We left the lounge quietly and went into the dining room for breakfast. We sat round the large table in silence. Peter with tear stained eyes and Christopher grinning to himself. I looked down at my lap and could see my arousal clearly making a hard bulge through the grey flannel of my shorts. I noticed a small birthmark on the front of my right thigh that just showed below the hem of my shorts. I remember noticing that when I first went to grammar school and would look at it during lessons if I was struggling with the work. I looked to my right down at Peter's lap but there was no arousal there although he was feeling himself with his right hand. I did the same to myself with my left hand but it only made me feel worse. I did not dare get up, as I would not be able to conceal my state. Mother served our breakfasts with a stern efficiency. Father sat at the head of the table looking at us with a severe benevolence.
"Now boys we are going to Church at 11 o'clock. School uniforms please. Philip you must put on your new uniform."
I escaped to my bedroom as soon as I had helped clear the dishes and wash up. My arousal had gone by now but came back again as I dressed in my all-new uniform. The Terylene short trousers were particularly comfortable and I enjoyed the smooth lining caressing by bottom and upper legs. I went downstairs and met my two uniformed brothers in the hall holding their caps. I went straight back upstairs for my cap. We walked the mile to church behind our mother and father and I felt very self conscious. I enjoyed the service and my two brothers sang out with fine treble voices. Mine was an immature tenor. Father had a fine baritone and mother was tone deaf. We had not been to church for years and the vicar was delighted with us. He even tried to recruit us boys for the choir. He looked at me closely noticing my short trousers and probably assumed my voice was unbroken. The site of us three uniformed schoolboys delighted the mostly elderly congregation and we had to promise to go regularly. Father would see to that!
After church we had to change out of school uniform but had to stay smart because it was Sunday. Christopher was caught with his socks down and had his legs smacked by mother. I really should have taken notice of that. After lunch I was standing at the sink washing up and had not noticed my left sock had half fallen down when I too felt a sharp smack, this time from dad. I then had to dry my hands and stand in the middle of the kitchen. I had to lift up the leg of my trousers to reveal as much bare thigh as possible whilst dad whipped it three times with a short thin length of bamboo. I then had to take the same on my right thigh and return to my chores with tears in my eyes. Not long afterwards I felt a hand up the back of my right leg of my shorts and feeling for my hot stripes. This caused me to have an immediate and very hard erection and I pressed my front on the sink unit whilst kicking out hard behind me with my right leg. This caught Peter on his right shin and he howled out and hopped around the kitchen in pain. Dad, who had just left returned immediately still holding the bamboo cane.
"What's that noise for, Peter?"
"It's Philip - he, he just kicked me" cried Peter and he had rolled his sock down to reveal a bloody bruise on the front of his shin. I had really caught him well and it must have been agony. I was still in my new black school Oxford shoes and the heels were hard. Dad then looked at me:
"What did you do that for?" I thought hard. I couldn't possibly tell him that Peter was feeling up inside my trousers! "Nothing, really. I didn't mean it"
Dad was now angry and thundered: "How dare you stand there and tell me you did not mean to kick you're young brother. Do you see what you have done?"
I had now taken my arms out of the washing up water and had turned towards my father. Peter was rubbing his leg and hopping around. My arousal had gone.
"Did you hear me?"
"Yes, Sir"
"Come with me"
I dried my hands and followed Dad into the sitting room. He shut the door and put the bamboo cane down on the mantelpiece and took up his school rattan cane. I was instructed to place the leather punishment chair in the centre of the room.
"I was not intending to thrash you're bottom again until tomorrow night and taking into account the severity of your headmaster's caning tomorrow. I cannot let this go however. I am treating this as unprovoked bullying and am going to punish you accordingly. Take your trousers and underpants down and bend across the chair"
"But, please no. It's not what you think"
"What do you mean? Did you not kick Peter and make him bleed?"
