A Dreadful Tale From Whippingham College (ADULTS ONLY!)

The Honourable Dr Reginald Elgar-Payne-Bryngger, D.Phil (Bongobongoland), B.Wk (Oxon.), 18th High Master of Whippingham College, the richest, cruellest and poshest of all England’s famous public schools, looked up as the recently appointed housemaster of Mosley Hall, the immensely obese and hirsute Roger Vicious, M.A. (Cantab.) waddled into his study, his mortar board tucked under his fat armpit.1

‘My dear Mr Vicious, thank you for coming to see me so promptly following my request. Please take the weight off your feet and sit down.’ Elgar-Paynne-Bryngger indicated the specially reinforced chair he had asked old Bogthorpe, the hunchbacked College Janitor and Stoker, to carry up to his study in preparation for his overweight visitor. He winced as the gross housemaster collapsed into the chair like a sack of potatoes.2

‘Aaaaah, that’s better!’ wheezed the fat hairy Roger as the reinforced chair took his grotesque weight with a groan of protest. He wiped the sweat off his forehead with a hirsute paw.3

‘Now, Mr Vicious, before we get down to discuss a most serious disciplinary matter, let me observe the traditional Whippingham courtesies and offer you a glass of my finest whisky. It’s a 45-year old single Speyside malt, the Glen McSproggit 100 degree proof. This is the only surviving bottle and it will truly knock your head off!’4

‘It’s an honour to share such nectar with you, High Master,’ panted the sweating Roger Vicious, as he gratefully sipped at the precious amber fluid, savouring its peaty wonder and gasping at the incredible kick which the lethally strong spirit supplied. ‘Fucking fantastic!’ he exclaimed in wonder.5

‘I have been examining the punishment records for the past half term, Mr Vicious, and I have come across something truly extraordinary. Two pupils in your house have each received a total of one hundred and forty-two strokes of the cane in only six weeks. That’s an average of 3.38 strokes per day. In fact, since thrashing is forbidden on Sundays, it’s actually 3.92 per caning day.’6

‘Ah yes, the Vanmarsock twins, they really are gluttons for punishment. Rarely a day goes by without my having to give them six of the best. There’s barely a space on their arses without scar tissue now. But they just don’t seem to learn.’7

‘Look at this, Mr Vicious,’ said the High Master, pointing to the pages of the punishment book. ‘Monday 18th April, smoking, 4 strokes; Tuesday 19th April, smoking, 6 strokes; Wednesday 20th, farting in chapel; 4 strokes, Thursday 21st, burping in geography class, 4 strokes; Friday 22nd, masturbating in the bath, 6 strokes; Saturday 23rd, masturbating during hockey practice, 12 strokes. The list is endless, my good man, simply endless!’ 8

‘Well, I have warned them, High Master, that unless they buck their ideas up and improve their behaviour, I shall be obliged to send them over to you for a dose of the Black Mambo, the most cruel and savage cane in all England. I have threatened them that I shall ask you to administer a 12-stroke public Black Mambo flogging before the entire college at Evensong.’9

‘And how did they react to that dread prospect, Mr Vicious?’10

‘They showed no fear whatsoever, High Master. I was surprised at their attitude. It was almost as though they were daring me to do it,’ exclaimed the tubby teacher. ‘High Master, may I say that was a truly remarkable malt. I feel as though my tonsils are on fire.’11

‘Let me refill your glass, my dear Vicious. Another triple?’12

‘I don’t mind if I do. Muchas gracias!’13

‘Well, I have been investigating the background of young Aloysius and Bernard Vanmarsock, Mr Vicious.’14

‘They come from an excellent family, High Master, their pater is the well-known miser and mine owner, Sir Engelbert Vanmarsock of Vanmarsock Hall, near Durham in the County Palatinate. His mother is the exquisitely ugly Lady Deidre Vanmarsock, sister of Lord Turdbery, a junior cabinet minister in the previous government. Just the sort of aristocratic parents we value. People who uphold the traditional English values of public service and patriotism.’15

’This must stay strictly between ourselves, Vicious,’ muttered Dr Reginald as he stood up and gathered his incredibly stylish canary yellow Bongobongoland University gown round his muscular thighs, ’but the Vanmarsock family is not what it seems.’16

