Amy – Chapter 14
(Spank, BDSM, Mf, Mb)
Comments to leedavey1000@gmail.com

Josh flushed in shame as the Mr Dawkin’s brayed in laughter at him. The smell of his own urine was not strong but the shame of wetting himself in front of the audience was.
It was not his fault if anything it was common sense. He had sat there and watched Mr Dawkin’s beat a girl almost unconscious, and before that two boys, and now it was his turn.
He did not resist as he was tied firmly to the bench ‘for his own good’. Apparently if he struggled too much he may twist a joint and they did not want to hurt him. Well other than his bottom of course.

Fortunately for Josh the room was less crowded now, the parents of the other three children having taken them away. All that were left to witness his birching were his parents and the teacher’s helpers. Oh and of course Mr Dawkin’s.

He strode up and down swishing the birch rod back and forth, an entranced look upon his face, almost as if he were an 8 year old with a real light sabre.

“Stupid boy look at the mess. Detention next week for you.” Mr Dawkin’s added with relish as Josh almost sobbed at this news. Despite Mr Dawkin’s face such ‘accidents’ were frequent, so the bucket of water that was used to sluice down Josh and the bench was already prepared. Josh however was not prepared for the bucket of cold water which was unceremoniously dumped over him, squealing as the cold water hit his back and poured down him.

Mr Dawkin’s stepped back smiling at this. Water not only cleaned it also made a beating hurt so much more, a fact that Josh would soon appreciate.

He patted a damp cheek smiling “Well Josh you have been sent here for being a bully, and bully’s in this school get punished, punished severely.
That is why you are going to be birched.”
He lent down and whispered softly into Josh’s ear “I love the birch boy; it hurts so much, but does less damage than the cane. Do you know what that means? No. It means I get to flog you a lot, a mere two dozen cane strokes is the limit. Do you know the limit of strokes for the birch? No! Well why don’t we find out together.”

He stepped back from the now truly terrified boy and turned to his waiting parents.
“You know why your child has been sentenced to this punishment?” he asked, and saw them both nod. Normally parents were not asked or consulted about their child’s punishment; it was part of the schools responsibility. The administration of the punishment birch was treated differently. It was certain that the child would be off school for some days recovering, and the birch was rightly considered the ultimate school deterrent.
In truth the parents could stop the school from disciplining their child at any time. However this could only be done by immediately removing the child permanently from school. The problem was that the law required all children to be educated, and a child removed from school under such circumstances would not be provided with another state school place. That left expensive private education that most parents could not afford, the illusion of parental power meant that parents could only watch as their child was whipped and spotted the floor with blood.

“Then what happened?” The Detective Inspector leant back in the chair and looked at the man in front of him, before sending a look to the Detective sitting next to him.
Steve collected his thoughts he did not wish to be here helping the police with their enquiries yet if he wanted to keep his role as a teaching assistant he had no choice; and he so loved spanking little bottoms.
“He started the boys birching.” He replied.

Mr Dawkin’s measured the distance and whipped the first blow of the birch across the crown of the boy’s two buttocks. The birch rods spread out compressing the skin before bouncing back up leaving a trace of red lines in its wake.
Josh felt the blow but to his surprise it was not that painful, oh it stung, but not as bad as everyone claimed it would be.
A second blow landed just below the first the top rods crossing over into the area previously struck.

Ohhh that stung Josh complained to himself, but really only where the rods had touched the previous marks. It seemed that this would not really be that bad he brightened.

Mr Dawkin’s was delighted he had delivered 6 blows laying them on from the top of the boy’s bottom down almost to his knees. The boys pale flesh was marred with numerous little red scratched, but none so deep or painful to have caused the boy to cry out. Exactly what he wanted. He knew that a birching should be a developing crescendo of pain, layers of pain building up one upon another. He knew the boy would be becoming over confident, pathetically believing that he could take his birching stoically. He doubted he would still believe this after the next 6 strokes. The ones that would be laid upon those already given.

“Nothing untoward so far.” The inspector noted, “Birching’s like this happen every day in school. Sorry please carry on Steve.”