"Well, yes, but it was just a reaction, Sir"
"Well, my reaction is to cane you for hurting your brother. You shall take a dozen. I do not like bullying and treat it very seriously. Now bend over. I sighed and bent across the chair. I now wished I was watching Peter across it again. The leather felt cold to my bare flesh. I had to get over so that my toes were just touching the floor. I waited for the first stroke and felt the cane touch my bare bottom gently as my father took aim. There was a knock at the door. Dad put the cane down and opened the door. Peter came in.
"Well, Peter what do you want? As you can see I am about to cane Philip"
"It's about that, Sir"
"Well"
I remained bending across the chair. Peter did not say anything. I wished he would.
"Peter, I do not like to be interrupted. Your brother kicked you very hard. I have had no excuse given to me, if indeed there could be any excuse for such disgraceful behaviour. I you have nothing to say you may remain there and watch the caning" and so saying he picked up the cane again and I felt it touch my bottom again. This time there followed a whistle and CRACK as it struck me right in the centre of my bottom. I clutched the chair hard and was determined to stay silent. Could Peter watch this? The cane was raised again and as it descended Peter called out "Stop, dad, please!" but not before it did its work on me. This stroke was lower down, just above the stripes on my legs from the bamboo earlier and I found it difficult not to cry out.
"Well, Peter, you are interrupting again"
"Sorry, Dad but it was my fault" Peter sobbed this rather than said it.
"It was your fault that Philip kicked you?"
"Yes"
"Please explain yourself and remember to address me as Sir when you are in trouble, as undoubtedly you now are. Philip stand up but leave your trousers and pants down. Your punishment has only just begun."
It was with much relief that I got off the chair and faced them. Peter was looking very frightened.
"Well!"
"Please don't cane Philip, Sir. It should be me"
"Oh. We have a brave boy do we. Why on earth should you wish me to give you what I am giving Philip. What did you do to cause him to kick you?"
"I put my hand up the back of his trousers when he was washing up"
"You did WHAT"
"I, I just wanted to feel the marks from the cane you had just given him for not having his socks pulled up"
I could have hugged Peter. He looked at me quickly and I hope he saw how proud I was of him.
"Why?"
"I don't know, I suppose I was interested to feel the marks from when you caned his legs"
"I see. That interests you does it, Peter" Peter had nothing more to add.
"Well, thank you for telling me. You were wrong to put your hand up your brother's trousers even though you just wanted to feel the top of his legs and I think you know that. However there was no excuse at all for kicking you in the way he did and I am going to carry on with the punishment. Since you are so interested in the effect of the cane you may watch the result of the remaining ten strokes. Bend over again Philip. There is absolutely no excuse for what you did"
I bent across the chair again and the caning continued. It was very severe and I stopped trying to be quiet after the fourth stroke and just howled like an eight year old. The stick cut into my bare flesh and restored the earlier bruises that were beginning to heal to their previous angry state. I was able to cope with it because I did not pretend and just let myself go. I thought that crying as I did would make Peter feel worse and a fifteen year old can really make a noise when he cries like a small boy. I did not count the strokes and the caning stopped when I didn't expect it to. I just remained across the chair with my tears making puddles on the leather seat.
"Stand up and dress yourself Philip." As I was doing as I was told dad then spoke to Peter.
"Right young man, I hope that has been an education. You can see the damage a cane can do. The good thing is that it always gets better and however hard and often you are caned you always recover. You felt it early this morning through your clothing for the first time. I know that hurt and I am sure that your bottom has some red lines across it. Now to complete your education it would be useful for you to feel what a cane is like on your bare bottom and I am going to give you what I have just given Philip"
Peter went white. "Oh, no, please Dad, I mean Sir . . ."
"But just six strokes. It is to teach you not to put your hands up other boys trousers."
Peter had his hand on the front of his shorts and was looking scared. Seeing him like that and despite my extreme discomfort I found I was aroused again and felt myself.
"Or indeed up your own trousers" added Dad looking down at Peter's hand. Peter removed it instantly. I removed mine too revealing the really hard bulge that I know Dad noticed. I don't think that manufacturers of boys' short trousers allow for fifteen year old boys' erections. I put my right hand in the pocket but could not reach myself. The pockets are made deliberately small I had not yet learned to make a hole in one pocket.
