sex.

Patrick was, in spite of his young age, master of the Ingram House, the estate in Northumberland and the Ingram Family coal mining business, which he had inherited as an only child, quite a few years ago on the unexpected early death of his father. He had had to good sense to leave the management of the estate and the mining business, in which he had not the slightest interest, in capable hands and was able to sit back and enjoy the very considerable income which it brought in. Money was not a problem for Patrick Ingram-Lewis; but having it, did not mean that he was obsessed or motivated by it; not in the least! He was not always hankering after this that or the other, which only money could buy. Basically his sex life and enjoyment of it was much more important to him than money.

He had spent a very agreeable break at Ingram House, his ancestral home a few miles west of Newcastle, the nearest big city. He had been basically alone over the holidays in the house apart from his rather remote and, to his mind, miserable mother, Mildred Ingram-Lewis, who went through life with a chip on her shoulder as she was not received by the great and the good of the region by virtue of the fact that the Ingram-Lewises were what was then referred to as "trade". At the time of this story, England was still deeply divided by class (today it pretends not to be, but in fact, it still is!) and although it was accepted to have inherited wealth, which the owner had done nothing to merit beyond being born rich, to have become rich by actually earning the cash was a definite no-no! Patrick cared not one jot for what the aristocracy thought of his family, but for his mother it was a cross she had to bear. and bear it she did: openly and never-endingly. In fact it had contributed greatly to the development of both her vinegary character and her miserable outlook on life in general.

When I say that he had been alone over the holidays, I mean that on this occasion his friend Roderick Pennington had not spent his holidays at Ingram House as Patrick's guest. But Patrick did not in any way lack company with whom to be able to satisfy his sexual needs, for the footman, Geoffrey, and the assistant Gardener, Tom, both of whom were very nifty with their cocks, were on hand and more than willing. And as for female company the nubile nymph of a kitchen maid, Rose, made her considerable expertise available whenever Patrick felt inclined. So all in all, the holiday had been very pleasant and Patrick returned to Rigby feeling quite refreshed and ready to start his final term as Head Boy in loco domini.

CHAPTER 2

It was Monday, the first day of the summer term. All the boys had arrived back and were at the first morning assembly, awaiting the customary announcements to be made by Mr. Godber, the Headmaster. He began: "It came to my notice at the end of last term, that there was still a lot of smoking going on in the dormitories at night, in spite of the strict rule that smoking is not tolerated in this school, or for that matter outside the school premises. And that applies especially to boys of the upper sixth, who being eighteen years of age, are legally allowed to smoke. However, let them be warned; whilst they are at this school, which has the responsibility in loco parentis for all its pupils, whatever their age, smoking will not be tolerated. I trust I make myself clear."

There was utter silence from the assembly, as the boys waited for what was still to come. It was quite clear that old Godber was not intending to stop with a simple reminder of what everyone present already knew to be the rule. The Headmaster went on: "I am sure that you are all wondering why I chose today, the first day of term to remind you of a rule which I am sure you all know exists and which many of you, I am quite sure, are breaking on a regular basis. Well, gentlemen, let me tell you why I am drawing this rule to your attention today. You have all just returned from your holidays and I suspect that many of you will have taken the freedom which your absence from school has given you to acquire illicit stocks of cigarettes."

"Now gentlemen; here is what is going to happen. There will be a seven day moratorium, starting now and ending on Sunday evening, during which time you will all hand over to your form master any and all cigarettes which you have in your possession. So I trust I am making myself clear. I want all cigarettes handed over by Sunday evening; I repeat: all cigarettes. There will be no punishment of any boy who obeys and hands over any cigarettes, even one or two that he has in his possession must be handed over."

"After next Sunday, any boy found still to be concealing cigarettes will automatically be given twelve strokes of the birch. I will repeat that, so that those of you who hard of hearing are quite certain of what I have said; twelve strokes of the birch; there will be no ifs and buts; no excuses: no extenuating circumstances. If you are found with cigarettes in your possession, then you will automatically be birched at eight o'clock that same day. Now, for any boy actually caught in the act of smoking a cigarette, the punishment will be even more severe; he will receive fifteen strokes of the birch. There will be no exception to what I have just told you. It is applicable across the entire school, from the first to the upper sixth forms and prefects are not exempt. Indeed I expect them to set an example to the rest of you. I will tolerate smoking no longer as of today in this establishment. I trust I have made myself abundantly clear."

Mr. Godber had, however, not yet finished. "Now additionally, you all know that consumption of alcohol in any form is strictly forbidden. And that applies equally to you gentlemen of the upper sixth who, having reached the age of eighteen, are legally allowed to drink. I particularly mention the upper sixth form, as many of you, I am sure, think that you may do as you wish as far as drinking is concerned. Well so you may; but out of term time. Whilst you are still at this school you will respect the no-drinking rule along with the younger boys. There will be no exceptions to this rule: and any boy, I repeat, any boy, caught drinking, will automatically be birched. I repeat, so that you all understand the punishment you will incur; you will be birched."

