Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Professor Hendrick Jarvis sat in his office late one evening, trying to enjoy some quiet reading time away from the loud students in the boarding house, when a fellow housemistress of the school dreadfully raps her knuckles on his door. To her credit, it was open as Jarvis’s door generally was as a sign of trust for the students, but that didn’t mean he enjoyed being disturbed, especially by the likes of Miriam, who was too cheerful at all hours of the day. She had her usual breezy attitude, not deterred by Jarvis’s uninterested to what do I owe this pleasure, and she kept it up even as the conversation turned to the upcoming annual performance reviews.

She only seemed slightly concerned, in that casual way, when mentioning that Jarvis’s review isn’t expected to be as favorable this year with what the talk around the board says.

That’s what makes Jarvis’s head turn up, irritated and incredulous. “Because of the Darby boy?” News of the hint of plagiarism in his student’s essay must have traveled amongst staff, probably no thanks to mentioning it to Miriam, who can’t shut her mouth. Having a student plagiarizing work, no matter how subtle, did not sit well with any of the college board, to say the least. Still, Jarvis waves it off. “It’s more of a minor issue than it sounds, and I’m having a chat with him about it tomorrow to settle things.”

Miriam quirks an eyebrow at him in that condescending way, though it’s well meaning if irritating. “This isn’t one of those issues you can just let go with one of your little chats. You get away with that enough already. You know no supervisor would approve of any response other than delivering either a caning or expulsion. And we both know the former looks better than the latter for you as a professor.”

Jarvis just sighs, entirely displeased with the notion, wanting to wave off even the thought of it. “Yes, maybe better in other people’s eyes. Not for me. You know very well I despise corporal punishment.”

Miriam’s cheeky, because she grins and wiggles her eyebrows. “Why? Have you ever tried it? It’s pretty fun.”

Jarvis has to roll his eyes at her attempt at humor, though he has a ghost of a smile knowing she’s kidding. “Whatever you do in the bedroom is not my business. I just don’t see why I’m expected to beat someone into revising their work better.”

And again they enter the same conversation, starting with Miriam exasperating that it’s hardly a beating, that everyone does it, and Jarvis having to justify his reasons, that he doesn’t believe spanking a student is any more effective than talking with them — though the respect some of the other housemasters seem to get from their students in comparison to him might sway things, but he’s still a well respected man and has little issue getting by and keeping everyone in line without resorting to that type of punishment.

The thought of doing so makes him twist his lips in distaste as they keep discussing it. Though practically unheard of for his age and position, Jarvis has no experience being on that end of the deal, but the history he has playing the other role didn’t sit well with him. And yet the board keeps putting new measures in place, with Jarvis’s way of passive discipline becoming increasingly frowned upon, so Miriam’s concerns aren’t entirely delusional.

In any case, they don’t seem to get much of anywhere, but the thinly veiled warning that this is a bigger issue than he’s making it out to be, that might turn out drastic for his career if he doesn’t handle this properly, sticks with him after Miriam leaves. Jarvis didn’t generally care about what the other staff members thought of his disciplinary techniques or lack thereof, but he can’t say he isn’t frazzled by the idea that it might cause him problems with the school board or even his job if it came to that. It’s not one he’s particularly passionate about — he went into education as a temporary gig after getting his MFA in English and never got out despite lack of interest — but it’s a job, and he needs it.

Eventually, Jarvis resolves that his reputation at this school is good enough that this should not threaten it, and Clyde was a good kid, with a first time mistake that was surely not malicious. There was no reason to escalate things just as long as he cooperated tomorrow when confronted.

Still, just in case, before he retreats to his rooms for the night, Jarvis can’t help but hesitantly pick up and flip through the out of date manual of The Benedict Boarding Academy Disciplinary Techniques that he was given and hadn’t given much of a second glance since he took the job. Just in case it got to that point, which it wouldn’t, but Jarvis supposes it’s no harm to review the basics, what the board was looking for in a professor, no matter how barbaric. He’s not particularly interested in it, empathetically imagining himself in that position.

The next day he’s in his office again, waiting for his student to arrive at the scheduled meeting time to discuss his latest essay. He’s perched against his desk in that half-leaning, half-sitting position, somehow trying to seem casual and friendly and yet authoritative at the same time, torn. He’s been 6’5” since he was 14, and could often be described as gawkish after that growth spurt, in both personality and body type, but physically he’s filled out long since then in his thirties. Jarvis figures maybe his height, strength and form helps keep students in line and respectful of him somehow, even though he doesn’t put it to use other than occasional, usually unintended intimidation. He wouldn’t use it to strike or overpower them, and never did, unlike other staff, but at least he looks like he could, theoretically. Maybe that’s part of what got him the job.

Jarvis tries to channel some of that energy, still not intending to escalate things, when Clyde comes in, but he greets him with a friendly smile and gestures downwards for him to sit. This whole thing must be making him nervous with the looming performance review and the infraction that is seeming increasingly more dire in his mind, because he sounds almost overly cheerful when he greets Clyde. “How are you this morning?”

He doesn’t mind getting through brief pleasantries, which he usually does anyway even during disciplinary meetings, before getting to the grit of it. “Do you know what we’re here to talk about?” He wants to see how much indication Clyde had of what he did, how much, if any, of it was intentional or suspected, when he sets the essay paper down in front of him. The way he asks the question isn’t veiled, it’s earnest, with a pinch of disappointment.

Clyde isn't sure why he's asked to come into Prof. Jarvis' office, and he hesitantly asks around the house, but no one has any clue, although everyone seems to try and calm any worries he has — Jarvis is known for talking and listening to students, and even when using disciplinary measures, much more likely to assign an essay or some sort of chore rather than wield the cane. Everyone seems to be in one mind about it, and most also seem to appreciate it. He only just now arrived and started at the school, a little late due to some administrative issues that, if he's honest, he could have resolved earlier if he would have been more organized, but he's here and has been catching up in all his classes, doing, generally speaking, okay.

Regarding the school rules and regulations, and finding where everything is, well. He's doing his best but seems to always be in the wrong place, always taking too long to find anywhere, just barely making it in time or even a little late. But he manages school work, and that's the important part. He thinks. Hopes to find his footing soon, and does what he can to learn the school map, rules, and conventions.

Fellow students' reassurances puts him at enough ease to let his scattered habits get the best of him, and so he arrives to Jarvis' office a little late and a little out of breath, a little frazzled and scattered, his hair out of place, shirt a little wrinkled, tie a little sideways, as he often is. He doesn't mean to offend, but trying to gather his bearings, he seems distracted and skips a greeting as he answers. "Uh what? Fine, fine. Um, no sir, I don't know, I thought I submitted it on time and answered all the questions well enough? Did I miss any?" He's finally starting to focus on where he is, and Jarvis really does look friendly, despite his size, so Clyde smiles a wide smile at him, trying to look friendly.

Professor Jarvis regarded the student’s response with a spirit of inquiry. The confusion seemed genuine, for the most part, though there were clearly nerves involved, which might indicate some foul play. Not to mention the fact that he was late and not particularly as polite as he could be in his greetings was a slightly irritating start to this for Jarvis, who had so much at stake. But what he has seen of Clyde so far told him the nerves and the distracted reply and entry might just be natural, a newer student who always seemed a little bit behind and frazzled. It was actually charming in a way, and Clyde’s wide, slightly awkward smile worsened that charm. But Jarvis managed to not show too much amusement at it, he just nodded in understanding, and managed to school his expression into a serious one, though for the context of what he was about to say, it was almost gentle. Jarvis tended to be a gentle giant.

“Are you familiar with the concept of originality reports, Mr. Darby?” Jarvis pulls up a file along with the essay paper, glancing up occasionally at the student’s reactions as he explains the situation as best as he can, how the school finds evidence of plagiarism and how it applies here. “As you can see, we've calculated a thirty-six percentage of unoriginal writing from your essay, including some verbatim copying of a former student's essay on the topic from 1996, available in the library on school grounds as well as online."

After some gesturing and shifting of papers, he has to look at Clyde more firmly. “I don’t think I need to tell you, colleges of any standard take plagiarism very seriously, with strict disciplinary action taken when caught. I don’t take you as someone to do something like this maliciously, but if it’s a mistake, it’s a foolish one. You would need a very good explanation for how this occurred, and I’m going to give you the opportunity to tell me one.” Then, his lecture falls short, because Jarvis says, meaning it as a neutral suggestion or prompt, but putting a little hope in it, “Perhaps you got confused while doing research on the topic?”, somewhat showing he doesn’t actually have a great grip on his intention to discipline Clyde for this. It shouldn’t go to his head, really, they’re just trying to reach a fair conclusion for the both of them that won’t look bad overall. Clyde should appreciate it and still realize the gravity of the situation. Jarvis tries to straighten up and seem more firm while he waits for a reply.

Clyde seems incredulous at what Jarvis says, because he is.

"I– I credited that! In the bibliography! It's– it's right there! I may have quoted a little much, but I didn't lie or hide it, sir!" He's getting a little too firm, almost abrasive, in his offense. "It's not– I didn't– I credited every essay and source I used!" He may not have put quotation marks and citations exactly right, but he certainly didn't claim anything he didn't write was his own. He starts to despair. "Please sir, I just got here, you gotta believe me I wasn't cheating, please don't expel me!" His pleading words are not quite in sync with his demanding tone, and he fidgets, a bad habit he should have been rid of long ago, pulling on a thread from his left sleeve with his right hand, only making his uniform look even frumpier. "I didn't cheat, sir, it's in the bibliography!"

Suddenly Clyde freezes, slapping himself on his forehead. Maybe he did forget? Unthinking, he yanks the paper from Jarvis' desk, flips through, and victoriously points at the reference. "See? I credited him! It doesn't count as plagiarism if I credit him, right?" Again his manner shifts from demanding to pleading, but he feels vindicated, looks triumphant.

Clyde’s reaction seems almost aggressively defensive, and by the end, almost comical as he insists. But Jarvis doesn’t laugh, he just raises an eyebrow, slightly surprised, and speaks a little more firmly than Clyde does, who has no right to be firm at all, if he’s honest. “Settle down, please, Mr. Darby.” Then, with a little more air of reassurance, “We’re on the same team here. I’m trying to see what happened.”

With a sigh, Jarvis gathers the papers and puts on his best instructor tone as he tries to outline where the student went wrong. “You may have put credit, I’ll give you that, but somehow you’ve referenced things both to an excessive degree and covertly.” Clyde seems to stare at him blankly at that, and he suppresses the urge to roll his eyes, continuing. “This is an English Literature essay, Mr. Darby, where I specifically asked for your personal standpoints and analysis to shine through. Instead, you’ve paraphrased so often — and poorly, without proper indication through footnotes — that a generous portion of your essay, cited or not, can be considered plagiarized work according to our systems.”

Jarvis does actually sound annoyed by the result of the work by the end of his explanation, though that just might be from the standpoint of someone who has experience writing properly referenced essays, or someone who has dozens of other students that were able to follow instructions better. But again, he sighs, because it does seem to be an innocent mistake from a less than savvy student

Jarvis attempts for a compromise, expecting a lot of gratitude in return, seeing how serious this was. “I'm willing to oblige that this was an innocent mistake made from lack of experience, and provide you with resources on proper citation of sources and usage of references when writing essays. Normally, this kind of infraction results in expulsion, or, at times,” he tries to sound admonitory, but once again shows his distaste and reluctance, “a caning instead. But that’s something I have decided to spare you of.” I’m doing you a favor, is what he’s trying to convey, whether or not he’s succeeding.

“I’d like to make an example of you, to assure the school board we won’t have any more problems like this. You can write a twenty page essay on what you’ve learned regarding plagiarism, originality and citations on college essays. During and after, I’ll provide you with some extra guidance moving forward. As housemaster, I am usually in charge of the disciplinarian routines around the House and making sure all academics are up to shape anyway, but I try to keep a closer eye on some students when they need it. I might be a bit sterner with you while we work this problem out, you don’t want to get on my bad side.” Jarvis says the last part with a serious look, or an attempt at one, though it might fall a bit short by now seeing as he just left Clyde off the hook, and his reputation isn’t exactly known for being stern. But Clyde is new and might be more impressionable, so he should be receptive, regarding the circumstances.

Clyde rolls his eyes, exhausted already, certain he's already late for whatever he has next, and having little patience for this theater of discipline, knowing this isn't Jarvis' strong suit. "Twenty pages?! You know I didn't cheat. I'm trying to keep up with all the deadlines and I'm behind anyway. I'd be better off with a caning." He mostly says that as he knows Jarvis doesn't cane students. "Whatever."

He gets up and grabs his bag, already starting to head out to the hall. "Fine. So when do I have to submit that one? Am I expected to write it in your office after hours?" He knows some students who get tutoring and other special guidance have to do it at house masters' offices, although what he heard about the discipline during them seems incompatible with Jarvis' rumored attitude towards discipline. Still, it stands to reason he'd have to write there, if Jarvis wants to make sure he doesn't cheat, even if writing in the library is easier for getting citations and references.

With his bag already on his shoulder, and his entire posture seeming impatient, Clyde sounds just as impatient. "Are we done then? May I be dismissed?" He expects Jarvis will say yes, and when he is expected to return, and he'll be on his way, not thinking at all about his very lacking manners.

Any sympathy Jarvis had for the student dissipates as he’s staggered aback by Clyde’s reaction, first filled with surprise. Then he flashes with anger as Clyde becomes increasingly insolent, giving attitude as he already makes his way to leave, not the slightest bit grateful for the reduced sentencing. A thought occurs to him, is this student just totally out of it, or is this usually how poorly people thought of his authority? Either way, for some reason he’s both unusually angry and embarrassed at the lack of respect.

Jarvis doesn’t answer his questions, first shocked, until the last one with a sharp, “No, you may not.” Something comes over him, because he stands up as well and shuts the door that had stayed open, just short of Clyde wanting to reach it, with a little more force than he intended. Still, he doesn’t wince at it, just sounds more than cross, talking down to the student. “Where do you get off speaking to your housemaster in such a manner when you’ve just been done a huge favour? Better off with a caning?” Jarvis scoffs in disbelief. “Have you ever even been caned? It’s much worse than writing an essay.” Or at least, Jarvis always thought it was. He could never get over the humiliation of being caned, few times as he was, but he could write essays any day, at a skill level most couldn’t. He does his best to manage for it to sound scary, his frustration still shining through. “I expect gratitude from you for sparing you of it, not attitude.”

Clyde is a little alarmed and surprised by Jarvis' stern demeanor, but he has heard, from so many, that Jarvis is pretty easy and chill about discipline, so it must all be for show. He tries to look cowed, but can't hide his impatience, saying the words with no real intention. "Sorry, sir, thank you sir." Hesitantly, not sure if the question is rhetorical or not, he also answers, "No sir, never been caned. But you don't cane students." He doesn't even think to phrase it as a question, so sure of himself. Jarvis seems to be actually annoyed, but it must be for show, right? He rolls his eyes again.

"Come on, sir, you know I'm behind on all my essays and homework. I spend every night at the library until curfew–” most nights a little after, even, "–trying to catch up. Another essay I need to find the time to write when I'm already always late for everything," his voice shows his frustration, which is mostly with himself, but still rude, "it's more time I don't have. So if I have to do it, I'd rather start now, because I don't want to submit anything more important late because of it." He doesn't think through his words, how more important may sound when he means homework or papers he needs to keep up with course material. "Come on, sir, you can see where I'm coming from, right? Getting it over with as soon as possible is in my best interest." He doesn't think to try and sound more respectful, deferring or grateful, his tone factual and impatient, trying to appeal to that Jarvis from the rumors, the one who listens to students.

Jarvis just stares at Clyde stupidly because he can’t actually ‘see where he’s coming from’. He was used to occasionally getting a little more argument from his students than other staff might, but that’s because he tries to encourage open dialogue with his class, and in return, he gets minimal trouble from them, and usually, gratitude at the lenience and understanding. Clearly he had fallen behind on something here, because there didn’t seem to be an ounce of respect in Clyde for his authority, and all he had to go off of was what Jarvis had shown so far, and worse yet, what Clyde had heard from other students. For a moment, Jarvis thinks, maybe I do deserve that poor performance review if this is how I let myself be thought of and treated.

He’s taking it worse than usual after the visit from Miriam yesterday, not used to being responded to with such blatant disrespect, nor doubting his own abilities and qualifications as a professor. Furthermore, if Clyde was reacting this way about the essay, this clearly wasn’t going to help matters in making his supervisors believe he has his students under control. He doubts a caning would help that much more, from his own experiences, but he knows it would at least look much better to them. An expulsion wouldn’t look good for anyone. But caning a student after three years of never doing so is a ridiculous idea, or at least he would usually think so.

However, there’s just pettiness somewhere in Jarvis, because Clyde seems so… fiery and petulant and oblivious to what was going on here. It’s the kind of attitude that Jarvis feels a strange urge that he hasn’t quite felt before, to knock out of him. Maybe on any other day or any other student he would have resorted to threatening expulsion instead as the next line of action. But instead he surprises himself and just says, after stewing a little bit too long, and sounding the slightest bit stupefied, “Very well then. I understand if another essay is not something that suits your best interests.”

Then he reaches over and locks the shut door, pausing ominously for a second, thinking am I seriously about to do this, before making his way to the desk and gesturing, doing his best to sound calm. “Go on then. It seems a caning is in order, as traditional, as you've insisted.” He thinks back to the manual instinctively and clears some things off his desk while ordering, “Please remove your trousers and stand by the desk.”

Clyde's eyes grow wide and his mouth gapes, feeling dry, suddenly. He didn't expect Jarvis to cane him - everyone said he's lenient and doesn't go hard on discipline. Still, he's gotten himself into this, and of the options he had — essay, caning, expulsion — this may be the easiest one. He still can't believe that Jarvis just told him to remove his pants, and he stares at him, stupefied, as Jarvis removes item after item from his desk, and then drops his bag on the floor, and stiffly walks to the desk. He thinks to ask Jarvis to revert back to the essay, but if he's honest, he really does need the time to catch up with his actual schoolwork — that is, course work.

His fingers are a little stiff but he undoes his belt and unbuttons his trousers before asking, "Remove them, sir?" Maybe he can get away with just pulling them down. His legs aren't particularly weird or anything, but it's still a little embarrassing to be almost naked from the waist down, only protected by a pair of regulation pants, white briefs, that like the rest of his clothing, seems to ill-fit him, everything worn a little awkward, no matter how hard he tries to wear his clothes properly. Well, he got himself into this mess, and the best he can do now is try and get through it without letting it get to him too much. Even the embarrassing partial nudity.

Jarvis notices Clyde’s change in attitude, and he hates to admit it makes him feel a bit smug, like he clearly didn’t see that coming. He’s still Jarvis, and he almost thinks to grant Clyde to revert the punishment should he beg and backtrack, almost hoping this was enough to fix things. But instead, he manages to hide his surprise when Clyde, despite gaping, obeys hesitantly. And he hopes he manages to hide the fact that it was sort of nice to watch him shuffle his feet like that. Clyde sounds nervous, all of a sudden — finally — when he asks, remove them? and Jarvis doesn’t even have to think about the manual, he just thinks of his own experiences in school and answers, almost cold and matter of fact, “Yes, remove them. You are to take off your shoes, remove your trousers entirely, fold them and leave them on the desk.”

After a moment, he adds, sounding stern, “Be quick about it. I don’t have all day.” Inwardly, he tells himself he really just wants to get through this quickly, and part of him might actually agree, but a rather prominent part is finding he wants to watch Clyde either look for a way out or scramble to obey. Like it’d be almost amusing considering his attitude two seconds ago. It’s a very foreign feeling, and slightly terrifying, but he’s in this far and he’s ready to follow protocol. Fuck it. Everyone does it.

Clyde swallows, and he's still nervous, and he tries to be quick about it, but he's clumsy, as always, finding his fingers trip over the zipper and then slide over his waistband a few times before hooking into it, his toes slipping awkwardly as he toes off his shoes — he's supposed to undo the laces before taking them off, they'll look just as frumpy as the rest of his clothes before long, but he doesn't want to bend down with his pants hanging low or without them. He does a poor job of folding them, as untidy as everything relating to his clothes, before wordlessly putting them on the desk, and self consciously pulls down the tails of his shirt, trying to cover up his groin and arse, although he knows it will be pulled up before long. If nothing else, it gives him something to do with his hands. He stands by the desk, blushing, can't bring himself to look at Jarvis, waits for additional instructions, feeling too exposed, mouth too dry to say anything.

He knows it won't take long, he should just keep his breathing even, get through it quickly, and he'll be back to his usual scramble, a bit worse for wear but not much. He tries not to think of how exposed he is, the pain coming his way, to seem calm about it, but his bowed head, averted eyes, and nervous fingers, messing with the hem of his shirt, give him away.

Clyde doesn’t look at Jarvis, but Jarvis can’t take his eyes off him as he follows his commands — because, Jarvis realizes, he has no other choice, and that gives him another funny feeling. Seeing the once abrasive student stand there now half naked, entirely nervous and with what is clearly a pink blush across his cheeks makes Jarvis’s lips twitch in a near smile he immediately suppresses because that is entirely inappropriate and he knows it. It’s such a strange feeling already to not be hating every moment of this like he thought he would, and it’s even more fucked up when Jarvis can’t suppress what he says next, doesn’t even realize what he’s doing before it comes out on his own.

“Your briefs, too.”

He manages to not blow his own eyes open at what he said, or more so how he said, quietly, with some strange lingering of desire in his serious tone while staring directly at his groin, though he’s not sure Clyde notices. He’s this close to panicking, thinking Clyde did notice, and was about to run out of that room and tell everyone what a creep Jarvis just sounded like. Then he remembers Clyde is half naked, nowhere to turn, the door is locked, Jarvis is the authority here and obviously this is just a standard procedure. It gives him more confidence again and he continues, simply, “I’m afraid for an infraction as serious as plagiarism, a caning is to be received on the bare bottom.” He’s not lying, either, that is what’s accepted at this college, as far as he’s aware, though he never thought he’d go that far.

But at some point it’s like his voice and legs got away from him and have a mind of their own, and Jarvis is walking towards the student, standing behind him, and hooking two fingers on his waistband, preparing to pull them down himself for some insane reason. No, not insane. Not too out of the realm of what’s normal, really. They were going to come down anyway.

Clyde's eyes shoot up, pleading, at Jarvis' instruction to remove his briefs, and he can't bring himself to either protest or obey, remains frozen in place, too petrified to do or say anything, until Jarvis seems to walk towards him, determined, and even then, all he can do is try to cover his groin with his hands. Jarvis seems entirely too calm and confident for someone who never does this, and Clyde is starting to suspect he'd been played for a fool, and this is just how all housemasters treat infractions.

His shoulders slump, although he flinches as he feels the back of his shirt move, and then Jarvis' fingers hooking into the elastic of his briefs, and he finds his hands grab the briefs, and a pleading, "please, sir!" leaves his mouth, sounding too desperate, his pitch too high. He clears his throat and tries again, half turning his head, trying to see Jarvis' face. "Please sir, it's a first offense, please let me keep my pants on!" His tone slips into demanding again, but his rising nerves are clear in it. He didn't think a caning would be on the bare, and he's not quite certain he can just get through it and leave it behind anymore.

Before Jarvis can tug down Clyde’s briefs, his hands grab at them and he’s squealing, something unexpected, but the first high-pitched plea stirs something unexpected, deep in his belly. Then Clyde’s tone turns a little demanding again, and Jarvis doesn’t mean to, but a dry, half-laugh of disbelief comes out. It’s probably unprofessional, his voice sharper than he means it to be. “Yes, a first offense that’s equal to an expulsion, Mr. Darby. I’m afraid you’re in no position to be making requests right now. Remove your hands or I will remove them for you, along with your pants.” He shocks himself with that threat. He supposes the stern demeanor is just part of channeling what he was supposed to be acting like right now. Just an act, to get through this as he should, of course.

Clyde forces himself to straighten his fingers and moves his hands, visibly shaking, away from his briefs. He says nothing, but his shoulders slump, his head bowing back to the front, as he's resigning himself to this, trying to brace himself. It's not like he's never naked near other boys, he showers and changes with them, but this still feels different. Maybe because Jarvis looms so tall and makes him feel small, maybe because he's an authority figure. He's not sure, but it feels worse, humiliating, and Clyde's posture becomes forward-leaning, as if he's trying to protect his privates, even if his behind is expected to take the impact of the cane. He brings his hands in front of his groin again, pulling the tails of his shirt to cover his groin and the front of his thighs as best he can.

Clyde says nothing, and seems to tremble, but he obeys, which Jarvis doesn’t meet with praise. He yanks down the briefs, leaving Clyde with his pants around his sock-clad ankles, otherwise naked from the waist down. Ready to receive a caning with all the fear of a first timer, whether he likes it or not. And looking so shy meanwhile it was almost comical. There’s something so vulnerable about it, that Jarvis feels a strange urge to make it even worse, to provide a little more humiliation for Clyde. He keeps his stern tone, but now it has a twinge of vicious mockery.

“How old are you now, Mr. Darby? Fifteen, is it? I’d expect you to be able to handle this better, without begging. I may have never caned someone, but I’ve taken a caning at the age of twelve with more dignity than you have so far.”

Berating him shouldn’t feel like a good revenge for the disrespect and ungratefulness he received earlier, but it does. Jarvis steps away then. “Bend over the desk, now. As far as you can, grasp the other end of it.” The now was an unnecessary addition that came out anyway, because Jarvis thought it sounded rather nice coming from him rather than to him. He found himself relating this to his own school experiences much too closely, and they weren’t a fond memory. He wonders if his instructors felt the way he was feeling, whatever that was, when they punished him. It sure seemed like they had a lack of pity, though maybe not as much… enjoyment, he admits to himself, sick to his stomach yet simultaneously thrilled.

Clyde faintly answers, "Sixteen," but Jarvis continues, talking over him, and his age just adds to the mocking humiliation. He can feel his face growing hotter, and says nothing, taking note of the instruction, I expect you to take it without begging. He didn't mean to beg, and now he'll bite his tongue twice as hard.

He says nothing as he follows the next instructions, his hands leaving the hem of his shirt as he bends over and stretches his arms as far as he can, grabbing into the far edge of the desk as hard as he can. Losing position and begging will only be more humiliating, so he just has to shut up and stay still until this is over.

He can feel the back of his shirt lifting with his arms, exposing the lower half of his behind, but at least his privates remain covered, hidden between the desk and his thighs. He tries to concentrate on that small mercy and not on all his parts that feel exposed and vulnerable, or all the pain that is still to come.

Jarvis thinks to make Clyde say yes sir when he has a sudden thought: where do I even keep that cane? He’s never used it, after all, despite it being automatically given to him upon getting the position of housemaster. He hopes he doesn’t have to actively look for it, that wouldn’t look very authoritative, and he finds he really craves seeming authoritative at this moment.

Then, thankfully, Jarvis remembers he keeps it in one of the cupboards in his office, and moves to go get it, his steps not rushed, which he’s not sure if it’s hesitance or wanting to savour them for some reason. The rattan cane, longer than he remembers, a good seventy centimeters, feels dangerous in his hands. It’s thicker, making it both whippy and yet with the potential to leave bruises. The main thing he ‘learned’ from the manual, or should have, was how to actually wield it. There’s a flash of worry now that he’s actually doing this that he will somehow aim terribly wrong and end up seriously harming Clyde. But it’s unlikely, it didn’t seem overly difficult and he had seen it done plenty of times. Jarvis doesn’t want to look inexperienced or unconfident about this in front of the student, so he doesn’t look at it too long, just turns and takes his place beside Clyde.