"Now Peter down with your trousers and pants and across the chair like you did this morning"
Watching my young brother obey his father did nothing to reduce the manifestation of my condition. Seeing his bared bottom and thighs spread over the leather chair with the six still red distinct lines from the earlier punishment very prominent against his otherwise white flesh caused me great excitement. His grey shorts and white underpants were crumpled around his ankles hiding his shoes that were in a tip toe position. His socks were neatly pulled up and his arms gripped the sides of the chair. Dad lifted up the short grey tail of his shirt to show the top of his buttocks and the small of his boyish back, brown in contrast to his bottom. I noticed goose bumps had appeared as Dad touched his bottom with the cane. Peter's eyes were shut and he was gritting his teeth. The cane came down very hard indeed. Dad struck Peter with the same force as he had used on me and I saw it bite into his bare round bottom cheeks leaving behind an ugly red stripe that put his others to shame. Peter yelped and gripped the chair harder still. My erection was now so hard I thought it was going to split the material of my shorts. I held myself knowing that Dad would not be looking at me yet. There was a ten second pause before Dad raised the stick again and brought it down an inch below the first stroke. It was just as hard and both strokes had fallen neatly between three of his earlier ones. Peter was crying but trying very hard to be as quiet as possible. I rubbed the front of my bulging shorts with my left hand and clutched my painful bottom with my right. My arousal was still growing as the third stroke crashed down and Peter cried out loudly and continued crying. I rubbed myself harder as Dad brought down the fourth stroke on my brother. This stroke was low down and landed on top of an earlier one. Peter screamed out at this. I was too excited to feel sorry for him but admired his pluck. He dug his front into the chair and seemed to raise his bottom for the next stroke. It came down with a terrific crack. I think it was harder than I had received. I was now masturbating freely, not considering that I was in company. Peter cried and cried but stayed down. He raised his bottom again for the final stroke and he received it with a final cry of pain. I cried out too at that. I seemed to be taking the punishment with Peter and did not want it to stop. I swiftly removed my left hand to join its partner clutching my injured bottom just as Dad looked away from Peter and glanced at me. My erection was unavoidable and I was frightened to see a small dark wet patch on the front of the mid-grey material of my shorts. I was overcome with excitement.
"Hands on your head, Philip. Peter get dressed and go to your room."
I did as I was told and tried to think of something that would reduce my arousal. I looked away as Peter clambered off his punishment chair and slowly pulled up his underpants and shorts. He shook hands with Dad and left the room. My arousal had declined a little but seemed to spring up again as Dad looked down at the front of my shorts. I now felt very ashamed. Dad spoke gently.
"Philip, drop your trousers and pants again and then put your hands back on your head"
I did so and had to ease my briefs over the erection as it was stopping them dropping to my ankles. Dad pointed at it with his cane. "I suppose you understand why you are in this condition?"
"I can only think it was because I was watching you cane Peter."
"Go on"
"Well, I suppose it was seeing his bare bottom and the marks of the cane"
"When he felt up your trouser leg in the kitchen did you get aroused?"
"Yes, Sir"
"Now I am going to speak later to Peter. He is only eleven and may not understand what is happening. You are fifteen and understand only too well that you are being _s_e_x_ually aroused. It is perfectly normal, I want you to understand that and not to worry. It is something I intend to totally ignore. You will grow out of it and no doubt looking at pretty girls will have the same effect (if it doesn't already) but I can say that it would actually be unusual for a boy of your age not to be aroused watching a caning. As you go to a boys' school it is obviously only boys you are going to see caned. Remember this, though. The canings you have received and are going to receive are punishments. They are only punishment. Having your bottoms bared is to make it hurt more. Punishment is meant to hurt and hurt a great deal and a caning is so much more effective when given on your bare bottoms. It is not for any other reason. Do you understand?"