’Fucking Hell, High Master, do tell!’ gasped the porky pedagogue.17

’Sir Engelbert Vanmarsock is actually the grandson of Herr Sacher-Masoch, the Austrian novelist and inventor of masochism who died of his addiction to pain in 1895! The family changed their name to Vanmarsock and adopted British nationality in order to avoid the shame of his obscene perversion! The Vanmarsock twins in your house are the grandsons of this famous Austrian sexual pervert. They have masochism in their blood! By thrashing them continually you are merely pandering to their insatiable sexual longing for pain!’18

Roger Vicious, M.A., gasped in horror and knocked back the remaining double malt in his glass with the result he was convulsed with a terrible cough which seemed to cause his huge rolls of flab to shake like a pig’s buttocks during an act of copulation. ‘Bugger me!’ he wailed. ‘What a fool I have been! I should have known - as a natural sadist I should have recognised the systems.’19

‘Do not blame yourself, my dear Mr Vicious. You were only acting for the best.’ And he patted the plump house master on his fat shoulder. He could feel the man’s hairiness rustle under his shirt and felt slightly sick. What a gross and unattractive creature Vicious was. And yet such a good man, such a fine teacher of Ancient Greek, and with a sonorous bass voice which would be perfect for next term’s College production of Wagner’s Flying Dutchman in the all-England public schools opera contest.20

‘But what can we do, High Master? How can we punish these two little bastards for their filthy behaviour, for their non-stop farting, burping, wanking and smoking? By beating them we only cater to their disgustingly perverted tastes. Even if I sentence them to a few days in the old College Stocks, they will probably enjoy being pelted with rotten fruit by the lads. What can we do?’21

‘I have given some thought to the matter,’ responded Dr Reginald, ‘and I have come up with what I feel is the perfect solution.’22

‘Which is?’ prompted the fat one.23

‘Well, my dear sir, what do masochists seek? What gives them what I believe is referred to as their “kicks”?’24

‘Pain. The bastards want to be hurt! They enjoy it!’25

‘Precisely. So we will deprive them of their pleasure.’26

‘What the fuck do you mean by that?’27

A shocked silence fell on the High Master‘s study at these words. 28

‘A bit more respect for my position please, Vicious. Do not address me so impertinently. Remember that I am High Master here and I have the right to cane anyone, even my fellow masters. You will possibly recall that my predecessor, the great Dr Septimus Seiss-Urquart, Ph.D, D.D., M.S., personally thrashed the house master of Flogwell House, our respected colleague Colonel Doom, so savagely that he was confined to a wheelchair for a year. And of course the previous house master of Thrashmore Hall, the second oldest house here at Whippingham, suffered a major cardiac arrest after a caning administered in this very room, a beating which I am proud to say I participated in with vigour. He received that beating for setting up his cheek to the then High Master.’29

‘A thousand apologies, High Master, I forgot myself in my eagerness to hear of your plans as to how do deal with these dastardly youths. Such a presumption will never pass my lips again. I can only blame the two treble whiskies I have just imbibed.’30

‘Your apology is accepted, Fatso. But if you can’t hold your drink, keep your greedy face shut when the bottle gets passed round.’31

Roger Vicious, M.A.(Cantab.), newly appointed house master of Mosley Hall, formerly St Vladimir’s and a previous hotbed of vampirism, could hardly believe his ears at this unexpected and yet familiar insult. But he swallowed and took it like a man. After all, it was true: he was hugely obese, a great barrel of ugly, hairy lard. But how had the High Master discovered his old Army nickname? And how did he know about his weakness for the sauce?32

‘Forgive my snapping at you, Vicious old chap, I am somewhat shocked at these developments. As I was saying, my dear fellow, we shall deprive them of their pleasure. The next time the twins are sent to you by one of your masters for a beating, tell them that, under new legislation passed by the government, they have reached the maximum permitted thrashing level for this academic year and thus no matter what they do, they cannot be caned again for another six months.’33

‘Are you sure that will work, High Master? Surely it will just mean that at the beginning of next year, they will march into my office and request their full entitlement of a hundred and forty-four strokes all in one go!’34

‘Ah, now we come to the cunning bit, old boy,’ smirked Dr Reg. ‘You explain to them that punishment will still be handed out, but it will go to their friends instead, as whipping boys. You then fetch in a couple of their classmates and give them a good old thrashing while they are forced to watch.’35

