(Author Note: This is the first story in a series.)

Eric Collins looked up from reading and surveyed his classroom. His classroom. How long had he wanted to be a teacher? Most of his adult life, if he was honest with himself. Now here he was, a school master, as they called the position here in England. Although his training was in engineering, Collins had accepted the position of mathematics master at St. Michael's Hall, an exclusive boarding school for boys on the outskirts of the small rural town of East Brimley.

Collins glanced at the portait of Queen Victoria on the classroom wall. Indeed, her portrait graced the wall of nearly every public room in the school that Collins had seen so far. Her Royal Majesty had already ruled England for decades. She was well on her way to becoming the longest-reigning monarch in English history.

Collins looked out at his current class, the Second Form, which consisted of 24 boys, all 12 or 13 years old. He had already been warned by more experienced masters to watch out for the Second Form. They seemed well enough behaved so far, but his new colleagues had warned him that the Second Formers were crazy, even for boys. These prospective asylum inmates were currently working out the set of math problems he had given them to determine how advanced they all were in the subject of mathematics. There had been no major disturbances so far during this informal test, although on a couple of occasions he thought he heard whispering. But so far he had been unable to catch any of the students talking.

The fact that Collins was an American had caused quite a stir among the students when he introduced himself at the beginning of class. In fact his nationality had caused a stir in the Master's Lounge as well. So how had an American become a mathematics master at an English public school during the reign of Good Queen Vic? Well for starters, it was likely the only teaching job that snobby English headmasters would have trusted him with. Although Collins was a native speaker of American English, he couldn't speak or write "their language" well enough to qualify as an English Master. His knowledge of Latin and French were admittedly limited. But even the worst English snobs were forced to allow that a trained American engineer could probably count well enough to teach mathematics to high school students. At least one headmaster, Edward Perkins of St. Michael's Hall, was willing to give him a try.

In fact Eric Collins had sought and accepted the job out of necessity. He had been touring Europe and unexpectedly found himself in London without the funds necessary to get to the port of Southampton, much less pay for the voyage back to Boston. At least that was his story, and he was sticking to it.

Collins' thoughts were interrupted by a disturbance at the back of the classroom. Two boys were whispering to each other, and this time he had caught them in the act. Show time! Collins knew that how he handled this first test of his authority could go a long way towards establishing his reputation at this school.

"Shaw!" yelled Collins, "Wilden!" The two whispering boys were startled at hearing their names called. But they quickly recovered from their surprise, rose and stood next to their desks, looking sheepishly at their new master. The attention of every boy in class was now focused on the master and the two standing boys. "What was important enough to interrupt your school work?"

"Interrupt, sir? said Shaw, a sly look stealing across his face. Andrew Shaw was a big strapping lad of 13, one of the tallest in his form. He was probably one of the leaders of this group, as well.

"You were talking instead of working!" said Collins. "Don't try to deny it!"

"Oh that," said Shaw, with a slight shrug of his shoulders.

"Yes, that!" said Collins. "Were you two sharing answers to the test?"

"Oh! No, sir!" said both boys in unison. "We would never do that," said Wilden, a worried look on his face. Timothy Wilden was a skinny 12-year-old of average height for his age. "That would be cheating. Andy was just telling me that the class was almost over."

"Really?" said Collins.

Both boys said, "Yes, sir!" Their heads bobbed slightly as they nodded their agreement.

"Hmm," said Collins as he rose from his desk and came around the front. As he strode down the aisle, Collins was pleased to see the look of shock and fear on the face of young Wilden. As he moved down the aisle, his robes swept out behind him. He was still getting used to wearing the black schoolmaster's robes. At least Headmaster Perkins made wearing those ridiculous mortarboard hats optional.

Collins stopped next to Wilden, looked carefully at the boy, then turned to examine the classroom clock located near the front of the room. "So you can't see the clock from where you are seated, Wilden?"

The boy's face fell. "Well, ummm, I..."