"Yes, Sir"
"And remember this too. If I ever see you playing with yourself again I will birch you. The same applies if I ever see you putting your hands up your own trouser leg or through the fly and in particular if I see you doing the same to another boy. It is a private thing. Quite natural but NEVER NEVER do it in a room with other people or somewhere where you could be discovered. You will watch many canings both here and at school. ALWAYS keep your hands well away from your trousers. Now go to your room and straight to bed."
I did as I was bid and had the most wonderful wank of my life. There was the image of Peter lifting his bare bottom for the cane, his earlier caning across his short trousers, his hand up my trouser leg, The sting of the thin bamboo across my bared legs and the thrashing I had just received. What more could a boy take in one day. After the excitement had gone I thought more seriously about the punishments. The first I had had was for not keeping a sock pulled up. There is no doubt that that particular punishment worked. I never ever was punished for socks down and I became obsessional about keeping them pulled up. Peter was the one that never learned that particular lesson despite being properly and severely caned several times over the next few months. Christopher was much more careful. My severe thrashing was for kicking Peter. How that hurt and I vowed not to do that again. I was sure Peter had learned his own lessons well and Dad had talked to him by now. My pain was easing as I lay on my front and I thought about school the next day. I thought again about my arousal at watching Peter and that caused me further excitement. He was only an eleven year old, and my brother. It seemed odd to feel that way but Dad obviously understood it. I wished I could watch bigger boys getting it. There was one particular third former who I admired from afar. Turner his name was, still in short trousers and really good looking. I went to sleep imagining him bent across my Dad's leather chair. I bet his bottom would look lovely like that. He always wore very smart flannel shorts quite loose fitting and long but somehow looked great from behind. I imagined him in Peter's place this morning and then Dad pulling his trousers down. What would his bare bottom be like? Then Dad had mentioned the birch. What would that be like? I wonder whether Turner's Dad birches him . . . .
Monday morning was cold and wet. I was dispatched to school with only a quick reminder from my father to report straight to the Headmaster. I cycled the three miles to the point where I caught a bus the rest of the way. No cycle clips needed now, but the wet cloth of my navy school raincoat was uncomfortable against my cold bare knees. The saddle was further punishing my sore bottom. When I dismounted I checked my socks were pulled up. They were soaked through. I sat on the bus with my satchel on my knees, steam rising from my socks and now most conscious of my short trousers, but it seemed it was only me that was aware of them. Lots of boys joined the bus as we progressed. They were not only from my school and I was aware of just how many dressed in shorts. More than I would have thought and I felt a lot better. I joined a crowd of similarly clad schoolboys in the walk from the bus to the school gate and mingled with the younger ones. I made sure my cap was pulled down straight and not on the back of my head as older boys tended to wear theirs. Although I was probably one of the tallest amongst them I was on the short side for my age and did not look out of place. My legs were totally hairless and I would have been taken by anybody as a 13 year old. I thought how smart we all looked. I was glad to be in short trousers again and even that I was on the way to the Headmaster's study for a proper school caning. I realised I was walking just behind Turner. I could see flashes of the back of his bare knees under his raincoat as he walked. His socks were smartly pulled up and he was carrying a brown leather satchel on his back. He did not look like the sort of boy who would get the cane very often. I used to worry before about looking at him but wouldn't any longer since Dad had told me it was quite normal. I wished he was not wearing the raincoat though so that I could look at him properly. I overtook him slowly and noticed he was about the same height as me. He looked at me and appeared to smile. I wanted to talk to him but by now we had arrived at the school and I left Turner's company heading for the junior playground and advanced towards the Headmaster's study.
I knocked on the door and listened. There was no answer. A master asked what I was doing and why was I not in the playground as the bell had not gone. I explained myself and was told to take my coat off, tidy myself up and stand to attention outside the study door until the Headmaster appeared. I did as I was told. The corridor was quiet and I felt very conspicious. Having taken my coat off my short trousers were now obvious and I was dreading one of my friends coming by. I just wanted the Headmaster. My bottom was sore from yesterday's punishment but still itching in anticipation of the caning to come but I was not too worried. I knew I had had the worst thrashing ever at home and could bear anything now but I still wanted to get it over with and find out what was then going to happen to me.