Peter Williams was a good looking thirteen year old and for some reason that he could not fathom out at the time had a very strong urge to be disciplined. It was 1960 and to a schoolboy then, discipline meant corporal punishment and in England it would be invariably be administered with a cane. As a young boy Peter's father had spanked him many times, firstly with his hand across the knee and later with a slipper. All his spankings were applied to his bare bottom. When he was about eight his father had acquired a whippy bamboo cane and that gradually became what young Peter was always. beaten with. By the time he was eleven his father would give the boy some very severe canings indeed. Peter certainly did not like being caned and would cry his eyes out. He learned some hard lessons but learned them well. By the time he went to grammar school he was really a very well behaved boy. His canings then stopped quite suddenly.
He had expected his grammar school to be very strict but it was not at all by the standards of the day. The Headmaster used a cane and used it on Peter twice, giving the lad three of the best through his grey flannel shorts. That was nothing to Peter who had been used to a many punishments of a dozen or more strokes applied very hard to his bare bottom. The two canings he was given when he was in the First Form were in fact a disappointment to him. He did not feel punished properly. He had expected more strokes and was surprised when told to stand up after just three. He did not report his first school caning to his dad fearing a real thrashing but did report the second, subconsciously wanting his father to cane him again. He did not get caned again and was relieved. It was not until later that Peter recognised that he really did want to be caned again. It was a gradual process but Peter first knew it had happened when had moved up to the Third Form and had just graduated from short trousers to long trousers. He hated the long trousers he had persuaded his mother to buy for him but was not man enough (or rather boy enough) to admit he was wrong and would rather stay in shorts. He then began to notice other boys of his own age as well as older and younger who remained in short trousers and thought how smart they looked. He then imagined watching them being given the cane. He realised that he not only really wanted to stay dressed that way himself but also wanted to be caned himself.
A wonderful opportunity then presented itself to Peter who captured it with alacrity.
An old family friend visited the previous Christmas. Peter was still in short trousers at that stage. The man had actually been Peter's father's scoutmaster many years ago and more recently was a choirmaster. He had looked after boys in various capacities for many years and took to Peter immediately. Later he offered Peter a chance to go away on the annual choir holiday that summer. Peter was nervous at first it being the first time he would go away from home. It was to be two weeks but he would have to stay with his uncle for a further week as his own parents were going on holiday themselves, not returning until Peter had to go back to school. The man was not really Peter's uncle of course but he was taught to address him as Uncle Bill. To the choirboys he was Sir.
Peter loved the holiday. There was a friendly air of discipline though and it was known that any bad behaviour would have serious consequences. It was also known that Uncle Bill had a cane with him in case of need but was not aware of it being used. All boys had to dress in khaki shorts for the holiday - long trousers were outlawed. Peter correctly gained the impression that his new found uncle was at heart an old fashioned soul and knew how to deal with boys. He was actually a very strict disciplinarian but relaxed that during the holiday.
On the first morning back Peter was helping to wash the dishes when Uncle Bill asked him outright whether he had seen any boys smoking on holiday. The question surprised Peter as it was very direct and really without thinking blurted out that he had smoked himself. He said that other boys had as well but did not want to say who they were. There was a silence as he continued drying the dishes and wondering what was now going to happen. He excused himself and went to the bathroom. He wanted time to think. He looked at himself in the mirror, at the khaki shorts clad boy who had just admitted to smoking. He felt a stirring in his loins and a tingling on his buttocks that he used to experience when his father used to produce his cane from his desk. He took a deep breath and returned to the kitchen. His chance had arrived.
"How are you going to punish me?", he asked
"I will have to tell your parents"
"Can't you deal with me?"
"Well . . , yes I can, but "
"Please, Uncle. I don't want to have to wait two weeks"
"Smoking is very serious, Peter"
"I know, Uncle and I'm sorry."
"I think your father should know"
"Do you have a cane?" Peter ventured softly.
"Pardon, Peter"
"A cane. Do you have a cane?"
"A cane. Well, yes I do. Do you mean one for punishment?"
"Yes" Peter said meekly. He had stopped drying up by now and was looking down at his feet.
"Yes, Peter I do have a cane. I have not used it for some time. The last time was last year on holiday when a boy stayed out after lights out. It was with me this year and would have used it if I had caught anybody smoking."
