This is a continuation of the story "Greg & Jeff - Story 1: An Educational Experience". If you haven't read Part A yet, go back and do so now....
"Booth, you know what to do."
I walked over to the frame and stood behind the beam. I took my hands down, only just then realising what a weight they had been to hold up for what must have been twenty minutes or more, including the lecture. I took a deep breath.
"Come on boy, we haven't got all day." I bent over the beam. I had been right, the position was definitely not comfortable. Things were not helped by my semi-erect penis, its firmness pressed awkwardly against the wood. As much as I wanted it to, it would not subside. At least my briefs had kept it pointed down - with the Headmaster's gaze upon me I did not have the opportunity to adjust myself that Greg did. Had it been upright it would have been squashed under my stomach on the corner of the beam, which would not had been pleasant.
"For heaven's sake, spread your legs boy!" _s_h_i_t_, of course. Now the Head was definitely irritated. Concentrate, concentrate. I shuffled them apart. I was relieved to find this a slightly steadier position, although incredibly humiliating and exposed. My buttocks were stretched tight. Since my briefs were behind the beam, all parts of my body that I could see were naked. With my legs spread, the pouch in my briefs containing my testicles would be clearly visible to the others. Framed between my legs, my upside-down view showed the Head visually inspecting me. He raised the cane and I felt it lightly tap against my buttocks as he measured his swing.
The Head began pacing back, and my eyes snapped to Greg's, which were fixed on me. I saw through his pain what I had been trying to offer him a moment ago - sympathy, compassion, strength. Then the first heavy footfall, and I shut my eyes and braced.
"Swish!" As I heard it coming, instinctively, every muscle tensed. No, No, I wanted to say, keep loose, keep limp, flow like water....
"Crack!" At first, I didn't really feel it. There was the sound, and a sudden dull momentum fell against my buttocks and slammed me into the beam with a Bang! As my hips were shunted forward I felt a sudden strange twinge in my crotch as my penis was driven hard against the wood, in turn pressing my testicles back to brush the insides of my thighs. As the beam seemed to press back against me I felt the air rush from my mouth in the kind of strange, involuntary gasp that Greg had made. Then simultaneously the pain arced across the higher part of my cheeks, an initial penetrating stab that was suddenly gone and replaced by a consistent heavy throb.
I wriggled slightly to adjust my position on the beam, then the second stroke.
Swish! Crack! Bang! Gasp!
Again I was slammed forward; again, my penis squeezed tight against the beam as the air was driven from me and a new fire was ignited, this time lower down towards the base of my buttocks. They were now framed by two pulsing streaks that concentrated my mind and seemed to be trying to take over my heartbeat. The sweat had broken out on my brow.
As I stretched slightly, in a vain attempt to try to distract my mind from the pain my mind turned to my penis. I had never imagined that the caning would provide this sort of physical stimulus to it. I do, under normal circumstances, enjoy pressure on my penis, and have several times brought myself to orgasm purely by humping something like my doona or the side of the bathtub at home without actually touching my genitals. The caning was literally forcing me to hump the beam with every stroke, which no doubt accounted for the fact that despite the pain I was still semi-aroused.
Swish! Crack! Bang! Gasp!
I had let my mind wander and hadn't been ready for that one. My arms almost slipped, but I caught myself in time. The third stroke landed just below the first. The pain was insidious and insistent. I could feel the sweat starting on my chest.
My eyes were still closed and I was in a realm of darkness. I opened them to see the Head mopping his own perspiration from his brow and palms. I looked across at Greg, who had deep concern written across his reddened eyes. Halfway there. I'm all right, buddy, I tried to say back, but I didn't really feel all right. Particularly when I suddenly remembered that this was the fourth stroke - the real killer stroke for Greg. Oh _s_h_i_t_. What will he do?
The Head was once more taking his time before delivering the stroke. I closed my eyes and feared the worst. At least I know what is coming, I thought. At least I know I'm halfway. How much worse can it be anyway?
Swish! CRACK! "Huhhh" BANG!