Josh roared as the birch struck him again and again this time scoring deep into already abraded skin. Josh writhed only the restraints preventing him from falling, and only the fact that he had already emptied his bladder preventing him from doing so again.
The first set of 6 strokes smarted, the second set hurt, but the third set as each blow now impacted on wealed skin caused agony, droplets of blood already present where the rods had criss-crossed the skin.

Mr Dawkin’s paused admiring his handiwork. Halfway through the boys 26 strokes and blood already, the boy was weak and frail to fail so easily. No matter nothing would stop him from administering the next 18.

“Are you sorry now Josh for bullying that girl?” Mr Dawkin’s asked his hand caressing the boys back.
Josh said nothing hating Mr Dawkin’s and Amy with a passion he had never felt before.
“I asked you a question?” Mr Dawkin’s continued slapping the boy’s cheek harshly.
Josh squealed at the slap but kept silent, dreaming only of having a gun and an alibi.
“I ASKED YOU A QUESTION BOY?” Mr Dawkin’s screamed in rage at the boy’s insolence, snarling he gripped the birch and began furiously whipping the boy without concern. This was no longer a punishment but a brutal beating, that mercifully for Josh pushed him over the edge into unconsciousness as the skin was flayed from his bottom.
So far gone in rage Mr Dawkin’s knew nothing of this and continued the whipping, now far beyond the 18 strokes that should have been delivered. The aim so poor that a number of the blows hit the boy’s small dangling testicles. Even this is not enough to stop the boy’s insolence Mr Dawkin’s fumed his anger redoubling if such were possible. 
“Answer me. Answer me, Answer me” he screamed at the unresponsive boy.
“He totally lost it then?” the Inspector leant back as his colleague made a note.
“That would explain the state of the boy’s backside when he was taken to the hospital. The Doctors said that he was fortunate; a few more blows could have seen him seriously hurt. However apart from a few marks on his bottom no permanent harm was done. Even the badly bruised testicle will be fine once the swelling goes down or so the report says.”
The Inspector signed dropping the report he had been reading from down onto the table.
“Is that when the alleged crime occurred Steve?”

“Stop you bastard, you’re killing my son.” Ian run in lashing out with a desperate right cross.
Ian had been sickened after the first 18 strokes of the birch, as he stood there watching his sons punishment. Yet this was what had to happen. What had happened after that was not punishment it was abuse. 
The blow rocked the teacher back but failed to connect properly, in instinct Mr Dawkins swept the birch rod catching Ian across the face felling him. In rage Mr Dawkin’s stood over the fallen parent raising his arm again, until he was caught off guard by Gerry’s shoulder hitting him in the stomach driving the breath from him. Still he did not go down, by then the other parental assistants had piled in and managed to drag down the raving teacher and hold him still.

The Detective Inspector closed the paper file and took a sip from his now cold tea. It was a terrible case. A boy whipped to within an inch of his life, assault with a weapon and a mass brawl in a school. Some days he regretted joining the police.
“What happens now then chief?” his colleague asked.
“Nothing.”
“Nothing? Surely we will going to charge him?”
“What for?” The Inspector put his hand up wearily to stop the Detectives reply.
“There is no chance of getting a conviction against the teacher. The law allows a teacher to punish a teenager severely; all they must do is prevent permanent serious harm. In this case the boy was whipped within an inch of losing a bollock, but an inch is an inch so no chance there.
Assault on the parent? Any good lawyer will through up self-defence, even if he had overstepped the mark with the boys beating.
Assault on the teacher? Possibly but if he hadn’t intervened then God alone knows what would have happened to his son; and I’m too old and close to retirement to start picking on a father who simply did exactly what I would have done in his position.”
“But does that mean that the teacher goes back to school. What happens next time he ‘loses it’? He has form remember. The other ‘incident’ he got away with?” the Detective pressed.
“Fortunately he has been given early retirement. He wasn’t happy apparently, but he wasn’t given an option. So at least the children will be safe from the madmen now.”
“Don’t seem right boss. Torture a child, start a fight and end up getting early retirement.” the Detective complained.
“When you reach my age lad you’ll find out that justice has fuck all to do with policing. Bugger this lets go down the pub I need a drink.”