After a pause he asked:
"Do you think I should use it on you?"
Peter took a deep breath
"Yes, Sir"
"Mmm"
"Please, Sir. I would much rather you punished me properly than have to wait. My dad used to cane me but hasn't done so for ages"
"Mmm"
"Please"
"Well, I never. This is the first time I have heard of a boy begging for a caning. Do you have the cane at school?"
"I have only had it twice. Not very severely. Just three strokes with my trousers on"
"I see"
There was a long pause. Peter's uncle was considering what to do. He was secretly delighted with the boy. Such honesty!
"Come with me," he said and Peter followed him into his study. He sat at his desk and the boy stood in front of it with his hands clasped behind him as if facing a strict headmaster.
"Well, Peter I am surprised with you", he said looking hard at the boy. "Look at me"
Peter obeyed.
"I am impressed with your honesty but I have to treat smoking as a serious matter. You deserve to be punished and as you have specifically requested, the punishment will be given by me rather than I report you to your father. You have also said that it is a caning you deserve. I used to use a cane a great deal but have not done so for quite a time, as I said. I do, however, consider it to be the very best way of disciplining a boy. At your age though it will need to be pretty severe."
"Yes, I know."
"Tell me what you think would be fair?"
Now his opportunity had really arrived. Was he up to it. He felt very vulnerable in his thin khaki shorts.
"Please, because it has been ages and ages since my dad caned me properly could you give me just a few strokes across some proper school trousers."
"Have you any school trousers with you?"
"No, but these are very thin. I mean just to start with. Then later or tomorrow you can cane me properly - on my bare bottom I mean. Severely I mean, Sir."
"Well, well well.. I can't believe I'm hearing this"
"Sorry. I don't mean anything. I just want to get it over with . ."
"But take a severe thrashing all the same" he interrupted.
"Yes, Sir. I deserve it" Peter muttered.
"All right. You mentioned school trousers. Have you brought any with you. I have only seen you in khaki shorts, although at Christmas you were very smartly dressed, I seem to remember."
Uncle Bill remembered Peter who was in his best clothes at Christmas. He particularly remembered his smart grey flannel short trousers and neatly pulled up socks. Peter was a good looking lad and used to look a perfect schoolboy. Peter remembered too and wished he had packed his old grey shorts.
"I'm sorry, but I only have another pair of khaki shorts along with these. "
"Well, that's a pity. They are all right for holiday but you really should have brought some other clothes with you. You are not even wearing long socks," said Uncle Bill looking down at Peter's ankle socks which he was wearing with his brown school sandals. Peter again really wished now that he had remembered to keep a pair of his old school shorts. He thought he had better tell the truth.
"The thing is, Uncle I stopped wearing short trousers after Christmas and now wear long ones to school."
"Well that is a pity. You are only thirteen. I am very disappointed with you. I think we must do something about this. It seems to me that you are in a real need for some very strict discipline. This is what I am going to do. Firstly I am going to take you to the school outfitters and get you kitted out in some smart clothes., including some grey short trousers. As you are returning to school next week I will also make sure you are back in shorts with your uniform and will need some school socks. If you remember I am going to have to collect your uniform from the cleaners. I must say I assumed it included short trousers."
"Yes, I know. I'm sorry I started wearing long trousers. I didn't really want to."
"That is all right. From today you are strictly back to short trousers and I want you to promise me you will remain in them all of the time. No going back into long ones"
"Yes, Sir, I will" said Peter quietly.
Now, after you are properly dressed I will give you your punishment. We will come back into my study and I will give a very severe caning. It will be very hard indeed and across your bare bottom and not be preceded with any caning across your trousers. The punishment is for smoking and I am going to give you twelve strokes. You will be bent over that leather chair and stay down in position and take every stroke. Any struggling or moving will result in extra strokes. I will then discuss with you the standard of behaviour I shall expect from you for the rest of your stay here and the punishments you can expect from me. There will be plenty of opportunity for further caning whilst you stay with me and you never know I may even let you keep your new grey short trousers on, but do not rely on that. The punishment for smoking though has to be very severe and I believe for a caning to be effective it has to really hurt you."
