Anne
(Full name withheld)
Secondary School Teacher, London
March 21st 2020
I guess you could call me a bad teacher, fair enough. The thought of half my
English classes, the boys, soon to be naked and chained for years never fails to
turn me on. Like most women, I am 100% in favour of slavery. I mean, my brother
did his two years and it made him a much better person.
So, I'll tell my story, but will obviously have to stay anonimous. It's about a
boy, Mark, who left school last year and is now doing his two years.
It was the first day of the school year, and my first English lesson with class
G1. I was just introducing myself, taking the register when this fat kid with
glasses stumbled in late, panting for breath.
"Sorry I'm late, miss", he mumbled, "I went to the wrong classroom".
Everyone groaned, the girls giggled, he'd obviously spent the whole of that day
lost, but he soon sat down at the front on his own. I looked at him in utter
disgust. I'd seen some ugly eleven year olds in my job, but he had a face that
not even his Mother would love. As well as the thick glasses and buck teeth,
half of his face was covered by a strawberry birthmark. He must have weighed
nearly 200 pounds even back then. Along with his classmates, I took an instant
dislike to him.
I have to admit, he was a bright kid. From the staff room, I could see him
sitting on his own in the playground reading some novel, held inches from those
myopic goggly eyes. His homework was always by far the best and he seemed to
take a shine to me, hardly surprising as none of the kids could stand him.
Unfortunately for Mark, I couldn't stand him either, and he suffered for it
during his school years and, unbeknown to him, he still does now.
As soon as I laid eyes on him on that first day, I could see he'd be a target
for some severe bullying. I was right. As those first weeks of the school year
passed, he became more and more miserable. He'd come to me with sob stories: his
lunch stolen, his glasses smashed. I don't think he had a single shirt which
hadn't been ripped as another bully stripped him to beat him up. (Naked beatings
had just started to become fashionable in 2013). I'd seen him on the floor in
the playground so many times as a gang of boys ripped off his clothes. I loved
it. Then one day, I just had to laugh. He came to me one lunchtime in tears.
"Some boys gave me a wedgie, miss", he sobbed.
I wasn't sure what a wedgie was so he went on to explain the boys reached down
into his trousers and ripped off his underpants. I was nearly on the floor
laughing. I'd have paid to witness that!
From that day on, Mark became my toy. I'd pretend to be his friend whilst
leading him, tricking him into further misery.
So, one lunchtime. I was watching Mark's lunch being stolen and his books
scattered everywhere when, just before his shirt was taken off, I called him in
for a chat. I made sure all the kids saw this, of course. After a lot of
sobbing, he calmed down. I had a plan.
"Mark, you need to take a more active part in this school, that's your problem.
Can you play football?" I knew the answer.
"No, miss."
"Well, I've discussed this with Mr X (the games teacher). He'd be very keen to
have you in his cross-country squad. As well as keeping you fit", I had to
stifle a laugh, "you'd meet other boys. I've seen boys like you become popular
almost overnight by joining a sports team." A complete lie.
Well, he tried it. He came and told me the outcome of his first attempt. He
needn't have bothered as I'd deliberately watched his pathetic efforts from my
car. His fat pasty legs wobbled as the bigger boys glided past him effortlessly
as they ran round and round that field. After a mere two laps, he just collapsed
to the ground exhausted before limping back to get changed.
"You can't give up so easily, Mark." I shouted in mock anger the following day.
"I want you to go again next week and every week until you're fit enough to
finish that course."
Well, he continued to run, with me secretly watching. To be fair, he did get
fitter and with the cross-country season approaching, I had to convince Mr X to
put Mark in his team.
"You are surely joking! You might be a do-gooder English teacher, but I've got a
bloody trophy to win!"
Eventually, after I'd sweet-talked the Headmaster, Mr X backed down. Mark was in
the team. Great! I'd be there to "cheer" him on. As a final touch, I even bought
quite a decent pair of running shoes for him, one size too small.
"Hello, Miss. What are you doing here?", he said, embarrassed as he limped
towards me.
"I wouldn't miss this for the world, Mark. How are the shoes? They look nice". I
smiled, a laughing smile.
"Great, thanks Miss" he grinned..
What a polite boy. Let's see how much he'd be grinning after five miles I
thought.
He was easily the fattest boy there, kids from the other school teams looking on
in amazement. From the start of the race, he was out of breath, slipping on the
mud. The next time I saw him, he was way way behind anyone, limping terribly,
and covered in mud from a fall.
"Don't give up now, Mark", I shouted enthusiastically, and then under my breath,
"you fat shit", much to the amazement of a couple walking past with their dog.
Mr X was furious. Such a poor placing would cost his team dearly. Mr X was
easily the biggest bully of all. He'd make sure his team took their frustation
out on Mark. He did. His clothes were thrown out of the changing rooms and the
school bus left without him. He walked home alone in his muddy kit, barefoot. I
hoped he hadn't seen me drivng past.
The bullying intensified after that. Mr X rightly kicked him out of his
cross-country team. Mark was distraught. 1-0 to me.
Mark started missing school, no doubt feigning sickness and getting his mum to
write sick-notes. No, that wouldn't do at all, what about my fun? I asked to
meet his Mother at the school. Everyone found out, of course. His stupid mum was
a typical worrier who'd spoiled her ugly kid, an only child needless to say. The
meeting was a total waste of time. I just wanted to see the mum of the kid I was
going to make suffer.