It’s now that he’s realizing, staring at Clyde with his naked hips in the air, that Clyde has a very nice bottom. Not that Jarvis spends time thinking about what a nice bottom looks like, of course, especially not regarding students whom he’s old enough to father. At least, he shouldn’t. But he notices it, especially when he momentarily sets down the cane and steps forward to lift the ends of Clyde’s shirt, sliding it to his back and exposing his arse entirely with no cover.

It really is an oddly pretty one, as far as bottoms go, at least to Jarvis’s taste, which he didn’t even know he had. It has a nice curve, a nice size. Smooth and unharmed, for now, at least until the caning begins. Jarvis found himself staring too long, and wanting to touch it, but he couldn’t do that. It would be too much, this was already getting out of hand and he hadn’t even struck him yet. Which he should get to doing now, so he tries to think.

Six of the best? No, it wouldn’t do for plagiarism. A dozen might be more appropriate, combining the fact that it’s his first offense with the seriousness of it. Jarvis is taking too long, so he settles it, and states his verdict out loud. Then he recites what he knows from experiencing a school caning or two, with a little bit of his own spin, something he was subject to when he was in school but is no longer commonplace in the academy.

“For each stroke, you are to count them, thank me and ask for another. Be sure to use sir as is respectful. Should you mess up or disobey that instruction, you get an extra stroke. Should you mess up or disobey that instruction twice, we start over.”

All things considered, thanking him for it shouldn’t be that crazy of an addition, and it sounds like it could be thrilling.

“Do you understand, Mr. Darby, or should I repeat that?”

The bastard takes his sweet fucking time getting the cane, leaving Clyde exposed and nervous, biting his lip and closing his eyes, listening to his steps. Even when he comes back, Clyde feeling his presence too close for comfort, he doesn't speak, lets Clyde's nerves grow, and then he lifts Clyde's shirt, and still doesn't start, takes a while longer. The wait is torture, and Clyde thinks his shivering is visible, although it's probably not.

Finally, finally, the old devil announces twelve of the best. Twelve sounds manageable. It's not the eighteen or two dozen Clyde heard other house heads give out. Maybe that's why he's considered lenient.

Clyde is taken by surprise by the instruction, and reflexively says a too-quick, too nervous, "what?" and then tries to follow. Count, thank, ask for another. Humiliating, but shouldn't be difficult. Use sir. Where should he use sir? After the thanks, presumably. Okay, he can do this. The extras sound dangerous, but when Jarvis says start over Clyde pales paper-white. He suspects the old bastard will find a reason to start over no matter how he does, but maybe it's just his nerves getting to him. He takes a deep breath, tries to relax, makes sure he holds on to the edge of the table, and answers, voice still a little shaky with nerves, and entirely subdued, "I understand, sir."

Now Jarvis doesn’t bother to hide the smile that comes to his lips when Clyde sounds subdued, despite the initial confusion. He doesn’t have to anymore, now that Clyde can’t see his face. He’s not entirely sure he would have had to when Clyde could see his face. Is he allowed to smile? No one would believe Clyde if he went around telling people Jarvis did. There’s an empowering feeling in that, like he could do anything he wanted to Clyde within these four walls and no one should have any reason to suspect foul play. But Jarvis knows he has no reason to want to do anything to Clyde, at least not anything additional to standard punishment, and even that shouldn’t be a want. He was about to cane a previously insolent, half naked nineteen year old, and he had a sickening feeling he was going to like it, a lot.

Not sure how he got here, but knowing he can’t back out now, and doesn’t want to, Jarvis lifts the cane and prepares to aim it as best as he can, tapping it against the student’s upturned bottom a few times. He’s not sure how hard he should hit, not exactly having a perfected technique, but he puts the slightest bit of elbow into it and whips the first stroke of the cane down onto Clyde’s flesh, spotting a line it leaves. And he doesn’t know what happens, but he swears his knees almost buckle and his eyes close.

Jarvis desperately hopes the little gasp he makes isn’t audible or noticed by Clyde, because he does, he actually gasps. And then he becomes very, very aware that he’s hard, really hard, like his dick was awakened with that first stroke. Or maybe it was already stirring before then, with the whole ordeal. He’s not sure. He finds he doesn’t care, at least as much as he thought he would, or as much as he might after this is over. That felt good, a strange type of inexplicable good, and he wants to do it again. More than eleven more times, faster than he should. He can’t let himself, that’s crazy, but he desperately wants to.

Clyde freezes as he feels the cane tapping his backside, shivering, bites his lip so he doesn't beg for mercy. Jarvis said he'd been caned at twelve, it can't be that bad.
He hears the swoosh — CRACK — before he feels anything, and his first thought is, that's not as bad as I feared.

He opens his mouth to start saying the line, but as he starts, the full pain hits him, and he cries out instead: "One, thank- AAAH!"

Clyde inhales through his teeth and then takes a few deep breaths, trying to calm down, determined to get through this with some dignity, but his tone sounds strained as he says what he'd been instructed too fast, starting again, "One, thank you, sir, may I have another!" and resumes deep breaths. The line burns a little, but he can get through a dozen. He tells himself it's more than he expected but not that bad. He can get through it.

Jarvis outright smiles like a kid with a new toy, seeing Clyde’s reaction mixed with pain and shock. The boy really hadn’t been caned before, clearly, and it’s nice to see him take in the reality of the pain it would cause. Not that Jarvis should be happy to cause anyone pain, but with his dick threatening to push past his trousers, it seems they were clearly past that point.

Furthermore, Jarvis feels another delight when he realizes Clyde did mess up, meaning he can earn another stroke, the thought making him giddy. But he doesn’t say that, and decides to play this strategically. It’s only the first one, if he announces it now, Clyde would certainly be more careful and never get to messing up twice, which he might or might not anyway. Maybe Jarvis can surprise him by not saying it didn’t count yet, saving it for later, whether or not he messes up again.

So he says nothing, just takes a breath and delivers another stroke. This time, he’s able to handle it better, but it’s clear now the rush of power the movement gives him, going straight to his head, and to his groin. It feels so, so strangely great. He plans to soak up the reaction Clyde gives, though he doesn’t expect it to be as bad — or rather, good — and then immediately deliver the third stroke, as soon as Clyde finishes what he was ordered to say.

The second stripe lands as hard as the first, and as it becomes almost unbearably painful, it also reignites the first line, and maybe Clyde should have foreseen that, but he has no experience with this sort of thing; he doesn't manage to stay silent, but this time manages to keep to a grunt, before saying the line, quickly, "two thank you sir may I have another," and this time the old bastard is quick to lay the next one, making Clyde stomp his foot, just a tiny bit, in annoyance as much as pain, when this one gets very painful, and the previous two feel harsher. Clyde inhales deeply, delaying a little, in case the next ones will be as rapid after each time he says the thing, and says, slower, "three, thank you sir, may I have another," his voice sounding not quite resentful, but not quite as neutral as he tries for.

Clyde’s grunt isn’t as satisfying as his first cry, but it’s pleasing in a different way, seeing him try to hold himself together and still unable to hold back a noise. Jarvis sees Clyde stomp his foot, something that would not be tolerated for a student of his age while receiving a caning, or at least it wouldn’t have when Jarvis was in school. Jarvis enjoys it, actually, but it doesn’t stop him from taking the opportunity to warn, sharply, “I would advise you to keep both feet on the ground and your tone respectful, if you don’t want to earn extras for insolence. It’s hardly that difficult.” It was very difficult, Jarvis knew, but Clyde would have to get the hang of it, and it just makes the jab even more gratifying.

He takes a moment to observe the three burning lines the cane has left so far, overlapping, and if Jarvis thought Clyde’s arse looked nice before, he finds he likes the way it looks now even better. It looks punished, and they were only just starting. Jarvis has no intention of making the rest of the strokes any lighter than the first ones. He doesn’t see why he should. It’s not like any of his professors ever went easy on him. So he flicks his wrist back and lands another on Clyde, this time a little lower, closer to the intimate curve where bottom meets thigh. Someone more experienced might have done a better job of spacing these out, but Jarvis is still learning to aim. He also just knows caning on thighs hurts even worse, and he’s eager to get there.

Clyde is surprised Jarvis doesn't keep up the quick pace he had so far. Clyde finds himself blushing at it's hardly that difficult, embarrassed that he can't take the caning as well as is expected of him. He loosens his fingers and tightens them around the edge of the desk again, not wanting to grab too hard, but not wanting to lose position and earn extras, which Jarvis seems happy to threaten. He is grateful for the momentary break, trying to breath, although as the pause stretches on he finds he's getting tenser and tenser, not knowing when the next stripe will land being a worse torture now that he knows what to expect.

He tries to control his breathing, keep it steady, and he's taken by surprise when the next line finally lands, lower, and wraps a little around, hurting much worse at the far end, making him rise to tiptoes and inhale sharply, loudly, before he forces his feet back to the ground, and tries to control the shaking in his tone, sounding upset, more afraid or emotional than resentful, "Four, thank–thank you, sir," and forcing himself, after a short pause, "May I have another."

Clyde can’t see Jarvis’s face, but if Jarvis leans enough, he can catch a glimpse of the way Clyde’s blush darkens on his cheeks and neck, the desired effect of the added on humiliation. He finds himself taking another pause, chewing on his lip as he admires that, and the way Clyde’s tone is not exactly more respectful, but less disrespectful, and clearly upset. He’s pretty sure he’s never made a student that upset before, and he’s certainly never wanted to or enjoyed doing so, but for once it’s nice to have control of the situation and show someone what he’s capable of. That maybe he’s not the lenient pushover some people seem to think he is.

In fact, Jarvis takes note of the fact that Clyde never seems to respond to what he’s saying, and that just gives him something more to prove, because he decides he doesn’t like that very much, speaking up sharply again.

“If I tell you something, I expect you to respond with yes, sir or no, sir, not to be ignored, Mr. Darby. This is your first and only warning. Fail to do that again and I’ll add on another stroke. Is that understood?”

It’s probably unfair, but as soon as he asks it, Jarvis lands another stroke before Clyde can respond. It shouldn’t be too much to ask, most housemasters expect that level of respect from their students, particularly while being disciplined, even if Jarvis himself hasn’t always strictly enforced it. He hated being forced to call people sir or ma’am while they were antagonizing him. Maybe he should have suspected that being on the other side of that has the opposite effect, empowering him and wanting to hear it more. Which is odd, because being called sir by his students never made him feel anything before now. Maybe the way Clyde says it, or the act of forcing him to, just hits a particularly sweet spot for some odd reason.

Clyde tries to breathe steadily through Jarvis' scolding, and tries to follow his instructions, opening his mouth to answer yes sir to his question, but the next stripe lands, crossing the crease between buttocks and thighs, and makes him yowl a loud "Owww!" and inhale in pain, muscles spasming in an effort to stay still, both for this stripe and the reignited pain in the previous ones, before he can manage, too loudly, his pitch a little high, embarrassing, "Yes, sir! Five!"

He can't hide the resentment in his tone as he's forced to thank Jarvis this time, distaste around the title, "Thank you sir," and again pauses for breath before forcing out, gritted, "may I have another."

Clyde tries to steady his breath again, but it stays too quick, anticipating more pain, more scolding, more humiliations. It can't have been more than a few minutes, but it feels like forever. The next one, at least, is the halfway point. Almost half done.

Clyde gets so loud that Jarvis becomes acutely aware that others might have heard at least that last ‘ow’ and ‘yes sir, five’. There are no classrooms close enough nearby that would be full at this hour, but there should be at least a few students and staff passing through the hallway. That gets him a mix of emotions, for one, worry that this will get around. Then he realizes, that’s the point, he needs people to know he’s caned Clyde and is thereby willing to do that to other students as well. It might tarnish the relationships he has with his students in some ways, but it might better them in others, and it will definitely improve how his superiors and colleagues view him.

On the other hand, it’s another power rush to hear Clyde make such girly cries. So Jarvis lets him. But the tone is still far from respectful, hearing the resentment as Clyde says sir. It’s petulant enough that Jarvis can’t help himself. He aims the sixth stroke at the top of Clyde’s thighs, on skin previously untouched. Then, as soon as Clyde finishes saying may I have another, he lands the seventh, just below the previous stripe. While Clyde cries out from that one, he snaps at him, “Be quick about it!” However, the eighth one comes interrupting Clyde when he says may I ha–, following that row of lines he’s making down the student’s thighs. Only then does he stop the rapidness of the strokes, watching Clyde’s reaction at being interrupted.

Clyde's howl at the sixth stripe, burning his thighs like hot iron, is definitely too loud, too girlish, too embarrassing, and he barely catches his breath enough to say his "six, thank you sir, may i have another" not hiding his resentment, but he suspects Jarvis won't let him go on with this resistance, because the seventh one lands too fast after, and it hurts even worse, lower on his thighs, and he manages not to cry out, only whimpers before he manages to start his next, scolded again for being too slow, and he tries, in one go, making sure to say it, so fast there's barely any emotion there, but still cut short,"Seventhankyousirmay–" when the eight stroke comes down too hard, making him holler wordlessly and stomp his foot again, despite his resolution, and he whimpers before trying again, this time more subdued, not as resentful, an edge of despair in his voice despite trying to suppress it, quieter, ready to surrender, "Eight, thank you sir, please may I have another."

Part of what makes Jarvis pause his rapid blows is the please of despair he hears, slightly surprising him, and making a smile he didn’t realize was there widen across his face. It’s like the cane in his hand gives him a sense of control to a level he never felt before, and never knew he wanted. Forcing a please out of a once resentful and disrespectful student, to please cane him of all things. Like Jarvis has the power to change his attitude how he sees fit with no words needed — though the humiliating and harsh words seemed to be part of the fun.

Suddenly Jarvis has to, can’t help it, press against his groin for some relief and rearrange himself, letting out an inaudible breath. Part of him wants to finish this up so he can take care of the boner that was at full mass by now, and another part wants this to never stop. He realizes with some dismay there’s only four strokes left, then perks up when remembering he has the power to add another or make it start over should he see fit. Then, Jarvis feels a little shame, something cutting through his newfound sadism that reminded him how horrific it sounded that he wanted to cane a student for twice as long than he was meant to. It was horrid, and he knew he shouldn’t, no matter how much he wanted to keep punishing the little brat. If he doesn’t stop soon, he might actually never stop with this newfound rush it gave him. He knows he shouldn’t think it, but he comforts himself with I could probably find more reasons to cane him again later if I want to.

Jarvis continues the caning at a slower pace, aiming now for the bits of skin that have yet to receive a lash, though he ends up missing once to land the tenth right over a previous stripe. The eleventh goes better, at the midway point between knee and buttocks, and his lips twitch again at the pathetic sound it gets from Clyde. He wants to sigh, but doesn’t out loud, when he realizes this should be the last one. And he can’t help himself. He doesn’t exactly mean it, maybe, as his high is coming down and more sense is settling in, but he wants to see and hear Clyde’s reaction.

Speaking with trained little emotion, he says, “I should remind you now that I heard you mess up a line once.” He lets Clyde remember what that means, if he can, before adding quietly, “I believe it might have been twice, even.”

Jarvis takes his sweet time again, and Clyde wonders if the changes of pace — quick, then slow, then quick again and slow again — are meant to give him reprieve, time to collect himself better, or if the anticipation and dread are meant to make him experience the fear and pain more acutely. Whatever it means, he just wants this to be over, and even though the delays may make the pain easier to bear and give him more of a chance to control his sounds, he'd still rather this be over already, so he hopes Jarvis speeds up.

He manages to grit through the ninth stripe, only exhaling before saying, as emotionless as he can, "Nine thank you sir, may I have another", and realizes his mistake as the next stripe land at the exact same spot again, this time crying out and letting his despair and pleading into his voice, "Ten, thank you sir, please, may I have another", but the next one lands lower, making him yowl and then whimper pathetically, bend his knees so his legs spread a little, exposing his crack and sac humiliatingly as the corner of the desk digs into his hip, and he straightens his legs right away, but blushes darker again, his humiliation clear in his voice when he asks for the last one, "Eleven, thank you sir, please, may I have another."

Then, instead of finishing up, the old bastard says heard you mess up, might have been twice, not even hiding that it's not true; if Clyde messed up, he would have pointed it out as it happened, wouldn't he? If it happened twice, he would have started over right away. No, it must be a test to Clyde's manners, to make sure he is respectful or whatever.

Clyde tries to sound subdued, and even if he was told to take it without begging, he can't help real pleading and despair. "Please sir, I'm sorry, please! I don't know if I messed up." I don't think I did but it matters little, it seems.

The despair in his voice grows as he says, "Please don't start over, sir." If Jarvis decides to give him just a couple of extras, he can live with that, but if he gets another dozen, he's not sure if he can take it, or how well.

Every cry, yowl and whimper Clyde makes exhilarates Jarvis. When he first starts begging, Jarvis is barely listening, thinking of the view he just saw, Clyde exposing himself further, his sac and crack, and that strange sensation it gives Jarvis, of power and, if he can admit it, lust. But admitting that might be too much to handle for him right now. He snaps back to it when Clyde says Please don’t start over, sir and processes the fact that he’s pleading in despair with a grin. He never thought that’d be a pleasing sound to hear, but it seems it very much is.

Nevertheless, he knows this might go too far if he does start over, no matter how much he wants to. So Jarvis puts on a stern voice and steps closer, leaning forward a bit. “I’m giving you just two more. You are to count them the same as before, and I expect your tone to not have a single hint of petulance in it, or we just might start over.” He knows he shouldn’t, but he adds with a bit of mockery in his sternness, “If you can even control yourself that much, it’d be in your best interest, as it clearly doesn’t seem like you can take much more than a twelve year old boy could.” It’s flourished, because truly Jarvis finds he quite likes his despair and displays of weakness in a deep way that terrifies him.

Jarvis steps back, and he notices how lovely Clyde’s yowls are when the new strokes are aimed directly over fresh, existing stripes, so that’s exactly where he lands the last two, one after the other.

Clyde manages, his voice scared and still pleading, but decisive, "Yes sir, no petulance sir!" even as he blushes darker, shamed by Jarvis' scolding and mockery about his age and how badly he's taking it. Still, he tries to stay on Jarvis' good side and says "thank you sir!", maybe not very heartfelt but groveling, not quite relieved. Who knows if Jarvis won't announce he was petulant and start over after giving him all fourteen.

He's so tense about that possibility that he doesn't really brace for the twelfth stroke, and lets out a high pitched yowl, only barely managing to shift his weight on his feet, rocking back and forth, without lifting his feet off the ground, and is quick to call out "Twelve, thank you sir, please! May I have another!" lest Jarvis cuts him off in the middle and announces he messed up again; the next two land over the same line, too fast for him to say anything, only holler loudly, a sound almost like a wail coming out, before he inhales, and without intending to, shouts "thirteen, fourteen, sir, thank you!" and only then, sniffles a little, the pain of the last two strokes catching up with him and bringing tears to his eyes, his entire arse and most of his thighs feeling crisscrossed with lines of fire.

Clyde stays in position, breathing heavily. He's not sure what he should do, but he suspects saying anything or moving without permission can earn him more strokes, or even to start over, so he just stays down and tries to breathe. If that really is all, he got through it, now he can just go and get through the rest of his day, as he'd planned.

Clyde’s outward submission — though probably just doing what’s smart to get through this — pleases Jarvis, not even expecting the thank you sir. He outright smiles while he still can, while Clyde is still bent over, but he finds that now that it’s over, some shame is sinking in, and most of all, the shock at what just went on, completely unlike him, like something else had taken over. He’s in a strange state between still feeling the power rush and coming back to reality when he orders, a bit gruffly, “Get up, and dress yourself.”, not even quite paying attention to whether Clyde responds yes, sir or not.

Jarvis just sets the cane down on the desk and takes his seat behind it, staring at the cane feeling almost dazed, like he’s coming off some high. While Clyde is dressing, he says, calmly, wanting to squeeze the last bit he could out of this, unsure if he would do it again, “I really did want to let you go with just an essay, but I’ve taken time out of my day to do this instead.” He watches Clyde directly. “I will want a proper apology from you for the trouble you’ve caused with this ordeal. And I expect you to thank me for the well needed discipline you were given.” He’ll try not to lick his lips when he hears it, at this point. Jarvis can’t see Clyde’s face very well as he rushes to get dressed, but he heard a sniffle at the end of the caning and finds himself wanting to get a look at him, to see if any tears filled his eyes. That would be a sight he wouldn’t mind, he realizes, if it did happen. Clyde must look nice with a teary face, not that that type of desirous thought has ever crossed Jarvis’s mind before now.

Clyde is quick to say "yes sir!" and quick to get back in his pants, clumsily banging elbow and shoulder against the desk as he bends down to pull them back on. He can't help a shiver as he reaches for his trousers, folded on the desk, just as Jarvis puts the cane on the desk, almost entirely suppressing a whimper at the sound and sight of it. He knows he should take it like a man and not let the cane get to him. He blushes and nods when Jarvis reasserts he was going to go with an essay, and freezes, for a second, when Jarvis demands an apology and a thanks, but the sight of the cane, still on the desk, makes him nod, bitterly accepting it with a quiet "yessir", almost no pleading in it. The last thing he wants is to be deemed deserving of even more lashes.

He finishes putting on his trousers, buttoning them and doing his belt, pulling his shoulders back and standing as tall as he can, grabbing one wrist with the other behind his back, before he dares look into Jarvis' face, eyes still a little shiny, blush high in his cheeks, and pleading on his face. He takes another bit before he stops biting his lip and manages to say, voice a little hesitant, "I'm sorry for causing you so much trouble, sir, thank you for the–" he wrinkles his brow, trying to recall the exact phrasing, and then blushes darker as he says it, "–the well needed discipline you gave me." He can't help but cast down his eyes at saying it, utterly humiliated, but at least it's over. He waits for Jarvis to dismiss him, trying not to seem anxious, despite wanting nothing more than to be out of there.

Clyde’s face seems different than when he walked in, and Jarvis assesses him closely, from the deep blush to the attempt at a strong stance while he repeats the humiliating words. Delightful. Jarvis finds a light smile on his face when he looks at Clyde. “You’re very welcome.” He knows he might be giving too much away with that smile and that response. It doesn’t display all of the sadistic joy inside — the only way he can think to describe what he’s feeling — but his eyes have an odd glint to it, where Clyde might just be able to tell that Jarvis got real enjoyment from this, if he hadn’t already given that away. He supposes it doesn’t matter if Clyde does realize it or not.

After staring at Clyde a moment too long, Jarvis finally allows, “You’re dismissed. Go on and get to class.”

He only squeezes in one more thing before Clyde can leave the room all the way, “Oh, and Mr. Darby,” Waiting for the student to turn and look at him, he speaks in a matter-of-fact way. “I still expect you to write that essay. Ten pages will be fine, but I will need it here by next Friday, 10 am, at the latest.” Again, Jarvis has that odd, light little smile while he looks at Clyde intently. “Tardiness is a punishable offence.” He waits for some kind of answer from Clyde, any answer, whether it was resentful or otherwise — though he doesn’t expect that — before waving his hand, dismissing the student for good.

Clyde presses his lips at the you're very welcome, as if designed to humiliate him even more. He's quick to grab his bag and start stepping to the door as soon as Jarvis says dismissed, although he pauses at his name, struggling to suppress any expression of his discontent. He nods and says another quiet, resigned "yes, sir" to the instructions about the essay, trying to note them without pausing to write them down, not before he leaves Jarvis' office. He shivers at the comment about tardiness. He's often late to – everything, it seems — and Jarvis will be notified of it, as housemaster, if any teacher decides to give as much as a comment or disciplinary slip. He still nods and says another "yes, sir", eyes still cast down.

As soon as he's out of the office, closing the door behind him, as if it will keep Jarvis at a safe distance, he opens his phone and puts reminders and guidelines for the essay, not wishing to give Jarvis any reasons to cane him again.

As soon as the door closes behind Clyde, Jarvis lets out a breath, and almost gets up to lock the door again, but he can’t wait that long. He’s nearly forty years old and is used to taking longer to get himself off, but in that moment he nearly desperately gets his dick out, wanks and cums within a few minutes in a way he hasn’t done since he was a very horny teenage boy. Jarvis has to bring his free hand over his mouth and muffle a cry of climax when he does, grateful to have something in his office to clean himself up with when he’s done. He has a class to teach in twenty minutes, but for the next five, just sits there and tries to process what the hell just happened.

During the day, Clyde gets comments about his discomfort, and when he tells other students about it, they seem to laugh in disbelief, act as if he's joking, question him about it, and he struggles to refuse to give details. Word gets around pretty fast and by the evening shower, there's a long line of boys who want to stare at his arse, assess the damage, making impressed comments about "who knew Jarvis had it in him" and jabs about managing to push the old goat to use the cane, which he's never done before, as far as anyone knows.

Clyde cuts it short before the showers, only to be pestered for it after, everyone wanting to see the results of Jarvis' technique, and finally he gives in, partially for fear of being pinned down and having his pajama pulled down against his will if he keeps refusing, more implied than outright threatened. His peers talking about Clyde's stripes as if he's not there is another humiliation, and the jabs don't stop coming over the next few days, the news being a source of excitement, curiosity, and nervousness, for those whose record isn't quite stellar.

Clyde does his best to let the jabs slide off, and write a good essay. He thinks that at least with everyone so interested, he can get directions and friends to walk him to his classes so he's not so late, but he keeps being interrupted while doing schoolwork, either by students from his own house or curious ones from other houses, and some seem to be delighted to mislead him intentionally, hoping to land him in trouble again, maybe, or just thinking it would be funny.

By the next Friday, he has an essay he's not fully happy with, and two demerits for being late for classes, and he knocks on Jarvis' door with a shaky hand.

Chapter Text

After news spreads of Clyde’s punishment, the jabs don't stop coming over the next few days, the news being a source of excitement, curiosity, and nervousness, for those whose record isn't quite stellar. Clyde does his best to let the jabs slide off, and write a good essay. He thinks that at least with everyone so interested, he can get directions and friends to walk him to his classes so he's not so late, but he keeps being interrupted while doing schoolwork, either by students from his own house or curious ones from other houses, and some seem to be delighted to mislead him intentionally, hoping to land him in trouble again, maybe, or just thinking it would be funny.

By the next Friday, Clyde has an essay he's not fully happy with, and two demerits for being late for classes, and he knocks on Jarvis' door with a shaky hand.

Jarvis gets through the rest of the day of Clyde’s punishment normally, trying and mostly succeeding to focus on his work, but he really can’t help but keep replaying the event with Clyde in his mind. At night in his room, he uses it to get off again. Jarvis keeps battling with his subconscious, with guilt and confusion of having enjoyed it so much, with such a pleasure that he’s never experienced. But one main thing he notices throughout the next week is that word must have gotten around. Jarvis even receives a pat on the back and a lot of praise from both his superiors and colleagues alike, which makes him oddly proud to hear “I didn’t know you had it in you.”