"Are you saying you need spectacles, lad?"

"Oh, no, sir," said Wilden. The boy glanced at Shaw, looking for help from his friend and cohort.

"So what is the problem?" said Collins. "American boys your age already know how to read a clock and tell time. Do you?"

"Oh, yes, sir!" said Wilden.

"Mr. Collins," said Shaw. "I was just reminding Tim to finish up because class would be over soon."

Collins said, in a tone of total disbelief, "Were you?"

"Yes, sir!" insisted Shaw, although his face wore the expression of a boy who knows he has been caught out in a lie.

"Let's see what was really going on," said Collins, making it clear that he wasn't believing the boys' story. "Hand me your test papers, the both of you."

"Hand them in?" said Shaw, "But I'm not finished with the test yet, sir."

"Nice try," said Collins, "But I'll be the judge of that." Wilden quickly complied with the order, the look of dread plain on his boyish face as handed over the paper. Shaw complied as well, although more slowly. At one point it looked like the boy was going say something as he handed over the paper, but apparently he thought better of it.

Collins carefully examined both papers and quickly found what he was looking for. "Shaw, please explain to me why you have several changed answers on your test."

"Oh, those," said Shaw. "Well, sir, I realized that I had the wrong answers and worked them out again."

"You worked them out again?" said Collins. He carefully reexamined Shaw's paper. "The thing is, I don't see any new work. Only the original work that arrived at the wrong answer."

"I worked them out in my head, sir," said Shaw.

"Your excuses?" said Collins. "Yes, I can believe that!"

"No sir!" protested Shaw. "The corrected answers!"

"Well then," said Collins, "perhaps you'd like to explain why your 'corrected answers' precisely match Wilden's answers to the same questions... including both questions that Wilden got wrong?"

This revelation caused a dramatic reaction in both boys. Wilden was unable to look Collins, or anyone else, in the eye. Shaw was clearly startled by the news, but quickly placed a neutral look back on his face. "It was just a coincidence, sir."

Collins realized that his best bet was to concentrate on Wilden. So after giving Shaw a disbelieving look, he turned his full attention on the younger boy. "Well Wilden, did you give your answers to Shaw?" Wilden was still unable to meet his master's gaze. "Look at me when I'm speaking to you, boy!" Finally the youngster looked helplessly at him. "Well, Wilden? Did you give your answers to Shaw?"

Wilden only lasted a few seconds before saying, "Yes, sir." This admission was followed by an odd look of relief on Wilden's face and a nicely contrasting look of disgust on Shaw's face.

"The truth at last," said Collins. "To the front of the room, both of you." He turned and strode back to his desk to retrieve his cane. Collins had expected he would be tested by his students, and might need to use the cane early in his career. But this was only his second class of his first day. It looked like mathematics master at St. Michael's Hall was going to be an interesting job.

As Collins retrieved his cane, he hoped that his first two canings would be memorable. As a schoolboy back in America he had never experienced the "business end" of a rattan cane. In fact the first time he had ever seen a real rattan cane was when he was presented with his new cane the previous day, and given an opportunity to practice a bit in the Master's Lounge.

As the two miscreants approached the front of the classroom they eyed the cane apprehensively. Presumably they were more familiar with the effects of the rattan cane than their new master. Meanwhile Collins eyed the first two boys he would ever cane. Each lad was attired in the standard St. Michael's Hall uniform: white shirt with broad collar, grey waistcoat, red cravat, grey knee breeches, black braces, white knee socks and plain black shoes. Most of the boys wore plain white linen drawers underneath their breeches.

Headmaster Perkins had made it clear that only he and the housemasters were allowed to administer corporal punishment to the bare bottoms of students. But Collins was assured by the head, and other experienced masters, that a standard crook-handled rattan school cane was quite effective, even when adminstered over linen breeches and drawers. It would be interesting to see how young Shaw and Wilden reacted to their imminent thrashings.