Peter shifted uneasily. Had he gone too far? Could he turn back? Should he ask Uncle Bill to just tell his father after all. He probably wouldn't get punished at all. His doubt was relayed to Uncle Bill.
"Now, Peter. Before anything I want you to go to your room and stay there for five minutes. Think about what is about to happen to you. I am now intending to give you a very severe punishment indeed and in addition you are returning to short trousers, together with a regime of discipline and punishments yet to be revealed to you. If you accept this there will be no turning back. You will be a very brave boy if you do and you will have my admiration however well or badly you take your subsequent punishments. Come down here in five minutes and either say that you will accept the discipline or otherwise I will say nothing more. You can wear what you like and I shall just tell your parents about the smoking. What do you think they would do?"
"Nothing, probably, Sir"
"That would be a great pity. I think you are in need of discipline. Now go to your room for five minutes"
Peter ran upstairs and sat on his bed. He felt very nervous, almost sick. His uncle had said he would get 12 strokes. 12 on the bare bottom! His last caning was three though thick flannel shorts. His dad used to give him lots of strokes though. He didn't remember how many. Then he WANTED to have the cane - didn't he? He WANTED to put on schoolboy short trousers again - didn't he. He thought about the boys he knew that still wore them. He remembered wanting to watch them get the cane. He did want to get the cane again - properly. He had thought about little else over the last few months. How could he miss this chance.
For the second time that morning Peter took a deep breath and went downstairs to face his uncle. He knocked on the door of the study and walked in slowly. Uncle Bill was still sitting at his desk and looked sternly at Peter. Peter looked at his uncle.
"Yes, Uncle. I will accept your discipline"
Uncle Bill stood up and held his hand out to Peter. They shook hands.
"Well, my boy. Congratulations. Whatever else now happens you are a good, brave boy. You know there is no turning back now. Well done." He withdrew his hand.
"Firstly, Peter we are going to get you properly dressed. Go and wait by the car."
As Peter went out, Uncle Bill went over to a cupboard and took out a two foot, nine inch school cane. He held it in both hands and flexed it several times. He whistled it though the air and laying it gently on his desk , followed Peter to the car and then drove the three miles to the school outfitters. Peter sat nervously in the passenger seat and said nothing. He was trying to remember what the cane felt like.
The school outfitters was very busy as there was just a week before the new term. There were many boys trying on various articles of uniforms, most were new boys from Peter's and other local schools. Peter blended in with them and was pleased that they were all in short trousers. Although taller than the others Peter could have been taken as a new boy and when his turn came he was pleased when Uncle Bill just asked the assistant to fit Peter in a full uniform. Trousers were not mentioned and the assistant just assumed Peter was to be dressed in shorts. He disappeared returning with a blazer, tie, pullover, grey short trousers and school stockings. Peter was given the shorts and told to put them on in a changing cubicle. He was delighted that they were Terylene/wool worsted with a crisp white cotton lining. He kicked off his khaki shorts and pulled on the new, almost shiny grey short trousers. They felt super and he thought he looked smashing in the mirror. As he was admiring himself Uncle Bill passed a pair of the new school socks into the cubicle and Peter pulled them on. Now he really looked a picture. He came out into the shop and the assistant gave him the blazer to try on. It fitted perfectly. Next a cap was selected. Uncle Bill asked the assistant for a grey shirt and told Peter to put it on with the new school tie. To complete the picture he was handed a short sleeved school pullover and Peter dressed fully. Everything fitted perfectly and the assistant declared Peter to be the smartest schoolboy had had dressed all week. Uncle Bill told Peter to keep the uniform on whilst he purchased two more pairs of shorts and some everyday grey socks. As they were leaving the shop Peter nearly bumped into a boy from his class who had come in just to buy a new cap. Peter blushed realising what he must look like now but the boy did not recognise him. He was going to have to get used to it. In any case it was only a few months before that he had temporarily discarded short trousers. He followed his Uncle back to the Austin and sat down, gazing down at his new smart shorts. He had forgotten his caning in the excitement of his new clothes and he felt butterflies in his stomach as he suddenly remembered it.
"I have been thinking about your punishment, Peter. It seems to me that as you were not the only boy smoking it would be useful to me if I was to make an example of you to the choir. It might shame somebody to own up if they see how severely you are being punished. So I am going to cane you in front of the choir rather than in my study."