He notices his students are more guarded around him. Usually it takes him a little while to get his class to settle down when things get rowdy, but now his students become hushed and overly polite as soon as he’s around, as if not wanting to test him. At one point, there’s some chattering while Jarvis is writing on the blackboard in an English class, and when he turns to calmly ask them to quiet down, the response is immediate, rushed, obedient and it’s like he can smell fear off of them. It all gives him a strange sense of pride and empowerment, like overnight he had become puissant and garnered respect and fear from everyone. Jarvis wishes he didn’t like it so much, those things never mattered to him before, but knowing it was all influenced by that wonderful caning just makes his mind keep going back to it and how good it felt.

At night, after a day’s work, he starts searching things online, eager to find more videos of canings and spankings and beatings and try to make sense of it all, things he’s seen before but now is looking at with a different eye. He’s no longer disdainfully and bitterly imagining himself in the position of the one being hurt, or looking at the inflicter with distaste at their cruelty. Now Jarvis is picturing himself as the one doing the damage, soaking in power. Over time and research, he ends up finding more ideas on how one could take control over someone else. In several videos, he takes a particular interest in boys around Clyde’s age being taken over the knee and given a spanking, sometimes by hand or with another implement. Sometimes it’s enough to bring them to tears, which Jarvis relishes and replays, thinking of how he’d like to make Clyde cry like a little boy, even make it a goal. Even when it doesn’t result in tears, there’s keywords involved that speak to Jarvis — humiliating, demeaning, mortifying, degrading, childish, weak. All words that he feels a strange, deep desire to inflict on someone like Clyde.

Jarvis finds himself looking more and more forward to meeting the student again on Friday. Before then, during the week, he has one class with Clyde, where he makes sure not to pay him much attention, not to be too obvious in his lust, even though whenever he glances at Clyde, Jarvis thinks he can see a blush come to his cheeks. At the end of the class, he asks the boy to wait a moment and could see him start to sweat. Jarvis thinks he can spot some students stare and snicker before they leave. But all he does is give Clyde some indicators of resources that might help him with the essay that’s due, like he had said in their last meeting. He does it in a way that shows no other interest in him, quickly, casually and absently before dismissing him. Maybe it was the guilt, or maybe he just wants to catch him off guard.

Despite his battling conscience, by the time Friday rolled around, desire and curiosity had won, and he had a plan for what he wanted to do.

When Clyde knocks on his door — on time, he notes — Jarvis is sitting at his desk grading other papers and calls for him to open it. He greets him with a friendly smile, trying not to seem too excited when he puts them aside to focus attention on Clyde. “Come in, Mr. Darby. How are you doing today? I trust you’ve been keeping up with your coursework?” Jarvis’s tone stays friendly and his eyes trained on the student, but Clyde might not miss that the cane is on his desk already, barely camouflaged beside some papers and innocent desk items.

To Clyde, the after class interaction with Jarvis felt friendly, or at least, professional, and Clyde's clear status as outlier, almost a curiosity, though unpleasant, makes Clyde realize that Jarvis doesn't resort to corporal punishment often. He's still a little flustered when seeing Jarvis, shaky coming into his office, but at least holds hope that if Jarvis hadn't used the cane for a few years before, he won't use it again for a few more years.

He still shivers as he steps up to Jarvis' desk and sees the cane, but makes sure to keep his tone respectful.

"I'm doing well, sir. Yes, sir, been keeping up with my coursework." He even adds, with his bashful smile, in an attempt to be friendly and open, "I started figuring out where things are around campus, too." He's willing to name those who help him get around, but especially after his last visit to the office, he has no intention of ratting out on those who misled him.

He lifts his paper, handing it to Jarvis. He knows it's subpar, but it's done, and on time, and he was already caned for it, so he hopes he'll not get more than notes for revision, if that. "I'll admit I had to scramble to finish this on time while not falling back on coursework, sir." and again his bashful smile. Maybe this will gain him some compassion from Jarvis, a bit of mercy when going over his paper.

This time he stays standing, fiddling with his hands, not dropping his bag, but not trying to leave right away, waiting to be dismissed. He may not be the brightest but he's smart enough to realize asking to leave didn't go well for him last time.

Jarvis doesn’t miss Clyde’s shiver when he comes in and sees the cane, but he manages to suppress the evil smile that threatens to appear, instead just keeps the friendly demeanor and takes the paper as Clyde hands it over. Clyde’s bashful smile and polite tone are charming. If Jarvis hadn’t already received two demerits about his tardiness, he’d be concerned there’s nothing substantial he could really choose to punish him for without outright saying it’s because he wants to.

Clyde’s I had to scramble to finish this on time gets a hum from Jarvis, almost wanting to say Perhaps you should have thought about that before turning in the last essay. but he doesn’t go there. He makes some friendly chat, asking “Oh, good. Are your classmates helping you get around?”, partly just for the small talk, partly because he thinks it might be helpful in the future to know who Clyde’s friends are, if he wants to continue doing… whatever he might do to him, not able to put a name to it yet or know whether it would advance. He thinks there’s a chance he will get his kicks and stop his depraved curiosity after this meeting, or at least some sane part of him hopes so, conflicting with his other desires.

Clyde answers, hesitantly, "Yes sir, most of my classmates have been quite kind. Jordan has been very helpful." Jordan is a house prefect, and is generally happy to help everyone; this should not be a surprise to the house head, but maybe will endear Clyde, by confirming his good judgement of character. "I hadn't much time to socialize." He came in later in the semester and missed a lot of the initial friend-making activities, but he doesn't want Jarvis involving himself in that. Maybe it's reasonable for head of house, but Clyde would rather keep some distance, at least for a while. "I'm sure I'll have time for it once I'm all caught up with my classes."

While he looks through the essay, Jarvis glances up from behind his spectacles to see Clyde standing there rather nervously, and smiles a bit again. “Don’t be shy, Mr. Darby. It will take me a few moments to review this, you can take a seat while you wait.” It’s more of a disguised order than an invitation. Jarvis intends to keep him here longer than Clyde probably expected. “I understand you have a free period at the moment and would probably like to study during, but I would like to get a good look at this essay before you go.” Not looking at Clyde, focused on the essay, and speaking much too calmly, as if absently, he adds, “And I’ve received some words regarding you from your professors that I’d like to discuss with you.” The phrasing is purposeful, to see if it makes Clyde sweat, when by some words he’s only referring to the two demerits for tardiness. Who knows if Clyde would reveal something else Jarvis happens to not know about, though it’s unlikely.

The notion that this will take just a few minutes is encouraging for Clyde, but the invitation to sit down, less so. Still, Clyde doesn't want to seem impolite, so he says, quietly, concealing his trepidation as best he can, "yes sir," and sits down. He doesn't shift in discomfort when he sits down anymore - partially because the bruises have mostly healed, and don't cause as much discomfort, and partially because after the first couple of days of getting stared at and commented about and giggled at as he sat down, he got better at being intentional and concealing his reactions. Still, he is impatient to be dismissed, doesn't manage to hide his disappointment at having to stay and discuss, despite his attempts.

Jarvis takes several minutes to go through the essay, making some notes and humming unsaid thoughts from time to time, before he decides it’s good enough for an initial review, from a purely educational standpoint. He takes off his spectacles and meets Clyde with a friendly smile again. “I will take a better look at this later and provide you with any commentary I find relevant, but it seems to me you’ve done a fine job. It’s a good improvement from last time and I hope you’ve learned a thing or two regarding plagiarism. Of course, if you ever have doubts about your essays, you can always come to me.” Jarvis doubts Clyde would find him to be very approachable, now nor especially later, but he says it anyway, to keep up the facade, maybe relax Clyde a bit before the next bit.

Clyde looks at Jarvis as he goes over the paper, jittery and anxious, brightens up at the praise, giving that shy smile again, and answers to the offer to come see Jarvis for help "yes sir, thank you, sir," although, at this point, he'd really rather not. If the caning was a singular event, maybe he can warm up to Jarvis, he sure could use some help with his academics, feels like he's doing so much in an attempt to just keep on top of things and doesn't have enough time to catch up with what he missed, and he'll have to before exams. For some things, he'll have to even before, just to keep up with current material.

Jarvis sets aside the essay and links his hands together, jumping straight to the next point. “I’ve come to hear from two professors that you’ve been up to fifteen minutes late to their lessons in the past week. Are you aware of which incidents I’m referring to?” If it was more than the two that were reported, confusing Clyde, that would be amusing, but most things go through Jarvis, so it wouldn’t be likely.

Clyde’s nerves show on his face. Clyde had been late by a few minutes to many classes, but he only got two demerits, most teachers being kind enough to give him a grace period to find his footing and get the lay of the campus. He nods, apprehensive, and swallows before answering, eyes cast down, "Yes sir. I'm still not familiar with the campus, but I'm getting better at navigating it, and I'm making every effort to get to my classes on time, I'm sure I won't be late for any soon." He looks up at Jarvis, hopeful that this honest admittance of mistake and the explanation of his efforts will be enough to satisfy Jarvis. He'd very much like to ask if he may go, again, but he holds back his tongue.

Jarvis notices Clyde doesn’t even flinch a little when sitting down, making sure to watch him when he does. Interesting. He wishes he could get a closer look at it right now. But he doesn’t want to get ahead of himself, going step by step. His face is expressionless as Clyde confirms and makes his excuses. A perfectly reasonable one, an explanation that makes sense. The student had barely been at the school for three weeks. The logical part of Jarvis thought the professors who wrote the demerits were being unreasonable regarding the circumstances. They were writing Clyde up within a week of him joining the school, and at the time, Jarvis ignored it, busy with other issues and expecting him to find his way quickly. Now, Jarvis is secretly grateful for those professors who kept doing so in the past week, allowing him to come up with a plan.

The housemaster stands up then, grabbing the cane as he does and starting to walk from behind the desk, moving a bit too slowly, hoping to spark Clyde’s nerves more. He even swishes it through the air, not looking at Clyde, a sound he’s liking more and more when it’s made by him. But instead of redirecting his attention to Clyde and putting it to use, he puts it away in one of the cupboards in his office.

Clyde can't control his shiver as Jarvis lifts the cane and swishes it around, fear writ large across his paling face. He only realizes he was holding his breath when Jarvis puts the cane away, and he manages to breathe again.

From the cupboard beneath, Jarvis takes something out and half-leans half-sits on the desk next to where Clyde sits and hands it to him. It’s a map of the campus. “I know it’s a bit old fashioned, and I’m sorry if it embarrasses you to carry around, but these used to help new students get around back in the day. We don’t give them out anymore, because it led to littering and it seemed most students didn’t really use them anymore. I’m not sure why. Perhaps most of them have better competence than to need one.” He keeps his tone casual and friendly even as the last sentence inches towards insulting, implying Clyde is incompetent. Still, he says it with a warm little smile. “I wouldn’t want to keep getting demerits regarding a student’s tardiness, so this came to mind. I expect it should help enough so that we don’t have this problem again.”

He expects gratitude from Clyde, and keeps his real delight hidden. It’s an entire mislead. They stopped printing maps several years ago, and since then, the campus has been remodeled, with some designated classrooms trading places with others, a bathroom being built into what used to be too small of a classroom, and other little changes that would make the map confusing if not mostly pointless when used today. He doesn’t expect Clyde to notice the changes, with a good portion of it still adding up, but maybe he’s suspicious enough by now of Jarvis, and accustomed to the campus, to realize it. Jarvis can only hope he doesn’t catch on until it’s too late.

Clyde looks up, surprised and grateful, as Jarvis hands him the campus map, and he's quick to thank him sincerely, "Thank you, sir!" he chuckles, self conscious, at the suggestion most don't need it, admitting, with a light smile and a small shrug, "I don't have the best sense of direction, and map apps always end up confusing me more. I'm sure this will help me. Thank you, professor, I appreciate it a lot." He gives Jarvis his full smile, probably for the first time ever. Finally, he's seeing the head of house he's heard about, the one who is kind and happy to help, who always helps students and listens to them, the loved one he heard about. Maybe last time Jarvis had a bad day, maybe he was more rude than he realized, maybe he unintentionally provoked Jarvis. But now they seem to be on the right track.

Suddenly, Jarvis chuckles and leans in as if he’s making an inside joke, to relate to Clyde. “The professors who wrote you up are a bit on the sterner side, aren’t they?” Jarvis’s smile is knowing. “Professor Findley, in particular, suggested a caning would help take care of this issue, but, well. I thought this might be a better alternative.” After last week’s caning, this should come off as a sympathetic favour.

When Jarvis says the professors who wrote him up are on the sterner side, Clyde is at a loss for words. It feels rude to agree, and rude to disagree, so he only says a faint, "sir?" His face is filled with apprehension again at the mention of the cane. Clyde makes a mental note to stay on Findley's good side. The last thing he wants is another professor who thinks he deserves a caning. He faintly agrees, "This is better, sir."

However, Jarvis’s tone turns sterner then, though not harsh. “That being said, since I’ve eliminated your excuses, I’ve let everyone know that I should always be notified of your tardiness from now on, to be sure I haven’t been fed false excuses for laziness. If it happens again, I’m afraid I will have to resort to traditional punishment. Do you understand, Mr. Darby?”

It seems Jarvis thinks he might fall into bad habits if not kept in line, and Clyde flinches at that. He was never a trouble maker, was never one of those kids who are kept in line with frequent punishments, usually didn't even need to be threatened with any discipline at all. He's a bit of a scatterbrain, had always been, and through his school career, teachers recognized he's trying his best, and a few nudges here and there - like the map, or printed schedules, or suggestions in planning his studying - have always been enough assistance to keep him doing well, and his teachers pleased with him. He had missed classes and parties by getting times, dates or locations wrong, but he's never really gotten in trouble for it, and nowadays he got in the habit of writing down everything so he can double and triple check, and he's usually okay.

If Jarvis thinks he's lazy, or malicious, he's in for a hard time. He knows how boys who are considered to be troublemakers are treated. Suspicion, strict discipline, harsh punishments for any misstep. And he might have landed himself there by being his usual absentminded self, late, not citing properly, and unintentionally rude.

The smile is thoroughly wiped from his face when he replies, grimacing, "Yes sir, I understand." He'd say it won't happen again but he can't promise that. He's been trying to get everywhere on time since his first day, and there's been improvement, but it's gradual, and he is absolutely certain that even with the map, he will be late to something at least once or twice next week. If he's lucky, it will be meals and showers, not classes.

Jarvis finds Clyde’s first full, real smile endearing. Jarvis notes he’s an attractive young man, err, conventionally speaking at least. Jarvis isn’t exactly someone who tends to be attracted to his students, or anyone he works with — or anyone at all, really. In thirty-seven years, he’s never been married, barely dated, overall tilting on the edge of asexuality with not much interest in sex nor someone who pays attention to how attractive others may be. And nothing had certainly ever excited him like their last meeting. But right now he can admit to himself hesitantly — even if it’s entirely unprofessional and even immoral — Clyde has a charm to his looks, awkwardness and all. Jarvis makes sure not to stare too long, assessing him in between words. By the end of his sternness, Clyde’s not smiling, but Jarvis finds he looks just as lovely in his apprehension.

Jarvis keeps his friendly look. “Good. I hope you don’t think I’m looking to give you a hard time, but I do have a duty to make sure none of my students are causing trouble. I’m sure you’re mature enough to understand.”

Clyde feels Jarvis' intense gaze, assessing him, maybe for honesty. He blushes a little, hopes that Jarvis will see he doesn't mean to be a problem. The duty talk seems to indicate that Jarvis himself isn't sure about Clyde, if he's a troublemaker or not, so Clyde may yet evade that close scrutiny and strict discipline, if he proves himself. He hopes. And he hopes he can make up for the bad first impression. Still, he makes sure to answer a deferring "yes, sir".

Then, Jarvis trains his expression to be a bit regretful, even hesitant. “Maybe we’ve started off on the wrong foot. I’ve been thinking about our previous meeting. It might have been an unfortunate combination. I understand it was your first time being caned, and my first time doing so. I hope I wasn’t excessive about it.” He places a hand on Clyde’s shoulder, squeezing and giving him that sympathetic look. “I do have experience being on the other end, however, and I’m aware of how hard the first time can be, physically and emotionally. I reckon it hasn’t been a very comfortable experience for you.”

Clyde smiles shyly again, hesitant. Glad to get the benefit of the doubt. He nods, relieved, as Jarvis shows him sympathy.

Jarvis tries his hardest, and manages, to not sound excited and keep calm, even casual, as he eventually stands and straightens up. “I would like to assess the damage. It’s my responsibility to hand out discipline when needed, but it’s also my duty to make sure you’re healing well afterwards.” Jarvis pauses, letting Clyde respond, not sure if he even understands what he’s implying, but ready to order him if not.

Clyde doesn't know if Jarvis was or wasn't excessive, and if it was his first time, he's not sure how Jarvis will assess the damage. Maybe he has some form with questions, he seems to be a very organized man. Organized people always seem to have a paper that tells them what to do. Clyde is always amazed at how they always just know where and when things are and what needs to be done. Always have checklists.

Either way, he's quick to reassure Jarvis, flushed but endeared. "It's healing well, sir. The bruises are much lighter and hardly hurt anymore. You needn't worry about it." He hopes that settles matters and he can be dismissed soon.

Jarvis has to stop himself from licking his lips when Clyde mentions bruises. Instead, he gives him an understanding smile, nodding. But he still says, simply…

“I’d like to see for myself.”

Blinking at Clyde and not sure if he’s processing, he continues, speaking slowly and deliberately dropping his smile, “Mr. Darby, I want you to stand up, bend over, and let me take a look at how well you’re healing. Now, please.”

Jarvis only fixes him with his stare for a few moments longer, then removes it to walk over and lock the door. Then he turns, looks and waits, folding his arms to make sure they don’t shake from excitement, managing to seem calm still, but with no intention of backing down.

Clyde's mouth gapes and he's sure he misheard. See for myself? Jarvis isn't a medical professional, is he? He's not excited to get sent to the school infirmary, but it would make more sense. Jarvis seems serious, though, and Clyde opens and closes his mouth a few times, then swallows, before Jarvis gets up and locks the door. Maybe trying to reassure him that his privacy won't be jeopardized - clearly unaware of the spectacle that has become of Clyde's behind by every curious boy in the house, and quite a few from other houses.

He nervously manages to stand up, hands closing protectively around his belt buckle, not wanting to be stripped and gawked at again, having had quite enough of that this past week, feeling objectified and degraded by it. He manages, "Please, sir, I'm healing fine, there's no need," his eyes pleading as he looks at the tall man crossing his arms, leaning against the door, as if saying you have no way out. He knows he blushes darker, tries to plead again, this time not being punished, "Please, sir, I'd really rather not." Jarvis is supposed to be caring and attentive to students, surely he will understand Clyde's misgivings, and if it's supposed to be for his own good, he'll let him go.

Clyde begs and stalls and it stirs something lustful in Jarvis, but outwardly, he just makes a displeased look. “It was not a question, Mr. Darby, it was an order.” He checks his watch pointedly. “We both have places to be. If I were you, I wouldn’t drag this out longer than it needs to be.”

Truthfully, Jarvis has been waiting for this since he made up his mind earlier this week, and he’s been itching to inspect Clyde since he came in. He’s getting impatient, and was hoping to enjoy it thoroughly and still have time to pleasure himself after. Is it wrong? Of course. But he had already decided and worked himself up, he had no time for Clyde refusing him.

Jarvis decides to up with a threat, one he enjoys making and now thinks, maybe Clyde refusing or stalling isn’t so bad. “You can take your trousers down and bend over now, or I will do it for you, and then you’ll be bent over for another reason entirely.” Jarvis doesn’t mean to, but he takes a breath, visibly, then schools another smile, but the evilness might seep through the faux sweetness by now. He’s not sure he cares. Using his first name for the first time, he adds, “It shouldn’t take long, Clyde. Allow me to see, and you can be on your way. It’s for your own good.”

Clyde doesn't want to be thought disobedient or difficult but he has a hard time exposing himself this way. He can feel his face growing hotter and hotter, his mouth growing drier. He opens his mouth to ask again, especially as Jarvis says we both have places to be, maybe he can ask to be dismissed now and skip the inspection, anyway, but Jarvis seems to have decided already that he requires the threat of punishment to obey. Great. Just what he wanted to avoid.

Clyde casts his eyes down, frowning, but replying, resigned, "yes sir," his fingers already undoing his belt, and trip a few times before undoing the button of his pants. He walks to the desk and bends there, hands on the desktop, not nearly as stretched as last time, before he tugs his pants down, and they drop all the way to the floor. If Jarvis will be satisfied with inspecting the marks on his thighs, he should be on his way soon enough, and not half as humiliated as he might be, he tells himself. The blush in his cheeks doesn't ease, though, and he knows that if his hands weren't resting on the desk, they'd be shaking. He silently prays that Jarvis be quick about it.

And Clyde doesn't know what to think of Jarvis using his first name. The way Jarvis says Mr. Darby makes him feel younger, like a boy being scolded, but it also creates a distance between them, and maybe Jarvis really just wants to make sure he's healing, and therefore, is trying to put him at ease. If so, it will be quick, hopefully painless and not too degrading. He tells himself he'll be on his way soon, that this will be over soon, and that Jarvis has good intentions. He still feels exposed and helpless.

Jarvis watches Clyde’s face flush darker with silent delight. The corner of his lips turn when Clyde says yes sir and moves to obey. It might have been fun if he hadn’t, but he prefers to do things this way for now. Manhandling and restraining Clyde might be too much for both of them at this point, even though the thought of it, along with watching Clyde undress, makes his dick twitch, starting to harden already. He walks over once Clyde’s trousers drop and he sees no move made to take off his underwear, smiling at that, too. He didn’t mind doing it for him last time.

Jarvis takes the chair Clyde was sitting on, moves it behind him, and sits down for a better view. Leaning down, his face is not a foot away from Clyde’s behind in the ill-fitting briefs, and he looks it up and down for a moment, controlling his breathing to not sound like the old pervert he was. He focuses on Clyde’s thighs at first, bits of bruises here and there, faded, much lighter than the welts that had been there last week. Seeing the greenish, yellowish marks on Clyde’s skin and knowing it was something he inflicted, something Clyde probably feels every time he sits down, mesmerizes and excites Jarvis, outright smiling with parted lips while the student can’t see it. He’s not sure he would control his hands even if he could, reaching out to touch Clyde, run a thumb over the marks on his thighs, making a humming sound.

Clyde waits, idle but impatient, listening to Jarvis steps coming closer, the dragging of the chair, the creaking as Jarvis sits down. He thinks he can feel Jarvis' breath and he hopes that's as close as Jarvis will come, that he'll be satisfied with his examination and let him go.

No such luck. Jarvis examines the bruises for what feels like forever, and then -, and then - Clyde inhales sharply as he feels Jarvis' finger, warm and gentle, running over a bruise, humming. And then another, and another. Clyde almost breathes normally again, and starts to idly wonder if Jarvis is checking for marks of unusual bleeding, or breaking of the skin, something that would force him to go easier next time, or exempt Clyde from caning altogether. He doesn't think he has any condition to justify that, and he's almost sorry that is the case.

Jarvis is impatient to see more, but he takes his time slowly going for the waistband of the student’s pants and tugging them down to bare him, skirting around his groin.

When Jarvis’s finger pulls back, Clyde is almost relieved, waiting to hear the chair pulled back again; instead, he feels Jarvis' fingers in the waistband of his pants, and his voice shows an edge of panic, his automatic protest, "Sir!" followed by a much more pleading tone, "Please!"

“Don’t fret, Mr. Darby. You don’t have anything I haven’t seen before.” Jarvis says with a noncommittal murmur.

Soon, he’s pressing a thumb, first light, then with too much pressure, on a bruise on the curve of his bottom and closing his eyes to take in his hand on Clyde’s hurt skin. “Does that hurt?” he tries to say it with no emotion, and probably ends up sounding cold instead of lustful. Of course it hurts, but he wants to hear it. He adds, as if doing a real examination to find out the obvious, “How about sitting? Are you having trouble sitting?”

Rationally, Clyde knows that not only had Jarvis seen men nude before, in showers and changing rooms if nothing else, but that he himself was nude in front of him not a week ago. But emotionally, he feels belittled and humiliated at being stripped bare again, grateful that the hem of his shirt, ill fitting and oversized as it is, covers some part of his behind and most of his privates, even more so than had he bent down fully, as he was last week.

The emotional relief is cut short as Jarvis presses into a bruise, making Clyde inhale loudly and groan. "Yes sir, it, it hurts!" he answers as quickly as he can, maybe a bit louder and higher pitched than he'd like. Is it not supposed to hurt by now? Is he being immature and childish about the entire ordeal, as Jarvis had suggested last time?
That thought further degrades him when he answers the next question. "Not– not exactly. It, um, there's some discomfort when I sit, but I, i wouldn't say I'm having trouble. I've been sitting through all my classes and studying in the library with no issue, sir. As I said, I'm fine, sir." The edge of pleading rises in his tone as he keeps talking, trying to convince Jarvis that there's no need to examine him more or keep him there much longer. He just wants to go to his next class, and make it there on time.

The pleading that Jarvis cut off never leaves Clyde’s tone, and Jarvis has to make sure to suppress the laugh that threatens to come out, steel his voice to stay “professional”, whatever that means at this point. Especially when he hums again and responds, “Good, good. I have gotten some notes from a few people concerned about you squirming in your seat very visibly. You understand I must make sure there’s no serious damage if I’m told you can’t even keep still— keep still, Mr. Darby, I’m not done yet, let me get a good look at you.” His tone turns from calm to sharp, and he slaps once at Clyde’s cheek as he says the admonishment, not too hard, the sound worse than the force. But it’s enough of a nice sensation for Jarvis to close his eyes and smile, wanting to do it again. But he can’t, can’t go too far right now. He wasn’t even sure if Clyde did move or not to earn this admonishment, but he loves his reaction.

Clyde is glad Jarvis can't see his face as he's struck with the humiliation of having taken the caning so badly that others noticed his squirming enough for word to make it back to Jarvis, face growing hotter again and mouth gaping. He shifts his weight, uncomfortable with the notion as much as Jarvis' touches, but jolts and freezes, a choked, high pitched sound escaping him, as Jarvis slaps his arse and scolds him.

Jarvis wants to drag this out, not sure yet if his conscience would win over and this might be the last chance he would get to look at Clyde like this. But every second he spends poking and grabbing and staring at him slowly proves to himself it couldn’t be the last time. This was too good, too weirdly good and enjoyable and wrong and good.
He makes sure to take the hem of Clyde’s shirt and slide it up to get a full humiliating view, only making another noncommittal murmur as an excuse — “Right, let’s make sure the top half is okay.” and pressing there, too, his whole palm, grabbing at him as if it’s part of the totally needed inspection. At some point, he rubs for a moment while coaxing at the student’s reactions as if he were fragile, using his name again, “It’s alright, Clyde, we’re almost done, hang on.” and smirks to himself.

Clyde tries not to think too much of the hands touching him, not even trying to guess what, exactly, Jarvis is checking for. It feels like the examination should have concluded already, that Jarvis should have found whatever it is that he's looking for to prove that Clyde is healing as well as he thinks, or that he isn't. He can't help whimpering a few times, humiliated and feeling disoriented at the procedure, one he's never heard of. Maybe it's something other house heads don't bother with as they cane so many more people, but it's a rule somewhere in the books. Or maybe they do it, just faster, more skilled and experienced.

