Aiden and Alex are missing from class and Prefect Diego has been sent to find them. Diego finds the truant duo playing jenga on the dorm room floor. First the tower is smashed and then the boys’ asses are thrashed.
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Excelling at physics, scoring straights AAs at this as most academical subjects, Alex and Aiden saw no point in regularly attending that class, as their maths teacher never takes attendance, fondly finding it fitting fun to apply basic geometry instead at such games as billiards or, today, jenga, in their dorm room. Excelling at rigid rules enforcement by brat-butt-beating, all-round straights AAs prefect ‘don Diego (sighing-said by spanked students to savour swinging spanking-implements Spanish-style as wickedly-well as Zorro his whip) saw no reason not to enforce the class attendance rule, eager to report to headmaster his part in repressing a most-hated vice like truancy.
Before sending the truants belated to class for a sub-sound-standard staff-strapping, seeming shamefully-sissy to Spanish strict Sir and shamed spankees, since they systematically suffer seriously-savage swatting-sessions at home, Diego makes sure they get actual benefit from it anyhow by laying on the crimson-cutting cane after a playful manual three-tier warm-up (this not for efficiency, that’s the wrong way around, but(t) because he just enjoys admiring and agonizing angelically-attractive Alex’s abject arse ad-lib), till satisfied the throbbing in their tenderized tails throughout a day on hard benches will keep them awfully aware their ‘real rebel-rear-repressive punishment’ is again for after the evening shower, when all dorm boys with misdemeanours that day (usually about a dozen) must immediately, still wet, line-up towel-only to drop it at this teen-tail-torment-toil-tireless top-prefect’s ‘trusted’ threshold for copious, cruelly-cuts-crossing caning and red-raw-reared OTK ride, then line the faced wall outside hands-on-head, towel-to-wall-as-privates-privacy-protection, till bedtime ten minutes before lights-out, realizing Diego never fails to inspect if they are bare under blanket in bed, on blistered backsides, or be beaten all-over for failing at or faking it, but(t) nocturnal bawling (into Sir’s baby-phone) also suffices for another ruefully-red-raw-ravaged rough ride over the pitiless prime prefect’s knee.
AAs-angel Alex is awkwardly aware, although far too well-raised ever to suggest so, Diego is at-least as fond of fondling, frock-freeing and firmly flailing his fine fanny-physique for flogger-fun or fair fury as most men both beautifully-bottomed boys becomingly bare butt for boyhood-beheld at home, filially-felt as the fanny-fiery fucked-up fate of an always-absolutely-abject adolescent angel-arsed as attractively, always and anywhere attracting avidly-attended abundant arse-agony, as the ancestrally-authoritarian aristocrat administers as ably as amply, actually feeling just like home-sweet-sour-home, Alex even joins the line regardless of demeanours when homesick, to don Diego’s silent sirely satisfaction.