"Oh no, Uncle, please. Not that"
"Sorry, Peter but I have made up my mind."
"Will it be with trousers down?"
"Absolutely. Exactly as I described this morning"
Peter went quiet. He was going to get his long waited for caning across his bare bottom in front of thirty other boys. He had not bargained for that.
"Choir practise is tomorrow, Peter so you will have to wait for your punishment."
Peter was not sure whether he was relieved or not to hear that. He was worried how he would take it. When they arrived home Peter followed his uncle into his study.
"Please uncle. Could we have a sort of . . practise. I'm scared I will not be able to take the cane in front of the choir."
"Look, Peter. You will have to take it. Nobody is going to expect you to take a hard dozen across the bare bottom without crying. If you don't stay down you will be held down., but I want you to try and be as brave as you can."
"Is that the cane you are going to use?" said Peter noticing the cane on the desk.
"Yes, Peter"
Peter hesitated.
"Please can you give me some strokes now with these on" Peter pointed to his new short trousers. This was something he really wanted to get. He remembers the disappointment of the last time he was caned by the Head through his grey flannel shorts. These new ones were thinner but so comfortable. The lining felt smooth to his bottom. He had fantasised many times about having the cane in class dressed like he was now and watching other boys bending across the master's desk at the front of the class for a six of the best. The whole idea excited him.
"No. I can't. The punishment is to be severe and across your bare bottom, and it is to be tomorrow in front of everybody."
Peter looked crestfallen.
"I know, Sir and I deserve all that, but I was just thinking it's been so long since I got the cane. Can't we practise? Please?"
Uncle Bill just looked hard at Peter and said nothing.
"I don't mean for you. I'm sure you don't need to practice, Sir, I mean."
Uncle Bill looked more sternly at the boy.
"Its me. What if I'd done something wrong today?"
"Have you?"
"No, but I might."
"Might you?"
"Yes, sir"
"Peter, you are irritating me now. Bend over."
The boy did not believe his ears and did not move.
"I said bend over. Touch your toes."
Peter smiled to himself and assumed the position as instructed. He bent over as far as he could and grasped his grey sock-clad ankles. He felt his new short trousers stretching tightly over his bottom that he stuck out as far as he could. He wanted to remember this caning for a long time and he wanted it to hurt. His uncle picked up the cane and whipped it through the air three or four times. The sound made Peter nervous and excited all at once. He tightened the grip on his ankles. He felt the cane touching the middle of his bottom as his uncle took aim. Peter looked through his bare knees at the shadow of his uncle measuring for the first stroke. He looked his sock tops, neatly turned over. He looked at the hem of his smartly creased grey short trousers and his bare boy legs just beneath, sun browned from his recent holiday. He wished he could get caned like this at school. He wished his dad would cane him like this.
Uncle Bill was admiring the view of Peter's thirteen-year old boy bottom clearly defined through the grey material of his shorts. The creases formed an inverted V dissected by the seam that ran up the well between each cheek. He could see a ridge at the lower edge of his white brief underpants. The boy's shorts rode up at the back revealing smooth white lower thighs normally concealed under clothing in contrast to his knees and legs just above that were quite brown. As he touched Peter's bottom with the tip of the cane he decided that he would really make the six strokes very hard indeed. He wanted to cure Peter of desiring a caning. He did not understand it as he had never met a boy before that was anything but very frightened of being caned. It must be a real punishment and would have to be severe. He would make it hurt more than any punishment he had received before, despite retaining his trousers.
Uncle Bill stepped back and with a full swing brought the cane down with all his force across the centre of the boy's bottom. He hoped the material was strong and that the stick would not damage the new trousers as the cane left a very temporary trench in the grey cloth. After the whistle and very loud CRACK as the cane struck he heard a sharp intake of breath from the boy as he steadied himself from the impact. He saw him grip his ankles tightly and ready himself for the next stroke. The material was stretched tightly again as Peter stuck his bottom out. Uncle Bill imagined the stripe forming underneath. He raised the cane for the next stroke and aimed above the first, hoping that he would be right. He preferred to cane on a bare bottom for this reason. He whipped the cane down as hard as he was able, not just with brute force but with skill and a wrist action that he had learned long ago. The cane made less noise as it struck higher than he intended. Peter, however, whimpered.
