I thought you might be interested in my post school experience of corporal punishment. During the nineteen sixties I had been caned quite often, it was common at my school, and whilst I did not deliberately strive to be beaten it was not a big issue when it did happen . In fact, ( I suspect like many ) I enjoyed the passing notoriety and interest from form mates that followed such an event - including the ritual of having others inspect the damage to my backside. What was distressing was the beatings from my father which often followed his receipt of my termly report, if he found that I still had marks from a school caning , he would double his planned use of the strap ( of course the answer was not to get into trouble during the last two weeks of term). It was my fathers practice to strap his sons across their bare backside whilst they were bent over the back of an armchair, for both of us this was performed in front of our mother and brother. I found the whole process both very painful and humiliating and last received such treatment when I was 16 years old. During my time in the sixth form I kept out of trouble (and beatings) and did well enough to go to a good university and read for one of the professions.
Life went well and I spent the next twenty years building a career and family - I'm very happy with both. I don't know what prompted it, but I started recalling how I had been caned as a school boy , and wondering what it would be like to submit to such an experience again. After a few months of this thinking, my curiosity had not weakened and it seemed that I would have to do something to 'get it out of my system'. I was shortly to spend a week on a course in London so I consulted the ads section in a magazine and made contact with someone who described himself as an "ex public school prefect ". During our phone conversation I began to have doubts about the whole thing , and although we sorted out details about dates and time etc. I had a sneaky feeling that come the day I would chicken out. Nonetheless, on the agreed evening I drove to one of the pleasant districts of North London , parked the car and walked about a quarter of a mile to his address. My mouth was dry, my palms were sweaty and my heart was racing ( this , if nothing else , had not changed in twenty years) . I surprised myself and rang the bell , a disembodied voice came over the intercom and after checking my name the door opened . I was told to go to the top floor of the three storey Victorian house. At the end of the third flight of stairs I was met by a stocky man nearly six foot tall and in his mid thirties , who took me into the study cum living room of his flat . The room reminded me of my housemasters study . It was really part of the attic , and apart from a large antique mirror on one wall almost every space was filled with books, there was a desk , a sofa and a rather worn arm chair. I suspect it was not by chance that the impression was that of a room used for study and writing.
My host spent about half an hour chatting with me ,we drank wine and discussed my schooling and the events that had brought me to him . It really was most civilised and I began to relax into the sofa. I did not realise that things were about to alter. He moved his weight in the chair and turned to face me, his whole demeanour had changed. 'Come here boy' the order was quite menacing , simultaneously he reached under his chair and pulled out an old plimsoll . 'Take off your jacket and get over my knees' each word was accompanied by tapping the gym shoe against his right leg. I obeyed and stretched over his lap , my palms were touching the floor and by looking under his legs I could see the toe caps of my shoes , my behind was pointing straight up. In all this was a precarious and novel position for me and I enjoyed both my loss of control and a strange feeling of vulnerability. His left arm pushed my top half down and locked me in place whilst his right hand moved my lower body and legs into what he felt to be a more suitable position. Quite gently he began to feel my buttocks, I had expected to be hurt but this was most sensual, through the fabric of my clothes my cheeks were explored and caressed - but not for long. Soon he began to spank me , a series of blows some hard some gentle some times one cheek sometimes both. No one blow was especially hard but the total effect soon had me both warm and tender. It stopped. 'Stand up I think its time we had these trousers out of the way' I stood , my legs slightly apart, and before I could say or do anything he had unfastened my belt and waistband . I seemed unable to move and watched in fascination as he opened my zip , excited that my fantasy was being fulfilled, worried that I might not like it and amazed that without protest I was letting another man undress me. Once undone, my trousers slipped down a bit and clung to my hips ,his hands moved up my body and folded my shirt up on itself so that it was concertinaed about my chest leaving my belly and back uncovered . As he did this I must have moved for my trousers fell to my ankles and I was left with nothing but a pair of white cotton briefs protecting me from this stranger , who as he lowered his hands 'accidentally ' brushed his finger tips over the bulging front of my pants. " Why is your _c_o_c_k_ hard ? " he asked, " you're not meant to enjoy this ".