After the assembly, Atkins came up to Patrick and said: "The old boy's really got the bit between his teeth on this one, it smacks very much of a witch hunt."

"I am inclined to agree with you Atkins, but have you realised who will be obliged to enforce this. It will be we prefects who have to deal with the whole business. Where are the cigarettes? Well I can tell you they are hidden away in the dorms just as they were when I caught Tomlinson Major and Newby puffing away last term. And in case you have forgotten more than half the boys in their dorm had caches of fags hidden away. I can tell you now, my friend; this business could turn into a real bloodbath. And what's more, old Godber won't want to wield the birch himself; it will be me that he expects to take the skin of the arses of any boys caught."

In general the school took seriously to heart what the Headmaster had said and by the end of the week there was quite a pile of packets of cigarettes which had been surrendered. But, as ever, certain boys always thought that they could beat the system and so quite a lot of cigarettes were still stashed away, especially in the two sixth forms. The attitude of what we might call "the hardened smokers" was that they had to be caught at it and the art was, of course, not to get caught. But lads took all sorts of stupid risks and it was on that very first day of the new term, after the assembly with the fateful warning, that three boys from the lower sixth, Baxter, Carrington and Godfrey, found themselves standing outside the punishment room in their gym strips, waiting to have their arses birched.

These three lads had decided, quite stupidly, to light up in the lavatories, where smoking had been rampant in the past. They been caught, puffing away, by one of the junior perfects who had referred them to Patrick. As you will remember, Rigby had a Prefects' Court which dealt with punishments on a day to day basis, but as smoking was now a mandatory birching offence, and only Patrick as Head Boy in loco domini was authorised to wield the dreaded rod, such cases were now automatically referred to him. And truly frightening were the latest versions of the birch used a Rigby. As related in a previous episode of this story, Mr. Patterson the head gardener had come up with a new form of birch made of fine, wiry maple twigs, which in the right hands were capable of delivering excruciating pain to the bare buttocks of the recipient; and this is precisely the implement which was to be used on these three lads this evening. They had no idea of what was in store for them!

Patrick went along to the punishment room a little earlier to check that everything was in order. As Mr. Patterson had predicted, the new version of the birch was much longer lived its classic predecessor and all three original specimens seemed to be in perfect order. That evening he again asked Atkins, who had become Deputy Head Boy in all but name, to assist him. Promptly at eight Patrick and Atkins arrived at the punishment room to find the three suppliant lads waiting their fate in the corridor. Opening up the door, Patrick said: Right lads, in you go. I want the three of you against the wall, there, shorts off completely, arses naked, hands on heads.

The three boys obeyed the instructions with a certain understandable reluctance, for to stand there naked from the waist down, their hands on their heads and their cocks fully exposed was embarrassing for them. It is strange how nudity works on the mind in different circumstances. All three lads were totally at ease with each other and with their other classmates naked in the showers or in the sports changing rooms. But to be made to stand there, immobile, displaying their naked cocks, which had a mind of their own, and await punishment, was a totally different matter and all three of them were clearly acutely embarrassed.

Patrick had selected the longest of the three maple birches, a truly wicked looking implement, from which he shook off the water in which it had been sitting and then swished it a few times trough the air for effect. He could see his future clients flinching at the thought of what was now about to happen to them. Patrick looked at the three of them, and saw that the full horror of the situation had now dawned upon them and that in the case of two of them, that uncontrollable piece of meat between their legs was already showing clear signs of tumescence. By the time he had finished with them, Patrick fully expected all three lads to have total erections, for naked beating in addition to being painful was also a very homoerotic procedure, both for the beater and the beaten.

"Right; I'll deal with you in alphabetical order; so, Baxter, if you please, kindly step forward and mount the Rigby Horse. Atkins, would you be good enough to attach Baxter's ankles and wrists with the straps. Now, Baxter, I suggest you brace yourself as I am going to give you twelve cuts of the birch as laid down by the Headmaster. I will not pretend that this is not going to hurt, because it will. In fact it will probably be the most painful thing that has ever happened to you in your entire time at Rigby. But you have brought upon yourself by your flagrant disobedience and must suffer the consequences of your action."