I'm not in the least interested in the environment, but started a "Keep Britain
Green" Project with class G1. My plan was to urge the kids, well Mark actually,
to walk the two miles home rather than take the bus. A flimsy plan, so obvious.
It worked, though. In my other classes, we discussed harmful emissions from
motor-vehicles and I went on the praise Mark from G1 for being so
environmentally-friendly by walking home every day. Like I said, a flimsy plan,
butI later that day, I was driving home when I saw Phil Z's gang and their
girlfriends waiting about a mile from the school gates. Wow, that was quick,
they were waiting for Mark! I turned my car round to see fat boy wobbling
homeward, only tonight he'd be a bit late! Shit, there was a bloody Police road
check on the way back and, by the time I arrived, they'd started. Mark was
already naked (I wish they'd thought of something original for a change) and two
boys held his arms whilst Phil held a lighted cigarette on his chest. He took
his subsequent beating quite well, like a man almost, until Phil stepped back to
land a kick between Mark's legs. He was floored by the blow and Phil knew he'd
had his fun for the day. Phil's girlfriend gave him a new cigarette - I laughed
imagining Phil later demanding money from Mark for the cigarette he'd wasted -
and they all wandered home laughing, hand in hand. People being beaten up naked
wasn't so common back then, the new craze of 2013. Yet, no one stopped to help
Mark lying naked in the gutter. If anyone had noticed me laughing from the
safety of my car as I drove off, they wouldn't have cared less.
The next two years were nothing special. The bullies left to be replaced by new
bullies. Mark's beatings continued. I stole his clothes a few times from the
changing rooms during sports, but that got boring after a while.
As soon as Mark started his third year though, the fun came back, with a
vengeance: CRP - The Conscription Readiness Program! For a terrifying moment, he
recorded a high blood pressure reading at his CRP medical. It was only
temporary, and he was soon declared fit for conscription. As now, from the age
of thirteen, boys had to do some community service one or two evenings a week.
Their "overseers" came from the University HM Overseers, basically students
getting some cash on the side being overseers for a few evenings and in their
holidays. Some teachers oversaw the boys too, and as soon as Mark turned
thirteen, I signed up. Ever since I'd visited the Nike factory with a fourth
year class the year before, I'd wanted nothing more than to see Mark's fat naked
body in chains.
At thirteen, it was all fairly innocuous. The boys had to stand to attention in
the playground for an hour whilst we walked up and down making sure they stood
still and in the correct position. After, they'd go out to clear litter, clean
graffiti, etc. We'd just keep an eye on them. There were no summary punishments,
the boys could later be caned for offences or laziness, but it was a rare thing,
unfortunately. Luckily, that winter it snowed heavily and Mark, along with all
the boys over thirteen, had to help clear snow from the surrounding roads. Now,
this was urgent work - Britain's economy, our number one priority, could be
affected by snow and summary corporal punishments could be administered to boys
over fourteen deemed not to be working hard enough "in the country's interests".
We brought our canes for this purpose. Mark was thirteen, but if anyone
complained, I'd point out it was hard to recognise a boy with his back to you,
even fat Mark.
Mark was soon sweating with his workload. He kept stopping to lean on his
shovel. A woman, a real overseer, with both whip and cane, sat nearby nodding
her head. I called Mark over to my chair.
"Look at those boys, Mark. They're sweating but they've taken off their blazers
and jumpers. You'll sweat less and working will keep you warm. Why not try it?"
He agreed, grinning to show his gratitude, and was about to speak.
"Back to work, Mark", I said coldly.
I went over to sit with the overseer.
"Hello", I smiled.
She didn't respond just looked at Mark.
"How old is he, the kid with that birthmark?"
I didn't hesitate, not believing my luck, "Fourteen, nearly fifteen".
She just sat watching, come on, what are you waiting for, he's bloody leaning on
his shovel! Use your whip, woman! Not the cane! The bloody whip!
She could watch no more, she sprung out of her seat.
Whack!
The long cane slashed across Mark's back leaving a long imprint in his shirt
from his right shoulder blade right down to his lower back. He turned in shock
to face the overseer, totally stunned. Mark was terrified, his face creased up
ready to cry, he started to speak.
"Shut your fat ugly mouth you useless wanker or I'll put my fist in it! Get back
to work!"
He didn't hesitate, spinning round to work, but this was a real overseer and
Mark was about to get, a few years early, a lesson in slave etiquette.
"What", she growled, "do you say?"
Mark stopped, confused.
"Do you know how to stand to attention?"
"Yes"
"Then do it, now!'
Mark stood to attention in the snow before an increasingly angry overseer.
"How do you address an overseer, boy?
"Ma'am"
"and if an overseer orders you back to work, what d'you say?"
He said nothing, either terrified or very stupid. Mark was about to get some
real pain.
"I'll ask again. If you don't speak this time, I'll knee you in the groin. What
do you say?"
"Ma'am?"
Crunch! Mark was on the floor, lying in the snow clutching his balls in agony.
The overseer leant over him bellowing.
"When ordered back to work, you say "yes Ma'am", clear?"
"Yes, Ma'am"
"Then", she helped him up, she was bloody strong, "Back to work".
"Yes, Ma'am"
How I envied that overseer. I realised there and then that I'd wanted to whack
Mark, or kick his balls, since that very first day. I'd soon get my chance.
Although Mark hated school, and I like to think I did my bit, it was heaven -
the best days of his life - compared to where he is now. One person did more
than anyone to put him in his current hell, me.
Part 6 - very soon