Uncle Bill looked at the ridge defined by the bottom of the boy's underpants. He aimed the next stroke much lower.
Peter could not believe how much the first stroke hurt. Not immediately but after a couple of seconds. He breathed deeply to cope with the pain, gripped his ankles harder still but the next stroke came home a little earlier than he was expecting and it was at the top of his bottom. Tears welled up in his eyes and he made a small cry. He had asked for this! He mustn't cry though he thought. Not yet. He prepared himself for the third stroke, wondering which part of his bottom would be ablaze in a second. He lifted himself a little higher, he bent over a little further as if urging the cane lower down. He looked between his knees at the moving shadow of the cane descending. He should not have been disappointed as the stick cracked onto the base of his buttocks, at the point just below the bottom of his underpants. That was the worst so far and he fell forward and had to move his hands to avoid actually falling over. As he did so tears came properly and he was crying as he used to when his father used to cane him. He had not bargained for this. He screwed his eyes up trying to stop the tears flowing. He tried to pull himself together, after all he was thirteen.
Uncle Bill was pleased with his third stroke. He now knew that Peter was being punished. He expected a boy to cry when being caned, but then Uncle Bill always caned very hard indeed. He waited for Peter to put his hands back to steady himself before he raised the cane again. This was perhaps too hard a caning for the touch toe position but it would prove how stoical the boy really was. He aimed just above the last stroke and Peter cried loudly.
Having broken down blubbing like a nine-year old Peter felt he was now back across the arm of his father's sofa, being thrashed soundly. The crying was a wonderful release. This is what he wanted, but he was finding it almost impossible to stay down in this position. It hurt so very much. It was making him panic. As his uncle was preparing for his fifth stroke Peter stood and clutched his bottom. Through crying he blubbered out that he was sorry. Could he bend over something? Uncle Bill was having none of this.
"Peter! How dare you stand during a caning. I will count to ten. You will bend back down and take the rest of your medicine. You have two more strokes to go and then I shall decide your punishment for standing up."
Peter obediently bent over again. He was crying freely but disappointed with himself. He wished he had been held down. Uncle Bill was really very pleased with the boy. He had been whipping him very very hard and there he was again waiting for more. He had not used his cane for over a year and was really enjoying doing so. It was an odd feeling but he always felt very elated after thrashing a boy. It was a wonderful experience for both participants. It did so much good. The discipline for the boy was unparalleled. Submitting as he now was to severe pain for his own good. He thrashed the stick down for the fifth time. The CRACK was very loud this time for some reason but Peter seemed to raise his bottom for the last stroke and he must not disappoint. He aimed for the middle again and attempted to lay the cane on top of the first stroke with some success. To Peter that last stroke was incredible. He never remembered a caning like that. Six of the very best.
He stayed down wondering whether he was to get any more for standing up. His bottom was a furnace. He was still crying and tears were dripping on the carpet. It seemed OK though, the crying. He was after all a real boy having just had a long awaited real school type caning, wearing real schoolboy short trousers again, just like he had wanted. His bottom hurt so much though. He had put tomorrow out of his mind. He could not have coped if he had thought about that. He was told to stand and as he did so his Uncle looked sternly at him still holding his cane.
"Normally, Peter, for moving from position during a caning I would add extra strokes. However I think that your bottom has had enough for today as you have much more to endure tomorrow. Hold out your right hand."
Peter, still sobbing, held his hand out with his fingers outstretched as he had learned to do in primary school. He hated the cane on the hands. He rubbed his injured bottom with the other hand and looked up at his uncle.
"For moving during your punishment I am going to give you two strokes. On each hand."
Uncle Bill caned Peter's right hand quickly, with just a wrist action and immediately grabbed his left arm, forcing his hand to open out flat for the stick which he whipped down sharply twice more. Peter cried louder than ever and buried his hands between his thighs in absolute agony. He just hated being caned on his hands. His bottom was temporarily forgotten. He was sent to his room. He lay on his bed on his front and just cried and cried. He made no attempt to stop but slowly his sobbing wained and after half an hour he was silent. His pillow was damp with tears. His hands and bottom were not burning now but glowing and sore. Still laying on his tummy he undid the front of his shorts and pulled them down with his underpants and felt his bottom. It was hot and ridged. He climbed off the bed and looked round at himself in the mirror and was greeted with a site he had dreamed about - his own bottom ridged with angry red cane marks. He wished he had not cried so much. He would try not to tomorrow. He thought that it was the surprise at how much it hurt, through his school shorts, that started his tears and once started he could not stop. He was glad he had had the practice. Tomorrow was going to be the real thing.