Now usually, when several boys are to be punished one after the other, it is normal practice to have those lads who are awaiting their turn, to face away from the horse and their unfortunate classmate. However, on this occasion, Patrick did not accord the two lads who were waiting even that slight courtesy. Carrington and Godfrey found themselves confronted with a full view of the soon to be beaten Baxter's arse. And as they watched their cocks became harder and harder until as the beating began, they both were fully erect. And when Patrick Ingram-Lewis, Head Boy in loco domini wielded the birch it was not a pretty sight for the onlookers. Birching should not be turned into a spectator sport; it is an utterly horrific experience for the recipient, as the birch cuts into the naked flesh of his buttocks and the pain just builds up and up until it becomes totally excruciating for the recipient.

"Atkins: would you be good enough to call the strokes, please," said Patrick. Atkins obliged and called the first stroke, and Patrick brought down the birch with a tremendous swish to land with a crack across the middle of Baxter's arse. By the third stroke, Baxter was howling with pain and asking him to stop; but as we all know Patrick would deliver the twelve mandatory strokes with his usual vigour and by the time he had finished, Baxter was reduced to a sobbing wreck.

His two partners in crime had looked on, terrified by the thought of what they saw was also going to happen to them in a few minutes time. With consummate skill and with twelve strokes to deliver, Patrick was able to ensure that every square inch of Baxter's arse was touched by the birch. When he had finished, the boy had a flaming red pair of buttocks, peppered with the small cuts made by the individual twigs of the birch. "Atkins if you would be so good as to release the straps around Baxter's wrists and ankles, I think that he may now be allowed to get up from the horse and rejoin his accomplices against the wall. Baxter; I want you with your hands on your head and facing the horse so that you can have the pleasure of watching the fate of your two friends here. Carrington: you're next; come on lad, jump to it and mount the horse; we don't have all night! And as for you Godfrey; don't worry; your turn will come; we have not forgotten you; just be patient!"

By the time Patrick had finished with the three lads, they were all feeling very sorry for themselves. He finally told them to put their shorts back on and allowed them to leave. They were all in tears and rubbing their backsides trying, in vain, to relieve the excruciating pain which Patrick had inflicted. One had to believe, looking at the three lads that the maple birch was a very, very painful implement indeed.

CHAPTER 3

Left alone in the punishment room, Atkins said to Patrick: "You know Ingram-Lewis that was a real virtuoso performance you just put on there. I don't think those three knew whether they were coming or going after you had finished with them. That birch is really a deadly weapon. How did Patterson ever think of making it like that? With the really whippy twigs, or shoots of the maple he used, he moved from the normal birch into realms which defy the imagination; my god, the pain that that thing is capable of delivering."

Patrick listened to this and said to himself: "Don't tell me that the arch masochist, Atkins, would like a taste of this new birch himself. If he thinks I'm going to thrash his arse with it, he's out of his mind. Has he any real idea of just how painful the bloody thing is?"

But of course, Atkins was not out of his mind; far from it in fact. For someone who is not himself a masochist, it is difficult understand what the true masochists gets out of any painful encounter which he manages to have inflicted on him. The simple fact of the matter was that there was something in Atkins's makeup which enjoyed pain: he got what we would today call a kick out of allowing someone else to inflict pain on his body. And having seen this new maple birch in action, he truly wanted to sample the joy of feeling those lissom maple shoots caress his naked arse. I am not sure that the words joy and caress are truly apposite, but that was how Atkins thought of the act which he so much wanted to be visited upon him. He was not slow in coming to the point for he had on an earlier occasion persuaded Patrick to thrash his arse with the junior willow birch (another imaginative punitive implement imagined and made by the one and only Mr. Patterson).

"Look here Ingram-Lewis, you know my weakness so why don't you just give me a few strokes of that birch and then, in turn, you can indulge your own erotic fantasy and fuck my arse which you will have just birched. I presume that you still enjoy thrashing a guy's arse and then fucking it' well here is your second chance to do just that. Come on Ingram-Lewis; it's just between you and me and we will both get something we desperately want out of it. I'll get my arse beaten by you and you'll have the pleasure of fucking it. And don't now tell me that you don't want to do that because I know you do."

"Atkins; have you any idea what you are asking me to do. Listen man; that birch is a bloody painful implement: twice as painful as the normal birch at my guess. You cannot compare it with the thrashing I gave you, again at your request, with the junior willow birch. It's chalk and cheese; you'll be screaming for me to stop after a couple of strokes. You saw what it was like for those three I've just dealt with; well you'd be exactly the same."

"But that is precisely what you do not understand, Ingram-Lewis. The fact is that I want to feel real pain: really excruciating pain in fact; that is exactly what I want. I know it's difficult for you to understand why I want to experience it; but just accept the fact that I do. As the maxim puts it, there are horses for courses and that's what I want. So, do be a good chap and give me a few cuts and then you can assuage your guilty feelings and fuck my butt. And then we can take it from there." Atkins concluded, with a knowing smile.