The soccer season had being going very well at school in my senior year. We had won most of our games and might make the county championship. At half-time we were winning 2-1 against Bridgford our arch rivals. I had been having problems with their left back. He'd fouled me several times and the ref had let him get away with it. Graham, who played outside right to my inside right, and I had discussed at half-time how we get back at him. It wasn't long into the second half when an opportunity presented and I made a real hard sliding tackle from behind and chopped him down. He was a big kid, surprisingly hairy for a 17 year old, and very solid. He faked being really hurt as we had seen the professionals do on TV but I knew that it wasn't that bad. The ref came over and gave me a warning but stupidly I started to argue and before long he sent me off. I delayed going but it was no good and our coach showed his annoyance by coming onto the field to make sure I went off. I moving slowly towards the changing room when coach ran up to me again and said that the headmaster wanted me go simply take off my soccer shoes and go and wait outside his office.
Standing outside the office I realized I'd been a bit too stupid and obvious in retaliating but I was still glad to have done it. But what sort of mess was I in now? Would it be a stern warning or suspension from the team (I knew I would miss the next game anyway). The head used the cane infrequently so I didn't really expect that, anyway I'd been caned by other masters before and it had not been so bad. As it was Saturday afternoon there were no other kids around so I was surprised when I heard footsteps in the corridor. Around the corner comes Graham still in soccer gear and socks.
"What are you doing here, the game isn't over yet is it ?"
"I Had another go at that big kid and got a caution from the ref. Coach substituted me a few minutes later so as not risk losing a second player I suppose" said Graham. " The Head told me to join you here, I think we are going to get whacked."
"No, he's not that bad , he knows what was going on".
"I'm not so sure" said Graham. "he was pretty pissed off".
Soon we heard heavier footsteps and we both stopped talking. I was feeling less comfortable about the whole thing now and instinctively put my hands behind me thinking it would somehow protect my buttoks for what may be coming.
"Follow me." said the head without missing a step and opened the doorto his office. I'd been there before but never under these circumstances. It was a large room with his big desk in the far corner, a long table and about a dozen chairs occupied half of the room for the school directors meetings. By the fireplace were a couple of leather chairs. We went over to stand in front of the desk as he stood behind. We heard the expected lecture about letting the side down and retaliation was always wrong etc. etc. We hung our heads and said sorry hoping that might be the end of it. Wrong! He took off his coat to reveal what looked like pretty strong arms (I remembered that he had rowed at Oxford). At that point there was aknock on the door and in came our coach, the Bridgford coach and - believe it or not - the kid we had fouled still in soccer uniform. I hadn't noticed until now but he had a good sized bulge in his shorts and the white nylon looked surprisingly clean for what we had done to him.
The head indicated for them to stand by the table down the room and turned to Graham and me.
"I intend to cane you both and this boy will have the opportunity to see that we don't let such conduct as yours go unpunished". With that he opened a drawer and took out a couple of four foot long canes, swished them both and selected what looked like the thicker one. By now I was feeling weak at the knees and beginning to regret that I had ever started this.
"Pull that chair over here"., he indicated to Graham. Graham moved one of the leather chairs until the head seemed happy with its position.
"Bend over." Graham leaned over the back as it was fairly obvious how this was set up. "Further!" His feet were almost off the floor and his head was out of view in the seat. In this position his buttocks were way up in the air. His soccer shorts were stretched tight and the shiny blue nylon caught the light so as to enhance the effect. In those days shorts were shorter and tighter than now anyway. The lower edge was just at the crease at the top of the thigh.
"You will receive eight strokes. Stay down or you'll get more".
Eight! So that's what we'll get. That seems a lot. My eyes fixed on those two blue shiny mounds as the first stroke came down with full force indenting the buttocks clearly. Graham's head shot up a bit as he let out a gasp and then sunk back. I realized he was wearing jockeys underneath and I only had a jockstrap! AS the second stroke hit, Graham yelled out and I began to get very nervous. I was developing a strong erection and didn't know what to do about it. Worse still, a quick glance at the other kid showed he was aroused too and had a slight smile on his face. If my legs could move I'd go and smash his stupid face, I thought. The "WHACK" the third brought me back to reality.
THe head was an expert, each stroke lower the the previous with the fourth right across the edge of his shorts. I could hardly watch the rest I was so terrified. The final four followed the pattern of the first four. By the last two Graham was crying and yelling with each stroke. At the end he took some time to get up and tried to hide his red face and tearful eyes. He didn't look at me or the other kid.
" Bend over Phillips!" My time had come and I was shaking as I went over the chair and stuck my buttocks up as required. The shorts pulled very tight and in that position I could'nt move far in any direction. "As you were sent off you will get twelve strokes!". My heart seemed to stop but it quickly restarted as the first stroke sent pain screaming through the skin and down my legs. I let out a yell in spite of some brave thoughts about being able to keep quiet. The cane bit into my buttocks in the same procession down to the thigh where the fourth one hit with indescribable searing pain. I wanted to get up but couldn't move for the agony. The second set of four reignited all the previous pain and more. I doubted I could stand the final four but there was no amount of pleading and crying that would help. I could bearly stand at the end and plucked at my shorts to try and take them from the tenderized skin. I felt the thick welts through the thin nylon and could get no relief.
As we stood there sobbing and broken the Bridgford coach and kid turned to leave. The _s_h_i_t_ still had a big erection - at our expense.
"I hope you have learned your lesson" the head said. No doubt about that.
In the showers we checked each other for welts and broken skin. If mine was worse that Graham's I was in a bad way! Two weeks later we played our last game and still had the marks from the caning neither of us would ever forget.