Clyde could expect the hem of his shirt to be lifted, against his wishes, but he doesn't expect the– the groping, feels like Jarvis just cups his arse and squeezes, and he must be mistaken, or maybe it's a part of whatever procedure Jarvis is following. It feels weird, too intimate, too… sexual. Makes him whimper again. Jarvis' reassurance, we're almost done, at least, helps ease his nerves a little. It may feel exposed and belittling, but it doesn't hurt, and Jarvis means well.

It had to end at some point, regretfully for Jarvis. Jarvis didn’t even notice one hand had reached down to start rubbing at himself through his own trousers while he touched Clyde, but it had. He’d take care of that shortly, with enough time before his next class. It takes him a little effort to hide away his handiwork again, but he relishes in the humiliation as he grabs Clyde’s pants and brings them back up, slightly too high up then was probably comfortable or necessary, letting go of the waistband with a rather loud snap on skin. Then, Jarvis can’t help himself, he gets up and pats the student’s bum twice before moving the chair back to its place and straightening up, voice cheerful and casual. “Go ahead and dress yourself, Mr. Darby. Thank you for cooperating. I think you’ll be fine.”

The snap of the waistband against Clyde’s skin makes him flinch, but he breathes out in relief as the ordeal is finally over. What is probably meant to be an encouraging pat on his behind feels humiliating, but Clyde has learned not to be rude to Jarvis, so he says nothing, biting his lip. Clyde pulls up his trousers and starts buttoning and zipping them as soon as Jarvis says he may do so.

“In any case, it shouldn’t have to happen again. I trust we will no longer have any issues with tardiness, disrespect, plagiarism or otherwise, will we?” Jarvis cocks an eyebrow at Clyde. “You do understand what will happen if we have an issue again, yes?” Jarvis wants to hear him say it.

Clyde is quick to answer to I trust we'll have no issues. "No sir!" a little too fast, too on edge, too nervous, and then lifts his eyes to look at Jarvis, who looks very stern, and swallows with dry mouth, struggling to find the words to say, quietly, "Yes sir, I understand," hands nervously clenching and unclenching at his sides.

When Jarvis' face grows sterner, displeased, Clyde is quick to add, "If we have any issues I, I, I'll be disciplined for them. We won't, sir." He hopes that even if there are any issues the discipline may take the form of more essays or detention, not another caning, but he's getting the sinking feeling that Jarvis had already pegged him down as borderline troublemaker if not full-on troublemaker who will require frequent and strict discipline. He can only hope that doesn't mean the cane.

Clyde seems in such a rush to leave, and Jarvis just smiles at him, relaxed and pleased. He reaches over and pats his shoulder strongly. “Good boy! I’m glad we got that sorted out then. Don’t forget your map,” he grabs the folded paper from where it had been left on his desk and hands it to the student. When Clyde tries to take it, Jarvis doesn’t let go at first, to make him meet his eyes, makes them look kind. “Mr. Darby, do me a favour and don’t show this map to anyone else, or let people know that you have it.” Jarvis looks slightly sheepish, wondering how it would look to have others let Clyde know he’s been misled, plus it would ruin his plan. But he plays it off. “None of the other students were given one this semester, and I don’t want to risk being accused of giving someone special treatment. It’s for your eyes only, because I don’t want you to get lost and end up here again. Understand?” As long as Clyde confirms and has nothing else to add, Jarvis is ready to send him on his way after that bold faced lie, to lock the door behind him and close his eyes to get that mental image back and start to touch himself.

Clyde's puzzlement probably shows on his face — why wouldn't he show the map to anyone else who gets lost? But he nods, dumbly, just wants to get away. "Don't worry sir, I won't tell anyone you gave it to me," he is quick to confirm. Jarvis needn't worry about being accused of giving him special treatment, not after being the first student he caned. But if anyone else needs a copy, Clyde won't hide that he has a map, he'll just say he found it in a library book. If everyone used to get them, that would be reasonable. He has no intention to get Jarvis even more irritated with him. He has fifteen minutes to get to a chemistry lab he'd never been to before, and even with the new map, he's not sure he'll find it in time.

Clyde is relieved when Jarvis says he may get on his way. He makes sure to say "yes sir, thank you sir," but after that grabs his bag and runs out the door, in search of the chemistry lab, and lucky for him finds other students heading for the same building that he can walk with, although he gets the floor wrong and ends up getting to class a minute late. The professor waves him in but when reading attendance, wrinkles her nose looking at him, and makes a note by his name. She stops him after class, says his head of house asked to be notified, and that he really should be more punctual, she's letting it go today but that's the last time. He thanks her and rushes to his next class, a few minutes late due to that delay.

Chapter Text

After his humiliating meeting with Jarvis, Clyde grabs his bag and runs out the door, in search of the chemistry lab, and luckily, finds other students heading for the same building that he can walk with, although he gets the floor wrong and ends up getting to class a minute late. The professor waves him in but when reading attendance, wrinkles her nose looking at him, and makes a note by his name. She stops him after class, says his head of house asked to be notified, and that he really should be more punctual, she's letting it go today but that's the last time. He thanks her and rushes to his next class, a few minutes late due to that delay.

He's late for too many things for the next few days, even some of his tutoring sessions on Saturday, and by the time he has a class with Jarvis he already racked up a stack of about a dozen disciplinary slips, even for very minor tardiness, even when other students who came in after him got away with nothing. Jarvis wanted to be notified, so he's getting these slips. Clyde is growing bitter about it.

On top of it, he finds out that the map Jarvis gave him isn't accurate. There's probably no up to date version because they're not given away anymore, and more students use navigation apps until they know their way around campus. Clyde knows that if he takes his phone out while on his way from one place to another, he's likely to forget where he was going, get there later when he finally remembers, and possibly forget his phone somewhere, with all his notes and reminders. He assumes that it's an honest mistake, but when Jarvis stops him after class to say that they need to discuss his tardiness and he's expected to come to Jarvis' office after his last class, Clyde may be a bit short tempered, slightly annoyed at being delayed, again, and therefore being made late to his next class, again.

He comes to his senses by the time he knocks on Jarvis' office door, realizes that it's probably not so good for him that he was short with Jarvis earlier, but still a little irritated.

Jarvis’s plan goes perfectly, making him giddy throughout the week. The disciplinary slips keep coming, and Jarvis knows it’s wrong, but he is so perversely delighted. Sabotaging a student like that goes against every moral belief he has — or used to have — but it’s perfect, being handed reasons to punish Clyde on a silver platter, thanks to his cunning scheme. He wonders how upset Clyde is getting about it, and sort of gets an answer when Clyde shows him attitude after class. Not too much, just clear resentment and impatience, while saying what he needs to say. Jarvis doesn’t make it last long, lets him be on his way, and holds in his laughter for after he leaves. He never knew toying with someone helpless could be so inherently wrong, yet feel so good.

Still, Clyde’s short temper gave him more fodder, and Jarvis decides that he can play this round up a bit, putting on a strict and annoyed demeanor, like Clyde’s impertinence got him in a bad mood. He’s starting to think that when he’s with Clyde he’s happy to play a character, someone other than who he is, or at least how people know him to be. It’s fun in a different kind of way, more gratifying than all the genuine, kind and selfless help he gives the rest of his students, polite calmness with the fellow staff. It can be exhausting, while dealing with Clyde gives him an excitement that ends in a relaxed state of mind, like he’s replenished from a long day of playing sweet housemaster, something he didn’t know was tiring him before.

When Clyde knocks on his door, Jarvis has been waiting for a bit over fifteen minutes after his last class, and actually has gotten a little genuine irritation in him, because he’s so eager to get started, like an impatient kid on Christmas day, and not because Clyde’s tardiness should actually matter. But at least it fits the role and the setting of this game of theirs. Or of Jarvis’s, anyway.

He opens the door himself, expression schooled into stern irritation. “Mr. Darby.” is his only greeting, then he checks his watch pointedly. “Mr. Darby, when did your last class end?” Clearly, Jarvis already knows that, and he doesn’t Clyde answer before cutting in again, “It ended nearly twenty minutes ago, didn’t it?” An exaggeration, really, sixteen minutes might not usually be considered almost twenty. Again, he lets Clyde start responding before cutting him, tone sharp. “So why have you kept me waiting when I told you to meet me here after your last class? Did you have better things to do? Are you trying to somehow prove to me that you’re incapable of getting anywhere on schedule? Do you have no respect for anyone’s time but your own?”

Jarvis isn’t sure if Clyde would actually try and say anything against Jarvis’s unfair, harsh berating, but Jarvis doesn’t let him even try, opening the door further and pointing inside, tone still sharp and displeased when he orders, “Sit down.”

As soon as Clyde’s not able to see his face anymore, Jarvis smiles, small and mean, letting it out before he returns to his role of an annoyed authority figure, only one of which was actually true. Maybe he managed to get Clyde riled up, that should be fun. He shuts the door, locks it, and takes his seat behind the desk in a huff. “Explain to me why I have over a dozen demerits on your behalf regarding tardiness after we had a clear discussion about it last week.” Again, over a dozen is a rather dramatic way to say thirteen, but Jarvis finds he loves making things sound worse than they are when it comes to Clyde.

Clyde might have cooled down and gotten a little sheepish about being short with Jarvis after class, but his temper reignites as Jarvis scolds him, unfairly. He starts replying, "Sir, I-" and gets cut off, and then again, and again, and again, and so he's gruff when he sits down, and starts again, "Sir, I stopped by the bathrooms and put my bag in my room." a bit more prickly, he adds, "You didn't specify a precise time, you just said after my last class." A few minutes to use the toilet and wash his hands, drop his bag in the dorms, in addition to a few minutes to walk to Jarvis' office, should not be a big deal.

He takes a deep breath, tries to speak calmly, but as he speaks he picks up speed and resentment: "I get written up for being a minute late now, sir, you asked professors to let you know and I get written up even when other students get in after me and don't. And I don't know if you realize, the map you gave me is out of date, and had me at dead ends, the only times I was more than a few minutes late." He stops his tongue before saying it's not fair, but the petulant tone makes it to his voice, even so. He doesn't notice that he's crossing his arms in annoyance, despite telling himself earlier that he'll stay calm and respectful.

When Clyde begins to speak petulantly and resentfully, Jarvis makes sure his face darkens pointedly. “Mind your tone, Mr. Darby. May I remind you, I am your professor, you are the one at risk of punishment, and it would do you well to show me respect. Did you come here hoping to get caned?” He asks it as if it were a genuine question and yet a test at the same time, before continuing. “Then uncross your arms and drop your attitude.” Jarvis didn’t know if he actually wanted him to or not. If you do, I’ll feel formidable. If you don’t, I’ll salivate at the opportunity to chastise you more.

Clyde tries to control his temper, uncrossing his arms, muttering "no sir," although he still feels annoyed.

In any case, it was clear he had figured out the map trick, and it seems Clyde didn’t realize it was intentional, so Jarvis furrows his brow, as if considering it. “The map is wrong? That’s hardly likely. Hand it over, please.”

Clyde hands the map to Jarvis without additional word.

Jarvis pretends to examine it while preparing his next move, only humming a bit. Then he seems to concede, full on lying through his teeth, though calmly. “I was not aware of its datedness. I suppose it wasn’t as useful as I hoped it would be. My mistake.” It’s not outright an apology, though it might brighten Clyde up to hear Jarvis “admit his mistake”. Jarvis continues to pretend he’s in thought, speaking out loud, as if to himself, “I guess this calls for a reduced sentence. Perhaps a lower number of strokes of the cane for your punishment...?” and has to make sure not to smile watching Clyde’s reaction.

Clyde feels some satisfaction when Jarvis admits his mistake, a shadow of a smile on his face, before it drops again at reduced sentence. He was hoping to be let out unpunished.

Before thinking, Clyde's hands start moving animatedly, and his tone is protesting, with a hint of pleading. "Sir! I don't think a caning is merited for this! Last week I was written up twice, but I would have been written up only twice this week if it weren't for your request, and I might have avoided those if it weren't for the dated map! Can't you let it go? I'm catching up, if I only get written up for what other students get, I won't get written up again at all." He doesn't notice how he leans forward and his tone is almost demanding, "Give me a chance to prove myself same as everyone else, won't you?"

Jarvis watches Clyde blow up in his protests and demands, clearly finding this situation preposterous. He stays silent, and once Clyde is done accusing him of unfairness, he continues to stay silent. He just leans back in his chair, interlocks his fingers and fixes Clyde with a cold, stern glare. There’s an uncomfortable silence before he speaks up again, sounding tight. “Other students don’t speak to me with the level of disrespect you seem to enjoy doing. Other students don’t constantly lose their temper like four year old boys. Other students don’t land themselves in my office repeatedly, then have the nerve and foolishness to complain about it instead of fixing their behavior.” Other students aren’t as deliciously fun to mess with as you are.

Again, Jarvis leans forward on the desk, and sighs, taking off the spectacles he was wearing. He speaks as if he were scolding a young and unreasonable child. “Mr. Darby. I can’t very well tell all your professors to notify me when you’re late, then proceed to do nothing about it, can I? It wouldn’t look very good on my part. Unlike some people, I care about how I come off to others, as someone who respects the time and effort others put forth and returns it. It seems like it would do you well to learn that notion. Furthermore…” Now he’s much too close to the student’s face, looking cold and stern. “I’m beginning to think that what you are is a troublemaker. I’ve never had a student speak to me like this before, and I won’t start tolerating it now. I might have been able to forgive the tardiness without punishment somehow, but now you and your attitude have lost that chance.”

Clyde pales and retreats as far back into his chair as he possibly can when Jarvis glares and sternly scolds him, coming back to his senses. His face shows his despair as Jarvis pegs him down as a troublemaker. Great. Now he can expect to be monitored even more closely, and punished for every minor infraction, to be kept in line.

Only after that unneeded scolding does Jarvis give Clyde some more personal space. He starts off with a gentler sentence before turning sharp again. “I don’t have to cane you. I’m sure we can figure something else out. But only if and when I get an apology for your lack of respect and you start to act your age. Otherwise I have no problem with wielding the cane and using it on you until you do, and then some. It’s your choice.”

Jarvis doesn’t have high hopes — nor cares to — of Clyde thinking he has any choice in this at all, but maybe implying he doesn’t have to submit to a caning, and simultaneously threatening to use it, will get a change in attitude. Either way, Jarvis would get what he wants, and he’s sure Clyde will like it even less in some aspects. And he’s sure he himself will like it a lot.

Clyde gets a little hopeful, and listens closely, happy to grovel if it means a lighter sentence. He barely holds back "No need sir!" when Jarvis says the cane is up to him, and he's quick to apologize. "I'm sorry I lost my temper and acted disrespectfully." It's been a tough week, but he doubts Jarvis will listen, if he's considered a troublemaker, anything he says will be counted as an excuse. "I will act my age, sir, I apologize for," he has to pause and think, "for acting childishly." he tries, hoping this will satisfy Jarvis.
He fidgets with his fingers nervously, staring at them, waiting for Jarvis to decide if his apology is satisfactory, hoping that he will be spared the cane this time.

Clyde’s obvious regret, fear and despair, mixed together, are greatly satisfying to Jarvis. His apology isn’t as gratifying, parroting Jarvis’s words back to him, clearly doing what he can to get out of this without groveling too much. Still, his nerves are clear as he doesn’t meet Jarvis’s gaze, fidgeting, and Jarvis almost wants to tell him to look at him. Instead, he just shakes his head, speaking calmly, but making sure to tint his voice with that hint of disappointment. “I’m not sure you will, Mr. Darby. You’ve consistently proven to lash out childishly when you don’t get your way, from the plagiarism essay to today’s meeting, and as your housemaster, I’d like to do what I can to cure you of that.” Jarvis only stares at Clyde too long to try and calm his excitement and not outright burst into a giddy smile before he gets up and walks around to Clyde’s side of the desk in slow, ominous movements.

Clyde feels like his entire body is growing colder and slower, raising pleading eyes to Jarvis, although he's losing hope of avoiding the cane, and the way it seems right now, he'll be getting it often. He answers, mouth dry and eyes cast down again, "yes, sir," because what else can he say?

“I don’t have to cane you.” Jarvis repeats, but follows it up with, “However, I still believe you could benefit from traditional discipline.”

Clyde lifts hopeful eyes again, not sure what traditional discipline means. Lines, maybe? Detention? Better alternatives, for sure.

Jarvis does his best to mask his sadistic delight with professional curiosity, if that were even possible with the outright unprofessionalism of the question, and of what was about to happen. But he has the power to do so, and the increasing desire, so that bit doesn’t matter to him right now. “Were you ever spanked as a boy, Mr. Darby?” Then, after a pause, Jarvis can't help but add, "As a younger boy, that is.", further highlighting what he thought of him and their different positions.

Clyde blushes, but does his best to reply truthfully, blushing harder at the younger comment. "Not often, and not much, sir. Maybe a smack here and there, but generally I was never considered a troublemaker, or disobedient. I got a, a," he blushes darker, averting his eyes again, already regretting being so honest, but he can't back out now, "a bare bottom spanking, when I was three or so and ran into the street, right there and then. But I was – I am — a good kid, usually, sir." The pleading grows in his voice and eyes with the last few words, hoping Jarvis will believe him and understand he doesn't need such strict discipline. If he has to say that he's a kid for that, so be it, he can do it.

Jarvis once again has to fight the urge to smile — he’s somehow getting better at that and yet finding it more difficult as they progress — as Clyde blushes, but answers. He gets a kick out of how Clyde chooses to describe it and he wonders if Clyde is catching on yet. He might think referring to himself as a kid might please Jarvis, and it does, but not in the direction Clyde wants. He nods, as if he finds the answer interesting and is coming to a decision, as if he didn’t already intend on this.

“I think a spanking would do you well, Mr. Darby.” Jarvis itches to deliberately make his wording more humiliating, yet says it in a calm, matter of fact tone. “I’ve heard that a red, stinging bottom is a good way to keep a naughty boy conscious of his choices. It’s not what I’d usually do, but that might be something you could well benefit from. And I intend to do right by you.”

There’s not a huge amount of room in his office, but it’s enough for Jarvis to take his chair from behind his desk and place it in the center, with more space around him. He’d rather sit there in his usual chair than the one where students sit, and he does, schooling a calm expression, disguising his excitement. “Stand up and by me, Mr. Darby.” He wonders if the student would debase himself enough to beg to get out of an over the knee spanking, which might be more humiliating than simply receiving one, especially if he fails. And he would.

Clyde blushes, feels his ears growing hotter, at the mention of a red, stinging bottom. His eyes grow in surprise as Jarvis moves his chair while talking, and he despairs further at Jarvis saying do right by you, a sure sign that he's treated as a troublemaker. He stands up and moves the few steps to stand by Jarvis, hands fidgeting in front of his belt buckle, trying, hopelessly, to sway him, but not defiant, because even a humiliating spanking over the knee is better than a no-less-humiliating caning.

Clyde clears his throat, his mouth dry, and tries, a bit of pleading and a little whine in his voice, "Please sir, there's really no need, please, I'll work on my temper and punctuality, surely we can resolve this with an essay, instead? Please, sir." His fidgeting gets worse as he speaks, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, embarrassment and despair taking over him, making him feel like a child.

Jarvis finds it a bit hard to believe Clyde chooses to freely debase himself with his childish pleas and demeanor. When he was younger, he would have taken it without begging, whenever he could at least, doing his best to remain stoic and unaffected, take it like a man. The hardest thing to hide was how bitter and outraged he felt over his punishments. But Clyde doesn’t seem to be afraid to humiliate himself by pleading to not be taken over the knee — he seems more apprehensive to the discipline itself than to any dignity he may keep by taking it well. Jarvis would describe it as pathetic, but he finds it too soon to say out loud, and it’s definitely too soon to admit how much he loves how pathetic Clyde acts.

At least, he tries to control himself. He knows theoretically he could do and say a lot worse to the boy and he’d never be believed, but it’s that very thought that makes him try his best to contain himself and go slow, lest he turn absolutely insane with power hunger from the start. He likes this, and he intends to make it last.

But Clyde’s blushing and fidgeting is too much to handle; Jarvis can’t wait a second longer. He doesn’t respond to his pleading with anything but a stern look, then immediately grabs his wrist and pulls him closer. Jarvis doesn’t even tend to undress himself that quickly, but everything happens so fast, Clyde’s trousers unbuttoned and pulled swiftly to his knees, skipping his briefs for now, and yanking him over his lap. Any flailing or struggling would be suppressed by the large hand Jarvis presses on his back, and it delights him how easy it is to hold Clyde down. He always knew he was big and strong, but that fact had never made him feel so good as it does now, sadistically used against the weak. His dick must be at half mast by now, and he wonders if Clyde can feel it yet. It wouldn’t matter, would it?

Jarvis’s tone isn’t the least bit kind in its scolding. “May I remind you, Mr. Darby, while you may act like a child, and maybe look like one right now, flailing over my lap, you’re not. With any luck, you’ll learn something about manning up before you’re punished, because it seems to me it will be occurring more frequently from here on out.” Jarvis can’t help himself, he doesn’t even wait for a response before slapping his hand down on Clyde’s underwear-clad bottom, and he has to close his eyes and breathe an almost inaudible gasp at how good the whole thing feels when he inflicts it, from the position to the sound to the movement and feel of the slap. He’s quick to recover, he wants something else from Clyde. “If there’s any intelligence left in you, you’ll tell me what you’re being punished for now, or I’m happy to start until you can articulate it.”

Clyde yelps as he's pulled closer, his trousers yanked down and then he's pulled across Jarvis' knees, flailing a little in surprise. He expected to be told to get undressed and across Jarvis' lap, if he couldn't get off the hook - which, if he's honest, he held little hope for, but it was worth trying.

The large hand pinning him down makes him feel helpless, like a real child, which, he supposes, Jarvis actually sees him as. And a naughty one, at that. He holds back any noises as Jarvis scolds him, only breathing heavily and trying not to struggle. He deflates as Jarvis says it will occur more frequently, although he knew that's what Jarvis thought of him. He blushes darker as Jarvis scolds him about acting childish, the need to man up. He never had any issues with being just - kind, friendly, maybe not too beholden to the rules of politeness but generally well meaning and respectful. It seems Jarvis sees his infractions as much more severe, and maybe if he was more formal and less friendly with everyone that wouldn't have happened, but he never thought about those qualities as being a problem, even if they are child-like. Seems they are childish to Jarvis, and he'll have to learn to hold back and not be so honest, even if that's not his natural behavior. It may already be too late to make a different impression on Jarvis, though.

He gasps as Jarvis slaps his bottom, not even letting him reply, so he doesn't reply, although he debates himself, not sure if a reply is expected. Jarvis speaks again, this time prompting him. His voice is a little high pitched, not quite panicked but he tries to give a legible reply before Jarvis spanks it out of him. "Sir! I– I'm being punished for tardiness and for losing my temper, sir!" He hopes that settles Jarvis enough to spare him any additional punishment over the promised bright red bottom, and he promises himself he'll try to take the spanking better. It must be better than a caning.

Clyde’s gasp brings a smile to Jarvis’s lips. It’s a lovely sound, even more so because he caused it. Being punished for tardiness and for losing his temper? It’s a good response, but not nearly as humiliating as Jarvis would like it to be. Still, he’s eager to start, so he doesn’t say any praise, just brings his hand down, relishing Clyde’s reaction, the sound it makes, the feeling of his hand against bottom. He’s never spanked anyone, though he thinks he might like the position of Clyde across his lap being held down, so much contact while Jarvis hits him, even better than the caning. The caning does cause a lot more pain, and it reminds him of his own school days, so there’s a certain vindictive touch to it. Still, every hand slap he gives Clyde feels just as empowering.

Jarvis started off at a slower pace, aiming his large hand towards the center of Clyde’s arse, but now he picks up speed, alternating cheeks at a rapid pace, wanting to not just relish in administering the spanking, but get to the point where he can cause pain even through such a childish punishment. And if the pain caused isn’t enough, he’d make sure the humiliation aspect is layered on well enough.

Jarvis only pauses the spanking briefly to pull at the waistband of Clyde’s ill-fitting briefs, hiking them up, exposing more of the bottom of his cheeks in the process. He thinks to make some sort of explanation for the unnecessary near-wedgie, but he doesn’t need to make any explanations to Clyde, so he just smiles and goes on, his tone staying stern, contrasting with his delight when he speaks again. Jarvis doesn’t even try to make his desire to humiliate Clyde subtle, to clearly go beyond what he deserves for his infractions, his joyful sadism in this so-called punishment becoming harder and harder not to notice. “Tardiness and temper is just the beginning of it, young man. You’re being punished, Mr. Darby, because it seems to me you’re a spoiled little brat who needs a good, hard spanking to make sure he behaves. Now, unless I’m wrong, I’d like you to repeat that back to me.” It’s a cruel sort of test; of course Clyde doesn’t agree, but would he dare to say that or just try and get through this and comply with repeating the debasing words?

Clyde flails a little in surprise as Jarvis starts, but quickly stops, getting a better hold of himself, and tries to keep quiet, man up as he was told, only exhaling at the paced hand slaps, nowhere near as hard as the cane. Jarvis' hand is big and heavy, and hurts more than he thought it would, but it's bearable. It becomes harder to stay still as Jarvis starts going faster, and Clyde squirms a little, and to his great humiliation, Jarvis pins him down, holding him in place, like a child. The stinging slaps are becoming harder to bear as the spanking goes on, and Clyde squirms harder, little whimpers escaping him despite his best efforts. The more he squirms, the deeper the humiliation of being pinned down— of having to be pinned down, like a child.

Clyde can't help a whine as Jarvis pulls his pants up, tightening them. It's at least better than yanking them down, but it's still degrading, belittling, and unpleasant, especially as Jarvis seems to target the newly-exposed skin, at the crease of thighs and buttocks, a place that makes Clyde kick harder, reflexively, and despite his efforts to stay still. He at least manages to keep his whimpers to a minimum, for what that's worth.

Jarvis' words catch Clyde by surprise, and at first he only says, "Sir?", mostly surprise in it, but then he's a little incredulous and a lot resistant. He tries to sound as respectful as he can, even in this humiliating position. The pleading in his tone grows as he answers, "Please, sir, I know we got off on the wrong foot, but I'm not— I'm really not a spoiled brat, sir! I'm usually a really good kid!"

Maybe it's already too late, but maybe he can still turn Jarvis' opinion of him. Even if he has to swallow Jarvis seeing him as a child for that.

When Clyde resists more, Jarvis is inwardly tickled by the chance to further berate him, but outwardly, he sighs. He keeps spanking him with sharp, well aimed hand slaps as he lectures Clyde again, now fully mocking and insulting him, not caring in the slightest, “What you are is incompetent. It’s really not that difficult. All you have to do is follow my orders and maybe things won’t turn out so dire from you. But it seems you can’t even admit that you’re a spoiled little brat, making it even more clear that you certainly are. Get up.” At that last command, he gives a particularly harsh slap and waits for Clyde to scramble to obey that order, one he probably wouldn’t mind.

When he does get up, Jarvis looks him up and down momentarily, never minding that Clyde still has his trousers around his ankles and only underwear to cover him. It’s a childish and enticing look for him.