He dressed again and sat on the bed looking himself in the mirror. He thought he looked a smashing schoolboy. He enjoyed the feel of his bottom but did not like the itchy bruising on his hands. He though how lucky all the boys were going to be tomorrow watching his thrashing. He wished he could watch his uncle cane some other boys. He admired the way his uncle had caned him and reduced him to a sobbing little boy with just six strokes. His uncle came in.
Uncle Bill looked at Peter who by now had stopped crying. What a super boy he thought. Peter stood up and looked respectfully at his uncle.
"Please, Sir. Thank you for my caning."
Uncle was taken aback
"Don't mention it, my boy. You took it well. I deliberately gave it to you very hard and to be honest you did well not to move before you did. A good lesson, even if you did not deserve it. O hope your hands are OK, but I really needed to save your bottom for tomorrow. That is real punishment of course and if you thought today's hurt you have another thing coming. Now despite the fact that it is still afternoon I think it would only be right for you now to go to bed, without anything to eat, and look forward to tomorrow. I will draw the curtains and you must go to sleep. You may use the toilet and wash now but after that it is strictly bed-time. You have a long time to wait tomorrow for choir and we are going to use it profitably. I'm going to set you impositions to do"
Peter did as he was told and enjoyed the continuing discipline. He climbed into bed and felt the cold sheets caressing his hot buttocks. He reached down and gently played with himself and went over the day. His new boys' clothes, his super caning. Tomorrow would be better though. He would have to do lines and things and then would get the thrashing of his life in front of thirty boys. He hoped they would be dressed like him. He vowed to stay in short trousers until he left school. He would visit Uncle Bill as often as he could for the cane.
It was full school uniform for Peter the next morning. Immediately after breakfast he was sat at an old-fashioned school desk and Uncle Bill dictated a list of rules which Peter had to write down. The rules covered everything that would govern Peter's life over the next week in the strictest detail from exactly what he should wear and when to how he should conduct himself during the various different types of caning he would be given. After the dictation Peter was left alone to learn the rules by heart for half an hour only. This was followed by a test in which Peter got 85% but had to hold his hand out for three strokes of the cane on his right hand for the answers he got wrong. Then he was set 500 lines to do in his neatest of all possible writing, that was hampered by his caning having been given on his writing hand. The lines were not neat enough and Peter had to take three strokes on his left hand plus another one on his right hand. He was set a further 200 lines which were almost acceptable but earned the boy a further stroke on his left hand.
After lunch Peter was given some music to learn for choir practice that evening. He had a fine treble voice and his uncle wanted him to do a solo. He was given the task of learning Elgar's "Ave Verum Corpus" and he tried very hard to do so. After an hour he had to sing the solo piece in front of Uncle Bill but purely through nervousness forgot his words. He was left again for a further 15 minutes and whilst he did not forget the words he went hopelessly wrong with his intonation. Uncle Bill told the boy to pull up the left leg the grey short trousers he was wearing to reveal as much bare thigh as he could and whipped his cane three times on the boy's leg leaving distinct stripes, the lowest of which could be seen below the hem of his shorts when he was walking normally. He was given the same treatment on his right leg. The cane stung like mad but Peter preferred that to having it on his hands. He would have preferred it across his bottom through his shorts but knew he was being saved for later.
Later he was taken to a barbers shop and under his uncle's supervision was given a short back and sides. Back home he had to sing his solo again and his short hair seemed to improve his memory and he sang perfectly. He wondered how he was going to do that this evening - either before or after his thrashing.
