The Whippingham College Saga, Part 3: Justice Triumphant at Mosley Hall

For many years, the governors of Whippingham College, England’s strictest, poshest and most cruel public school, managed to keep the dark secret of one of its oldest constituent houses, St Vladimir’s, hidden from public knowledge. The fact that over a hundred pupils had been found one morning in their dormitories with wooden stakes driven through their hearts and that the entire academic staff had been burned alive by a demented lynch mob, intent on ridding the district of vampirism, had been difficult to conceal. But the then High Master of Whippingham, Dr. Roger Fearsome, the most insanely savage pedagogue in World history and the third tallest man in nineteenth century Europe, was highly cunning and also not averse to distributing bribes on an industrial scale. And thus generations of Whippinghamians had trembled in terror as they passed the deserted shell of St Vladimir’s House on their way to chapel each day, without fully realising the horrors of the ancient building. It was indeed a brave lad who ventured into the grounds of St Vlad’s for a hot wank with his pash du jour.

But all this changed shortly after the end of the Second World War when Sir Edmund Lasher, D.Phil., the renowned Latin scholar and internationally famed sado-masochist, was High Master. Sir Edmund received a joint offer from the Fondacion Dr Josef Mengele de Paraquay and the highly reputable British Union of Fascists for the re-establishment of St Vladimir’s as a new Whippingham house dedicated to the education as English gentlemen of foreign-born sons of the European aristocracy. Sir Edmund soon silenced the more traditionally-minded members of the Board of Governors who objected to overseas lads (no matter how noble their heritage) being permitted to attend Whippingham by threatening them with incredible personal violence on their skinny arses.

Thus, in 1946, Mosley Hall became the seventh house at Whippingham and by the mid-fifties (by which time Sir Edmund Lasher had died in a tragic incident involving an attempted self-crucifixion and had been succeeded by the renowned caning expert and Greek scholar, Dr Seyss-Urquart) it had established a unique niche at the famous college: a citadel of learning, academic prowess and sporting achievement which boys at the other houses could only wonder at, yet it remained a place of mystery to outsiders. One thing in particular distinguished Mosley Hall from the other houses at Whippingham: all Mosley pupils swore they were obliged to goose-step everywhere, even at School Evensong, on outings to the whore-houses in the nearby villages and, most extraordinary of all, on the cricket field. This meant that the house tended to perform poorly at cricket since goose-stepping inhibited play slightly. Another aspect of school life which tended to separate Mosleyites (as members of Mosley Hall were called informally) from other Whippinghamians was the strict ban on even the mildest homo-pashing. Indeed it was rumoured that any Mosleyite caught having even a harmless wank with a friend risked being put to death. This of course was strictly against School rules (why, even the High Master of Whippingham had lost the right to impose the death penalty on pupils as long ago as 1901).

The House Master of Mosley Hall was Cedric Goebbels, M.A., nephew of the SS Chief of the same name, but English-born, a great Wagnerian and a disciplinarian to be reckoned with. Shortly after the rebirth of St Vladimir’s as Mosley Hall, he had managed to get the Board of Governors to agree to his request that he should be called ‘der Fuehrer’ – as he explained, he was keen to encourage the study of German in his house and this would be a great help. As a quid pro quo he readily agreed to stick to his academic gown and mortar board in term-time and to keep his honorary powder-blue Luftwaffe uniform for the holidays.

As time went by, Dr Seyss-Urquart realised that Fuehrer Goebbels had designs on taking over the whole College and indeed his own job. How else could he interpret Mosley Hall’s invasion of the 1st XV rugger pitch when the College played a visiting team which contained a negro (and which embarrassingly led to the black lad’s death)? How else could he interpret the swastika flag flying over the Mosley Hall turret and the non-stop Nazi marching songs during Sports Day? What other meaning could he read into Goebbels’ suggestion at Master’s supper one evening that all pupils who were circumcised should be expelled as suspected Jews? Seyss-Urquart knew he had to tap into the huge reserve of English patriotism in his colleagues in the other houses if he was to prevent Goebbels from gaining control of the College and establishing Whippingham as the cornerstone of the Fourth Reich, a breeding ground for the sons of Nazi refugees resident in South America who aspired to be English gentlemen.

  ‘Miss Spankington,’ he said to his ever-faithful secretary as she rose from her knees, after having given him a really terrific blowjob one evening after lunch, ‘We really have got a fucking problem on our hands with that cunt Goebbels’.
  ‘You are totally right, High Master,’ she replied, wiping the spunk off her cheek. ‘He really needs a bloody good thrashing.’ And she confided her brilliant plan to Dr S-U.
  ‘That’s fucking staggering,’ said the High Master in admiration. ‘If it works, you can count on a serious salary increase.’ And he buttoned up his trousers, taking care not to allow any semen to drip onto the Persian carpet on his study.

The next day Roger Goebbels goose-stepped into the High Master’s lodgings in response to an urgent inter-house memo. ‘Dr Seyss-Urquart wishes to see me, Miss Spankington,’ he shrieked, falsetto, ‘I am at his service!’
  ‘Please step this way, House Master.’ And she indicated the door to the High Master’s inner sanctum.
  ‘My title is Fuehrer, as well you know!’
  ‘Of course. My apologies. Please step this way, mein Fuehrer.’ And Herr Goebbels goose-stepped into the study only to find it was empty.
  ‘The High Master will be with you shortly. He has been delayed by a bad attack of diarrhoea subsequent to participating in the boys’ lunch today. In the mean time, we have about fifteen minutes to spare.’ Miss Spankington looked at Goebbels lustfully, spread herself on the High Master’s desk and opened her dress to reveal her naked loveliness. ‘I have long thought you to be the most sexually attractive master in all of Whippingham. Why not give me a quick fuck? You know you want to.’
  ‘My God, but I love a woman who speaks her mind!’ declared Goebbels as he dropped his trousers and shoved his cock up the plump Miss Spankington’s waiting twat without further ado, soon getting a good martial rhythm going.

Without any warning, Dr Septimus Seyss-Urquart, Ph.D., D.D., M.S., leaped out of the cane cupboard where he has been hiding and proceeded to give Goebbels the hiding of the century with a cat o’ nine tails he had recently purchased from a retired admiral renowned for his inhuman cruelty to all crews under his command. ‘By Christ, Goebbels,’ he roared excitedly, ‘I’ll teach you not to poke my secretary without my permission! Take that! And that! And that!’

In her position as secretary to possibly the most brutal High Master in the history of Whippingham, Miss Spankington had often witnessed the fury of the great pedagogue’s punishments, but what Roger Goebbels got that day exceeded all her previous experiences. She tried to restrain Seyss-Urquart as he rained blow upon blow on the twitching body of the Fuehrer of Mosley Hall, but it was to no avail. The High Master’s fury did not abate until Goebbels lay lifeless on the blood-spattered Persian carpet.

  ‘Telephone Matron and say there’s been a slight accident in my lodgings, dear Miss Spankington,’ he commented as he wiped the gory cat o’ nine tails on the Fuehrer’s jacket. ‘And ask Mr Elgar to come and see me. I shall promote him from Woodwork Tutor to be the new House Master at Mosley’s. He is a true English patriot and as thick as two short planks. Within three months, the attempted coup d’état will be a thing of the past. And Mosley Hall will be saved from Naziism.’

As Miss Spankington went to do the High Master’s bidding, she knew she loved him more than any other man she had ever sucked off. Despite his haemorrhoids.