Clyde scrambles up to his feet when told, saying a hurried "yes sir!", a little afraid that Jarvis has changed his mind and would opt for the cane, after all. The harsh slap Jarvis gives him, probably as an encouragement, doesn't help his nerves. Jarvis' look — taking him in head to toe, seeming contemptuous — makes Clyde blush and put his hands in front of his groin, even more aware of his childish, exposed and disheveled look, trousers around his ankles, ill-fitting pants pulled up into his crack, necktie even messier than it was before, one button in his shirt opened as he squirmed across Jarvis' lap.

“I want you to hand me that ruler from my desk.” Jarvis gestures, a wooden ruler sticking out from a cup with other stationary. The desk is a foot or two away, Clyde would have to shuffle there, because Jarvis would be quick to reprimand him should he try to pull his pants up in order to walk there and back.

Clyde answers "yes, sir", almost relieved it's not the cane, although Jarvis' hand was bad enough, and the ruler is bound to be worse. It must be better than the cane, though. Clyde starts bending to lift his trousers, at least a little, but he can see Jarvis' irritated look, so he shuffles to the desk and fetches the ruler, careful not to trip, not thinking about how he looks. He tries to hand Jarvis the ruler, but Jarvis doesn't reach for it, so Clyde ends up fidgeting with it, his nerves clear.

Jarvis keeps his stern professor voice active and demands, “Now try again. What are you, and what do you need to put you back on the right track? It’s a simple question and it has a correct answer. We’ll practice it until I hear it to my liking.” Which could take a while, as classes are over and Jarvis is fully intent on enjoying this as much as he wants to, even if Clyde does shape up his responses.

Jarvis had been pretty direct in his phrasing before, if Clyde could remember enough to swallow his pride and repeat it, but even then, he wouldn’t mind making him say even more debasing things. He wants to go even farther, really, to see how much he can force Clyde to say. It was still too soon to grope him further, spread him how he had fantasized about recently — Jarvis’s already hard dick stirs further at that thought before shaking it away — but verbal humiliation is something he can accomplish in and out of these office walls. Verbal humiliation is something he had to endure when he was in school, maybe not to this extent, but it’s not out of character for the housemasters he had to deal with. And with that, Jarvis has an unbecoming, if not frank, thought to all of this. If he can’t get revenge on them, at least he can take some of it out on Clyde, who was so easy to manipulate, to fuck with, to imagine him red-faced and teary and strive to make it happen.

Clyde flushes dark at Jarvis' demand, but tries to comply. If he's already considered a spoiled brat, at least he can hope to keep things from getting worse. He still doesn't think he is, and he sounds unconvinced when he answers, "I'm a spoiled brat, sir. And I need, uh, a, a spanking, sir." He hopes it's good enough, that Jarvis will accept it, deliver the spanking he decided Clyde needs, and let him go, so he can finish his homework and reading before lights out. He just has to get through the rest of the spanking and then he can go - and this time, at least, he won't be late to any classes because of it, even if it's uncomfortable, and the marks will be more vivid and fresh in the showers.

Jarvis seems to assess Clyde and his response — and his body, increasingly obviously, giving him a long look up and down, twice — for a long while before clicking his tongue and taking the ruler from him. “That’s not very convincing, Mr. Darby. Nor is it the phrasing I used. If you want to please me, I’ll expect you to be precise and considerate of what I specifically ask of you. And I don’t think I need to tell you you don’t want me displeased. Over my lap again, please.” Jarvis pats his legs as he orders it, waiting for Clyde to drape himself over his knees before readjusting him again, so his pant-clad bottom is square in the very center of his lap, a position he’s liking more and more, juvenile for the student and powerful for Jarvis.

After a moment’s thought, Jarvis can’t resist temptation, padding his lying words with somewhat believable regret. “I hoped we’d be done by now, but it looks like these are going to have to come down if you’re going to learn your lesson.” He hooks his fingers in Clyde’s underwear and tugs them down, baring him. Whatever surprise or protest Clyde may have to that gesture is cut short by Jarvis not wasting a second more at bringing the wooden ruler down, hard, harder than his hand could have managed, especially with the little experience and expertise Jarvis has.

Clyde feels embarrassed as Jarvis' eyes look at his body, and clearly find him wanting, although he knows it's probably just the school uniform, always ill fitting, no matter how much effort he puts into wearing it right when he leaves his room; it's always in disarray by the time he hits his first class, and he'd long since given up on trying to keep it neat. Still, the judging look makes him fidget, feeling like a naughty boy, caught in another type of misbehavior, even though he still doesn't think he's a brat, he can start to see why Jarvis sees him as one, sees his general dishevelment as a sign of disrespect to the school. It's an issue that had been raised with him before, but always, until now, it was accepted that he's not malicious, and although it's unsightly, it was never deemed a reason for punishment.

He tries to keep being obedient, to disprove the already-established notion that Jarvis has of him, and says "yes, sir" with dry mouth, before he awkwardly bends down, and yelps as Jarvis arranges him, head closer to the floor, bottom higher up in the air, and very exposed. He can't help another, "Sir! Please!" as Jarvis pulls his pants down, but manages no more as the ruler comes down, hard and fast.

Wielding the ruler was new to Jarvis, like most of this was, and he quickly found it to be very fun, a nice sound, a nice grip to cover a nice amount of area. He covers every inch of Clyde’s arse with hard swats, getting through dozens of them rapidly before he finally slows down, still pinning Clyde down with one hand, while the other slows to a steady pace of peppered swats. Jarvis is really starting to hope by now his hardened dick isn’t noticeable to Clyde, and at the same time, he finds he’s not caring much either way. He manages to keep his strict professor tone when he demands once more, “Now, I believe I told you, that you are a spoiled little brat who needs a good, hard spanking to make sure he behaves. Repeat that back to me, or so help me, we might be here all night.”

Jarvis' ruler seems to sting worse and worse as he goes on, and even though no individual swat is unbearable, the accumulation of all of them is overwhelming sting, and Clyde can't hold back his squirming, and soon, tears, too overwhelmed to even say anything, just desperately, unthinkingly, trying to squirm away from the pain, flailing, to no avail; Jarvis is big and holds him in place, seemingly effortlessly. When he finally slows down, Clyde manages to think again, catching his breath, letting out little wordless whines.

The threat of resuming the quick, hard swats is enough to make him comply, even if he lost any hope of staying on Jarvis' good side by now; he takes a moist breath before repeating, slight tremble in his voice, "I'm, I'm a spoiled little brat who, who needs a good, hard spanking to make sure I behave, sir, please, I learned my lesson!"

Clyde’s trembled, slightly high-pitched Please, I learned my lesson makes Jarvis suppress a laughter, an unexpected one of glee threatening to spill out of him. He never could have imagined how satisfying that would be to hear. He never got brought to that point to beg for mercy, grunting through his punishments silently as a boy, but it seems Clyde and him were built differently. Even better than the cried out words, Jarvis can hear the wetness of his breaths and tone.

Jarvis wonders if Clyde can sense the pleased smile through his voice when he carefully asks, “Are you crying, Mr. Darby?” even if he tries — with less and less effort as time goes on — to use his educator voice, as if he’s not invested in anything further than discipline. His dick betrays his real feelings, nearly fully hardened under Clyde, whether he notices it or not.

Clyde can't deny his tears, and he's an honest boy, sometimes too honest for his own good. He knows he's supposed to take it like a man, was instructed to, but he won't lie, doesn't tend to and isn't good at it, so when asked if he's crying, he admits, timidly, "Yes, sir", a faint blush in his cheeks, feeling admonished.

Jarvis’s tone is almost of a bully when he asks, “Is this too much for you?” All throughout it, he continued the spanking, though his pace slowed a bit, still tittering on rapid but more punctual in the blows he lands, examining the redder and less red parts of Clyde’s bottom and aiming for an even coat, quickly finding it to be like an art.

Clyde’s not sure what to answer. It was overwhelming enough to make him cry, but he can bear it, if not gracefully, and the slowed down pace is nowhere near as overwhelming, although stingy and painful, and he feels exposed with his pants pulled down. He's hesitant when he answers, "no, sir," not quite confident in his answer, betrayed by a sniffle that follows it.

Jarvis clicks his tongue. “I suppose you should have thought about that before, isn’t that right?” It’s a test, to see how compliant Clyde is by now with his words, still under the rain of swats with the ruler, still helpless over Jarvis’s lap. Yet, Jarvis eggs him on further, not even making it too clear what the right answer is, just toying with him, to see his responses, delicious or inviting some way or another. “Are you feeling sorry now, Clyde?”

Clyde's not sure if he could have thought about that, he's been trying his best, even if Jarvis won't believe it. He can figure out the expected answer, but he's honest, answering, subdued, trying not to squirm, "Please, sir, I'm trying my best, I really am!" and he's still too honest for his own good when he answers, "I was sorry when I walked in, sir, I don't mean to be late or disobedient!" He knows it's hopeless, that Jarvis already formed a solid opinion about him, but he still says, pleading, "Please believe me, sir, I don't mean to be a brat!" He doesn't even think about how it sounds, and maybe he should stop trying, but he holds on to any hope that Jarvis will give him another chance, see that he's not a disruptive student, not any worse than most others.

Jarvis has Clyde where he wants him — sniffling and squirming and letting out tears and pleading again and again — and yet, he finds himself wanting even more. Still, this is a good level to cherish, and Jarvis relishes Clyde’s humiliation and pain, deciding not to take it too far for now, but also knowing there’s no way he’ll stop these encounters anytime soon. It’s just too much fun. He answers Clyde’s pleading, “But you were being a brat, Mr. Darby, and I have to make sure I curb that attitude of yours. Now stay still, and take your punishment like a big boy.” He no longer dignifies Clyde enough to say like a man, just like a big boy, once again painting him out to be a child, or at least viewed like one by the older man. Especially when he was in tears, pants down, over his lap, deliciously so. Jarvis’s cock twitches beneath Clyde, though he’s pretty sure he can’t notice through the overwhelming pain that starts up again. The flurry of swats of the ruler pick up again, rapid and hard, all across Clyde’s bottom, and Jarvis says nothing more, just relishes the thrill of delivering the spanking.

Clyde tries to silently swallow the tears he couldn't control, to stay still, but he knows he can't hide it because his voice comes out wet, defeated, when he answers "yes, sir", confirming he was a brat, that his attitude needs curbing, that he'll try to take the rest like a big boy. Clyde wipes his eyes with the back of his hand, the one not leaning against the floor to help with his balance, and tries his best. He feels like a child, no longer sure if he was or wasn't a brat, and not going to argue, no matter what.

He doesn't manage to keep from squirming as Jarvis picks up the spanking again, but at least he manages to keep his whines to a minimum, quiet whimpers, almost no more than heavy breaths, although they hitch occasionally as Jarvis hits a particularly sore spot. Clyde's rear feels like it's on fire, tender and sore and very hot, and he can't keep from clenching and squirming in pain.

For a while, there's no sound in the room except the loud ruler over Clyde's bottom, although his heart beats loud in his ears, feeling small and helpless, trying to control his body every time Jarvis admonishes him for moving, but not managing to stay completely still.

Jarvis’s pace and strength only seem to pick up even more when he gets sweeter sounds out of Clyde, hears a moist breath or a whimper, and wants to hear more of that, and worse. The spanking goes on in silence from Jarvis other than a couple stern remarks of “almost done, stay still”. If Clyde has any more pleading or apologies to give, they’re not merited with a response.

By the time Jarvis stops the spanking, good minutes later, he’s taking quiet but heavy breaths himself from the force and concentration, and he smiles like he just beat a hard level of a video game. He enjoys this tremendously, and doesn’t want it to stop, but it’s late, and he’ll have plenty more opportunities to do this. He looks down at Clyde’s darkened bottom, and can’t help himself. He puts his hand on it, to feel the heat, to see if Clyde jolts again, to just touch his arse because it’s fun to do so. Then, he decides out loud, as if to justify it, “I’m going to give you ten more swats with my hand to finish up. I want you to count them each, and with every one, promise you’ll be a good boy from now on. Is that understood? Or do you need more than that?” He can’t help but tack on the extra threat to the end, because Jarvis so likes Clyde’s pleading, and he doesn’t think he has much talking back or protesting to do by now.

Clyde jerks a little as Jarvis covers his bottom with something else, takes a moment to realize it's his hand. He's almost grateful Jarvis is using his hand, not the ruler, or something worse, for the last ten. He nods, and says, his voice clearly wet and a little miserable, "Understood, sir," and sounding scared, "No sir! no need for more! I promise I'll be a good boy from now on!" He'll count, but he wants to make sure Jarvis is pleased with his words, sore and drained by the ordeal.

Clyde’s debasing of himself out of fear, promising to be a good boy just to not get spanked more like a bad one, is delightful. Jarvis may make a little mistake, because he laughs. Just a little bit, just a chuckle showing he’s pleased with that response — not even showing the depth of his pleasure, rejoicing in the lack of dignity he’s brought Clyde down to. “Very good, Mr. Darby. Let’s finish up here then.” The praise is followed by what was promised, ten swats with his hand, that are delivered slowly but firmly.

They shouldn’t be very hard to take; this part was mostly to satisfy Jarvis’s enchantment with Clyde’s humiliation, rather than his lust for the student’s pain. Clyde counted very well, always tacking on the embarrassing promise, and it felt good, to Jarvis. It was a good ending to the power rush of this punishment, which wasn’t even well earned, but Jarvis had a feeling many of these would not be merited, and somehow that makes it even better. He can’t be sure his constant pushing of Clyde — which he has decided by now he would definitely do — won’t just push him to have worse behavior, but at the moment he also can’t say he cares about that.

Clyde is relieved to hear they're at an end to this punishment, having already despaired. He's not sure what that sound Jarvis makes means, sounding almost like a chuckle, but it can't be. He still blushes dark, not sure what it means. He counts, loudly and obediently - the hand spanking wouldn't have been so bad if he wasn't already so sore, but Jarvis' hand is big and heavy and he's not going easy, and Clyde wants to convince Jarvis that he's not a trouble maker, not as much of a brat as Jarvis seems to think, so even though he doesn't manage to stay entirely still, he counts with "one sir, please, I'll be good! Two, sir, I promise I will be, please, three! sir!" and so on, blubbering his promises and apologies in an effort to ensure that they really do finish up here.

Jarvis pulls up Clyde’s briefs for him once he’s done counting, takes the ruler in one hand, and pats his bottom with the other, ordering him up, and ordering he pull his trousers back up as well. Meanwhile, he puts his chair back behind his desk, puts the ruler back where it was, and makes sure he gets a decent look at Clyde’s face, wanting to see the wetness of tears he had caused, the shame, if there was any. All Jarvis has is a deliberate smile, going for warm and professional, hiding his true, sadistic joy. He takes a tissue or two from the box on his table and offers them to Clyde.

“Mr. Darby, I am going to tell your professors they no longer need to inform me of every tardiness to their classes, as a kindness to you, as I’m sure from now on you’ll be doing the very best you can to get to class on time. Should they have to hand off a disciplinary slip anyway, you should expect me to handle that accordingly. I should hope that doesn’t happen again, but I won’t hesitate to give you another well needed punishment if it comes to that.” And it will. “Is that understood? If you have nothing else to add, then I can dismiss you to your dorms.” Jarvis sits back down at his desk, then thinks to add one more thing before Clyde leaves. “That is, after you thank me for delivering the bare bottom spanking you needed, of course. Then you may leave.” He keeps the smile on his face, cheerful, but not letting the gratification show, at least as best as he can. Maybe Clyde sees through it anyway.

Clyde finds Jarvis pulls up his pants, the white school briefs, a bit too far up, unpleasantly pushing and rubbing sensitive and sore parts, but Clyde manages to only whimper quietly, and answer another "yes, sir" before pushing back to his feet, standing up, pulling his trousers back on and doing them, head bowed, looking like a much younger chastised school boy, avoiding eye contact with Jarvis.

Clyde makes sure to thank Jarvis for the tissues – "thank you, sir" – and again, as Jarvis says his professors will no longer report him for minor tardiness - another "thank you, sir." He shivers at the mention of more disciplinary slips, shooting a quick glance at the bin of canes. He's quick to confirm "Understood, sir!" in a slightly high pitched tone, doesn't want to think of being caned at the current state of his behind. He's not too eager to use the showers now, when they'll be packed and he'll be teased about his behind, but he has to finish his homework before lights out, and he doesn't want to miss either and be sent to Jarvis again.

His thoughts come sharply back at the instruction, and he mumbles, "uh, what?" before bringing himself back to "yes sir. Thank you f-for giving m-me the," he tries to repeat the words as best he can, still staring at his fidgeting hands but trying to bring his eyes up to Jarvis, to not be admonished for it, "the bare bottom s-spanking I n-needed."
He knows better than to start heading out before being dismissed, this time, fidgeting with his belt buckle as he waits for Jarvis to reply and dismiss him.

It's a relief that Jarvis doesn't hold him back after that, but finally allows Clyde to head back to the dorms. Clyde shows up with too little time to spare, catches the end tail of dinner, and has to shower when the showers are crowded, attracting attention, some of the other boys slapping his red ass, asking questions, making him present it for their inspection by jeering and pressuring. Word gets around and he's interrupted while doing his assignments, again, goaded or coaxed into showing the marks before they fade; it's not hard to guess by the marks that he hadn't been caned, this time, and Clyde is forced to recount the humiliating over-the-knee spanking a few times; by the time he finishes his assignments, he has to rush to brush his teeth and get ready for bed, the head boy giving him a warning about having his light on at lights out time, and smirking as he jabs him about earning another spanking with Jarvis. Clyde begs him not to report, and the head boy agrees, in return to getting to examine Clyde's marks closely, making him bend over the foot of the bed, pajama bottoms pulled down. Clyde blushes, but it's better than spending another session across Jarvis' knees, or bent over his desk.

At least, this time the marks fade faster; there are no lasting welts or bruises, and Clyde is pretty much okay by the next day, except for the constant teasing. He makes it to his classes on time, and thinks it's behind him until he showers in the evening, when he finds a long line of boys wanting to catch a glimpse of his behind, the rumor having traveled; but there are no marks, to the other boys' disappointment, although Clyde is still humiliated by this type of attention, and being stared at in the nude.

Chapter Text

It's a relief that Jarvis doesn't hold him back after that, but finally allows Clyde to head back to the dorms. Clyde shows up with too little time to spare, catches the end tail of dinner, and has to shower when the showers are crowded, attracting attention, some of the other boys slapping his red ass, asking questions, making him present it for their inspection by jeering and pressuring. Word gets around and he's interrupted while doing his assignments, again, goaded or coaxed into showing the marks before they fade; it's not hard to guess by the marks that he hadn't been caned, this time, and Clyde is forced to recount the humiliating over-the-knee spanking a few times; by the time he finishes his assignments, he has to rush to brush his teeth and get ready for bed, the head boy giving him a warning about having his light on at lights out time, and smirking as he jabs him about earning another spanking with Jarvis. Clyde begs him not to report, and the head boy agrees, in return to getting to examine Clyde's marks closely, making him bend over the foot of the bed, pajama bottoms pulled down. Clyde blushes, but it's better than spending another evening across Jarvis' knees.

At least, this time the marks fade faster; there are no lasting welts or bruises, and Clyde is pretty much okay by the next day, except for the constant teasing. He makes it to his classes on time, and thinks it's behind him until he showers in the evening, when he finds a long line of boys wanting to catch a glimpse of his behind, the rumor having traveled; but there are no marks, to the other boys' disappointment, although Clyde is still humiliated by this type of attention, and being stared at in the nude.

The next week passes almost okay; Clyde manages to make it on time, more or less, to all his classes, submit all his assignments, stay out of trouble; he feels unjustly singled out as Jarvis harshly admonishes him in class, but tries to be graceful about it, to lose the tag of "troublemaker" by being a model student and as well behaved as anyone could possibly be.

Joel, another boy, constantly jabs him in Jarvis' class, but mostly, Clyde manages to hold back, and only shoot him dirty looks. But when Joel drops an ice cube inside his trousers in Jarvis' class, mumbling "to chill your behind" and smirking, Clyde doesn't think, turns to him and says, too loudly, "Will you give it a rest already?"

He can hear the silence that follows, falling over the class at once. He turns his head back to the front of the room, seeming, already, to blush, and apologizes even before Jarvis has a chance to admonish him, "Sorry, sir."

Jarvis wanks himself by his desk after Clyde leaves his office, almost immediately so, thinking of him, his red arse and his reaction to Jarvis’s punishments. Jarvis notices he’s in such a good mood afterwards, these past few times he’s been done with Clyde. But he’s never really done, always looking forward to their next encounter. He was taking advantage of his position, he knew that, but the guilt of that wasn’t as strong as it should have been, maybe. He was a good housemaster, after all, out of his many student, most of them respect him, and are fond of him. He tells himself it’s not much harm to have his fun with just one of those students, especially when Clyde makes himself so deliciously inviting, with his blushes and unkempt appearance, his at times childish behavior, being so easy to manipulate. Still, maybe he should cool it, not make their little sessions too frequent, lest his power rushes and fascinations with Clyde become too obvious.

Yet, he can’t help but admonish him at times during their class together, find reasons to berate him, when Clyde momentarily takes his eyes off the board, snapping at him to pay attention, or when he gets to class just slightly before it’s too late, Jarvis still gives him a sharp rebuke to be careful with his entrance times, even if he hadn’t technically gotten there late. At least in this particular class he hadn’t said anything to him – yet – just focused on teaching the class properly, getting through the lessons. But while he’s professional about his teaching, inside, he’s bored, and it’s a very welcome delight when he hears Clyde’s loud remark. Everyone heard it, the class went silent.

Jarvis lets that silence linger a few moments longer, not responding to Clyde’s sheepish apology.

Then he orders, calmly, “Mr. Darby, please stand up and come to the front of the class.” He wouldn’t entertain any excuse, or any word or action that wasn’t just obeying his order, keeping a stern look. Once Clyde is stood in front of him, he makes sure with a silent gesture that Clyde face the class, not just Jarvis. Jarvis asks pointedly, “Would you like to explain to us all why you’ve decided to disrupt my class?”

Jarvis heard what Clyde had said. He’s not sure who it was referring to of the classmates around him, but he’s pretty sure he’s been picked on somehow. He usually, historically, does not tolerate any type of bullying among his students. But with Clyde, it almost amuses Jarvis, seemingly incapable of escaping his misery at school, and he’s turned a blind eye once or twice. Right now, he wonders if Clyde will make himself a snitch or come up with a non-answer or excuse.

Clyde is getting more and more nervous under Jarvis' intense gaze, and his "yes, professor" is meek. The ice cube slides out his trousers and falls out as soon as he stands up. His feet are hesitant and unsteady as he makes his way to the front of the class, clearly embarrassed and apprehensive. He's suffered enough teasing without whatever humiliating admonishment he can expect at the front of the class. His eyes are cast down when he finally stands at the front of the class.

When Jarvis asks why he decided to disrupt the class, Clyde lifts affronted eyes to Jarvis, darting to Joel, who seems smug, and back, a few times. He opens his mouth, almost saying he was provoked, that he'd been teased beyond his ability, but he shuts his mouth again quickly. If the teasing is bad now, he's sure that getting Joel in trouble without Jarvis noticing it himself would only get him teased worse; Joel is already one of the boldest guys slapping his ass in passing, especially in the showers, and he has friends. Clyde is not looking to regularly get beat up. So he swallows, his face quickly changing from outrage to defeat, and he just answers, repeating again, "I'm sorry, sir. I lost my temper." Maybe he can talk to Jarvis after class, but it seems unlikely to help. Jarvis doesn't seem to believe him, seems to blame him for every minor mishap.

Jarvis notes the small clack of the ice cube when Clyde stands up, painstakingly making his way to the front of the class. Once he’s turned to face the class, Jarvis also notices a very faint streak of dampness where the cube had fallen down, from Clyde’s behind, down the back of his leg. He has to fight a smile. It’s child’s play. He remembers being bullied in school; before he reached his remarkable stature, before puberty. Bigger kids beat him up a couple of times, in groups. He’d usually have more sympathy for a student of his being a victim of teasing, as he has in the past. He still does, a little, feeling for Clyde. But more than that, Jarvis remembers the utter humiliation of being bullied, and he has found he quite likes when Clyde is humiliated. Maybe he’s sick in the head, but it amuses Jarvis and he wants to make it worse for Clyde.

He wants to bait Clyde more, maybe ask why he lost his temper. But instead, first, he decides to mutter, “Let me see there.”, and turn Clyde around, holding him by a backside belt loop and bending him over some, letting the class see how Jarvis inspects the small trail of moisture, barely visible, brushing it down unnecessarily like he’s a child who got messy while he played. “Hm.” he hums, ignoring a few giggles from the class.

Jarvis walks over, slowly, picking up the ice cube, now melting, then walks back and throws it in the bin, wiping his hands. “I’m not sure what happened here,” he lies, “but I want to make it clear that teasing will not be tolerated in this school. To anyone.” He places a hand on Clyde’s shoulder, faux comforting, adding, “Especially to those who are weaker and more fragile. I’m not going to name any names,” he can guess by now by position and by the looks on his student’s faces that it was Joel, so he gives him a pointed look, knowing even that much can seal the deal for the teasing getting even worse. “but I want to make that clear. Furthermore–” Now he turns his sternness to Clyde, crossing his arms and fixing him with a glare. “Mr. Darby, we’ve had a talk before about you losing your temper, haven’t we? Do you remember that talk?” Again, he hears a couple more giggles, and can imagine at least a few people in the class know what kind of talk he’s referencing.

Being manhandled, his back to the class and bent, if only a little, is humiliating enough, making Clyde blush, covering his face with his hands, even though he's already faced with nothing but Jarvis' desk and the blackboard. He can feel Jarvis' eyes on his backside, hear giggles, and it only makes him blush darker, choke on his humiliation, and he startles at the mild touch of Jarvis brushing over his trousers, although he quietly apologizes immediately, "sorry, sir", and resumes the position. He hopes this ordeal will be over soon, although he suspects he'll be ordered to Jarvis' office, again. When Jarvis walks away, Clyde turns around, still blushing, but better than having his backside stared at. He thinks. He's relieved to hear that teasing will not be tolerated, maybe he can still hope that Jarvis will be proactive about this, and he won't be forced to tell him anything, or be blamed for it. Clyde closes his eyes, face burning, at being called weak and fragile. It's as good as painting a target on his back, if Jarvis won't take disciplinary measures against Joel and his friends.

Clyde can barely speak at Jarvis' glare, but he answers, stuttering and meek, deeply humiliated by the giggling witnesses, "Y-yes, sir." He hopes Jarvis will send him back to his seat soon, this is quickly becoming worse than Joel's teasing ever was.

Jarvis has to bite back a smile in order to keep his face serious and stern, which is hard because Clyde delights him, the way he stutters quietly, blushing at his public admonishment. He wonders how much fun it would be to do other things to him in public, in front of the class, for everyone to watch. He makes up his mind then. The class can wait.

Walking to his desk, Jarvis lectures, “I don’t like repeating myself, Mr. Darby. And I don’t tolerate meek excuses of losing one's temper as a reason to disrupt my lesson, especially when I thought I made myself clear last time we discussed it.” As he finishes the sentence, he opens his desk, and pulls out a rattan cane. He had acquired one to have in his desk while he teaches as well as one to stay in his office. Jarvis never used canes before, but now he felt the power they hold, and didn’t mind having them close at all times, if only just to fuel his imagination and give him a confidence boost, remembering what he can do with it, what he can do to Clyde.

