It was a Saturday morning in July, just a week before Simon Clark's fifteenth birthday, and the boy was sitting glumly at the kitchen table, his mood matching the black shorts he wore. He had a bowl of cereal in front of him, but he was just moving the spoon around in the milk, not feeling like eating it. 'Why did I do it?' He kept asking himself. 'Why? I knew all along that Mr Thomas always takes a register and would notice I wasn't in his silly maths class. I was bound to get found out.' His father noticed his dark-haired son's state and put a reassuring hand around his shoulder.

"Try to calm down, Simon." He said. "It won't be too bad. You've been caned by your Headmaster before and survived."

"I know, Dad." Replied the boy. "But this time I'll be taking my underpants down before Mr Phillips canes me. It'll be awful! I've never had it on my bare bum before."

"You'll be OK." Said his dad, reassuringly. "Remember, you had to take your trousers down last time and your underpants are so thin it must have been almost like being caned on your bare bum then. The stinging soon wore off, didn't it?"

"I suppose so." Simon sounded distinctly unconvinced.

"In any case, it's all your own fault." said Mr Clark disapprovingly. "You should keep out of trouble. If this wasn't your FIFTH caning from Mr Phillips, you'd not be having to take it on your bare bottom."

"Yes, Dad. I know." replied the boy, realising it was pointless trying to get his dad's sympathy until after the caning. That was one good thing about his parents - they could be very strict but once a punishment had been inflicted, that was always the end of the matter. When He returned home after his caning, his Dad would be full of sympathy.

As Simon tried to force himself to eat, his eleven year-old brother Timothy bounded into the room. A miniature version of Simon, he was dressed in pyjamas with a Disney character on the front of it.

"Hi, Dad. Hi, Simon." He said, brightly.

His father greeted him, then Simon looked up and gave him a weak smile.

"Hi." He said.

Seeing his brother's mood, Timothy clasped his hands to the seat of his pyjamas and rubbed his bottom frantically, screwing his face into a grimace in what he hoped was an imitation of someone who'd just been caned. Simon wasn't amused. "Pack it in, Squirt." He snapped, giving his brother a furious glare. "Remember you're at St John's now. Just you wait until Mr Phillips canes YOUR bum, then you'll not think it's funny!" "Yes, stop it, Timothy" said their father, "or I'll get my slipper and give you a reason to rub your bottom!"

Timothy, knowing exactly how much an ordinary carpet slipper can make a bottom sting, quietened down and began to pour his own bowl of cereal. Abandoning his breakfast, Simon stood up and Timothy noticed he was wearing black shorts rather than the jeans he almost always wore.

"Why are you wearing those shorts, Simon?" He asked. "I thought you'd have your jeans on."

"Because jeans are tight." Replied the teenager. "I wore them once before when Mr Phillips whacked me and they made my bum hurt even more when I put them back on. This caning will be a lot worse, so I don't want anything tight around my bum."

"Oh." Replied Timothy, beginning to feel genuinely sorry for his brother. He'd never been caned himself but Simon had shown his the bright red stripes across both buttocks which had resulted from his previous canings. Timothy changed the subject of the conversation and left Simon to his thoughts.

An hour later, Simon had made the ten-minute walk to the school and was standing in his Headmaster's office, being lectured about the evils of truancy. He said little during the telling-off, just saying 'yes, Sir' and 'no, Sir' in appropriate places, knowing thise wasn't much point in saying any more. His fate was already sealed. Finally the lecture was over and Mr Phillips went to the cupboard whise the cane was kept. He withdrew the slender thirty-inch rattan rod and pointed it at Simon.

"Right, you know the procedure, boy. Goodness knows, you've been here often enough. Stand in front of the desk."

Simon moved to the low desk over which miscreants were required to bend for punishment. He stood alongside it a couple of feet from the edge, took off his shorts and waited further instruction.

"Bare bottom this time, Simon." said the man. "Take your underpants off."

"Oh, Sir." pleaded the boy, "can't I keep my pants on? They don't stop the cane hurting."

"No, Simon, you can't. You were warned last time and you've chosen to ignore that warning. Now, take your underpants off before I add extra strokes to your punishment." Not wanting an increased number of whacks, Simon gave up his protests. He reached both hands under his shirt and put his thumbs into the waistband of his blue underpants. He slid them down his legs and stepped out of them, leaving them on the floor by his feet.