He felt very nervous and could not eat any tea and so to choir practice. Peter noticed uncle bending his cane to fit into his music case and they walked the four hundred yards to the church, Peter feeling very conspicuous in his bright blue uniform, particularly having to wear his cap. It was not school term yet. He walked in front of his uncle who admired the smart boy in front of him and noticed the red cane marks just showing beneath his shorts. They went into the practise room adjoining the church and had arrived before any of the boys. Peter was given a position to stand next to the head chorister who arrived shortly afterwards. His name was Simon and was also thirteen. Although not in school uniform his parents kept him in short trousers still and for choir practise he wore them with a smart navy blazer and plain grey knee socks without turnovers. Other boys drifted in, some smartly dressed like Simon, some in khaki shorts like they wore on holiday, some in jeans, some in grey shorts with a pullover and socks in various states of height. They all looked at Peter in amazement. He was not expected to attend choir practise, not being a member and in school uniform too. They said nothing as the choir master looked particularly stern today. They had learned to be careful.
"Well boys, into positions quickly."
The choir positioned themselves at their practice stalls arranged in a U shape around the piano and looked at the master.
"Now boys, before we begin I must explain why Peter is here. Come and stand next to me Peter"
Peter blushed and went to stand next to Uncle Bill facing twenty-two of the thirty boys who he had shared the last two weeks with. This was no holiday though he thought.
"There are two reasons. Firstly Peter would very much like to have been a member of this choir. He has a fine voice albeit untrained. It is impossible because he lives to far away but I thought I would let him join in with us today. Later he is going to sing a solo I have taught him and you can judge for yourselves."
The choir eyed Peter with a new respect. If their choirmaster thinks he has a good voice then he must have. They had learned to respect musicality in their fellow choirboys. If he was good they might even forgive him wearing school uniform in the holidays even though he had lied about his trousers. He had told them he wore long trousers to school.
"Secondly, but more importantly he is here to learn a lesson and perhaps teach some of you a lesson as well."
The choir looked hard at Peter who by now was very red in the face and looked down at his feet.
"Let me explain. Peter is in disgrace. He is in school uniform as a discipline. He is staying with me for a further week and because of something that has happened is undergoing and will continue to undergo a very strict regime."
The boys were very quiet now wondering what Peter was going through. Some of the older boys were guessing that a cane might have played some part in this.
"Peter has admitted he was smoking on holiday"
Some of the boys looked up sharply and felt distinctly nervous.
"Peter has also told me that he was not alone"
Some of the boys now felt very worried indeed.
"Peter has also refused to name anybody. Misplaced schoolboy honour, I am sure but I will honour his decision"
Some of the boys were visibly relieved. Some showed it, others were more careful.
"It therefore means that Peter must suffer his punishment alone unless anybody here would like to stand out here next to him"
None of the boys moved a muscle.
"You well know that any boy who is caught smoking on holiday must suffer the ultimate punishment. Although Peter is not in this choir he accepted, as did his parents, that he be subject to the same discipline. He is therefore to receive a very severe caning" and so saying Uncle Bill produced his cane from behind the piano. All the boys shuffled and murmured. Hands disappeared from view.
"Peter, remove your blazer. Hang it up. Go over there by the armchair. Boys I want you to watch the proceedings. I am going to cane Peter across the chair. Make sure you can see properly."
As Peter followed his instructions reluctantly the choir enthusiastically positioned themselves so they each had a very clear view of the arm of the old leather chair over which they knew Peter would be stretched.
"Take down you trousers"
The boys had not expected that and there was a murmur of real excitement.
Peter stood by the chair with his back to the boys and pulled down is grey uniform shorts, letting them drop to his ankles. There was a slight gasp as the boys saw three vivid red wheals on each of Peter's legs and the edges of further ones on his bottom that was not covered by his white schoolboy briefs.
"And your underpants"
Peter pulled his pants down to reward the choir with the site of five very angry cane wheals, one of which was more obtrusive than the others and was in fact the result of Peter's last stroke yesterday, laid with precision on top of his first.
"Bend across the arm"
Peter positioned himself across the large leather chair with his feet on the ground and his head buried in the chair seat. His bottom was high on the arm of the chair facing the boys and he felt the cold leather on the front of his upper thighs and private parts. There was no way he was going to move from this position, however much it hurt. This was his greatest fantasy coming true.
