This is the second story in "The College Years" series about the corporal punishment regime endured by a university student - me, Martin, living in an elite, men only residential college , which has strict rules. At the end of the last story I was heading from my first formal college beating (for being drunk and out after curfew) into a follow-up session which was a test to see if I was "worthy" of joining a special elite society within the college.
So, I walked along to the entrance to McGregor's room and nervously knocked on the door. The door opened. I walked into a conventional student room - but with another door leading to a staircase - a feature unsurprisingly unavailable in other rooms. I called out: "Hello".
"Come up stairs" called back a voice. I went up the stairs and emerged into a attic area - unmentioned in the freshman's guide to the building.
McGregor was there. So was Johnstone. They sat in comfortable armchairs. They pointed to a hard wooden stool, in front of them, for me to sit on. There was a large mahogany desk in the corner.
I gingerly sat on the stool. I winced as my backside touched the hard surface. It was very uncomfortable. I had to struggle not to squirm on the seat.
"So how are you feeling?" asked McGregor.
"Ummm , sore" I said - opting for simple honestly, as I had no idea what was expected from me .
"Yes, I'm sure you are" agreed Johnstone "you've just had a very sever beating. Tell me, were you ever given that many strokes when you were at school".
"Not in school itself, but I was on a study school I was sent on, one holiday" I said.
"Then you really didn't take it very well did you ?" said Johnstone "I mean you shouldn't have been jumping up and wailing an carrying on, should you ?"
"No, I guess not" I agreed, already ashamed of my behaviour.
"So, would you agree that you've been adequately punished for your crime" asked McGregor. Both seniors leant forward t hear my reply. I gulped.
I was in a dilemma. I really couldn't take more strokes - particularly not from an even heavier cane, but equally I didn't want to give the wrong answer. By the standards of school, the caning was severe, but was an appropriate punishment for what I'd done. I had no idea how it rated by the standards of this college. Equally I didn't want to appear _c_o_c_k_y or over confident, or seem to be putting Johnstone's caning ability down. Silence stretched - I decided to err on the side of caution.
"I have been well punished," I said "and I thank you for that Johnstone, but given the severity of the beatings I have received previously, and given the higher standards I know you expect of the elite - I wonder whether I should be given a further caning".
"I see" said McGregor, sitting back, a small smile playing around his face, "so you are asking me to give you a further caning, because you believe that you need it to break through your experience with canings and your failure to live up to the high standards you aspire to. Is that correct."
"Yes" I whispered, barely able to give voice to what I was saying.
"We use a heavier, longer and denser cane up here - it's called the elite cane." McGregor stood and went over to the desk and pulled out a terrifyingly long cane, before continuing "how many strokes do you think you should get ?"
Again I was in a dilemma. I didn't want to take too many, but didn't want to anger them by proposing too few. I had received an official 12 strokes before (plus extras taking it to a total of 16) so I suggested " Ummm 12 strokes sir" (lapsing into schoolboy language)
"Why?" asked Johnstone.
"Err .. that was the number of strokes you were originally to give me for my errors downstairs, and so I thought that the same number of strokes given with a heavier cane, on top of the strokes I've already had would ..." I whispered, finally petering out with a shrug. I didn't want to talk about it - I was terrified at the prospect, and was sure I wouldn't be able to take this beating.
"Very well" said McGregor clapping his hands together, and standing " get your self stretched over that stool."
I stood, and for the third time this day I stretched my sore butt as I leaned , and got into position. grasping the bar at the foot of the stool.
There was no fanfare or theatrics this time. McGregor stood behind me and took aim with the cane. He asked "Ready?" I nodded - unable to speak.
"Then hold on tight and count each stroke" he said as he swung the cane back and whipped it across my backside.
The pain was incredible - far worse than before. I could barely gasp "One" , as the pain spread from the line of stinging fire to a deep searing pain across my backside as all the stripes from the previous caning were throbbing again.
After an awful thirty seconds the second stroke whipped into my backside. "Two" I gasped, barely able to get my breath. The level of pain had become more intense. The third stroke whacked soon after maintaining the intensity. Tears ran down my face from the pain, but I still had not cried out : "Three" I croaked.
The fourth, fifth, sixth, seventh and eighth strokes all followed. Each added to the pain adding a new sharpness and depth to the fire in my backside. I was almost hyperventilating at this point from trying not to sob or cry out. I was barely able to whisper the number of the stroke.
I could hardly feel the ninth stroke , it merely maintained the intensity and immediacy of the pain. The tenth, eleventh and twelfth were the same. I made it through. My wrists and arms hurt from holding the stool bar so tight, as I let go and collapsed on the stood.
After a couple of moments, McGregor's hand touched my shoulder as he said: "OK mate, it's over, stand up, we're not finished yet".
I numbly stood. My backside was throbbing with pain, but I had my breathing back under control. They motioned at the stood and said "Sit when you feel you can". I stood unsteadily.
Johnstone then leaned forward saying "that was an incredible beating - I've never seen anyone take such harsh punishment so well - well done !"
I nodded numbly.
"Why did you put yourself through it ?" he asked.
"Well, I thought ... " I stammered, not understanding.
"You were second guessing what you though we would want, weren't you ?" said McGregor.
I nodded.
"Well you were wrong -we both believed you were more than adequately punished by the beating down stairs, these extra strokes were unnecessary, from our point of view" said Johnstone.
"So let this be a lesson to you - we don't believe in punishment over-kill. The college punishments are always adequate - the elite never duplicate beatings, instead we will punish you for things the regular college will not."
I nodded numbly - I could hardly believe I didn't have to take that caning.
"However we are impressed by your willingness to live up to, and be judged by the standards of the elite group" said McGregor. "Over your three week probation you will go through college tests and challenges just like any other probationer. The difference is that each Sunday afternoon we will meet up here to discuss your progress and dish out advice and punishment and any special tests and challenges we deem necessary."
I nodded again.
"Now go down to your room. We'll see you at diner".
"Thank-you" I said as I stumbled down the stairs into my room. I couldn't wait to peel my jeans off and see the damage. I was shocked to see my butt covered in angry weals, some turning purple and twelve fresh red lines, each as thick as my index finger. I went into my shower (thank God this place has private bathrooms - no wonder it's so expensive) and massaged my aching buns under the hot water.
I dried off and carefully got dressed - making sure to put well padded, soft, boxer shorts on under new jeans.
Later that evening I went meekly into the hall for diner. As I walked past Johnstone's table, while I was out of sight of the rest of hall, he gave me a mighty swat on the butt, almost causing me to drop my diner tray.
I found the drinking buddies from the night before who'd gone to face the cane sitting together. I gingerly sat down with them. We were all quiet - with our very sore backsides and the knowledge that every night for the next three weeks we would probably be this sore. Of course none of them knew about my extra caning, and after what I'd been through, I sure wasn't going to tell them.
The next few weeks and months were promising to be very interesting !