Again, Jarvis stands besides Clyde, not rushing, the room silent other than his footsteps, and orders, “I want you to stick your right hand out, palm up.” That does get a small gasp or two from the class, and another giggle. He decides he likes that attention, having an audience for what he’s about to inflict on Clyde.

Clyde can't think of anything to offer as Jarvis keeps scolding him in front of the class, only replying another meek, stuttered, "y-yes, s-sir", not sure what to expect. His mouth dries as Jarvis pulls out a cane from his desk, staring with disbelief. Jarvis wouldn't make him strip in class, in front of others, would he? His eyes plead as his mouth opens and closes a few times, helpless and speechless, but he obeys without thinking, lifting his right hand as ordered, even before he manages to croak, "yes, sir".

The gasps and giggles remind Clyde of the audience, but he's more terrified and shocked than embarrassed, at this point. Is Jarvis going to cane his hand? It's less humiliating, for sure, but it's also horrifying. Clyde had never had his hands caned, and as far as he knows, other housemasters don't do it, even though they're more liberal with corporal punishment than Jarvis.

Jarvis catches the disbelief in Clyde’s look, and he fights back a smirk. It’s obvious he’s never had his hands caned. Back in Jarvis’s school days, it wasn’t unheard of. Jarvis had suffered through at least a few hand strappings, often for unjust reasons. These days, it’s heard of, but not often used. But what better reason to implement it, than with Clyde, the troublemaker?

Getting one's hands caned isn’t as humiliating as having to strip and get your arse caned, but it still holds some embarrassment, especially considering the fact that Jarvis intends to get Clyde to tears in front of the class, inflicting that on his hands. It’d be another way of practicing payback for his own school days, something Clyde had nothing to do with but was so deliciously helpful in replicating to Jarvis’s favor.

Jarvis holds Clyde’s fingers, protecting them, and raising the cane with his other hand. “I’m going to strike you, and I want you to count them out and promise me, ‘I will learn to control my temper’. Is that understood?” Some whispers are heard in the class, but Jarvis is focused on Clyde. As soon as he gets an answer, the sweet moment of anticipation will pass, and Jarvis will whip the cane down across Clyde’s palm, immediately, once.

Clyde flinches as Jarvis holds his hand by the fingers, making sure he can't fold them. It's probably for the best, will protect his fingers, so he can still write later, but it also feels restricting, makes him feel trapped and exposed - as Jarvis often does. The sight of the raised cane holds all of Clyde's attention, he can't spare even a glance for Jarvis nor for the other students, his face showing his horror, but he still mumbles, "y-yes sir", and starts repeating, "I will–" when he's cut off by the cane burning his hand, pulling his fingers as hard as he can in a futile attempt to pull his hand out of harm's way, not even noticing the collective gasp in the class, and the pain only seems to grow, as he lets out a miserable, pained sound, before managing to get a hold of himself enough to count and repeat, a little too loudly, clearly in pain, "One, sir! I will learn to control my temper!"

Only then does it occur to Clyde that Jarvis didn't give him a number, and he has no idea if he's in for a half dozen, one dozen, two dozen, or an unthinkable three dozen, and his eyes finally leave the cane as he gives Jarvis a despairing, pleading look, eyes already shining, as he can't find a hint of mercy in Jarvis' face.

It takes everything in Jarvis not to break out in a grin when Clyde’s eyes meet his and they already seem shiny and desperate and pleading, and they’re just getting started. He hated having his hands caned, and he’ll make sure it’s not exactly going to be enjoyable for Clyde either. He doesn’t know how many he’ll give him, but he does have to get back to class, lest he rile himself up too much. Clyde’s tears, pain and humiliation tend to get him hard, but Jarvis has to make sure his arousal doesn’t show in front of the class. He decides six of the best should be good; unless Clyde isn’t streaming tears by then. Jarvis wants him in tears. Here, in front of everyone.

Jarvis snaps the cane down on his palm again, making sure to hold Clyde’s fingers tight, not letting him pull away.

Clyde grunts as the next stroke hits, pulling his hand as hard as he can before he manages to get some control over himself and stop; it burns so bad, he has to hold a belt loop with his left hand as hard as he can to make sure his left hand doesn't shoot up to protect his right. He manages to avoid any too embarrassing sound, but his voice is shaking as he counts the second line, his volume normalizing on regular speaking volume, but clearly strained, "T-two, sir! I will control my temper!"

Clyde gives Jarvis another pleading look, but Jarvis seems to focus on his hand, probably making sure not to hit anything that would cause real harm. Clyde's eyelashes are already wet, darker, and his eyes very shiny; he tries not to blink too hard, not to let his tears spill out, but it's a losing battle; there's not a chance he'll manage to hold back after the next one, he thinks, and he still has no idea how many he'll face, the despair getting him to tears much faster than the pain.

Jarvis’s eyes dart from Clyde’s hand, making sure to protect its fingers, to Clyde’s face. His expression was schooled into calm sternness while he met Clyde’s pleading, moist eyes. They were very inviting. Making him cry seemed to be an easier feat than he thought. He snaps the cane down again, a third time, ready to poke at Clyde as soon as those tears spill.

Clyde can't help another pained sound, not as loud as it would have been if he wasn't trying to hold it back, but louder than he'd have liked; the first tears slide out of his eyes and he sniffles before he says the words, sounding defeated already, "Three, sir, I, I will control my temper," and at the last minute manages to change the please! on the tip of his tongue to "sir!", but it's too loud and too pleading, and his shoulders jump up, then slump, at the next offense, the sound of giggles at his pain. It's humiliating. He wonders, almost detached from himself, if his hand will become as much an attraction as his behind had been, although he can't imagine it will be.

Any long interruption to his class this has taken was made immediately worth it when Jarvis saw the first tears squeeze out of Clyde’s eyes. It brought him a great sense of satisfaction, and, already, a tingle in his loins. He wanted to grin wide. But Jarvis tutted instead, as if he was disapproving of Clyde breaking. “There’s no need to cry, Mr. Darby.” If any of his classmates hadn’t noticed yet, Jarvis wanted to make sure they did. He liked knowing that everyone was seeing Clyde cry at his doing. He didn’t think about any consequences to his newfound sadism then, now public, or how obvious it might be presenting itself versus just seeming like a strict professor. He was too busy being enthralled with caning Clyde, his hands this time. “There’s three left. You’re a grown boy, you can take it, and I expect it to be a good reminder to not disrupt my class again.” With that, he only pauses for a moment longer, concentrating on Clyde’s hand once more, and brings the cane down a fourth time.

Clyde tries to meet Jarvis' standards, nods and says, "yes, sir," trying to hold his reaction better, to not cry. He visibly brightens up at the call of three more. He went through three, the pain is not that bad compared to the fear and despair of uncertainty, so he nods, enthusiastic, ready to answer again, but Jarvis lifts the cane and Clyde bites his lip and braces, managing to make no sound at the cane hits, his breath only hitching the slightest bit before he repeats his line, "Four, sir, I will control my temper", although he can't hold back another sniffle, of the tears already shed. It's so much easier to take when he knows there are just two more left, burning and painful but just two more, and even if anyone wants to see his hand, it won't be as humiliating as baring his behind for classmates' inspections.

Jarvis could smirk at Clyde clearly brightening up, like a kid who’s been told his timeout will end in just five minutes. But he doesn’t, schooling his expression to stay calm and stern. At least Clyde manages to not cry out, but the sniffle that follows is still pathetic enough to make Jarvis pleased. He doesn’t want this to end, he’s having fun, and six seems too little now, but he must get back to class, even if he could do this all day. He strikes Clyde’s hand two last times, in somewhat rapid succession, first admiring his reddened palm, then looks at him expectantly.

Clyde says, as fast as he can, interrupted by the next stroke and unable to hold his cry of pain, "Five – Ow! – Six, sir!" a few more tears slide down his cheek, and he sniffles and swallows before completing, "I will control my temper, sir."

He's still nervous as long as Jarvis is holding his hand by the fingers, can't help it, afraid of dreaded extras. He wants to go back to his seat, rub his burning hand, and put this behind him, even if it means sitting back next to Joel, who will, most likely, keep badgering him. He'll have to control his temper better, to stay out of trouble, and not give Joel away, or the bullying is likely to get much worse.

Jarvis is sad to see it end, but he knows he has a class to get back to. Still, he can’t help but taunt Clyde a little more, not letting go of his hand yet. “Have you learned your lesson, Mr. Darby? Are you sure? Do you need some strikes of the cane on your bottom to learn to stay quiet in class as well?” He hears a little gasp and some giggles from the students watching. More than a few people in that room were clearly enjoying Clyde’s humiliation, including Jarvis.

Clyde tries to sound well mannered, although he has to fight more tears at the humiliating questions. "Yes sir, I'm sure, n-no need for any more, I will keep quiet in class and, and control my temper, sir, please!" His blush darkens again at the humiliation, both of Jarvis saying that in front of the class, and of how he sounds, even before the giggles. He tries not to pull on his hand, knows it's futile, can't help a little, nervous pull every so often, desperate to be freed and go back to his seat, although now he's also nervous about Jarvis deciding to cane his bottom, in addition.

Jarvis has the faintest smirk on his face. He likes feeling Clyde pull a little at his hand. He likes that Clyde is much weaker than him, couldn’t pull out of his grip even if he really tried. He ends the punishment with a semi, not expecting anyone to notice. Finally, he lets go of Clyde’s hands, but before the student can rush away, if he tries, Jarvis faces the class and puts both hands on Clyde’s shoulders. He does something rather impulsive, based on the fact that he truly doesn’t want his class interrupted again, on some level. If Joel keeps teasing Clyde during this class, and makes him snap again, however unlikely that was, Jarvis might never get anything done, so quick to give in to the desire to cane him more.

“I want you all to look at the tears on his face. This is a very sorry, well punished boy you’re looking at. If anyone disrupts my class again today, I will not hesitate to bring out the cane again. Is that understood?” It was the first time Jarvis has threatened the cane, or any act of corporal punishment, on a student other than Clyde. He could see some people have the smile wiped off their faces. The class obediently agreed, whether through silent, nervous nods or a verbal Yes, Professor.

Jarvis soaks in that sweet feeling of power, something he never thought to want before he met Clyde. He has no desire or real intention of punishing anyone like that other than Clyde. Still, now that he’s threatened it, he might have to at some point. His supervisors wouldn’t mind, most professors do it, but Jarvis realizes how his reputation is transforming. How some fundamental parts of him are changing. It’s daunting, but he thinks it’s worth it. He takes so much pleasure in making Clyde cry, seeing his pleading looks and causing him pain, leaving pretty marks for his bullies to look at. It turns him on like nothing ever had, gives him highs of excitement stronger than he’d ever felt before. Jarvis is enjoying this, and he has no intention of stopping anytime soon.

For now, he orders Clyde to sit back down, clears his throat, and returns to teaching his class, now pleased and relaxed. As soon as he had the chance to be alone, he’d have to rub one out as his mind returned to the image of Clyde’s blushes of humiliation and pretty, streaming tears. Already, he’s fantasizing about how he can get his hands on him next.

Clyde is relieved the punishment is over, although the humiliation of being displayed as a warning makes him blush deeper. He can't help but rub his burning palm on his thigh even as Jarvis speaks, making him look even more childish, but it helps with the pain, a little.

He makes his way back to his seat with face cast down, doesn't want to see the looks he gets, although he winces every time he uses his hand without thinking - to pull away the chair, while he writes. He almost raises it a couple of times during class, but decides against it. It's still red, and he doesn't want to display it.

Joel and his friends are unrelenting, this time deciding that a high-five is the best way to greet anyone around campus, and of course they're all very interested in greeting Clyde, all of a sudden, especially when he's holding something in his other hand, and then laughing as he winces and his face crumples in pain. He tries to back out of it once, saying "C'mon, Jamie," but gets jeered as a snob, so he keeps letting them, washing his hand in cold water whenever he can. It keeps hurting all day, and he's certain the high-fives are making it worse, especially as boys he's sure he never spoke a word with, from other houses, come up to high five him, too. It also interrupts his study time, so he's a little behind on homework again.

Chapter Text

Clyde keeps getting teased. He doesn't want to call it bullying, but there's a mean edge to it, and it keeps landing him in trouble, keeps getting demerits for it. In a few cases, the boys teasing him get caught, but they both get written up. Once, when another boy slaps his arse in the shower, and he slaps the boy's face, they both get written up by the prefect, who lands another slap on Clyde's arse. Another time, a professor writes up Clyde and the boy chasing him for "disorderly conduct in the halls", and, yet another time, Clyde and three boys who kept him by playing keep-away with his bag all get written up for being late to class.

Clyde hopes to talk to Jarvis about it, although he's not very hopeful that it will do him any good. When Jarvis orders him to stay after class to talk, he's almost relieved; he doesn't like Jarvis' punishments, but he hopes he can at least explain, and maybe get some help, with the situation.

Jarvis gets comments that he seems more cheerful lately; particularly, although it's not said with this specific timeframe, since he first caned Clyde. He does get comments, such as from Miriam, that maybe finally deciding to "demand more respect" from his students has helped chipper his mood around campus. Jarvis wouldn't say he was stressed about it before. He thought his way of doing things was fine, and kinder. But these days he doesn't seem as concerned with being kind. Not to Clyde, at least. And the better manners and behavior of other students, afraid of getting the same treatment, especially after being threatened, is just a plus.

By the time a little over a week has passed since Clyde's hand caning, he's gotten six demerits regarding Clyde, and he watches them pour in with a hidden smile. He knows Clyde is being bullied, and he shouldn't encourage it, but being literally handed excuses to punish him again is just so alluring. So he doesn't say anything about the demerits to the other boys. He doesn't say anything to Clyde either at first, letting them build up.

The day after the sixth one rolls in, he orders Clyde to stay after class. When the last of the other students step out, he closes the door behind them and goes over to lean on his desk, studying Clyde. "Mr. Darby, there are six demerits at my desk regarding your behavior in and outside of class. They always seem to involve other students." For once, he wears an expression and tone of slight concern rather than sternness. "Would you like to tell me why that is?"

Clyde hesitates for just a moment. He doesn't really trust Jarvis' judgment, but he has been the head of the house for a long while; surely he dealt with bullying before, with students he thought better of. Maybe he has effective ways to deal with it. Besides, Clyde clearly doesn't manage to shake it off by himself.

He nervously smiles at Jarvis, and then collects his courage, and says it, as clear and fast as he can. "Sir, other boys— they pick on me. I try to be on my best behavior but— you can see some demerits are for being late, because I got held up, or running in the hall when I tried to get away. I don't know what to do, sir."

Clyde makes sure to keep his tone respectful, even if it gets, possibly, a little too emotional or intense, and he makes sure to call Jarvis sir. And Jarvis seems sympathetic, for once. Maybe, at last, he'll manage to turn around how Jarvis sees him.

Jarvis nods as Clyde speaks, staying silent in an effort to seem understanding, and then frowns by the end, showing more concern. "Running to get away? What are they doing to you, exactly?" He's turned into a self-interested, sadistic fuck, because his first real line of concern, is that if the bullying has turned overly physical or dangerous, anything that could end up with Clyde getting visibly or badly hurt, he might be pulled from the school entirely, or at the very least it would make it less plausible to punish Clyde for it. And then where would Jarvis get his kicks?

Clyde doesn't hesitate anymore, sharing immediately, maybe a little too animated, "After you caned my hands they insisted on high fives, painful ones, when I was late they kept my bag and wouldn't give it back." He blushes before admitting, voice growing quieter, "I got looks at the showers and some towel snaps, but... they also held me down to see the cane marks that once. The ones on my... bottom." After another hesitation, looking around, Clyde also says, "Last week, Joel put that ice cube in my trousers. And they leave me notes, or say mean things, but that I can handle." It would be nice to not be mocked, but if all he gets are mean comments, that's okay. Being pestered constantly is not great, but getting in trouble with other teachers, and Jarvis, being constantly branded troublemaker, that can affect Clyde's education and future.

Jarvis has to bite back a smile, amused by everything Clyde is whining about. He has to bite it back so much that he goes in for a brief hug, patting Clyde’s back so he can let out the cruel smile and then school his expression back to sympathy. “Poor boy! If I had known all of this was going on…” He shakes his head, then sighs. “Well. I suppose if others are so curious about your punishments, that should at least inspire you to not earn more, no? I won’t lie, six demerits is unseemly.” He holds Clyde’s gaze for a long moment, searching his eyes. Then he pulls a notepad from his desk, and a pen. “Of course, I know you’re not the only one getting written up. Tell me, which boys have teased you? Particularly ones who earned their own demerits from it? I’d like to hear some names so we can address this issue.”

Clyde is so shocked by Jarvis showing this much sympathy as to give a brief, if awkward, hug, that he doesn't even hug back, only stands there, stunned. Maybe he misjudged Jarvis, or maybe Jarvis really believes in spare the rod, spoil the child kind of thing. It's the first time Jarvis seems to listen, doesn't assume the worst about him, and Clyde is getting a little hopeful.

He slumps a little at the mild scolding, but doesn't argue. He's done his best not to earn any punishments at all from the start, but he's not going to argue, so he answers a sour "Yes, sir", although unseemly doesn't sit right, suggesting he's still going to get in trouble.

Clyde wrinkles his nose. "Joel and his friends, George and Sammy, are on my case a lot. I'm not sure if Joel got any demerits but I'm pretty sure the others have. And then Alex and Bert, I think each of them got at least one demerit," he's not sure if either of them got written up more than once, but Alex got one for chasing him in the hall, and Bert got one for untidy appearance when Clyde managed to wrestle free as he was getting away, "They mostly give me wedgies and slap my behind whenever they get the chance." He furrows his eyebrows, thinking. "James, the prefect, teases me a lot but nothing more. Oh! Jacob, Jonas and Herb keep stealing things out of my bag, I got written up for not having homework they got out of my bag, they gave it back torn in pieces after class. I copied it and submitted it later that day, but Professor Brand didn't remove the demerit."

Clyde's not sure what Jarvis can do about it, if at all, and he doesn't care to think about the other things he went through that didn't get anyone demerits. If Jarvis does anything about this, it may be enough to deter the others.

Jarvis nods along, looking at the notepad as he scribbles the names down. Although, again, he has to hold back a smirk when faced with imagery of Clyde getting wedgies and arse slaps. It reminds him of his own school days. Selfishly, he thinks, if he managed to get through it in one piece, so would Clyde. He manages to hide his inappropriate emotions, and when Clyde is done, Jarvis sets down the pen and paper and places a strong yet comforting hand on Clyde's shoulder. "You'll have to give me a day to think things over and see what I'm going to do about this, but something will be done. It is not alright for you to get a new demerit showing up on my desk every single day, and it's certainly not right for the other boys to be on your case so much, earning their own. I'll have to see what I can come up with to properly deal out some consequences, but you can trust that I'll follow up on this—" He smiles, in a friendly professor type of way, and not in the sadistic way he wants to, when finishing with "—for your own wellbeing." He takes his hand off Clyde's shoulder and starts tidying up his desk. "Is there anything else you need to tell me, Clyde?" He drops the formal last name in an effort to give Clyde some further hope that he's on his side.

Clyde considers. He could tell Jarvis about other things, but he decides against it quickly. This should sort most of his issues out, so he shakes his head decisively and answers, "No, sir." And, more hesitantly, very hopefully, "Thank you, sir." Maybe Jarvis has realized he's not a troublemaker, and things will go smoothly for him from now on. Clyde shifts uneasily, remains standing in place, hands behind his back like a scolded boy, waiting to be dismissed, which he's relieved to be, just a moment later, shouldering his bag and leaving as soon as he can.

The next day doesn't go any easier than the week before, Clyde getting harassed in the halls and showers, and one more write up. He still heard nothing from Jarvis by the time he showers, almost last, trying for emptier showers even if it means he slides closer to lights out, because Clyde is tired of towel snaps and arse slaps in the showers.
When he enters the dorms, dressed in his pajamas and carrying his wash bag, he's surprised to find Jarvis there, holding a cane and inspecting the boys, each standing at the foot of his bed, and Clyde rushes to take his place, standing at the foot of his own bed, not entirely certain what this is about.

Jarvis took time to mull over what exactly he'll do about the situation. His first question to himself was whether he actually wants to stop the bullying. It does give him more excuses to punish Clyde, and he's found by now that he loves to see him miserable, even by the hand of others, as cruel as it is. He almost feels rejoiced at Clyde having such a hard time, reminding him of himself during his school days, before he hit his growth spurt especially. It's definitely more fun to watch than to experience.

On the other hand, if the bullying goes too far, and Jarvis does nothing about it, it puts his little game at risk. He's becoming more aware that targeting Clyde and only Clyde with corporal punishment, if it goes on too long, might raise suspicions. Other professors use the cane liberally, equally among students. The problem is not the cane; if anything, the solution is to apply it more. He's gained respect because of it, among both students and colleagues. Not only does it make sense to make sure more students are subjected to the stricter discipline that Jarvis has started to implement, but the more he thinks about it, the more he itches to find out if caning other boys would feel as good as caning Clyde does.

Be it as it may, bullying is a tough thing to put an end to. Jarvis is set on making a statement to all the boys regarding discipline upon earning demerits and, well, if that stops them from bullying Clyde, it will lessen the risk of him being pulled out of school, raising suspicions, or inviting criticism on Jarvis's performance as head of house.

If it doesn't stop the bullying, it may deter the boys from making it so obvious, and Jarvis will still gain recognition from other staff for having tried, for continuing to develop a firm hand on his students. And, even better, Jarvis might find he enjoys disciplining any boy the same as he does Clyde, and he'll have even more opportunities to do so if the teasing continues.

He's made up on what to do, even if he doesn't know how it will pan out. He goes by his instincts and shows up that night at the dorms at bedtime, ordering James to arrange the boys for inspection. Power and pride surge through him when the boys get a nervous look at the cane in his hands and all stand at attention. He's silent, walking slowly through the room, between the beds, soaking in the tension. Jarvis taps one of the more unkempt looking beds with the cane with a sharp order to "Tidy this mess, Arthur." and listens to him scramble to obey as he keeps walking.

He doesn't miss that Clyde isn't there, and it only works in his favor when he finally walks in, late. "Mr. Darby." he says, dryly. "Thank you for gracing us with your presence. I would think you'd be more punctual after the multiple talks we've had about tardiness. It would serve you well, especially considering what I'm here to address." He lets that hang in the air in the moment while he stands at the front of the room, getting a good look at everyone.

Clyde shivers when Jarvis scolds Arthur, sympathetic and all too familiar with Jarvis' strict side. He feels some relief, though, finally seeing that side turned towards others; he heard Jarvis is sympathetic and understanding, but that hasn't been his experience. He only blushes and nods as Jarvis scolds him for being late - he didn't realize there was any reason to be back from the shower much before lights out, long enough to arrange his things for the following day and get ready for bed, so he's embarrassed about his misstep, wondering if he missed some announcement.

Finally, Jarvis breaks the silence. "Joel. George. Sammy. Bert. Step closer, please." As they hesitantly follow orders, he continues. "Alex. Jonas. Herb. Jacob, you too." He watches as they make their way to the front, before turning his head to the side, where the prefect's bed was closest to him. "James." He beckons him forward as well.

"After there's been a drastic increase of demerits on my desk, it's come to my attention that something unbecoming of this academy might be afoot. Every day, I'm receiving reports of disorderly conduct from many of you, even brawls." An arse slap met with a face slap can't really be counted as a brawl, but Jarvis doesn't mind going for dramatic effect to accentuate the problem. He turns his head to James, the prefect, again. "James, can I trust that if there is bullying going on in this school, or someone being a target of aggressive behavior, you would let me know about it?" He'd only stare him down, expecting a longer response, if met with a short one. Whether James decides to directly call out what's going on or make something up to save face, Jarvis knows what he'll do next.

Clyde watches in silence, a little relieved, to see his bullies being called one by one, although he lifts a single eyebrow as James answers, seemingly serene and sincere, "Of course, sir." As if he wasn't a part of the teasing. Although, just teasing, which is better, given his station as prefect. He could have made things much worse for Clyde.
When Jarvis keeps his piercing look on James, James adds, still seeming unrattled, "There's been some teasing, sir, I didn't think it was worse than the usual, but I'll bring it to you from now on." Clyde has no way of knowing if the level of teasing he's been getting is in line with the academy's usual, he supposes. He watches eagerly to see what Jarvis will do next. Did he only bring the cane to seem intimidating? Clyde can feel some ugly hope that these boys will be caned, publicly, and he knows it's not just that he wants them to lay off him, but some desire for them to get their just desserts.

Jarvis studies James for his honesty. He's a good prefect, and Jarvis would expect him to be aware of any targeted aggression going on. Finally, he nods, then turns his attention back to the other boys he called up.

"I imagine each of you are aware of the demerits that have shown up on my desk regarding your behavior this past week." Jarvis receives hesitant nods in return, before he whips the cane in the air and orders, "Speak up!", which gets out of sync "Yes, sir!"s from the boys. Jarvis has never been this stern with any of them, he hasn't even held a cane in front of anyone but Clyde, but it feels good to command this respect and control, better than he would have ever imagined, and yet, not quite the same flavor of glee he gets from just scolding Clyde. He hasn't gotten to the good part, yet, though.

He speaks to the rest of the room now, turning on a very stern lecturing voice. "I want to make this very clear. I've let many things slide in the past, and have been lenient with all of you. But from now on, there will be heavy consequences when I get notice of any behavior unbefitting of this school. Including any conduct of having rows with one another, squabbling, or picking on each other like this is a primary school playground." Jarvis is careful to paint the demerits as more a result of fighting rather than targeted attacks towards Clyde, even if they all know what he's talking about. He drives it home. "It leads to poor grades, poor punctuality, poor class environments, and now it may lead to this." He holds up the cane like it's a weapon, which right now it is.

Jarvis doesn't waste more time. He points at the wall beside him, then gestures at the boys he's called up. "Line up, boys. Hands against the wall, bums out. Be quick about it."

He watches them move to obey, some having the color drained out of their face, others seemingly in shock and slower to move, others trying to hide their indignation. "You'll each get a stroke of the cane as a consequence of your demerits. After we're done, I expect you to start behaving to better standards, or hope I don't find out if you're not. Is that clear?" While they answer, he sneaks a glance at Clyde, discreetly looking for his reaction.

Clyde watches eagerly as Jarvis scolds the boys, making sure to talk about school ethos, which is wise — if he'd pointed at Clyde as a tattle tale, Clyde could only expect getting picked on worse, if not getting severely beat up. Which he would not be able to explain at home, either, as much as he wants to save his mother's worries. He'd be pulled out and sent to one of the academies full of over-achieving desi boys, where his mother thinks he belongs to begin with, even if Clyde feels fully British.

Clyde watches with satisfaction as his bullies line up against the wall, made an example of, and when Jarvis makes the last threat and sneaks a glance at him, he nods back, grateful. He knows his face shows his satisfaction when Jarvis taps the cane to some, correcting their posture: "Push your bottom out, Sam. That's better. Spread your legs wider, Jonas. No, keep them straight." The other boys also try harder, and Clyde enjoys seeing them tremble for once, all but Joel not so self assured anymore.

Then Jarvis starts landing a swat, describing the offense out loud for others to hear. "For untidy appearance." The cane swishes, hits, Bert lets out a loud breath, and Jarvis admonishes, "Stay in position, Bert, until you're dismissed." Bert's "Yes, sir" is clearly mortified, and Clyde smiles with satisfaction.