There was no doubt, it was a powerful stroke. It caught me slightly below the centre of the buttocks like a concrete weight swinging down. The beam met me coming the other way. My hips buckled and my penis was rammed against the hard wood as if I was trying to piledrive a hole to the other side. It gave a slight dull throb. But I barely noticed any of that as the thin cane seemed to have sliced me open with a scalpel. "Ohhh-hhh", I grunted; and like Greg before me my head shot forward and I stared wide-eyed at the floor in front of me trying to comprehend what had happened.
As I silently took stock, however, gulping occasionally as the scalpel slice dulled and the burning, pulsing heat began, I realised that I had been spared. Objectively speaking (and it is _d_a_m_n_ hard to be objective in this situation, let me tell you....) Greg had gotten it far worse, I was sure. The Head had caned hard, but his grunt was only a small version of when he had delivered his coup de grace to Greg. This seemed to confirm my suspicion - that stroke had been a one in a million, an unwanted and regretted lapse by a fair but flawed man who had become overcome by the situation. He needed my fourth stroke to be firm, but not absurdly so. Poor Greg.
I dropped my head and looked across at him. He was misty through the tears. I could not see his eyes properly. I was sure he was remembering his severe stroke and willing me to pull through. I did not know if he realised my blow had been much lighter. I guessed that he had not seen my eyes when he was bent there after taking his blow, even though he was searching for them and for their comforting thoughts. Poor Greg.
Seconds ticked by. A bead of sweat ran along my chest over my right nipple. I suddenly realised I had sunk down awkwardly and, with effort, raised myself again into the braced position. Unlike Greg, I shut my eyes again. As I awaited the next blow, I somehow felt through the pain that my erection had gone.
Swish! Crack! Bang! "Fffffh!"
This stroke cut diagonally across the four already planted. Lighter, of course. Still enough in my weakened state to force a slight sound from my lips but not nearly matching the freight-train force of what I had just endured. A constellation of new sensations lit up at each intersection point. I choked down a slight sob. It was nearly over.
Swish! Crack! Bang. "Arrr-hhh!"
A semi-moan, followed by a sharp intake of breath. This was, of course, the stroke below my underpants on the upper thighs. The speedo stroke. Though the force was the same, the sting on my bare flesh was acute. I could only silently thank my stars that the rest of the caning had not been bare.
"You may stand up, Booth, and return to your place."
As I slowly straightened, I tingled all over as circulation was restored to my strained limbs. A new burst of pain shot through my buttocks, firing along the lines of my stripes. I longed to reach back and massage them but knew better, clasping my hands back behind my neck as I turned towards Greg and walked back. The tears had cleared and I could see his face had already regained some of that old confidence as he flashed me a slight grin. Thanks man, I flashed back, Glad to see you back.
The Head stood in front of us, cane clasped in his hand behind his back. "Turn towards each other." We did so. We were standing about a metre and a half apart, face to face, still with our hands clasped tightly.
"What you see is many things. You see a boy who thought he was a man. A boy who thought he could flout the rules. A boy who thought he knew better than those who have his best interests at heart. A boy who was caught, and who must realise the error of his ways. A boy who has been caned severely in a manner befitting someone several years his junior - indeed, whose stupidity has earned him one of the most severe canings it has ever been my unpleasant duty to perform. Not least because it should have been totally unnecessary.
"Because you also see before you a man. A man of intelligence and common sense. A man with a great future. A future that, he should know, is not worth destroying for the sake of instant gratification. You see one another, and you see yourselves. And I hope that, between the two of you, you can work out where your future lies."
As the Head spoke, our eyes were locked together in silence. Our hair was tousled from our upside-down pose. Our faces were tear-stained and sweaty. Our adams apples occasionally jerked as we swallowed. Our chests rose and fell, beads of sweat glistening on our pectorals, nipples firm and erect. Occasionally, one of us would glance down and run our eyes over the other's body. The caning had certainly dented our spirit, but I could see in Greg the same sense of relief that I was feeling. Pain and humiliation are transitory. The caning was over. The score had been settled. We could wipe the slate clean and start again.
"This session is now at an end. I bid you good day." The Head turned and walked towards the door. Immediately, our hands dropped and went to our backsides.
The Head turned. "Oh, and by the way - please put that frame away before you leave, won't you?"
Actually, it's not at an end...the story will continue...