"Turn your shirt back and bend over."

Simon pulled his shirt up; leaving it bunched around his waist. He quickly leaned over the desk and held onto the opposite edge, presenting his trim buttocks for the punishment. Mr Phillips stood alongside the desk and measured the distance to Simon's bottom with the cane. It was very rare for him to make a boy take his underpants off for a caning but he knew Simon richly deserved it. The boy was very bright but his wayward behaviour was putting his future at risk and something had to be done. He was determined that Simon was going to remember the morning's events for a long time. He lined the cane up, lifted it into the air over his shoulder and whipped it down. The flexible rod made contact with the centre of Simon's buttocks and curled around them, painting a red line of fire as it went.

"OWWWWWW!!!" yelled the boy, his bottom gyrating from side to side. He was shocked. Horrified. It was MUCH worse than He'd expected. Not only was he lacking the protection of his underpants this time, the Headmaster seemed to be hitting his harder than ever before.

Mr Phillips watched the red line form across Simon's buttocks, then raised the cane again and delivered the second stroke, aiming an inch above the first. He was, indeed, using more force than he usually did when punishing a boy.

"YEOOOWWWWW!!!!" yelled Simon, his knuckles whitening as He gripped the edge of the desk even more tightly. This was his final caning. He was already sure of that. He would make _d_a_m_n_ sure he never got into trouble again.

"ARRRRGHHH!!" The third stroke slammed home, this time an inch below the first. Simon found himself crying, the first time a caning had ever made his do that. The burning from his bottom was almost unbearable and he didn't think he could take many more strokes like those.

Mr Phillips, however, hadn't finished with Simon. He raised the cane again and delivered another stroke, no less hard than previously.

"YAAARRRGGHHHH!!!!" The teenager stood up, clasping his hands to his scorched buttocks. He could feel the cane marks, standing up on the smooth flesh of his bottom.

The Headmaster allowed Simon to calm down for a few moments, then calmly ordered his to 'Get back into position again, young man. Thise are two more strokes to come.'

"P..Please, Sir." spluttered the tearful boy, "Can't you let me off the others? My b..bum's on fire! I'll n..never skip l..lessons again." "No, Simon." said the man firmly. "The penalty for truancy is six of the best. Bend over again."

With a plaintive wail, Simon resumed his position over the desk. Mr Phillips waited for his to settle, then aimed the cane between two of the red stripes which decorated the teenager's buttocks. He swished the rattan down again, the stroke landing exactly where he intended.

"OOOOWWWWWW!!!!" Simon yelled again, wriggling his bottom frantically as if he were trying to shake off the stinging pain. Despite a great urge to get up again, He remained in position.

The Headmaster lined up the cane for the final stroke, low down on the part of the buttocks used for sitting. The cane sang through the air and landed with a meaty thwack.

"AAAAOOOOWWWWWW!!!" squealed the teenager, jumping upright and clasping both hands to his blazing buttocks again. This time the Headmaster said nothing and allowed Simon to do the 'ancient dance of the caned schoolboy' around the office.

Once Simon had calmed down a little, Mr Phillips suggested He go to the washroom to freshen up. Needing no further encouragement the boy, his shirt still turned up around his waist, snatched his shorts & underpants off the floor and fled from the room, his sobs echoing down the deserted corridor. After giving Simon ten minutes to himself, Mr Phillips ventured into the washroom. He found the boy, his shorts back on , drying his eyes and looking much more composed.

"Are you OK now, Simon?" He asked.

"Yes, Sir." said the teenager, quietly. He gently rubbed the seat of his shorts. "The stinging is wearing off a bit now. I won't be able to sit down all day, though. Did you have to do it so hard? I thought you were cutting me in half!"

"Well, I intended it to be a salutary lesson." said the Headmaster. "I want it to be the last time I need to cane you."

"It will be, Sir." replied Simon earnestly. "I've learned my lesson this time. Never again. My bum's going to be on fire for hours!"

"Well, you deserved it, Simon." said the man. "And you know it will soon wear off. Now, are you ready to go home?"

Simon nodded and the two walked, Simon somewhat stiffly, out of the school. As the Headmaster went to his car the teenager walked home, dreading the inevitable demands to show the stripes to his father and brother. His bottom still ablaze, He was determined to avoid the cane in future. But then again, so is every just-caned child.