The others don't go much better, taking their one lash — for tardiness, for disorderly conduct, for rows — with visible difficulty, which Clyde appreciates, for his petty satisfaction, but also hopeful that it means they'll avoid picking on him further. Only Joel seems to have no reaction at all.

Once each got his lash, Clyde waits with bated breath for their last humiliation, being made to thank Jarvis for the discipline. He'd say it's the part he hates most, but it's not — nowhere near as humiliating as being bared, and nowhere near as painful as the caning.

Jarvis is exhilarated. The boys trembling, forced to fix their stance, mortified, taking the pain with difficulty... He finds it all delicious. He might have been able to fool himself that it was only Clyde that made him feel this way, a special case, but as it turns out, wielding a cane is fun and empowering no matter who's on the other end. Clyde is still his favorite to make cry, however, he decides, as he measures the other boys’ reactions to their lashes.

Jarvis gets to the last stroke and has to stop himself from finding reasons to give extras. Instead, he stands up straight and prepares to end this. At least, this part of his plan. "I hope a taste of the cane has helped you lot learn your lesson." After a pause, he adds, "Has it?", forcing yes sirs out of the boys. "Good. Now I expect to hear some gratitude out of you for your discipline." He's met with awkward silence then, before he swishes the cane through the air again, and gets panicked thank you sirs in return. He almost lets a smirk slip when he says, "You're very welcome. Now go back to your beds."

Jarvis can tell some of the boys want to just crawl under the sheets, bright red in the face, but luckily they know better and stand by the beds’ ends again. Everyone watches him for his next move. "Now that we've taken care of that, there's one last matter I need to address." Slowly, he turns his head to Clyde, face stoic as he watches his reaction. "Mr. Darby, please step up here."

Clyde is pleased to see the bullies panicking, although he's a little surprised when Jarvis sends them back to their beds and remains standing, no longer smiling, preparing himself for another collective scolding before Jarvis leaves, as the one more thing. He lifts surprised and fearful eyes to Jarvis when ordered to step up, knees turning to jello, mouth dry all of a sudden, taking a moment to find his voice before replying a shaky, "Yes, sir." He hopes Jarvis won't talk about his telling, or he's done for and might as well pack his bags, but he has no choice, putting one unsteady foot in front of the other until he's standing in the front of the room, looking up at Jarvis, hands behind his back, as good and obedient as he can.

Jarvis makes sure to control his stern and stoic expression, even if it's hard, watching the color drain out of Clyde's face, so inviting. He speaks to the entire dorm as much as to Clyde. "When I say I'll be stricter about those of you getting demerits from now on, I mean it. And Clyde here, has happened to get six this past week. For tardiness, disorderly conduct, even one involving a face slap." As opposed to the other types of slaps Clyde is used to. He fixes stern eyes on Clyde, though still speaks loud enough for everyone to hear. "I know very well you may have been provoked, but we have had more than one conversation about your temper, haven't we, Mr. Darby? Along with the rest of the offenses that have shown up on my desk." Jarvis quirks an eyebrow. "Are you to tell me none of them could have been avoided by some wiser choices?" With all the bullying, it's clear most of them couldn't have. But Jarvis phrases his question carefully, and if Clyde wants to get whiny and expose himself about his own bullying in front of everyone, that's his choice.

Clyde can feel the blood draining from his face as he stands there, hands by his sides, getting scolded. Maybe it's Jarvis' way to make him seem in as much trouble as the rest, not to isolate him further, but Clyde has a hard time appreciating it, as Jarvis keeps scolding, slowly sinking into suspicion that Jarvis still sees him as some troublemaker.

He keeps his answer short. He might have been able to avoid some of the demerits, somehow, maybe submit homework at the top of the class or not let himself be provoked. He's not sure, but he should try to avoid them. Clyde is pale, and the shiver running through him is evident in the tremble in his voice, just the short, required, "N-no, sir." His eyes cast down, hoping to get this over with as quickly as possible.

"Well." Jarvis sighs. "I'm sorry we have to have this discussion again. But I will continue to repeat it to you as long as you don't learn your lesson, Mr. Darby. Hopefully this time it will sink in." He taps the wall where the other boys had stood. "Stand there. Seeing as you have six demerits, you'll be getting six of the best." He waits a beat before adding, making sure to hide his pleasure, "You will drop your pajama bottoms. Let's make sure this punishment is one to remember." For you and for all your classmates.

Clyde tries to keep a brave face, but he is getting very pale, and his shiver is visible, if not from too far, he hopes. He answers, quietly, mouth dry, "Y-yes, s-sir" as he positions himself as the other boys have, trying to get in position without having to be corrected — legs straight and spread, bottom sticking out, hands against the wall — and shoots Jarvis a surprised, pleading look as he's ordered to drop his trousers. The other boys got to keep their pajamas on, and he knows it will hurt that much worse to get his bare bottom caned, not to mention getting six, and in front of others.

He doesn't dare argue, but he whispers, "Please, sir!" hoping not to be overheard, eyes already warm, as he stands back up straight, hands hesitantly reaching for the waistband, still hoping for a last minute mercy.

Jarvis is turned towards Clyde, and he knows the student must be able to see the cruel look of determination in his narrowed eyes. "Well. I was going to let you keep your briefs on," he lies, "But if you insist on delaying, I suppose you'll be getting these lashes on your bare bottom." He so enjoys the pleading look in Clyde's eyes, but he makes sure to portray the opposite. "You have until the count of three or I'll do it for you."

Clyde gives Jarvis a puzzled look, and then it dawns on him Jarvis expects him to wear pants under the pajamas — about half the boys do, but he doesn't wear them under his. He stays frozen in place for a moment, and then slowly pushes his bottoms just enough to show a sliver of skin between the pajama shirt and the bottoms, right above the crease of the thigh, before resuming the position. As he sticks his arse out, he feels the shirt pulling up, knows his bottom is almost all exposed. It should mean nothing, he showers with these boys, but it's still humiliating, and worse, he knows it will hurt, and he'll not have even the thin layer of protection the standard school pajama offers.

Jarvis doesn't reach three before Clyde obeys. Which is a pity, since he'd love the extra humiliation of taking them down for him. He can't stare too long, not this time, but he likes Clyde's arse. Missed it, even. He'd reach over to push his shirt further up, but it's almost all exposed and he doesn't want to give away too much of his sadistic thirst. Instead he taps Clyde's bottom with the cane a couple times. "Let's get through this quick." Even if I'd like to savor the moment. "You will learn to control your temper." With a swish, the first stroke lands, right in the center of Clyde's arse.

Clyde opens his mouth to answer the expected "yes, si-" but it transforms to an "Ah!" and then he loses position, his behind trying to escape the pain as it keeps growing, bottoms sliding slightly upwards, to protect the slightest bit of his modesty. Clyde is quick to bite his lip, quietly whimpering, and resume position, sticking his bottom out again, as much as he doesn't want to. It's not fair, he thinks, that he's getting six and on the bare, while the others each got just one and on their pajama bottoms, and possibly pants, too. The pain is still intensifying when he resumes position, and he's determined to try harder to keep it for the next stroke.

Jarvis tuts. "You will learn to control yourself, or you will earn extra strokes, like you did just now." He lays down a second lash, just below the first one. "Still five to go."

Clyde's tears come unbidden at the pronouncement of an extra stroke, already earned, but he nods, and then the next stroke lands, and he only wriggles the slightest bit, less than any of the others, besides Joel, he thinks. He hopes it doesn't count as losing position. He whimpers, still biting his lip in an effort to take this as quietly as he can, and at least when facing the wall, Jarvis is the only one who can see the tears in his eyes, saving him a little humiliation.

Jarvis bites back his smile. Clyde has the most delightful whimpers. Jarvis's dick starts to react in his trousers, and he hopes it doesn't get noticeable, but doesn't worry about it too much. "You will learn to behave yourself, both within and outside of this academy, or you'll suffer a sore bottom when I find out." He swings the cane again, and this time it lands on the crease between arse and thigh, and Jarvis hopes it stings like a bitch.

Clyde nods, stubbornly biting his lip, trying to stay quiet, hoping Jarvis doesn't demand he reply verbally to the lecture. The next stroke leaves a trail of fire that only grows, making Clyde whimper more loudly and push away from the cane, his hips moving towards the wall, which eases the sting the slightest bit, and he wriggles there before he manages to get back in position, more tears flowing out of his eyes as the burning line hurts worse, and keeps getting more painful, for a few seconds longer.

Jarvis pauses. He gets a little too close to Clyde's side, speaking down at him. "Are you a child, Mr. Darby?" He asks, almost as if it were a genuine question, though he has a displeased look on his face. "I think a child would be able to keep position better than you. Perhaps I should be taking you over my knee for a hand spanking instead, if you're so incapable of staying in position for a short caning as your classmates did." It's a cruel taunt, bold for a public setting, maybe going overboard, but he manages for it to sound like a stern scolding instead, he thinks. He hears stifled giggles from behind him and doesn't address them. He hopes Clyde can hear them, too.

Clyde keeps biting his lip, whimpering again at Jarvis' scolding. Being taken over Jarvis' knee for a hand spanking would certainly hurt less, but it would be so much more humiliating, and may lead to worse teasing and taunting. He shakes his head, and releases his lip, answering quietly, voice unsteady, tears audible in it, "N-no, s-sir, I'm s-sorry." Maybe Joel would be able to take these three cane strokes without moving or making a sound, but Clyde can't, not as much as the last one hurt. He seems to have earned another extra, and he's not sure he can stay in place for the remaining ones.

Jarvis hums. "I understand. I'm not without mercy. If you're this bad at controlling yourself, it's clear you need me to speed things up." That, and Jarvis's dick is growing harder and harder, and while he's bathing in the power this situation gives him, he doesn't want to risk popping a visible boner in these dorms. He wants to take care of it as soon as possible, which really means rubbing one out as soon as he's back in his room.

But then he has more unspeakable thoughts, coming to him like forbidden lust for a vulnerable prey. He imagines getting his release through Clyde, bent over so pretty, arse so inviting, so potentially... usable. Quivering lips, wet with tears, piquing Jarvis's interest. An inappropriate interest, a step much further than the arousal he's gotten from these discipline sessions so far.

He has to sit with that thought for a second, but he can't, not here, instead shaking his head and deciding to get this over with while he still has his wits, even if there's a dangerous part of him that would love to drag it out longer.

"Brace yourself in position, Mr. Darby." He orders sternly. Then he starts to whip down lashes from the cane, much faster paced than before, targeting the student's bottom from the top to the thighs. Four lashes first, narrating, "For poor conduct. For untidy appearance. For tardiness, as we've discussed. And again, for your very poor temper." That last lash lands as hard as the heightened stern tone Jarvis gives. "Furthermore," He doesn't wait more than a beat to keep going, not caring if he's in position or trying to run from it, and taps Clyde's arse twice before swishing down the cane two more times, harsh on his thighs. "You'll learn to keep position when you get richly deserved punishment." Only after that does he finally lower the cane, trying to keep his breath steady, despite being so worked up, helplessly turned on by getting to whip Clyde like this, in public, as freely as he wishes, in his position of authority. Thinking of the other things he's now realized he might like to do to him.

Thankfully, he manages a stoic exterior. "What do you have to say for yourself, Mr. Darby?"

The shock and fear, if nothing else, help Clyde keep position for the rapid, four strokes, too fast for the pain to move him, but when they're done it's as if it's all released at once, and Clyde jolts, standing flush against the wall, letting out a wail as Jarvis keeps assaulting his thighs, barely catching his breath before he has to answer a pleading, whiny "I'm sorry sir!" and after another deep breath, a quiet and slightly resentful, "Thank you, sir." If he'd have his wits about him, Clyde might have realized he may be setting himself up for more discipline by not controlling his tone better, but he's overtaken by the pain, and too focused on keeping his hands on the wall, to not rub his bottom or pull up his pajama before he's allowed.

Clyde catches a glimpse of Joel seeming smug, and presses his lips together to keep quiet, his blush deepening. Hates to give Joel the satisfaction of seeing him beaten and chastised, but not enough to say anything that would earn him worse.

Clyde's reactions are just lovely, Jarvis could moan at them if he had less self control. He eyes his arse, now ridden with cane marks. He wants to touch them, but it's too much, not here, not now. He can't help but quirk an eyebrow at the slight disrespect in Clyde's thank you. "What was that, I didn't quite catch that?" He asks, slightly tight, tapping the cane to Clyde's thigh, just over a welt, as a warning.

Clyde freezes in place at the tap, and stutters out, more frightened than anything, "Th-thank you s-sir, th-thank you f-for m-my p-punishment!" His voice comes out a little high-pitched, a little pleading, clearly fearful, and he hopes Jarvis won't find fault with that, not sure he can do better, afraid to grovel in front of Joel, knowing it will come back to bite him if he does.

Jarvis loses composure for a split second, wearing a small yet smug smile, looking at Clyde. But he fixes his expression quickly, hoping no one spotted it, and nods. "Very well. You may go back to your bed."

Jarvis turns his attention back to the dorm. "Well then. I trust I made myself very clear this evening?" He waits as a chorus of uneasy Yes, sirs answer him, ignoring the bitterness in some of them. This time Jarvis doesn't hide his slight smile, but he keeps the smugness out of it, mostly, going for professionally satisfied. "Good. Then I should expect better behavior from all of you from now on, or else. It's lights out time by now. You may all go to bed."

They may not. They may have words to exchange beforehand. Jarvis doesn't plan on sticking around to see or hear, even though he's curious what the aftermath will be. He just turns on his heel and walks out of the room, buzzing straight towards his own quarters. Jarvis takes the cane with him. Perhaps tomorrow people will have to see him holding it cheerfully as he walks back to his office, or to his next class. He holds the cane in bed with one hand as he jacks off with the other, eyes closed, remembering the sight of all those trembling, resentful, fearful boys. Especially Clyde, who can't control his reactions as well as some others can. Clyde's arse wore the prettiest bruises. While Jarvis drifts to sleep, his mind works over what else he can do to see it more often, even more closely, without jeopardizing anything. So far, he seems to be doing just fine.

James corals the dorm as soon as Jarvis is out the door, announcing, "Oi! You have ten minutes to finish whatever you need to, and then it's lights out, and a trip to Jarvis for talking or walking after that!" But then he stands outside the door, doing nothing as boys crowd Clyde, excitedly murmuring about his "eight on the bare! and so fresh!" as he's gently but insistently led to bend over the footboard, bottom bared, as boys run fingers over the welts, giggling and making comments.

When James finally comes to disperse them, he claps his hands loudly, and then slaps Clyde's bottom, ordering, "Get dressed and to bed, Darby, you've had enough of the cane, innit?"

Clyde is quick to pull his bottoms back up to cover his behind and dive under the covers, sniffling under his blanket. It was worse than he expected, but at least, hopefully, he won't be counted as a tattletale, and the teasing, hopefully, will ease up some. He falls asleep, eventually, but in the morning he learns word is making the rounds, getting both amused and impressed looks, and one mild tackle, shoulder to shoulder in the hall, George muttering, "I hope you're happy, Jarvis had to use the cane on you and now he'll use it on any of us." But the teasing is reduced, the arse slapping and mean jabs not entirely stopping, but at the very least, not getting Clyde late for classes and getting written up in the hall.

Chapter Text

Jarvis always has a skip in his step the day after he gets to cane Clyde. And even more so when he got to cane several boys, such an empowering and entertaining night. He notices the changes, students being more guarded around him, but always respectful. And he also notices that Clyde gets no more demerits for the next week and a half. He's not quite sure what to think of that. On one hand, it means he was at least somewhat successful in his efforts and now Clyde might feel indebted to him, which could work in his favor. On the other hand, no demerits means no reason to punish him, and that won't do. He gives Clyde friendly smiles — nothing too unusual from the polite and kind type he gives any student, especially for someone who is so well liked and, at least previously, was known as a gentle giant. But there's a knowingness to the smiles he gives Clyde, an encouragement of sorts, a silent praise at how things got better for him, thanks to Jarvis intervening. He even keeps his face kind when he, quite casually yet discreetly, asks Clyde to stop by his office at the end of the day, around ten days after the night in the dorms.

Clyde's week after the caning at the dorms is not entirely tease-free, but they are fewer and better contained, and intervene far less with his studies. He has trouble sitting, he still finds the friendly ass slaps in the showers startling, and the nightly gathering of boys who want to see his welts and bruises healing unsettling, and sometimes almost forceful, but, especially with James' watchful eye, the teasing he receives is much more friendly, much less intimidating, and despite his dislike, clearly Jarvis' public caning of him left him on the side of "good sport", someone who can’t have been a tattle-tale, and so he's spared the worst of it, even from Joel, who still gives him wedgies and ass slaps and various scares, to his friends' delight.

Still, Clyde is grateful for the improvement, for being able to finish and submit all his homework, being able to make it to classes on time, now that he knows the campus better. Generally, he’s doing good. With Jarvis' encouraging smiles, he even allows himself to hope to dig himself out of the troublemaker pigeonhole.

When Jarvis stops him at the end of class and asks him to come to his office after his last class, Clyde smiles and answers a cheerful, "yes, sir!" He assumes Jarvis wants to make sure his teasing had eased, or maybe have a conversation about Clyde finally adjusting to boarding school life. He now knows Jarvis is very strict about timeliness, so he rushes after his last class, only stops by the bathroom on his way to Jarvis' office, getting there with his books, so soon after his last class that he has to stand in the hall and wait for Jarvis, only a couple of minutes, smiling up at him with a "good evening, sir!" when Jarvis comes down the hall.

Jarvis is slightly surprised to see Clyde has arrived early, waiting outside his door. He smiles back, friendly, clapping Clyde's shoulder gently as he opens the door and leads them in, shutting it behind them. "Good evening, Mr. Darby. Let's have a chat, how have you been?" He takes a seat behind his desk, gesturing for Clyde to sit as well. He spreads his hands, his smile painted with praise, saying, "Glad to see we have no demerits to discuss."

Clyde's smile widens, proud. "No sir! I've had no problems since you came to the dorms. Thank you for handling that. I'm doing well enough on all my classes now, I think, I'm still catching up on some but have run into no issues." He's relaxed, pleased, and unconcerned; he hadn't gotten into any trouble, and Jarvis seems warm and friendly as he hadn't been since the start.

"That's great to hear, Clyde." Jarvis replies, using his first name to signal chumminess, calculated choice before the bomb drops. "So the teasing has stopped as well?"

Clyde's face shows his hesitation. "Well, sir." He pauses, trying to pick his words, more earnest. "Not... entirely, but it's, um, friendly. Definitely manageable. I had some boys slap my shoulder and bottom in the showers or halls, I'm not sure if more so than other students, and, um," he blushes, "some who wanted to see my welts. But," he's quick to resume his upbeat tone, "nothing that's a real problem, and nothing that interferes with my studies, so, not a problem, sir, thank you." Clyde relaxes. Jarvis asking about this, even if it's embarrassing, shows this talk is a friendly chat, and that Jarvis has his best interest at heart.

Jarvis' smile stays put. He tries to make it look innocent, not sinister, but he enjoys hearing that Clyde is still being teased, even if it's now very mild. "Very good, Mr. Darby. I know boys will be boys, I was a boy once. In your position. You can't win them all. But good to hear that it's no longer interfering with your studies or your punctuality." He leans back in his chair. "So I believe that means that a dose of the cane was very effective for all of you boys, wasn't it? Particularly you, yourself."

Clyde looks up, confused and embarrassed, and now slightly nervous, even if he's done nothing wrong and shouldn't expect punishment, at least not today, not unless he missteps badly. He still tries to answer respectfully. "I s-suppose so, sir." He starts nervously fidgeting with the hems of his right sleeve, not sure what else he can answer.

Jarvis makes himself look slightly surprised. "You suppose?" He chuckles. "I knew you didn't find these punishments very fair or pleasant in the beginning, but I think we can agree they've done you a load of good." Or, at least, I dare you to disagree. "The other boys, too. Just one stroke each made them all lay off you. You got eight, plus some before that, and now, look, zero demerits at my desk, you're doing great!" Jarvis grins, proud. "If anything, I believe the public punishment made driving in the message home even more effective." He waves a hand. "Of course, you don't need to worry about me giving you another punishment in front of others, not as long as you keep doing well." Jarvis lies, the key words being in front of others.

Clyde is growing tenser with each additional word, his shoulders clenching, but he nods, cautiously agreeing, "y-yes, sir. If, if you say so, sir." His face is showing how he's growing more dispirited. It seems Jarvis believes the canings are effective, so Clyde will have to be extra careful not to earn any more punishments.

"I do say so." Jarvis nods. He notices Clyde's increasing tension. Jarvis may be too bold today. Maybe he should dial it back. But he doesn't feel like it, enjoys dangling this in front of Clyde's face, even if he should be more discreet. He speaks carefully. "Have you ever heard of a maintenance spanking, Clyde?"

Clyde looks up, surprised, and answers truthfully, "No, sir." It sounds like something you would do to the janitor, or car mechanic, or get from them - some maintenance guy related thing. It can't be it, though, Jarvis wouldn't hand Clyde over to the school maintenance for a spanking. Clyde dares hope it's doing building maintenance in lieu of a spanking, something to teach the value of menial labor, or some such.

Jarvis gets a little bit too into his acting, toeing the line from convincing to patronizingly evident what he's trying to do. "I believe some boys your age, who are prone to improper behavior — like you have proved yourself to be in your first few weeks in this academy — can benefit from regular discipline, even when there's no infraction to address." He perks up, as if he's just thought of this. "In fact, especially if there's no infraction to address. When you are doing well, you need encouragement to keep doing well, a reminder of the cost of misbehavior before you are tempted. Every boy could do well with such careful attention to lead them on a path of success." Jarvis's smile is knowing, a little too pleased, not just friendly. And it twitches its way into a smirk, momentarily, when he orders, firmly but gently, "So I'd like you to ask me to give you a maintenance spanking. So that you may continue to do well in your studies, as you've been doing so well following a good caning."

Clyde's eyes turn pleading, and he speaks before thinking, putting his hands on Jarvis' desk. "Please, sir, I promise I'll give you no reason to, I'm not prone to, please, sir, I promise I'll stay as well behaved as I can, please, sir, give me, give me a chance to prove to you I don't need, don't need regular discipline, really, sir, please!" He's too shocked by the sudden turn of events to think clearly, and when Jarvis' smile seems to widen, he accuses, bitterly and very quietly, "it's as if you enjoy this."

The way Clyde is reduced to panicked, childish pleading so quickly makes Jarvis salivate. He watches with fascination, and, based on Clyde's next comment, perhaps a little too much joy. He tries to school his expression, narrowing his eyes at Clyde, clasping his hands together and leaning in. He doesn’t quite pull off seeming stern and offended; beneath that thin layer of disguise, his real emotions show through: curiosity, if Clyde has really figured him out, fascination at how he'll react to this discovery, and amusement at his helpless pleading. Some time ago Jarvis may have felt panic as well, fear of being exposed for this sadistic aberration of his. But he's not. He feels entirely in control and he finds he doesn't care if Clyde uncovers his real motives. He eggs him on. "Now, what do you mean by that?"

Clyde lifts a surprised face to Jarvis, studying his expression. He wasn't sure Jarvis heard it, and he definitely expected more punishment rather than questioning if he did, but he looks at Jarvis' pleased, almost smug face, and repeats, "You enjoy this. You like this!" It does little to explain why Jarvis isn't as cane-happy with other boys, but it's clear he's enjoying himself right now.

The cat's out of the bag, it seems, and Jarvis now doesn't even try to hide the corner of his lip turning upwards, amused with Clyde's realization. "And so what if I do?" He asks, challengingly, almost polite.

Clyde is left with his mouth hanging open, staring, speechless. He didn't expect Jarvis to admit it, and he's not sure what he can do about it. Talk to his parents, maybe, although his father won't want him to leave the school. Transfer houses, maybe, he's not sure how to, but he can talk to administration or other professors, although he may still have to take classes with Jarvis. He slowly shakes his head. "I, I don't know, sir." he admits, finally.

Jarvis's little smile grows, humming. "Sounds about right." He stands up calmly, goes over and locks the office door, leaning against it, arms crossed, studying Clyde for a moment, making clear and letting it sink in, how little choice Clyde has, how trapped he is. "Well then. I think you should be grateful I'm not caning you again. Today, at least. It's just a little spanking. You're not a child, you can handle a little spanking, can't you? For your own good."

Clyde plays with his sleeves again, nervous, wincing at the sound of the door locking. He despairs at Jarvis' examining, smug look, and then looks as offended as he feels at the line about being grateful for not being caned, and protests again, "But sir, I haven't done anything!"

Jarvis finds Clyde's resistance amusing at the moment, but he feigns disapproval, quirking a single eyebrow. "Precisely. I believe I covered that." He walks slowly towards Clyde, hunting him like prey. "You are doing well, and I intend to make sure you keep doing well." By now, he's looming over Clyde, more so as the boy is sitting. He reaches over and takes the wooden ruler from his desk and holds it in front of a Clyde in a matter of display. "And if I want to do that by spanking your bottom for a reminder of what happens when you're naughty, then I will." Jarvis drives it home, his smile still smug, now fully showing his pleasure, being just fine with Clyde having figured this out. "And there's nothing you can do about it, is there, boy?"

Clyde opens and closes his mouth a few times, trying to find an acceptable rebuttal, before he slumps, defeats, and shakes his head, slowly. He answers, voice a little pleading, "I, I suppose not, s-sir, but please!" Jarvis' clear pleasure is what brings him to despair. If Jarvis enjoys it, Clyde won't ever be well behaved enough to avoid spankings, much less negotiate down from them when there's a shred of a reason. And he can't think of anything to do about it, but he still doesn't move, still trying to think of a way out of this spanking, or future ones. He stays seated in the chair, shoulders slumping forward and arms folded around himself, like it will somehow protect him.

If Jarvis had a little bit of humanity left in him, some sympathy for Clyde, he might feel bad by now, watching him plead and look defeated. He supposes he has plenty of humanity left, but not for Clyde in particular. Clyde is too enticing, and he still hadn’t figured out exactly why. He supposes it doesn’t matter, all that matters is that he’s in charge, able to do whatever he wants to him, and that feels great. So great that he won’t keep arguing about it, somewhat miffed at Clyde and his continued protests.

Jarvis moves quickly. He lifts Clyde up briskly with one arm on his, uses the other that holds the ruler to clear some space off his desk in one swoop, and unceremoniously pushes him down, bent over the desk, face against the cool wood, strong hand pinning him down by his back. The easily dispensed force, his power, make his dick twitch already, although the good part is just beginning. He makes a show of his disapproval, leaning over, close to Clyde’s face, and scolding, “I think you know by now I don’t like having to repeat myself, Mr. Darby. Do you honestly think begging will help at this point? When I’ve already decided?” He swats Clyde’s ass with the ruler, once, showing off his control again. Then, he decides to give him a choice. “You have two options right now. Either I’m going to spank you until I’m satisfied you’ve had enough, or-” He pauses, thinking this through, and Clyde can’t see the smirk that grows across his face. “You’ll get 30 with the ruler, and then we’ll come up with some other way for you to convince me you’re sorry you protested this far. Maybe lines. Maybe something else if it occurs to me.” He’s already come up with something, and it’s sick, but he’s too excited to consider how risky and wrong it is.

