Living on my own, I always enjoyed a visit from my favorite nephew. I was 20 years his senior and had watched him grow up. He was now 18 and head boy at a private school. I had often wondered whether he had received corporal punishment at his school and now that he was a prefect, whether he punished the junior boys. I had been caned at school and felt slightly excited when I thought about it. Perhaps because of this I was embarrassed to ask him and he never spoke about it.
One evening I took him out to a restaurant. I drank far too much but, as my nephew couldn't drive, I drove home. I drove badly and on entering the drive, I hit the garden wall and damaged the car. My nephew was very angry. ""You shouldn't have drunk so much, Uncle," he said. "You could have killed us." Then to my amazement he said: "I ought to report this to the police." My head was spinning as we walked into the house. Once inside he said, "I meant what I said. But as an alternative I could give you the same punishment as the junior boys at school receive from me." I felt my heart thumping. ""What punishment is that?" I asked. "Corporal punishment," he answered. I felt myself blush slightly. I wanted to be sure what he meant. "How would you ...er, apply corporal punishment?" "With a cane." I felt my mind racing. Was he serious? What would it be like being caned again after all these years? And could I allow my nephew, 20 years my junior, to cane me?
"I don't have a cane," I said lamely. "I have one in my luggage," replied my nephew. "I really think you ought to accept this punishment, Uncle, and that will be the end of the matter and I won't be tempted to go to the police." "When would you do it?" I enquired. "Let's get it over and done with as soon as possible." My mind was racing again. Should I take this punishment? Would he really go to the police? Did I want to experience corporal punishment again? My nephew took control of the situation. "Go into the study, Uncle. I'll be with you in a minute." Perhaps because of the drink I didn't protest and I found myself entering the study. I could hear my nephew climbing the stairs and a few moments later coming down. He came in and closed the door. In his right hand he held a long thin whippy cane with a curved handle. I stared at it in disbelief. Without saying anything, he pulled two chairs into the middle of the room and placed them back to back.
"Right, Uncle. Kneel on the seat of this chair." He tapped the seat of one of the chairs with with his cane. I walked over to it in a daze and knelt on it. "Now drop your trousers and underpants." I tried to splutter some protest at this indignity but nothing came out. "It's safer to cane bare so that I can place the strokes accurately. Don't be embarrassed, I've seen dozens of bare backsides." I unfastened my trousers and they fell to my knees. Then I hesitated. "Pants down, quickly!" snapped my nephew, "and pull your shirt up." His manner had changed to that of a headmaster dealing with a naughty schoolboy. I obeyed, quickly pulling my underpants right down to my knees and lifting my shirt above my waist. "You've got a well formed bottom for a man of your age, Uncle, you should be proud of it. Now bend over the backs of the chairs and place your hands on the seat of the other chair. I bent over as instructed. My back arched downwards and my bottom stuck up and out, no doubt as intended by this arrangement, becoming a perfect target for his cane. I still couldn't believe this was happening. Here I was in my own study, bent over with my trousers and pants down, my bare bottom waiting to be caned by my nephew! However, I experienced a strange stirring of excitement and the beginnings of an erection.
"I presume you were caned at school so you'll know what to expect," he said. "Because of the seriousness of your offence, I am going to give you 12 strokes." Twelve strokes! The maximum I had at school was eight. "You must not move while I am caning you. If you do, you will receive extra strokes. As he was saying this the excitement grew and my erection became stronger. I don't know if my nephew noticed.
He walked round behind me and took up his position. He tapped the cane against my bottom and asked: "Are you ready?" I murmured that I was and stared down at the seat of the chair trying to prepare myself for the first stroke. There was a swish followed by a crack and a split second later my bottom exploded in stinging burning pain which seemed far worse than anything I remembered receiving at school. The pain built up and seemed to spread throughout my body. I yelped and shot upright grabbing my burning bottom. My nephew immediately rebuked me. "Bend over and keep still! You have earned one extra stroke." Ashamed at my reaction, I bent over again. I should be able to take my punishment like a man. I was determined not to move again. All the excitement had gone now, replaced by pure pain.
The second stroke was worse than the first. I gripped on to the chair but the only way I could cope with the intense pain as it built up again was to shout out and keep shouting until it began to subside. It then seemed like a long wait for the next stroke and again I had to howl until the pain eased slightly. Waiting for each stroke was awful and each stroke seemed like a complete punishment in itself. Yet as the pain subsided from the preceding stroke, I knew I had to go through this agony again, and again, and again.... Everything in the study had receded and seemed to be far away. I was in a cocoon of pain listening intently for the swish of the cane that gave me a momentary warning of the next impact and even more pain to come. I lost all sense of time and had no idea how many strokes I had received.
Eventually I heard my nephew say: "That was the last one, Uncle." The caning was over. I was proud that I had not moved again but I was ashamed that I had made so much noise. But my nephew said: "Well done, Uncle. You took it pretty well. I laid the cane on really hard so that you would learn your lesson. You won't drink and drive again, I'm sure. Goodnight, I'll see you in the morning." With that he walked out of the study and shut the door leaving me still bent over. My bottom was throbbing and burning and for a while I didn't feel like moving.
When I stood up and felt my bottom, it was very hot and I could feel the ridges of the strokes. I decided not to wear my trousers and underpants and went upstairs to my bedroom. I looked in the mirror and could see that I had a well caned bottom. My nephew was a very fit young man and he had given me a very severe caning but he had caned me very skillfully and had fitted the strokes on to my bottom from just below the cleavage down to the tops of my legs. The bright red double ridged weals were closely spaced and all horizontal. he must have had a lot of practice and was clearly an expert with the cane. As I studied my blazing bottom in the mirror, that guilty feeling of excitement returned and so did my erection.
My nephew did not refer to the caning next morning and neither did I. Surprisingly I felt very little embarrassed about it. But I did wonder if my nephew had enjoyed caning an older man instead of the junior boys he usually punished.
I was reminded of the caning every time I sat down for the next few days and it was nearly three weeks before the marks had completely gone. It was then that I began to wonder if I would ever give my nephew reason to cane me again.