I was back over his knee looking at the carpet ( and wondering how many other people had enjoyed this view of the balding patch of Wilton). As I waited for him to start again I felt defenceless and realised that my underpants were not going to afford much protection. I could feel his hands on the backs of my thighs , but instead of hitting me , he prised my legs as far apart as the trousers I was still just wearing would allow. He put his hand between my legs and felt my balls then pushed further to squeeze my _c_o_c_k_ a few times. Seemingly satisfied he began to spank me but much harder than before. When he stopped I felt his hands on my belly and assumed that my prick was about to be revisited , but I was wrong, his fingers gripped the waist band of my briefs and pulled them down to my knees. In the large mirror which now seemed so well positioned I had an unusual view of myself. Stretched out , with an unprotected bare arse, being spanked hard . It was wonderful .
I don't know how long the spanking lasted, but when the prefect stopped he told me stand up and take off my pants, and then put on my trousers. Whilst I was doing this he left the room. My buttocks were sore and hot but they felt good and I probed the inflamed cheeks with my fingertips relishing the foci of pain. The door opened and he came back with a bundle of canes slippers and a tawse which he put on the floor alongside the gymshoe.
"Touch your toes , no right down legs apart and keep your knees straight " This sounded familiar , but I had forgotten the noise and pain caused by a slipper. He reminded me - six times, and then for good measure made his point a different way with me standing infront of the sofa and leaning forward so that my hands were resting on the back of the seat squab . Six more blows were delivered to the seat of my trousers , the slipper was laid aside but I was told not to move. My buttocks were fondled and my _c_o_c_k_ was felt to check for an erection. Very slowly he unfastened my trousers and pushed them down my legs. The air felt cool on my burning skin , I doubted I could take much more punishment but it wasn't my decision to make . I'd never been subjected to the tawse , but my tutor rapidly corrected this defect with a clutch of well aimed and rapidly delivered cuts . The second made me cry out in pain and the third caused me to clutch my backside and jump up . This provoked no sympathy whatsoever , I was due six strokes and so he started again - counting from one . When he was satisfied , I was told I could have a break , and on his direction I straightened up and stepped out of my trousers.
The interval was bizarre, I was standing naked from the waist down with a blazing backside and enormous erection and drinking good wine with a stranger who was intent on knocking hell out of me. Surrealists would have loved it.
The prefect suggested , and I dared not argue that I should sample three of his canes. First was a thin crook handle , six strokes were dealt in a very conventional way whilst I touched my toes , not too painful , was I getting blasé ? The next six soon changed that opinion, a thicker rattan was used whilst I leant over the back of the armchair. The position reminded me of how my father had punished me , but the pain was much worse and I felt more vulnerable than ever before. My legs were spread apart and between strokes he would run the stick along the crack of my arse or feel my _c_o_c_k_. The whole time I was sick with fear , terrified that a stray stroke would catch my testicles , with each lash the pain was mixed with relief that it was only my rear which had felt the impact. The finale was administered by an innocuous looking straight bamboo. I was required to remove my shirt and tie so that I was completely naked , and bend spread eagled over the desk. If I turned my head I could see the mirror and the view was impressive , livid marks covered my backside and my anus and genitals were completely accessible . The final strokes were unbelievably painful , each seemed to slice deeper into me and left a pain even more searing than the one before. When it was over , the "prefect" reverted to being a charming host. My backside was washed and after some persuading I went back across his knee whilst he rubbed witch hazel into my damaged tissues . More than two hours had passed, I was sore and bruised and had been genuinely hurt but it had been good and I knew that there would be other visits. Now some eight years later I still enjoy my CP sessions as much , I go two or three times each year , there is no routine and each visit is unique. What is common is my enjoyment , not only during , but anticipating and reliving the event. Usually I can still feel twinges and soreness for 2-3 days and the marks last for about ten. I'll let the psychologists work out why I enjoy this practice , and I well understand that viewed dispassionately such episodes are open to ridicule, but I will always be glad that I went through with it