Clyde whines as he's lifted and bent over the desk, pleading faintly, "Sir, please, sir!" and pales at Jarvis' face so close to his, intimidating, with physical force and power of his position. Clyde is quick to apologize, although he doesn't think it will help, and he's still upset about the injustice of it, "I'm sorry, sir, please!"

He yelps as the ruler swats his clothed behind, knowing from past experiences that is unlikely to remain the case. Clyde despairs at the words until I'm satisfied you've had enough, Jarvis spanks too hard every time, and although he didn't go very long in the dorms or in class, the private disciplinary sessions have been too prolonged for Clyde's taste — although he would have skipped all of them. Lines don't sound that bad, compared, but Clyde is still hesitant to agree, afraid of something worse following, like the cane. He hesitates a little too long before answering, resentful about this unearned punishment, "Whatever you think, sir, clearly I don't get a say."

Jarvis is slightly surprised at Clyde's resentment, his flippancy. Maybe the situation is really sinking in for him, his clear helplessness. Jarvis is still leaning over him, looking at his face, Clyde able to see his sick smile widening. "I'm glad you know that." He answers calmly, pleased. "It means you'll know you are to follow my orders, correct?" He continues pinning Clyde down. First, he says, "Now, I am going to let you up, and you are going to take your trousers off, as well as your pants. Then you'll bend right back over and we'll start. Is that clear?" He won't let go yet, not until he gets an answer. "We can do this the hard way or the easy way."

Clyde only huffs at the question, not answering the correct?, but he's already resigned. There's nothing he can do to avert this, it seems, and he listens, face showing his upset. He nods, although he doesn't believe Jarvis will go easy on him, no matter what. Not if he enjoys this. Clyde sees no reason to try too hard; Jarvis will do as he likes, and Clyde will try to transfer to another house as soon as he can.
Clyde answers a curt, bitter, "Yes, sir", and momentarily thinks of trying to dash to the door, but where would he go? Jarvis can follow him to the dorms and cane him in front of the others, like last time. He has no choice but to obey.

Jarvis sees Clyde eyeing the door and prepares himself, aware that he can't let him get away, or cry for help, which he might attempt. There's a great many things that Jarvis can explain away, having already painted Clyde as a troublemaker, leveraging Jarvis's gentle, lenient reputation against Clyde's still new arrival. But if Clyde were to go crying assault, particularly with the added descriptor sexual before it, Jarvis would still have to play it very carefully in order to avoid things going very badly for him. Part of him is struck by how far this has gone. A meeker, more empathetic part of him, one that seems to have cowered in a dark corner since Clyde first walked into his office. Jarvis supposes Clyde's particular attitude turned helplessness was somehow a trigger to reveal a sick side of Jarvis that was never meant to wake. Jarvis knows if he gained some self-control, he might be able to do the sensible thing and let Clyde go free, probably transfer houses and be done with it. But that isn't a priority in his mind right now, getting more dangerous by the minute. He has more and more depraved thoughts of what Clyde could do for him, beyond little spankings and canings. Things he's seen in late night X-rated videos ever since this first met Clyde.

Clyde stands up, not hiding his bitterness, muttering "It's not fair" under his breath. Jarvis' face seems frozen solid, no give and no shred of mercy in them, like a snake ready to leap and bite. Clyde turns away to remove his clothes, blushing. He's not quite used to the shared showers, even, and he feels too exposed, but he manages to remove his trousers and pants under the cover of his ill fitting shirt, facing the desk, and uncomfortably bends back over.

Jarvis realizes he's been staring for a moment too long at Clyde, who undressed bitterly and slowly, stalling, but now stood naked from the waist down, bent over the desk, having obeyed. It is a sight too enticing to turn down, even if Jarvis's human sympathy had had a chance of winning this round.

Grasping the ruler, he steps forward, and as he presses the wood to Clyde's bottom, Jarvis carefully but quickly grabs the hem of the boy's awkwardly long shirt with his other hand, sliding it up, exposing Clyde's lower back, and pinning it, and Clyde, to the desk, firmly. Jarvis speaks softly, with great interest, like Clyde is a fascinating specimen. "You're being childish about this, you know. When I was your age, and even younger, I felt picked on by my professors all the time. I advise you, Mr. Darby, to try and take it like a man, as I, and most others, have. After all, authority is authority and you are to respect it, whether you like it or not." Whether you know I like it or not.

With that, Jarvis raises the ruler high and slaps it down on Clyde's right cheek. Then, on his left. The last time he spanked Clyde, he took his time, even though he was very excited. This time, his excitement manifests in a loss of control, starting off not quite rapidly, but forcefully, and getting noticeably quicker by the minute. His aiming is a little haphazard, because he's not looking at Clyde's ass, where he's mainly hitting his center and lower cheeks, sometimes a bit too far to the side, onto his hips. No, Jarvis's eyes are fixed on Clyde's face, craning his head to see his expressions.

Clyde gasps when Jarvis pins him down, with more force than necessary - or so he thinks, until Jarvis stops preaching, and starts using the ruler, hard, and growingly fast, making Clyde squirm and kick, mouth opening wide, and then, uncontrollably crying out, "Ah! Ah!" although he takes Jarvis' words seriously, tries to take it like a man, not apologize or beg, if not because he thinks it's the right thing, at least, for a chance for Jarvis to think he shouldn't go harder to teach Clyde toughness, or some such nonsense.

Jarvis doesn't stop. He relishes Clyde's cries, watching his pained face with a madman’s grin. Clyde is firmly pinned down, but Jarvis presses down harder, wanting to show his force. He wants to take Clyde's wrists in one of his fists and pin those to his back too, but he can't stop his right hand from swinging the ruler as long as nothing is in his way. He follows Clyde's squirms and his swats get more rapid. He isn't even thinking about how this must sound, the slaps and the cries, from outside his office. He's not thinking clearly at all, high on the power. He can't even think of anything creative to say, but itches to order Clyde anyway. "Say you'll be a good boy, Mr. Darby."

"Ah! Ah!" Clyde keeps letting out small cries of pain and indignation, but he blushes with righteous anger at the order, and yet, manages to stop himself after a "What...?!" and regroup, spitting out, clearly upset, "I'll be a good boy, sir! I have been!" Which he manages not to follow up with more protestations about this being unneeded, unfair, uncalled for. He can't win, and the fact that Jarvis is only doing it because he's enjoying this - and that Clyde is helpless to stop him, even so - is as maddening as it is dispiriting.

Without even thinking about it, Jarvis responds differently than he ever has to Clyde before verbally — he gets explicitly mean. Cruel. Jabbing him with a humorless chuckle. "If you had been good in the first place, perhaps you wouldn't be in this position at all. You're not here because you're special, you're here because you acted like a fool when you first came into my office. I don't do this to anyone else, do I? You deserve this." It's strangely vicious, and Jarvis realizes he truly wants Clyde to believe, at least for this moment, that he did earn this. That it's his fault. Maybe it's so Jarvis himself can believe it, can control the tiny bit of shame floating in his mind, masked by the sadism, to feel easier about this. Or maybe it's the schoolboy Jarvis poking out, the one that's been treading this path as a healing journey, to be in the role of the taunting authority instead of the self-blaming student. Maybe it's so that Clyde will be easier to control. Maybe he just wants to play some mind games. Jarvis doesn't know if it'll work, doesn't particularly expect it to, but he says it anyway. He continues to smack Clyde, never missing a beat, and now the end of the ruler starts to hit Clyde's thighs, not that Jarvis is purposely aiming there.

Clyde is upset, helpless anger spraying out in grunts, being painted as a troublemaker again, even with no demerits or any complaints. He feels it's unjust that Jarvis has decided he is, and treated him as such from the start, punishing him more — and more severely — than any of the other boys. He shakes his head, but his conviction is dwindling. Has he been much worse behaved than others? He is often frazzled and oblivious, he knows that, but has he been making far more mistakes, rudely ignoring others or unspoken rules in his obliviousness? He doesn't answer Jarvis, only shakes his head, and kicks his legs as Jarvis meanly snaps his thighs with the ruler, the hard corners stinging painfully, and his cries of pain resume. This is definitely more than the thirty Jarvis claimed, at least twice as many strokes, and Jarvis doesn't seem to be nearing the end. At least, this may mean he'll get as many as Jarvis thinks he needs, and not the dreaded cane; but the corners must leave marks on his thighs, where the boys in the dorms will see them next they demand to see the fading cane marks, and may tease him about those, as well.

Clyde's face is easily readable. Jarvis can't know his exact thoughts, but in between the expressions of pain, Jarvis notes a loss of conviction, even as his body keeps struggling. It fuels him further. He hasn't kept count of the strokes, but he doesn't stop swatting, aim dripping further down Clyde's thighs. "If you want me to stop-" he realizes he's breathing heavier as his arm keeps moving and his other is focused on keeping Clyde still, as he kicks and squirms, "You'll admit it. Admit this is your fault."

Clyde only hesitates a moment, enough for a few more painful swats lower on his thighs, to calculate that holding back won't serve him, that Jarvis will just go on for as long as it takes to make him say it, so he calls out, loudly, upset, resentful, "Okay! Okay! It's my fault! Okay?" not paying any attention to how disrespectful that sounds.

Jarvis laughs dryly, Clyde's tone doing him no favors, and only pauses momentarily, so he can center himself to consciously give more pointed, slower, forceful swats, alternating thighs for every word, emphasized. "Not. Good. Enough." After that he continues the onslaught as before. "You're rather daft, aren't you?" he comments, smiling a little, the insult spicing up his power trip.

Clyde growls in frustration at the admonishment, but he's not as stupid as Jarvis seems to think, and he tries to take a deep breath, interrupted by the resumed onslaught, but manages to ungrit his teeth enough to say, "I'm sorry, sir," sounding insincere but hopefully, respectful, and then trying again, after a couple of pained cries, "It's my fault, sir!" but the unsaid enough already! is still clear in Clyde's tone.

Jarvis remains silent. He doesn't like Clyde's insolence. He thinks he won't be satisfied for today unless Clyde's completely broken down. Tears, probably. And when Clyde's extra vulnerable by the end of this, it'll be easier to pry something else out of him. Jarvis keeps going. He goes harder, at a slower but still quick pace. He mostly studies Clyde's face, while his own has pursed lips of concentration and wild eyes. But sometimes he ventures a look at Clyde's ass and thighs, darkening slowly after repeated assault from the ruler. It makes him harden, cock twitching under his garments. He doesn't stop. Doesn't intend to for a good while.

Clyde grits his teeth again, but Jarvis seems intent on going on. He tries to push himself up, but with his legs kicking at the never ending assault, he slips back down, twice, before he stops trying, pinned down and spanked too efficiently. He tries again, the helpless anger making him emotional, "It's not fair, sir! Why do you pick on me?!" but that seems to get him nowhere, Jarvis going just as hard, not dignifying the protest with an answer. Eventually the helpless rage brings tears to his eyes, and although his spirit isn't entirely broken, Clyde tries again, still angry, but resigned. "It's my fault, sir, it's my fault!"

Jarvis notes the slight wetness of Clyde's next attempt. It makes him finally pause and smile. "Yes, it is. And why is that?"

It's late, there should be curfew within the next hour or two. Jarvis's not sure, having lost track of time, in a haze of excitement. Still, he says, helpfully, dangerously, "I don't mind keeping you here as long as it takes for you to give me a satisfactory answer. And after all, you're used to being tardy to things, even without my help." It's the first veiled admission that Jarvis knew about the outdated map Clyde was given, had gotten enjoyment out of forcing professors to note every single minute Clyde walked in late. Jarvis is not sure if Clyde catches that, and if he does, it may have the opposite effect of prompting Clyde to say it's his own fault. But one thing's been made clear: this won't stop until Jarvis wants it to. Clyde is trapped, and his only way of helping himself is increasingly evident, as humiliating and unfair as it may be. He presses the wooden ruler deep into Clyde's sore skin and prompts again. "Why is it your fault?"

Clyde wants to answer I don't know or a bolder It really isn't, but he knows that will only lead to further punishment, and the way it's looking, more frequent maintenance spankings, so he tries to swallow his pride, sounding equally defeated and angry as he answers, "Because I'm a troublemaker, sir." He blinks out more angry tears, his eyes feeling as hot as his behind.

Jarvis is already feeling a bit more satisfied, despite knowing Clyde is not truly feeling it, only resigned to say what Jarvis wants. "And troublemakers deserve to be punished, don't they?" he says, in a patronizing tone. Before Clyde can answer, he smacks him another time, harshly, across his bottom. Then he pauses again, ruler still against Clyde's ass. "Ask me to give you more punishment, like you deserve."

Clyde is ready to say almost anything to make this end, slumped on the desk, although he can feel the resistance inside of him. It's worse than he expected. Of course it is. Jarvis has done this before. Clyde hesitates a long moment. He knows how this goes; if he refuses, he'll end up forced to ask for harsher punishment. But he still doesn't want to, not quite broken enough, and he protests one last time, "But sir, I didn't do anything!"

Jarvis blows a long, slow breath out of his puckered lips, showing more frustration than he even feels, determined to make Clyde regret his statement. He tosses the ruler onto the desk, next to Clyde, and he doesn't let him go. Instead, his free hand grabs Clyde's dark hair forcefully and pulls his head back. "Mr. Darby, would you like me to use the cane instead? I wasn't planning on it, but if you insist on being so insolent..." he threatens sharply.

If he was smarter, maybe Clyde would hold back his reply, or give a better one, but he just gasps as his hair is pulled sharply, and protests, indignant, "I'm not insolent! I didn't do anything!" although he knows it was a mistake the minute the words leave his mouth, he's too stubborn to apologize and beg at the face of clear injustice.

With one harsh movement, Jarvis drops his torso down, lips next to Clyde's ear, voice stern and scary. "If you move an inch, you will deeply regret it, young man." Then he lets go of him. He moves quickly, still not confident Clyde won't make a dash for it once he hears the headmaster's footsteps. If Clyde intended to run, Jarvis makes it back in time, snatching the cane from its place in his cupboard and marching to press on Clyde's back again, pinning him back down efficiently, swinging the cane. He doesn't use it as the discipline manual instructs, as he's always seen it used - spaced out, standing to the side of the student, giving breaks in between the strokes. He uses it like a weapon, delivering a horrible barrage of blow after blow, not even giving the first line a chance to start hurting before adding the next one to it, and the next, and the next. He says nothing, focuses on swinging the implement, haphazardly hitting from the top of Clyde's cheeks down to mid-thigh.

Clyde freezes, not that he thinks he could have pulled on his clothes and dashed out, and where could he have gone, anyway — but he freezes, and only starts moving again as the rapid, horrid bites of the cane land, too fast to recover, too fast to process, breaking him quickly to a squirming, pleading heap, cries of pain and pleading "Sir!"s drawn out of him, unable to even think about his words, much less form any kind of sentence, overwhelmed.

Jarvis knows, though doesn't think about, how any words he could say will likely feel hard or impossible to process during a beating like this, but he says them anyway, quiet yet harsh. "You're a naughty little boy and you've earned this." He doesn't stop, he even finds himself grunting slightly with every stroke, putting that much effort into it.

Jarvis felt picked on by his more sadistic professors and prefects in his youth, but he was never beaten like this. On a few occasions, as a kid and tween, before he hit his sharp growth spurt and grew to be taller than anyone else in his class, he had been beaten viciously by other kids. His parents never cared, blaming him for not standing up for himself. Even once he grew into his current height, and the other boys would no longer dare to try and assault him physically, his demeanor was so meek and forbearing that he got teased, and he never once had the courage to stand up to a sadistic teacher's unfair punishments, dutiful and obedient. No one ever helped him.

They were experiences he left behind once he graduated, and started to stand a little straighter, still a gentle giant, but less shut down, yet never addressing what he had gone through, locked away in his mind in a little box.

He fears that box has burst. And Clyde has been an unfortunate victim of its explosion. Clyde doesn't deserve this. But neither did Jarvis. So he keeps going, for several minutes, until he has to take a breath, and lowers the cane.

Clyde is soon in tears, and then sobbing, and then defeated, lies there and takes it, beaten in all senses. Jarvis is so mad that Clyde won't accept fault, more than he ever was about any of the actual or perceived infractions he could name. He's clearly determined to break Clyde in, and Clyde knows he can't fight back, so when the long, painful assault finally stops, leaving Clyde an aching, sobbing heap, pinned to the desk or he would slide off, he sobs out an apology, in the hopes of avoiding even more of this effort to subdue and defeat him, "I'm sorry sir, I'm sorry, please!"

Jarvis still catches his breath, and when he hears Clyde apologize, slowly grows a wicked smile. "That's better. See what a good boy you can be with a little maintenance." He drops the cane on the floor, and touches Clyde's ass with the hand that had held the cane. He realizes, with some concern, he had not just left Clyde with bruises, but with a few minor cuts on his thighs from the corner of the ruler, or perhaps the too forceful of a whipping with the cane. His heart is beating quick from the excitement, and his mindset threatens to slip into a more sane one. But now there's damage control to be done, having gone this far. And yet, not far enough for his liking.

Jarvis keeps running fingers across Clyde's welts while he prepares his thoughts. But what he's most aware of is his cock, throbbing against his trousers. He really shouldn't. But it's too easy, and he's too curious. He clears his throat. "Stand up, Clyde." He removes the hand pinning him down and places it on Clyde's arm instead, to help him stand, weak as he may feel. He keeps the firm yet gentle grasp of Clyde's arm as he slowly walks, pulling him along, to the other side of the large desk, to Jarvis's comfortable desk chair, where he sits down. He gets a good look at Clyde's face. His eyes and cheeks wet, his light brown skin tinted with red and pink, wary and defeated. Jarvis doesn't even yet look down to glance at Clyde's member for the first time, not the current focus of his attention, though he's curious, and Clyde has stayed naked from the waist down. "You can leave soon. I imagine you've taken this as well as you could have." Jarvis says patiently, oddly quiet. Then he tugs on his arm, ordering, "Sit on my lap. Let me comfort you some before you head back. That's an order." He tries, promising again, "It'll make you feel better. As long as you mind your tongue, don't say anything stupid. We're almost done."

Jarvis' fingers rub in a way that feels more exploring and domineering than comforting, but Clyde is broken enough to just stay there, limp and broken, proving he is ceding to authority, or whatever it is Jarvis wants. He shakily obeys, standing up, unsteady, for the beating and the tears, then follows, vision blurry, and stands, slumped and still crying, in front of Jarvis' examining eyes. He might have argued that sitting in the housemaster's lap is inappropriate, but he definitely doesn't want to earn more punishment, and what's the harm, after all this. He only nods, to avoid saying anything stupid, and sits gingerly, gasping and wincing as his bare, sore bottom meets Jarvis' thighs, and the coarse fabric of his trousers.

Jarvis licks his lips when Clyde isn't looking, his quiet, lamblike compliance exciting. Not in the thrilling way that beating him had been, but in an intimate way that builds a warmth deep in his belly. It's that softer excitement, not the wild sadism, that has the little voice in Jarvis's head saying this has probably gone much too far. But Clyde is obeying still, even though it hurts him to sit on Jarvis's lap, and how can Jarvis not keep going? Just for a little while longer. Just to see how going a little bit farther might feel.

Jarvis uses his strength and power for something less brutally painful yet probably still uncomfortable now. He wraps arms around Clyde and hugs him close, rubbing his back. "Good boy," he says, the praise only to suggest safer territory, to calm Clyde into not lashing out, even if he's mortified, to dangle the sweet bait of ending this ordeal in front of him and ask him to be patient. Jarvis holds him for a couple of minutes, enjoying the warmth of the vulnerable boy on his lap, and thinks it's a wonder if Clyde hasn't noticed that hardness underneath Jarvis's trousers by now. Then, he commands in his ear, "Now it's time for you to thank me for your punishment."

Clyde sits there, still numb, although he accepts that Jarvis is offering comfort, even if it feels awkward and strange, not honest or warm. When prompted, he bites his lip, then tries to sound as good and obedient as he can, knows this is how Jarvis ends all punishments, and he'll be setting himself up for an unnecessary punishment if he shows any signs of rebellion now. He tries his best to sound subdued, which isn't hard, broken enough, and afraid enough of being broken in further: "Thank you for giving me the punishment I needed, sir." He sounds defeated, more than anything, and can't look at Jarvis as he says the words.

Jarvis wants to say he picks his next actions carefully, but it's not quite accurate. He's laser-focused on one inappropriate goal. It's good that Clyde is still naked from the waist down, deterring him from running screaming. "Good boy," Jarvis repeats. His mouth is a little dry when he orders firmly but quietly, "Get on your knees. I want you to thank me properly."

That gets Clyde to look at Jarvis, with disbelief, but that quickly turns to resignation. If Jarvis wants proof he is properly broken in, obedient, willing to accept anything... Clyde may not be able to take the next maintenance spanking as obediently as Jarvis thinks he should, but he's willing to get on his knees and say thank you to finish this already. He stands up with a grunt, then hesitantly bends down, grunting again, until he's finally on his knees on the hard floor, puts his hands in front of him as if he's praying, and repeats, "Thank you for my punishment, sir." He almost starts to get to his feet again, but remembers in time that Jarvis has to deem his thanks acceptable first, so he stays in position.

Jarvis just stares at the boy for a moment, like some part of him is trying to convince himself to not move forward, to let Clyde go. But that part of him doesn't win. Jarvis carefully, not slowly, but not in a rush, undoes his slacks and releases his cock from it. It's erect, and slightly glistening from a small drop that ran down the head. It's proportional to the rest of him, but given that Jarvis is 6'5", that means it looks as intimidating as the rest of him. Of course, he doesn't think any sort of cock he could have would be not intimidating when whipped out during a session like this one. Jarvis holds it loosely and stares at Clyde, studying him, repeating, "I want you... to thank me properly, Clyde."

Clyde stares in disbelief, and despite wanting to end the ordeal, only manages to shake his head and whisper, "You must be kidding!"

Jarvis simply shakes his head, very lightly stroking his dick. "Don't make a big deal of it. You can do it, then be on your way. That's what you want, isn't it?" he says, almost gentle. "Have you done it before?"

Clyde shakes his head again, faintly, growing pale. "Please, sir, I've never... Please, don't..." He's not sure if Jarvis will just keep beating him into submission, if this is some sort of test, and he's not sure he can take another caning like the one he just got, or even a much milder spanking, but this seems absurd, unreal.

As Clyde's face grows pale, Jarvis's face grows dark. He hasn't come this far to take no for an answer. "You won't leave this room until you obey, Clyde. Please me, and you can go to bed and forget about it."

Clyde tries, opens his mouth, but he can't bring himself to do more than bend forward slightly, before he leans back, shaking his head more decisively, pleading, "Sir, please, this isn't... it's not... you can't!" whatever this is, it is beyond Jarvis' prerogative as head of house.

Jarvis doesn't think. He slaps Clyde. It's not very hard, not enough to cause any real damage, but enough to shock him. Right after, Jarvis grabs Clyde's head in between both his hands. "I can. You will. Accept that." he says, breathing a little heavier now that, through Jarvis's guiding, slowly pulling hands, Clyde is edging closer to his erection. He feels a strange mix of lust, excitement, demand and nerves. "Now be a good boy and open your mouth wide. It'll be over soon. Just be good. Don't make me pick that cane back up. You don't want that, do you?"

Clyde is shocked by the slap, and he doesn't manage to resist Jarvis' hands, grabbing on to them with his own hands, but failing to pry them off. He tries to shake his head, but can't even do that, slowly being brought closer. When he tries to answer, he only manages a "No, si-" before his head is pushed down, and he whines around the head of Jarvis' member, helplessly, can't even pull his head back, new angry, helpless tears appearing in his eyes.

Jarvis lets out a shaky, perverted breath as Clyde finally shuts up, by force. Clyde's mouth is warm and wet. It already feels great. Jarvis glances at the door, confirming it's locked, though he already knew, it's just to calm his nerves. "Breathe through your nose," he instructs, and slowly slides his member deeper into Clyde's mouth, manhandling him by the head.

Clyde has no choice, although he makes sounds of protest, angry whines around Jarvis' cock, gagging before obeying and trying to breathe through his nose, keeps gagging and crying as Jarvis directs his head up and down, thrusting, and soon shooting his load into Clyde's mouth, before finally letting go of his head, letting him cough, wipe his mouth, and try to retrieve any dignity he might have had.

It's exhilarating. Jarvis has never had much interest in sex before in his life. He had one reluctant relationship with a chaste maid that he didn't get much out of emotionally before they parted ways. Of course, he'd relieve himself from time to time, but he wouldn't think of anything in particular to do so. Now he knows what to think of. Now he knows what he likes. He likes Clyde.

His heart is pumping, taking a moment to catch his breath after orgasm. He even reaches into his desk drawer to retrieve the inhaler he usually only keeps close by for allergies and takes a puff. He coughs, then, after putting the inhaler back, pats Clyde's head. "Oh, what a good boy. You did well, son." Jarvis dabs himself with a Kleenex, and then tucks himself back into his pants. He hands a Kleenex to Clyde as well. He tries to think of anything else to say, any damage control he can do, heart still racing, but he can't even manage a threat. Instead, he quickly grabs a school sheet and a pen and jots down a note:

Mr. Darby has had poor behavior that needed to be addressed in my office. He has been dealt with, and is to go straight to bed when arriving at the dorms, with no consequences for missing curfew. Any teasing or prodding about his discipline by students will not be tolerated and should be reported to me for handling.

He signs his name at the end and stamps it. He hopes James, the prefect, makes sure the other boys take it to heart, and that it means they won't demand to see the harsh welts that Jarvis left on Clyde.

Jarvis helps Clyde stand and orders him to get redressed. After that's done, he hands him the note. "You are to hand this to James when you go to your dorms, so you are not written up for being past curfew, should you be. You may use the bathroom and shower if you please before heading to bed." He hesitates before he can say something to the likes of you are not to tell anyone about this. Instead, he simply says, "You are dismissed."

Clyde is still shocked, can't believe what has just happened. His face remains blank as he takes the note, Jarvis acting as if nothing out of the ordinary has happened. Clyde gets dressed stiffly.

He came to Jarvis's office directly from class, this can't be time for curfew yet; he must have at least an hour to do his homework, before then, but he takes the note dumbly, and heads out. He's in no shape to do his homework. He passes by the dorms to drop off his books and take his shower needs and pajama, and goes to the showers, waits for the last of the other boys to leave before he enters, takes an extra long shower, trying to understand. He's pretty sure if word gets out, other boys will taunt him. He can try to talk to other house heads tomorrow, see if he can transfer. He may still be in Jarvis' class, but he won't have to deal with his deranged discipline for no reason. He won't say exactly what happened, but he can say Jarvis acted in a way that felt inappropriate, he decides. That should leave enough room for interpretation.

He hands the note to James, who nods and sends him to bed, half an hour past curfew, and then passes a few times between the bunks and warns boys who try to ask prying questions that they can be sent to Jarvis' office tomorrow, if they don't stop the chatter. He's as insistent in the morning, delivering just one demerit before the boys get the message.

Clyde, unfortunately, gets more than one demerit for his incomplete and untidy homework, which may be the reason why, when he tries to talk to various heads of houses in the afternoon, they all refuse him out of hand, refusing to even discuss transfers. Dread fills him as he begins to feel trapped.