I Was Caned At SchoolMy father was a schoolmaster and a firm disciplinarian. He believed very strongly that growing boys are naturally rebellious and that this must be balanced by firm control so that they grow up knowing that offences against society will not be tolerated. I grew up knowing that wrongdoing would be rewarded by a spanking, usually over his knee and taken on the bare bottom. At the age of eleven I was sent to a boarding school that continued to cherish 'traditional values', and was told in no uncertain terms that any serious breach of the rules would be punished by caning. Junior boys were caned wearing gym shorts, which were unlined and made of thin white cotton, slashed at the sides. They preserved modesty but very little protection from the cane. Prefects were allowed to cane younger boys, but within very strict guidelines and the humiliation was always worse than the pain. Our housemaster, however, had no such limitations and was sanctioned to cane boys as when and how he pleased. My first caning was in my second year - six strokes on gym shorts for - as he put it - 'trying to burn the boarding house down'. In fact we had never considered that possibility, but the punishment was just. The pain of that caning was unbelievable - far worse than anything my father had ever given me. At three strokes the pain was worse than anything I had ever endured at home, and the subsequent strokes took me to even greater levels. At the end I was sobbing uncontrollably - he told me to stop snivelling and get out of his sight before he changed his mind.
After that experience I was very, very careful not to earn another housemaster caning. Prefects' canings came and went, but were never considered to be a problem. I suppose I was fourteen when we had an exceptionally cold winter, and one day a leaking outside tap had made the boarding house courtyard a sheet of ice. In no time at all boys had made 'slides' and were having enormous fun sliding the width of the courtyard. My outside shoes were rubber-soled and quite useless for sliding. So i did a bad thing - I 'borrowed' another boy's shoes from the shoe room, enjoyed sliding for an hour at lunchtime and then put the shoes back - intact but wet and in a pretty sorry state. The owner of the shoes complained bitterly that someone had ruined his shoes, and there was hell to pay. Under threat of the whole house being gated indefinitely I owned up. HM told me to attend his study at 6pm wearing my gym shorts and dressing gown - I knew I was to be beaten. The next couple of hours were spent in an agony of anticipation - how many strokes would I get and would I 'take' the punishment without disgracing myself? I knew that I would be caned wearing nothing but gym shorts and that didn't bother me too much, but would I be made to go further? The thought of being caned without my shorts began to consume me - would it hurt more? Would I be aroused? I didn't feel at all aroused, but knew that removing all my clothes would be likely to have that effect.
At 5.45 I went to my dormitory and undressed. Took my gym shorts out of the locker, and put them on. Then my dressing gown and slippers. Down to HM's study, where I stood, waiting, in a lather of anticipation. I thought of nothing but the moment of truth, when I would me made to undress. Would I manage not to be aroused? Of course as every man knows, thinking about it makes it happen, and by the time the door opened, it had.
There was the Housemaster, his deputy, two prefects and the boy whose shoes I had taken. In the centre of the room - the caning trestle - a stout wooden structure with a padded top. HM delivered a short lecture on the sinfulness of what I had done, and told me that I was to be caned.
Had I anything to say for myself?
Nothing - only that I was sorry.
Not as sorry, he told me, as I would be in fifteen minutes' time.
He told me to remove my dressing gown and slippers and to put them on chair by the door.
I did that and went back to stand in front of the trestle. I knew that this was what older boys got caned on, and that it went with the senior cane.
He told me that this was the second time I was standing in front of him to be caned, and reminded me that he had warned me of the consequences.
Did I remember what he had said?
Yes I did.
What had he warned me of?
That the next time I would be caned without my shorts.
Exactly, so would I please remove them and put them with my dressing gown?
I did as I was told - never occurred to me to do anything else.
I stood there, completely naked.
And of course my worst fears were realised - as soon as my shorts dropped a moderate degree of arousal became rather more.
I didn't want it to happen - it just did.
The two hours of thinking about nothing else, then the act of undressing in front of those people - made it inevitable.
He made some comment about me enjoying being caned - well he would see about that.
I went over the trestle, felt his hands on me as he got me in exactly the position he required - then he said
'Now I am going to cane you - twelve strokes'
I was horrified. Six had been awful - I couldn't possibly take twelve.
But no sooner had that thought crossed my mind than another came - and stayed. I was naked, aroused and the centre of attention. I was about to be caned, and they would watch. My arousal became achingly complete.
And he caned me.
It was horrible.
After three strokes I knew I could take no more - I straightened up and he told me to get down again. My arousal was history.
By six I was sobbing and crying out as each stroke bit into my bare bottom, followed a fraction of a second later by the burn right across my body.
After that I just lost it completely - it seemed almost that it was someone else being caned and screaming with every stroke. I felt the pain, but no longer felt I couldn't take it. By the end I was no longer screaming - having submitted completely and just taking it.
I tried, but my legs were rubber.
He told the prefects to help me, and eventually I managed to stand between them - tears still running down my face.
When I could stand unaided he told me again that this was what would happen every time I was sent to be caned.
While he was talking I could feel my caned bottom burning like fire. I looked down - and there it was - my arousal was recovering before my eyes. i could feel it too, and desperately wanted to touch.
I managed to resist that temptation, but could not suppress the exultation - I had survived a severe beating and emerged naked but unbowed. It was an amazing feeling, and suddenly I felt like an actor centre stage - the centre of everyone's attention.
I confess that despite the appalling pain across my bottom I rather liked the feeling.
He told me to dress and go, which I did.
Back in my dormitory they were waiting for me - a group of boys, friends of the shoes' owner, who wanted some justice of their own.
They dragged me into the communal bathroom and ran a bath of cold water.
They removed my clothes and inspected my beaten bottom.
Laughed at my arousal, which showed no sign of dissipating.
Picked me up by my ankles and wrists - dunked me in the cold water.
They laughed as they put me right under the water, and then left me to it.
The dunking had done nothing to alter my state, and sitting there in a bath of cold water my arousal was sending urgent messages.
Ten minutes later I was dressed and in my place at prep - having huge difficulty sitting on the hard wooden form.
That wasn't the only time - by the time I left school at eighteen he had caned me many times. Most times I deserved it, but once or twice not.