The caning commenced. Uncle Bill whipped his cane down with the same considerable force he used yesterday. The sound was different as it struck Peter's bare flesh. Not as loud as when applied to the clothed seat but unmistakeable to those that have experienced it. Not many of the boys had seen a bare bottom caning. Most had seen or at least heard a caning across trousers. Most of the boys had received a caning themselves at some time and three or four, Simon included, had received bare bottom canings at home. In fact Simon had been caned only yesterday and was nursing the result of nine strokes given to him by has father for some wilful disobedience. Neither boy knew, but when Simon was being beaten by his father only three hundred yards away and at precisely the same time Peter was receiving his caning. What Peter was getting now though was something much more severe. Simon watched fascinated as the cane bit into Peter's bare bottom and at the marks that were left behind.
Peter gritted his teeth and waited for the first stroke hoping it would not strike him in the centre where he could still feel the dull ache from his bruising. The stripes on his legs were still sore and he wondered what the boys thought as they looked at his marks. The first stroke was applied to the top of his buttocks. Peter heard the whistle as the stick came down but not the noise it made as it struck his bare flesh. After a second he felt it though. It was as if a red-hot poker had been laid on him. He breathed in and out sharply and was determined not to cry. Uncle Bill worked down his bottom leaving about seven seconds between each terrible stroke. Peter's eyes filled with tears and he whimpered quietly. The fifth stroke was different though, in the centre and top of the two of yesterday. Peter cried out loudly.
At this point some of the small boys looked as if they wanted to cry. Many were grinning at each other. Some of the older boys were holding themselves at the front of their shorts or attempting to cover erections. Others were clutching their own bottoms Others were looking on seriously. There but for the Grace of God . . . .
Simon was one of those looking on seriously. He was also holding his own erection. He could feel his own stripes accentuated each time the cane came down. How was Peter not crying? He had cried yesterday, as he always did, from the second stroke. He admired the way Peter was submitting to punishment. He was also very excited to see Peter's bare bottom. There was a relief as Peter started to cry. How many more strokes to come they all wondered. Only the participants knew.
Uncle Bill gave Peter the sixth stroke below the fifth on an unmarked area. The seventh, lower still across one of yesterdays. The eight on the crease at the bottom also on top of one of yesterday's and very painful. Peter was crying properly now, like yesterday. He was not going to move though. He felt secure across the leather chair. It was a super position in which to be thrashed severely. This was as severe as any caning he had had. There were three more strokes to come.
Uncle Bill and the boys looked at Peter's ridged red bottom. Their master hesitated a little deciding where to apply the last three strokes and decided they should be the most memorable ones and all in the centre. They were very very hard and given with less time in between. Peter screamed at these and the boys looked mostly uncomfortable at the severity of this. Then it was over. The master placed his cane on the piano and indicated that the boys should go back in their positions. They did so in perfect silence. Peter stayed in position and simply cried and cried. The choirmaster left him to it and addressed the boys.
"I am sure that has been a lesson to Peter, and I hope to you all."
He turned to Peter
"Peter stand up, dress yourself and go to the bathroom. Simon will show you where"
Still sobbing Peter stood up and retrieved his clothing, including his blazer and followed Simon out. In the bathroom Peter washed his face and tried to stop crying. Simon put his hand on his shoulder to comfort him.
"My dad canes me sometimes, but I've never had it as hard as that. You were amazing to take that the way you did"
"Thanks" muttered Peter, "Can you just leave me for five minutes"
"Sure"
With an admiring look over his shoulder at the tearful Peter in his smart school uniform, Simon went back to the practise room and told the choirmaster that he had left Peter to recover his composure. Peter did just that. By deep breathing he stopped crying quite quickly and washed most of the effects of his crying away. He gently lowered is trousers and looked at his bare bottom in the mirror. At was completely red and black, deeply furrowed with traces of blood showing. He sprinkled it as best he could with cold water and dabbed it with some toilet tissue. He dressed again and with buttocks blazing but head held high returned to join the choir. He went up to Uncle Bill and they shook hands.
Peter went to his position next to Simon and the choirmaster instructed them to find Ave Verum Corpus.
"Are you up to the solo, Peter?"
"Yes, sir. I'll try" replied Peter in a soft voice.
He tried. With a shaky start and cracked voice he moved through the piece so that by the time he was joined by the choir he was singing out beautifully. He really had an exceptional voice and Uncle Bill had recognised that earlier. When it was over the boys applauded spontaneously and Peter beamed. What a day he was having. He would remember it for the rest of his life.