The cane was not used in my first school but the second school I went to was noted for corporal punishment. We were punished not only by the masters but also by the prefects. One of the prefects had spotted me outside the school without my cap. This was considered a serious offence and he told me to report to his study after lessons.
I nervously knocked on the door and entered when called. I had hoped I might be let off with a lecture or even lines but as I entered the room, I noticed that a chair had been placed in the middle of the floor and a cane was lying on the desk. So this was going to be my first experience of corporal punishment. After a short lecture on my misdemeanor, he said, "I am going to have to teach you a lesson and I think you know what that is." I nodded, glanced at the cane and hung my head. Then he asked: "Have you ever been caned before?" When I said I hadn't, his face lit up with a smile. I found out afterwards that there was great competition among the prefects to give new boys, unused to corporal punishment, their very first caning. Most new boys were caned within a day or two of arrival, usually for breaking some minor rule of which they were unaware. The boys compared their experiences while the prefects discussed which boys had the best bottoms and how they reacted under the cane. The boys with the most attractive bottoms were in demand for caning.
The prefect continued: "This will be an experience you will never forget and it will be my pleasure to oblige you. Right, take off your jacket and go and stand behind the chair." As I did so he could see that I was trembling and gave another smile. "Now, drop your trousers." I had half expected this and I unbuckled my belt and undid my trousers and they slid to the floor. "Underpants as well." "Please not bare!" I begged. I found out later that prefects were only allowed to cane across trousers but they all caned on the bare bottom as they enjoyed seeing their handiwork. Any boy refusing to drop his underpants would receive extra strokes and some said the cane stung as much if not more through trousers. But the prefect gave me such a fierce look at my defiance that I submissively pulled my underpants right down to my ankles. I stood there fidgeting, wondering what to do next. He went over to the desk and picked up the cane. He walked slowly over to me, flexing it in both hands. He was obviously relishing the prospect of caning me. Then came the words I had been dreading. "BEND OVER!" So this was it: time to assume the caning position and submit my bare bottom to his mercies. As I went down over the chair he said, "Put your legs apart and bend right over as far as you can and hold on to the chair legs." I heard him swishing the cane as I leant across the chair and reached forward, grasping the legs. My hips slid over the back of the chair and my bottom was lifted up and presented at just the right angle for caning. My shirt tail was still giving me some protection until I felt it being pulled right back past my waist. "Hmm, not bad," he said. I felt very embarrassed and exposed in this position but at the same time I sensed a strange guilty feeling of excitement. I heard him take up his caning position at the side of the chair and he gently stroked the cane across my bottom for some time.
"Right," he said, "I'm going to give you six. I don't go easy on first timers. You will learn what a proper caning is like so that you won't be tempted to break the rules again., You may howl as much as you like but if you stand up or move out of position, you will get two extra strokes each time. Are you ready?" "Yes," I replied weakly. My bottom became the focus of attention for both of us. I could sense him staring at it to judge where to lay on the first stroke and I was trying to imagine how much my bottom was going to hurt. I seemed to have been waiting for some time when the first stroke caught me by surprise. There was a sudden terrifying swish as the cane sliced through the air, followed by a crack. For a split second I felt nothing, then there was a flood of stinging pain which intensified to an unbearable level before it slowly began to subside. I couldn't believe how much it hurt. I yelped and squirmed trying to get some relief. "ONE!" he counted. He must have been pleased with my reaction to my first ever stroke of the cane. "How does that feel?" he asked. My bottom felt as though it was on fire after just one stroke. "It hurts, it really hurts!" I blurted out. "It's meant to. It's the only way to keep you boys in line." The pain of the first stroke was easing when I heard the swish of the cane again. This time I knew what to expect and I braced myself by gripping the chair legs tighter. The pain was even worse than the first stroke and again went on increasing after the initial impact. "TWO!" I heard him intone and I realized that I had four more stinging cuts to come. I couldn't imagine how I would be able to take them. I just wanted to get it over with quickly but it seemed like ages before I heard the cane singing in the air again as it delivered the third dose of searing pain. This time I let out a stifled scream. "THREE!" I longed to stand up and rub my burning bottom but I remembered what he had said, so I gripped the chair legs even tighter and gritted my teeth. Once again I heard the shrill whistling of the cane and I wriggled my bottom vainly trying to avoid that stinging cut. I felt as though my bottom was being cut open. I screamed out, I couldn't help it. "FOUR! Keep still!
As the cane swished down for the fifth time, I found myself sobbing quietly as I realized that all this pain was being deliberately inflicted on me by another person. "FIVE!" I felt completely alone and helpless in my agony. "I'm sorry," I whimpered, "I won't do it again. Please not so hard." One more to go! But I couldn't imagine how I could bear the cane again. Each stroke had been more painful than the one before and I didn't think I could take any more. He must have been pleased that he had broken me and ignoring my pleas, he made the final stroke the hardest. This time the swish seemed to last longer and the pain was indescribable as the cane cut into my poor bottom already red raw and throbbing from the first five. "SIX!" Right," he said, "do you think you have learned your lesson." "Yes," I sobbed and then to my amazement I heard myself say, "Thank you." Although I was relieved it was over, I was somehow sorry that I was no longer submitting myself to corporal punishment and I felt proud that I had got through it and now knew what a proper caning was like. "Stand up," he said, but I felt so sore that I didn't want to move. "Hurry up! I haven't got all day" I stood up and began rubbing my glowing backside. I could feel the swelling of each weal. I stared at the cane with respect now realizing just how effectively it could inflict pain and how it could feel like a red hot poker. "Pull your trousers up." Gingerly I pulled my underpants over the weals and then my trousers. He watched with interest seeming to enjoy my discomfort. "You took your caning quite well for a first timer. Some boys cry like little girls. You've got quite a nice bum and I shall enjoy your next visit to my room."