From the age of 10 my education took place at a public school in the Home Counties of England, where i started off in the Junior School section. It was not until my second year, aged 11 years, when I was caned for the first time. I had moved up into J1A in the charge of Mr. H. better known as 'Pop' who was also the Junior School Headmaster.
Unfortunately he had a withered left arm, resulting in him having to use his right arm exclusively, which was no doubt the reason he was able to wieod the cane so effectively across the bottoms of any misbegaving schoolboys. I have to admit that I was always excited by the sight and sound of a caning, and particularly fascinated by the marks it left across the victim's backside afterwards. Although I had not been caned myself at this stage, I harboured within myself a covert desire to be so, in order to satisfy a curiously strong yearning to have weals across my own bottom. At times I even considered misbehaving deliberately to get caned, but being fearful of the pain, i never had sufficient courage to carry out the idea. At one time I was desperate enough to try using lipstick to simulate weals across my bum, but not surprisingly, this proved to be totally ineffective and unsatisfactory.
I was well into my second year in the Junior Schoolwhen I was involved in an incident which lead to my first caning.
It was during mid-morning break on a frosty January morning when 5 of us made a slide in the snow covered quad. We were having a great time until Mr. H. came across us, he was angry because we had recently been warned of the dangers of slides in the quad. He stared at us, clearly making a note of the offenders, then simply ordered us,
"Go to my room and wait for me there."
Of course, we complied and made our way the short distance to our classroom. I remember being very nervous indeed, well aware that we were going to be 'swished' for our misbehaviour. Naturally, I no longer had any craving to have a striped bum, instead I was suffering from a severe bout of the butterflies!
Mr. H. ushered us into the room andtold us,
"Form a line facing lhat wall."
We did as instructed whilst he took the cane out of the cu0board. I was third in line, and out of the corner of my eye I could see him flexing the cane in his hands, as he gave us the instruction,
"Right, all of you bend over and touch your toes."
For the boys watching through the classroom window it must have been an enthralling scene. Imaging the line of eleven year old boys in their grey short trousers and jackets, all nervously waiting his turn to have his bum whacked.
I was bending over, trying hard to touch my toes, with a sense of despondent resignation engulfing me. I felt so helpless and vulnerable, just waiting and anticipating the imminent pain. I remember wondering how many strokes we were going to get and just how much it would hurt. My thoughts were brought an abrupt halt by the "SWISHCRACK!!" of the cane hitting the first boy in line. Gosh, it sounded even sharper and more painful than usual, maybe because I was in the line up! A few seconds later came a second "SWISHCRACK!!" echoing loudly around the room and the recipient gave a loud and pained gasp. The boy was allowed to leave the room as 'Pop' moved a little closer to me and adjusted my neighbour's position slightly, ensuring his backside was best positioned for its beating.
By this time I was extremely tense, knowing it was my turn next, but I took some relief from the fact we were getting 'only two strokes' apiece. It could have been worse I thought, as I maintained the traditional position for boys in my situation.
There was a short pause, then the awful sounding, "SWISHCRACK!!" of the cane cutting across the next boy's bottom. It must have hurt him tremendously because he jumped with a yelp, desperately grasping his backside. This caused me even greater trepidation, knowing the boy was a robust character and had been caned before, so his reaction surprised me, increasing my anxiety considerably, as 'Pop' barked at him,
"Get down boy! Stay down, unless you want an extra stroke!"
The boy was obviously struggling to get back into position, and I heard 'Pop' telling him to get lower. Finally the sound of the second stroke rang through the room and from my disadvantaged semi upside down viewpoint, I could see the boy arching backwards as he leapt up, crying out painfully with his hands urgently clutching his behind as he hurriedout of the room.
Now it was my turn! I realised the cane was going to hurt even more than I'd originally feared. For some strange reason, I found myself making an even greater effort to touch my toes. My tenseness inreased when my jacket was lifted out of the way and I felt 'Pop' pulling my shorts up tightly between the cheeks of my bum. I then felt several slightly stinging taps of the cane across my bottom, adding hugely to my sense of helpless submission. I was almost paralysed with fear and closed my eyes so tightly that my face was screwed up. I remained hopeful that I would suffer my punishment with as much fortitude as I could muster. As I waited, anticipating the first stroke, the world appeared to have stopped, then everything happened at once!
