The Whippingham College Saga, Part 5: Youthful Indiscretion is Sorely Punished

1: UNWISE LOVE EXPOSED

‘I th-think I’m g-g-g-going t-t-t-t-t-t-to c-c-c-c-come!’ stuttered the Honourable Cedric Cripplemouth of Thrashmore Hall as his friend wanked him frantically.
‘O that’th thuper, thimply thuper, weally gweat,’ lisped his new pash, the Viscount Roger Rankrell of Disembowellers’ house.
‘Ooooh! Ooooh! I’m c-c-c-c-c-coming!’ cried out the Hon. Cedric.
‘Me too, Thedwic! Look at my thooting thpunk!’ exclaimed the other speech-impaired aristocrat.

After the two lads had mopped up their spermy outbursts, the potential terror of their situation returned to them. Inter-house pashing was strictly forbidden at Whippingham College, the poshest and strictest public school in England. It was accepted that lads might get fond of each other, might “respect” each other, but this must always be kept within one’s own house. But the two lads’ terrible speech defects had naturally drawn them together, even though the strict social mores of Whippingham forbade any liaisons between boys in rival houses. They would be in very serious trouble if their pash for each other were ever discovered.
‘Oh Thedwic, what thall we do?’
‘I d-d-d-d-don’t know, R-r-r-r-r-roger, I f-f-f-f-f-fear our l-l-l-l-love is d-d-d-d-d-doomed!’
‘It’th tho unfair, Thedwic, we're vewwy like Womeo and Thuliet!’
‘Y-y-y-y-y-y-yes. B-b-b-b-but we m-m-m-m-must b-b-b-b-be brave!’

And at that moment, the doors of the cricket pavilion, one of the few places where inter-house sexual liaisons could be consummated, crashed open and a fanatical gang of members of the vigilantes of the College United New Testament Society (C.U.N.T.S. for short) burst in and beat up the two young lovers thoroughly. It was lucky that the two lads had not been caught on the job, as the C.U.N.T.S. punishment would have been even more violent. But both Cedric and Roger knew the matter would not end there. The C.U.N.T.S. vigilantes would report them to their respective house masters and then there would be Hell to pay. They returned, bruised and tearful, to their respective dorms to await the horrors of the next day.

The Very Reverend Psaydysste-Streke, the House Master of Thrashmore Hall, a man of exquisitely sadistic inclinations, was totally horrified when he heard that one of his pupils had been caught pashing with a boy from another house. He sentenced the Hon. Cedric Cripplemouth to twenty-four hours in the deepest dungeon of Thrashmore Hall without food or toilet access whilst he considered his next move. The head of Disembowellers’ house, the four foot six inch high expert in Greek and Latin and renowned Christian moral scholar Dr Orlando Crucifix, was also deeply shocked at the revelations from the C.U.N.T.S. enthusiasts. He placed young Roger Rankrell, the heir to one of England’s most famous dukedoms (and a mental defective to boot)in fetters and had him displayed in the house pillory where the poor lad got pelted with rotten fruit and dogs' turds. But both Psaydysste-Streke and Crucifix knew that they would have to report the matter to the High Master of Whippingham, the much-respected Dr Septimus Seiss-Urquart, D.D. Inter-house pashing was one of the most serious offences at College and they knew that there was only one possible punishment for the miscreants: a Public Flogging followed by a Ceremonial College Expulsion. And no refund of the term’s fees to the parents of the unfortunate boys.

