I stood outside the headmaster's office, nose pressed firmly to the wall, listening to the crack of the cane as my best friend and fellow truant, Nicholas, was vigorously thrashed. My turn would be next, and from the loudness of the wood smacking against bare flesh, and the number of strokes, I knew that I was going to regret extending my mid term break by three days.
After what seemed like forever, but wasn't soon enough, the hiding in the office came to an end. There was another pause, then the door burst open and Nick rushed out, trying to tuck in his shirt, wipe his eyes and rub his bottom at the same time. His face was flushed, and his cheeks were wet with his tears.
"Rayne," he sobbed, as he passed me, "that was the worst hiding I have ever had! Good Luck!"
Knees shaking, I entered the office. The head was sitting on the edge of his desk, a thin cane in his hand. He tapped it gently in his palm.
"Take off your shorts and your underpants," there was no lecture or anything, just straight down to business.
Quickly, I undid my shorts and let them drop to the floor. Then I gripped the waist band of my underpants, slid them down to my ankles and took them off along with my shorts.
Dressed in nothing now but my black shoes, long school socks, short sleeved shirt and school tie, I stood up again, facing sir. At twelve, i was just at the age where my body was still typically prepubescent, so I had no hair on it yet. But as a boy who is nearly a teenager, I was intensly embarrased by standing there without any pants on.
Sir appeared not to notice my discomfit, and continued to stare me straight in the eyes - a stare that caused me to drop my head and look intently at the caroet. Getting up in a leisurely manner, sir walked aound me and stood behind me, still tapping that terrible cane in his hand.
"You know how I punish truants, don't you, Rayne,"
"Yes sir," I mumbled.
"How?" the formidable man asked.
"You cane them, sir," I heard the tears starting in my trembling voice, "severely."
There was no sound behind me. I waited as the headmaster delayed the feared, but inevitable command.
"Bend over,"
I widened my feet slightly, locked my knees straight and bent, grabbing my ankles firmly and pushing my bare bottom up to recieve my punishment. I had been in this humiliating, submissive position often before, but never with no pants on. I felt sir lift my shirt and push it right up to my shoulders. Then he placed a cool hand on the small of my back, and transfered the tapping of the cane from his palm to my bare bottom.
"Today, I'm going to teach you a lesson young man," he informed me softly, "one that you'll never forget."
The cane and the hand were lifted, and there was a long pause. Then I sensed, rather than heard, the hiss of the stick blurring through the air behind me, and heard the crack as it landed low on my expoed backside. I yelped with shock, rather than pain, because the burning pain did not set in immediately. But set in it did, and anyone who's had a bare botm caning knows that you can never be fully prepared for the agony of that first stroke. Sir was a master at this, and waited at least ten seconds - long enough for the pain to reach searing levels, before administering the next lash, this was halfway up my bottom.
Again the cane struck, between the first two lines, and my bottom was alight. I struggled to maintain my composure as sir took his time, then delivered a mighty fourth blow. The fifth and sixth followed in quick succession. There was another delay, as I remained bending in that helpless, compromising position, bottom stinging.
"Stand up,"
I stood, keeping my hands at my sides, not daring to touch my rear end in the presence of the mighty headmaster - a terrible sign of disrespect at my school, possibly worthy of another six.
"It is my duty," sir began, "to prepare you for the rigours and requirements of high school,"
All I could think of was rubbing my aching backside, but the headmaster continued.
"I have not had much success, Rayne, and you have less than a year and a half before you move on to the eighth grade, and senior school," he was grim, "so I have very little time to thrash some decency into you."
He shook his head gravely, and then carried on. I wondered where this was leading. I sounded ominous - especially as I was already standing there bare ass, with a throbbing bum.
"I have spoken with your mother, and she tells me that as a single parent she is battling with you very poor attitude and general behaviour. I have assured her that I will be changing that attitude of your. Starting today."
So six cuts with the cane was not the end of my punishment! I instinctively knew that my bottm was in for a lot more pain before I left that office today.
The headmaster had put his cane back on his table, and was turning one of his old leather armchairs around so that it faced into the centre of the room. He took the cushions off the chair, then turned back to me.