"SWISHCRACK!!" and an instantaneous, acutely stinging, blazing line of fire burst across my bottom, all my determination vanished with the bewildering pain, causing me to utter an agonised gasp as I simultaneously straightened up, instinctively grabbing at my backside. It hurt horrendously - much more than I had ever envisaged and accompanied by a dreadful sensation of being cut in half, the terrific stinging pain increasing even more as I struggled to touch my toes again, tears already blurring my eyes. I'd often listened to boys describing the pain of a caning, but none had adequately prepared me for the awesome reality of it! All sorts of things were rushing through my mind - how would I be abl to bear another blistering stroke like that first one, I was lalready on the nerge of tears.
The breath-taking sting of the first stroke grew significantly, as i waited fretfully for the next one. my face contorted by pain and my eyes tightly closed, fearing the worst. I was so consumed by the extreme pain that I was hardly aware of the aiming taps preceding the second stroke, my body appeared numb to everything other than the overwhelming pain searing my bottom.
"SWISHCRACK!!" echoed round the room again. I felt the impact of the cane, but for an instant but there appeared to be additional pain at first, then the sting suddenly exploded as the two strokes combined into the most excruciating and immensely painful ordeal imaginable!. I leapt up and grasped my backside in both hands and tried to ease the intense agony by vigorously rubbing myself, but to no avail. In fact, he stinging was rapidly escalating to an unbearable level and I could feel the tears running down my cheeks, wiping them on my jacket sleeves as I rushed out of the room, unashamedly and firmly massaging my bottom which was simply a raging inferno and getting worse all the time. I was in far too much distress to worry about what anybody though, although sub-consciously I took some comfort on seeing the first two boys to be caned were also crying.
All I could think about was my own agonising situation. I wanted to be alone, so I quickly went to the toilets and shut myself in a cubicle, where I allowed my emotions to run freely, quietly sobbing whilst pulling down my trousers and pants to caress the throbbing weals which were forming across my bottom and still hurting like mad! After some while the pain began to abate and I could feel the weals becoming distinctly raised and tender when I touched them.
The bell went for the end of break and I returned to the classroom, where I rather sheepishly went to my desk and cautiously sat down. By this time the extreme pain had passed, although each time I moved I was conscious of a warm prickly feeling from the stripes on my backside.
During the lunch break some of the boys who had watched our caning, declared it had not been paricularly severe by Pop's standards. Perhaps not, but they hadn't been the recipients, It had seriously stung and hurt me, bringing me to tears and I definitely didn't want it aagain in a hurry! immensely.
I knew all of us who had been caned would be expected to strip off when in the changing rooms that afternoon and have our stripes inspected by others present. I was always one of the first to indulge in these esaminations, doing so with much enthusiasm. In fact, I had a penchant for ogling naked boys in any circumstances. However, I think this prediliction was the reason for my reluctance to be seen naked myself. Even when showering I was very shy, often waiting until the showers were alsmost deserted. Inwardly, I would have loved to be like most of the boys and amble about the premises completely naked, but there was some strange force within me which prevented me from doing so. As a result, I was really dreading the moment when I would be required to undress and show my bare bottom to all the eager spectators.
That afternoon, when the time came, I was so inhibited, I defiantly refused to put myself on display, which left me standing in front of the audience in just my vest and underpants, having to take a lot of banter as the other boys all dutifully undressed and meekly volunteered their red lined bottoms for detailed scrutiny and comparison, whilst I remained obstinately unco-operative. With hinds8ght, this was a pointless exercise, because i should have realised that my cane striped bum would, like everyone else's be plainly visible when I was wearing the mandatory bottom revealing school swim slips.
The fact is, that without warning, I found myself in the grip of several boys who held me very firmly, while one boy pulled my vest off over my head and my flimsy white cotton trunks were dragged down to my ankles and unceremoniously thrown aside by another boy. I was completely naked in front of the onlookers when I was forced into a forward stooping posture, to unwillingly present my bare, caned backside for the entertainment of the audience.
At first I was tearful and helpless during this demeaning predicament, until I was aware of someone delicately touching the tender edged weals across my bottom. This produced a peculiarly satisfying tickling sensation, and soon the tension went from my body as it surrendered itself to this scintillating experience. From then onwards all shyness of my own nudity began giving was to a sense of increasing elation, eventually producing a wonderful feeling of relaxed liberation. My previous modesty miraculously dissipated, my tears evaporated and I began enjoyiny myself as a willing and co-operative subject. My bottom was closely scrutinised by numerous inquisitive boys, until eventually I was able to eagerly view myself in the long wall mirror and get a real thrill on seeing the two closely and neatly aligned purplish red ridged weals across the middle of my bum.
