The following is an account of a real but consensual beating that took place on Saturday 12th May 2001. Names are not real.
Master Steve can be contacted at ukguyfr@hotmail. com. "Adam" does not wish his email address to be published
Judicial caning, Saturday 12th May 2000 - Adam
It had been agreed that I was in need of a hard caning, the only question was how severe? I had suggested between 24 and 36 hard strokes, but Master Steve had already decided an additional twelve strokes might be in order making a total of 48!
I was instructed to arrive by 13.45 on the above date, and that a police officer would also be in attendance to ensure my compliance. It was at this point I began to suspect that this was going to be the real thing, that there would be no crying out at the last minute or part way through. I arrived at the appointed time. Right from the beginning there were no polite niceties or introductions, just the cold reality that I was there to be punished and punished I would be! I was made to turn out my pockets and the contents placed in a sealed envelope. I was then handed a written statement of my offences and the said punishment of 36 strokes of the Judicial cane with the proviso that Master Steve had the authority to increase that figure by an additional twelve if He thought it necessary. Master Steve's assisting Police Officer then secured my hands behind my back and blindfolded and motioned me in the direction of the restraint desk. I was then roughly assisted in the removal of all my clothes, and the wrist restraints removed. But this freedom was quickly curtailed as I was then again motioned to the said desk and firmly bent over it. My arms were stretched forward and my wrists secured. My legs were then spread and loosely secured. Master Steve then instructed the assisting Officer to read out the sentence in full, which he did. Bent over, secured and blindfolded, listening to those words brought home the reality of my situation, that in another few moments I'd be experiencing real pain. The sentence read, Master Steve took pleasure in reminding me that it would be carried out in full regardless of any cries or pleas to stop. I now know that he meant it!
I braced myself for the first stroke, not knowing if it would be the moderate but bearable sort of blow I was well able to endure, or something much harder, outside my experience. Then it landed and immediately I knew it was to be the latter! It took my breath away, surprised by both the weight and the stinging sensation. I took a deep breath but then another landed. I winced and let out a muffled cry, gripping the sides of the desk as best I could bearing in mind my restraints. Then another landed, the only respite being the time it took Master Steve to count between each stroke. The pain of each stroke was intense but after three or four the pain was becoming cumulative. I really had no idea how on earth I was going to get through another thirty or even forty. I was glad of the blindfold for hiding the teardrops that were escaping my eyes. My only slight comfort was quick and heavy breathing.
This was considerably harder and more painful than anything I had ever experienced before. If I had thought it would do me any good I would have pleaded with Master Steve to stop the punishment, tell him that I had changed my mind. Actually I thought He might, but I was equally afraid that if I was wrong not only would He not stop, but exercise His prerogative to increase the punishment - I wasn't brave enough to take the chance!
I was allowed a minute or twos respite to get my breath back after the first six strokes, and boy did I need it. But then it started again; only the blows were now more painful on account of damage done by the previous ones. I was now openly sobbing through gritted teeth. I seemed to lose track of some of the blows, concentrating on the grip I had of the sides of the desk. I was involuntarily bucking my back and hips but the assisting Officer soon put a stop to that, firmly gripping and holding my shoulders and upper back firm against the desk whilst Master Steve continued the punishment.
I can't remember how far through it was but I remember a couple of the strokes successively landing on the back of my upper thighs. I couldn't help but scream out in pain, my lower legs breaking free of their restraints, and by reflex alone darting up and back, not that this prevented further blows lading with even greater force across my arse!
The latter blows were no harder than the earlier ones but by now my whole arse felt like it was on fire, and even gentle blows would have caused me to cry in pain. My only hope and comfort towards the end was that I knew I was near the end of it all. The possibility I might have to endure the extra strokes was unthinkable. The final stroke landed and I openly cried as it landed, partly from the relief that I was so very close to being let up. Then I heard those dreaded words, Master Steve consulting with the assisting Officer whether or not I merited the additional strokes? Please, please say no, I was praying silently. But no, the Officer thought I deserved another three with a prison strap. I braced myself. Then it landed. This time I not only cried out but almost shouted. I'm not sure if the strap would have been more painful than the cane had it been used from the beginning, but its greater width meant the blows were covering a greater area of my already badly battered arse, seemingly setting it ablaze - thank God he'd only suggested another three - a dozen more would have been unbearable!
At last I was released. It was now a fellow prisoner's turn to be punished. I was motioned away from the desk, still blindfolded, holding my hands behind the back of my head, and told to kneel while the other prisoner was punished. I should have felt pity for him but I was simply glad it was no longer me. I listened as the other chap tried to restrict his muffled cries but I could tell he was hurting too.
At the end of his punishment he two was sentenced to four additional strokes. We were then allowed to remove our blindfolds and told to look at each other's arse for an indication of how our own looked. After a brief discussion between Master Steve and His assisting Officer they decided my arse was not quite as badly marked as my fellow prisoner's, and I was instructed to bend back over the desk. The Officer held my shoulders down firmly whilst Master Steve inflicted a further six hard strokes of the prison strap - the pain was now so great I could make no pretence of endurance of bravery as I cried out, struggling against the Officer's firm grip.
At last it really was over. I was released a second time and allowed to dress. Such was the pain though it must have taken full five painful minutes to gently edge my underpants up over my thighs and buttocks.
A full week later the stripes themselves have mostly faded some are still clearly visible, along with quite a bit of dark bruising making it quite obvious I've been subjected to a hard caning. Even now, although not still painful, I'm still a little tender where some of the blows landed.