In fact those two young gentlemen were already looking very unhappy about the situation, and the canings hadn't even started. As the two lads stood before their angry master, Wilden plucked up the courage to say, "Sir, this wasn't a real test, was it?"

"A real test?" said Collins.

"I mean it wasn't going to count towards our grades, was it?"

"No," said Collins. "I told you as much before the test began. The test was intended to establish a baseline for the classes' knowledge of mathermatics so I would know where to begin teaching this form this year."

"Then it wasn't really cheating, was it?" said Wilden.

Collins had to stop himself from laughing. The cheeky little brat! "Nice try, lad. But it was still dishonest, and still therefore cheating."

"But if it wasn't going to count towards our grades, sir..." said Shaw, clearly desperate to avoid his imminent hiding.

"That just makes it worse!" said Collins.

"Worse?" chirped both boys in unison.

"Yes, worse," said Collins. "If you are willing to cheat on a test that doesn't count, what will you be prepared to do when your grades are on the line?"

"But, sir!" said Wilden. "We wouldn't do it when grades were actually on the line."

"Dishonesty is dishonesty, lad," said Collins. "No matter what the situation. Besides, if you lads cheat on this evaluation test I might not teach some mathematical concepts that members of this class are not familiar with. That would only hurt those boys further down the line in their academic or professional careers. Do you understand that?"

"Yes, sir," said Wilden, who had gone back to looking ashamed. Shaw seemed incapable of speech once he realized that their fates were now sealed, but he did nod a sad acknowledgement.

"You first, Wilden," said Collins. "Bend over the bench."

The skinny boy swallowed, then slowly and unwillingly bent over the bench located in the right front corner of the room. As he bent across the bench and grabbed the far side of the wooden seat, the thin material of his breeches tightened across his backside.

Collins moved into position near the bench and lined the cane up with the seat of Wilden's breeches. He tapped the undercurve of the breeches seat a couple of times with the cane, then drew the instrument far back to his shoulder level. As he swung the cane back down with a good bit of strength, it cut the air with a distinctive whir, then... Tthhwwwaaaacckk!

Collins was pleased with his first ever cane stroke administered in an actual classroom - it landed precisely where he had been aiming. The owner of that landing zone seemed considerably less pleased with the result. Wilden gasped audibly and shook his head briefly before settling back down.

Collins lined up the cane again, tapped, and swung. Tthhwwwaaaacckk! The stroke hit home just above the first one. Wilden managed to keep from gasping this time.

As Collins lined up the cane for the third stroke he could see the buttocks beneath the breeches clenching. The youngster was clearly feeling the first two strokes keenly. He tapped the cane, reached back and swung again... Tthhwwwaaaacckk!

Wilden grunted as the pain surged through his bottom a third time. Collins had originally planned to give each boy six strokes, but a quick glance at the clock told him that there were just a few minutes left of this class period. So he would settle for four this time. He tapped the cane lower, reached back and swung again, harder this time... Tthhhwwwwaaaaaaccckkk!

The final, harder stroke landed down in the crease between the boy's bottom and the tops of his thighs. This final stroke made quite an impression on young Wilden, who could not prevent a gasping yelp from escaping his lips. He also kicked his right leg back briefly, before returning it to its position and settling down again.

"Alright, Wilden. Get up."

Wilden rose painfully to his feet and turned to look at his master, whom he regarded with glistening eyes. At least the boy had been able to keep himself from crying.

"Time to trade places, lads," said Collins. "Your turn, Shaw."

Wilden slowly walked to the spot Shaw had just vacated. Meanwhile Shaw unwillingly trudged over to the bench and bent over it. As the boy bent over the bench his breeches tightened, outlining a more athletic pair of buttocks than his parner in crime. Collins would have to hit slightly harder to get the message across to Shaw. It seemed likely that the older boy was the instigator in any event.

More confident this time, Collins lined up the cane with the nicely presented breeches seat, tapped a few times, drew back, and.... Tthhwwwwaaaaaccckk!