Mr. W. the swimming master then appeared in the room and saw us lined up proudly showing off our wounded bottoms. He was obviously aware of what was going on, but for a moment or two he said nothing, as he surveyed the array of colourful young backsides being exhibited, then he simply ordered,
"Right, as you are so proud of yourselves, you can perform the lesson just as you are, then everyone can see the consequences of you misbehaviour."
As already mentioned this was a pointless order because the school slips didn't cover our buttocks and this is a good point at which to describe the slips in more detail. When my mother took me to the school outfitters to get my school uniform, the assistant insisted that I needed the regulation school swim slips. When I saw their brevity I felt uncomfortable, particularly when the male assistant looked at me with a salacious smile on his face as he put the slips on the counter, purposely showing their diminutive styling. Such was my concern that I later tried them on in front of my bedroom mirror and confirmed they provided adequate frontal cover, but were almost backless apart from a small triangular back section, designed to go between the cleavage near the top of the buttocks. Really, they could only be described as a 'thong'. I think at first evryone was embarrassed when wearing these 'slips' but, being the same for all, they were soon accepted as the norm. Sometimes when wearing my slips and showing my bare bum, I tended to adopt a very self conscious 'waddling' sort of walk. It has always puzzled me how such a trditional school came to choose this thong style slip as a compulsory form of swimwear. It was so contrary to the normal conservative standards and customs associated with the school.
Anyway, we did the lesson in the nude, and having acquired my new sense of liberation I was able to thoroughly enjoy being naked with all the other boys watching and sniggering at those of us doing the lesson in the nude. My vanity was such that I thought everyone was looking at me, especially my prim, smooth young bottom, with its pair of angry looking weals clearly visible. More importantly, I was enjoying the occasion too, unable to resist the urge to keep running my fingers along the corrugated stripes on my bum!
In the changing rooms afterwards, I found myself qu9te disinclined to get dressed. I was revelling in the thrill of my nakedness, and became an exhibitionist! As a result, from that time on, I took every opportunity to swagger about conceitedly flaunting my naked, smooth young body before all and sundry!
On going up to bed on the evening of that first caning, I undressed and stood in front of the mirror, enthusiatically admiring my still vivid weals. They were starting to turn into purplish bruises, but remained delicate to the touch, a sensation I continued to find pleasantly satisfying.
In the morning I checked again ti find two very distinct long, narrow greyish bruies tinged with yellow, quite unavoidably visible across my otherwise virgin smooth bottom. This caused me some concern, not wanting my parents to know I'd been caned, but at the same time, realising all would be revealed that night, when my mother bathed as a matter of routine, even though I was 11 years old! Oddly, this practice didn't disconcert me at all. In fact I often wonder if these baths may have contributed in some way to the shy attitude I had previously had towards my own nakedness at school. Needless to say, when bathing me mother duly saw the bruises flagrantly adorning my bottom and immediately insisted on an explanation as to how I had got them. After relating the details and consequences of the previous day's escapade to her, she was not at all pleaed with me!
Later on, when the family was gathered in the lounge downstairs, i was required to confess again, in front of my father. Having done so, and despite the presence of my giggling younger sister, I was instructed to lower my pyjama trousers and reveal my bruised bum. She was clearly delighted to see my bare bottom again, a feature she had previously enjoyed during our regular shared bath times, which had only recently been stopped, presumably as a result of maternal concerns over our roowing bodies.
The only comment I got from my father was,
"No doubt you deserved it, and I hope you've learned a painful lesson from it. In any case don't expect any sympathy from me, now or on any future occasion."
Despite the mind boggling pain of this first caning, I found great satisfaction throughout the period the weals and bruises remained visible. In the changing rooms I continued to enjoy having my bruised bottom compared with the other boys who had been caned alongside me.
When a week or so later these marks had almost disappeared my earlier craving for a caned bum returned even more passioantely! What a pity it involved such a drastically painful procedure to satisfy my desires!!
Of course, there were to be a number of even more painful 'future occasions'.