Roger Vicious’s fat mouth dropped open in awe and admiration at the simple genius of this plan.36

’You see,’ continued the yellow-gowned High Master, waving his bright purple Bongobongoland University mortar board above his head in exultation, ‘no masochist can bear to see other people being punished. No masochist can bear to see others suffering pain which he is not enjoying himself!’37

And so it proved to be the case. The very next morning the pain-seeking Vanmarsock twins arrived at Mr Vicious’ study holding the familiar Punishment Request Forms in their eager hands. Vicious glanced at the PRQs. The twins had apparently groped the arse of the Bursar’s wife and Mr Grasper demanded they should receive a minimum of twelve strokes each, preferably with the house master’s nastiest cane, his infamous 38-inch malacca, nicknamed “Old Cutter” as it normally skinned a lad’s backside bare if wielded skilfully.38

‘Oh dear, dear me,’ sneered Roger Vicious, his podgy face crinkled in false sorrow. ‘This poses a slight problem. Tell me, Aloysius and Bernard, who are your very best friends here at school?’39

‘Why Snogglethorpe minor and Jackson-Buglepooper sir. They’re both ripping chaps and spiffing good cricketers! They’re both playing in the Under 15s First Eleven tomorrow in the inter-house match against our arch enemies at Flagellators, sir.’ 40

Vicious opened his study door and yelled out to a passing junior to fetch Snogglethorpe mi and Jackson-Buglepooper from cricket practice immediately. He then turned to the perplexed miscreants standing before him and explained the situation sadly.41

‘Unfortunately I am prevented from beating you within an inch of your life for this disgusting offence as you have both reached the maximum number of cane strokes permitted in any one year. Our weak-kneed liberal government has passed a law to protect young swine like you from getting your just deserts. It seems I am not allowed to thrash you again until next September, when your wounds will have just about healed.’42

‘That’s not fair, sir,’ the two masochists chorused.43

‘However, I shall appoint your best friends Snogglethorpe mi and Jackson-Buglepooper as your proxies. When they arrive I shall give them eighteen strokes each with my best cane, the 38-inch malacca I keep in reserve for such occasions as this. You will have the pleasure of watching them being punished for your misdemeanours. Naturally I shall explain why they are being thrashed and they will, being good sports, appreciate the situation. Each time you bring a Punishment Request Form to me, I shall beat your friends again on your behalf. It is possible they will cease to be your friends in future. Oh yes, and their injuries will probably mean they will be unable to bat for the House against Flagellators tomorrow.’44

The two bemused classmates arrived shortly afterwards, still clad in their cricket whites. Mr Vicious ordered them to strip and thrashed them mercilessly whilst the Vanmarsock twins watched in helpless horror and shame. After the terrible punishment was over, the bloated, sadistic house master was drenched with sweat, but in an enjoyable sort of way. He told the nude pair to get out of his sight before he decided on another six strokes for luck. After the hapless proxy victims had hobbled painfully away, he turned to the twins and said softly, ‘if you two misbehave again, I might just live up to my exciting reputation with your two little friends. Their buttocks will look like an aerial view of Clapham Junction Railway Station after I have finished with them. Now fuck off whilst I clean the blood off my cane.’ 45

And just as the wise Dr Reg had foretold, the disgustingly perverted pair of thwarted masochists realised that they were to be deprived of their ghastly bent pleasures. Instead they headed off to the dormitory for a good old incestuous wank together.
‘I say, Aloysius,’ said Bernard afterwards, ‘why don't we become sadists instead?’
‘Piss off Bernard,’ snapped Aloysius in reply as he buttoned himself up. ‘It would be against all the family traditions. Pater would never forgive us. Our only hope is that, with a bit of luck, Snogglethorpe and Jackson-Buglepooper will come and bash us up frightfully in revenge.’
‘That sounds absolutely spiffing! Let's go and ask them how sore their jolly old arses are. We can goad them into punishing us dreadfully.’
But even then, their foul lusts were not be be fulfilled, for their two friends (being decent sportsmen and English gentlemen to the very core of their beings), forgave them and said they would be only to happy to stand in for a thrashing whenever the fat, cruel housemaster summoned them. It was with something approaching wonder that the kinky twins realised that their masochism was contagious. How soon would it be before their entire dormitory became infected?46