2: UNWISE LOVE PUNISHED

‘Well, gentlemen, thank you for reporting this matter to me. Naturally, there is only one punishment for these little bastards: a Public Flogging, followed by a Ceremonial College Expulsion. What a pity they are both aristocrats, as that is precisely the social class we wish to encourage to apply to Whippingham. However, justice is justice and we can make no exceptions, even for the aristocracy. That is what our lads’ Paters and Maters pay for: justice and punishment without mercy. I notice that you have both already instigated the punishment process and, in token of their appalling suffering over the past twenty-four hours, I shall be lenient: only twenty lashes per boy and I shall use the 40-inch Trinidad Special instead of my dreaded 42-inch Black Mambo, the world's most painful cane.’
‘High Master,’ interjected Dr Crucifix, ‘may I draw your attention to an old Whippinghamian tradition?’
‘Spit it out, midget!’
‘College Rule 557 para 3 stipulates that inter-house pashing between most boys should be punished by a thrashing with the cane, but that any infringement of the pash rules by aristocrats should be punished by a Grand Public Birching on the Great Lawn.’
‘My God! Let me look at that rule, Crucifix!’ And the High Master read the rule out in amazement. ‘You are correct, my dear Crucifix. I am indeed indebted to you for pointing this out.’
‘High Master,’ commented the Rev. Samuel Psaydysste-Streke, ‘this causes a problem, I fear. Rule 878(h) states that the High Master is too important to use the birch and Rule 866(g) expressly forbids the High Master from administering a thrashing in the open air!’
‘What? So how can these filthy little bastards be punished? They must be thrashed before being expelled!’
‘Fortunately, High Master,’ explained the Reverend, ‘one of my staff, Mr Savage B.A., is the birching champion of the Southern Counties and was runner-up in the World Birching Olympics. I shall be delighted to release him to deputise for you on Great Lawn. He has a fine collection of birches which he has constructed himself on historical principles.’
‘Reverend Psaydysste-Streke, I am indeed grateful for your co-operation in this. We shall arrange the birching on Great Lawn for Sunday morning after Chapel. All boys to attend and all masters in full academic dress, canes at the ready. And afterwards, O’Higgins, the assistant gatekeeper, will hurl the two miscreants into the moat and their wretched parents can fish them out in disgrace!’

And so it came to pass: after Sunday Service, the High Master announced the Public Birching and Ceremonial College Expulsion to enormous cheers from the assembled scholars; the two culprits were dragged out of their pews by the prefects, stripped and placed on the Birching Platform which had been erected on Great Lawn; Mr Savage B.A. administered a startlingly bravura birching to tremendous applause and then the gnarled figure of the old gatekeeper grabbed the two screaming nude lads by the scruff of their necks and tossed them into the snake-infested moat.

Lord Cripplemouth was waiting in his Rolls-Royce to collect his disgraced son and parked nearby was the Bentley of the Duke of Rankrell. The noble lord and the duke recognised each other from their childhood at Whippingham and clasped each other on the shoulder in manly acceptance of the shame the double expulsion had brought to their escutcheons. They recalled how they had once pashed each other themselves. Oh how they harked back to those good old halcyon days, when two young aristocrats had wanked together, heedless of the impending clouds of war, heedless of the grinding poverty of ninety percent of their compatriots, their only thought to pump out their eager sperm! The duke offered his old friend a swig out of his brandy bottle, and soon they were as pissed as newts.

The two lads clambered up out of the moat, naked and ashamed, their poor arses whipped to shreds by the brutal birchings they had received from the ineffably cruel Mr Savage, the greatest bircher in the South of England, and ran towards their aristocratic parents who by this time had cracked open a second bottle of brandy to drown their mutual paternal sorrows.

‘Pater,’ cried young Roger,’ I’d weally wather like you to meet my fwiend Thedwic.’
‘D-d-d-d-d-delight-t-t-t-ted to m-m-m-m-make your acquaint-t-t-t-ance,’ said the Duke of Rankell, as he passed the brandy bottle back to his old friend.
‘P-p-p-p-pater,’ wept young Cedric, ‘th-th-this is m-m-m-my friend R-r-r-roger R-r-r-rankr-r-r-well.’
‘Woger Wankwell! I’m weally pleathed to meeth you,’ smiled Lord Cripplemouth, as the brandy hit in, eclipsing his shame. Thank fuck he wasn't driving home; his chauffeur, Bloggsworth, could always help him into the car if he fell over again.