"I'm going to deal with you in the same manner as I punished my own sons when they were boys," he explained, "and as your father appears to be totally out of your life, I shall remain in close communication with your mother, and thrash your backside as often as I deem necessary. Remove the rest of your clothing."
I couldn't believe it! It seemed that my days of being completely in control at home too were over! How could my mother do this to me? Although I didn't want to admit it to myself, it was clear that the hiding to come was the beginning of some much needed discipline.
"Oh please sir," I tried valiantly, now standing completely stark naked in front of the man, modesty forgotten, "I don't need another hiding today. I'll be good!"
But it made no difference. Sir gave me quick, concise orders, and before I knew it, I was kneeling on the seat of the old chair, head pressed on hands just where the back of the chair meets the seat, legs apart, and bare bottm pushed right up, ready to be thrashed. I couldn't see a thing, but I knew that I was in for a very painful session.
"What are you going to do, sir?" I mumbled, head still down, not daring to move.
"I'm going to begin by giving you a sound thrashing with a leather strap, young man," was the reply.
Starting! That meant something else after! This was really bad. And I had thought that six with the cane on my bare bottom had been a severe hiding! Which reminded me that the sting from the caning had far from gone away. Now the strap would be doing its painful work over the welts of the cane.
There was silence behind me, then a sharp crack and the fire on my bum was rekindled as the strap wrapped around my pushed up bare bottom. I gasped in pain, and only just restrained my impulse to leap up and put my hands behind me to protect my burning tail. Another lash wrapped across my bruised little behind, then another. I sobbed as merciless stroke after merciless stroke was administered. The headmaster seemed to have boundless energy, and soon my poor naked bottm was a mass of fire.
After what seemed like an eternity of beating, the headmaster once again ordered me to get up.
He sent me to stand with my nose against the wall in the corner of the office. School business carried on as usual. Pupils and staff were in and out of the office, and although nobody mentioned the naked twelve year old with the very red bottm standing in the corner, I'm sure they all saw me. Sir even caned some boys during this time (hidings nowhere near as severe as mine), and every time I heard the stick crack across an upraised bottm, I jumped in sympathy.
The bell for the end of the day rang, and still I stood. My bottom no longer had that distinctive, almost unbearable sting, but it throbbed mightily and felt very tender.
Eventaully, sir addressed me again,
"Rayne, turn around,"
I turned, modestly holding my hands over my exposed, although still undeveloped, genitals. I was appalled to see him once more standing with that wicked cane in his hands.
"I'm going to finish off your punishment with another good thrashinbg with the cane. I hope I don't have to give you hidings of this nature on a regular basis."
"Yes sir," I muttered, tears once again pricking my eyes.
"Bend over again, as you did for your strapping,"
Once again I found myself kneeling in that helpless position, flaming bare bottom up and ready for some more abuse. The cane waslined up carefully, then whipped down fiercely across my tender young cheeks. I am ashamed to admit that I squealed like a baby - but the cane biting across my already bruised backside was unbelievably sore. Sir was placing the lashes on the lower half of my botm, in between the welts left by my first caning of the day - so that the lower half of my naked backside felt like it had been subjected to a blow torch! Not to mention the tenderizing effect that a vigorous hiding with the strap had had! I squirmed and sobbed, but there was no mercy. Sir was whipping me diligently and fiercly - and in all my twelve years I had never had such a severe, but well deserved hiding.
After six, sir paused.
"Rayne, push your head right down and raise up your bottm, please,"
I did as he bid, reluctantly - I thought that my poor bottom was up and exposed enough already.
"Now mind you keep still," he ordered, tapping the cane on the thin strip of flesh just above my legs - amazingly the only part of my lower bottom that had only felt the strap at this stage, not the cane, "I don't want this to hit your legs."
With that, the cane came smashing down across that incredibly sensitive part of my poor behind, causing me to shriek with agony and knock my head right into the seat of the chair with the forward jerk of my body. But as soon as I had settled again, sir lashed me in exactly the same spot. I howled in pain, knowing that i really wouldn't be able to sit comfortably for days after this hiding.
I wish I could say that I learnt my lesson that afternoon. But as all twelve year old boys, when the pain and bruises faded, I forgot just how sore it had been, and had to have several reminders.