Shaw barely reacted at all, and Collins was immediately certain that this was not Shaw's first caning. He added just a bit more force to the second stroke... Tthhwwwwaaaaaaccckk!

Still no reaction. On the third stroke Collins made use of a trick taught to him by a colleague the day before. Instead of aiming for the seat of the breeches, he 'swung through', aiming for an imaginary point in front of the bending boy. He also maintained the pressure on the cane, keeping it pressed against the breeches seat for a second or two. Tthhhwwwwwaaaaaacccckkk!

That got Shaw's attention! His head jerked up and he gasped audibly. The fourth stroke was delivered the same way, only down in the crease between the backside and the thighs. Tthhhwwwwwaaaaaacccckkk!

Shaw kept silent, but it was clear that he was just barely in control of himself. Collins considered giving the older boy an extra stroke, and there was a stir in the room when he began tapping the cane against the breeches again. Shaw turned and stared at his master with a look of dismay on his face. But Collins finally decided that enough was enough, provided... "Well, Shaw. Are you going to cheat on a test again?"

"No, sir!" said Shaw.

Collins turned to the younger boy, "Wilden, are you going to cheat on a test again?"

Wilden, his voice barely a croak, said "Oh, no sir!"

"Very well," said Collins, finally pulling the cane away from the seat of Shaw's breeches. "Get up, Shaw."

By the time Collins had filled out the first two entries in his brand new Punishment Book and had them duly initialled by Wilden and Shaw, the bell had rung for the end of class. The second formers filed out of the room after turning in their test papers. Collins took a deep breath as the fourth form students filed into his room for the next class. He had gotten through the first canings of his teaching career. He hoped that they always went that well.

It was lunch hour on the first day of term, and the conversations in the Master's Lounge of St. Michael's Hall were lively. Fully six of the eight "guest" masters present were beginning their first stay at Victorian World, and had therefore just adminstered their first-ever classroom canings to "active" android schoolboys that morning. The practice canings adminstered to "Tommy Traddles", the inactive android schoolboy that was permanently parked in a bent-over position in one corner of the Master's Lounge hardly counted. For starters, Traddles was incapable of reaction, no matter how much dust was raised from the well-worn seat of his breeches. Traddles was useful only for target practice.

Victorian World was one of the new "historical immersion theme parks" that had emerged during the early decades of the twenty-first century. Steady advances in computing and robotics had allowed artifical realities to be created using a strategic combination of actors and androids to simulate various historical times and places. Guests of these parks were able to immerse themselves in the desired historial time and place, which included engaging in violent behavior that would not normally be tolerated in 21st century cultures. Since the targets of violence in these parks were invariably androids, there were no legal problems involved in living out these fantasies.

Eric Collins had, in fact, been more than a little skeptical about vacationing at Victorian World. Collins had felt for much of his adult life that he had been born in the wrong era of history, and that he would have been much happier living in Victorian times. But to roleplay a school master beating the bottoms of young Victorian English boys was one thing. Beating the bottoms of androids who happened to look like Victorian English boys was quite another. Or so Collins had thought.

Collins' friend and colleague, Auguste Barbacane, had talked him into coming along for a week's vacation at Victorian World. And Collins had to admit that so far it was much better than he had imagined. The Victorian World advertisements promised that their androids were programmed to react realistically to all stimuli, and they certainly seemed to that morning in his classroom. Auguste, a psychologist by profession who was roleplaying the French Master at the school, also reported realistic reactions to the cane when he had employed it in his classroom that morning.

In fact as that first lunch hour wound down and the assembled guest masters finished telling the tales of their initial classroom canings, it seemed like all the guests were happy with the entertainment so far. At the end of lunch hour all eight guests made their way back to their classrooms for an afternoon of more fun and pain.

Author Note: This series was inspired by the 1973 film WestWorld, which was written and directed by Michael Crichton. St. Michael's Hall was named in his honor.