I was eighteen and coming to the end of seven years at Grammar School. Looking back, the seven years were fun and certainly more good things than bad happened. The school and teachers were strict, it was a boys school and the only ways of correcting misbehaviour or poor work were the cane and the strap. Both were given regularly and I had certainly lost count of the number of times I had been caned. The strap featured less regularly and was only really used by Mr Pelham and his successor Mr Jacob who were both sports teachers. They each used the strap, Mr Jacob more often than Mr Pelham though there was nothing to choose between them, both used a large, heavy black leather strap having first bent the recipient, bare bottomed over a hurdle in the changing room. Mr Pelham strapped me once in this way and Mr Jacob a couple more times. All other teachers, who were all men, used the cane; anything from four to twelve strokes always across the bottom. Two sorts of cane were in use, the junior cane which was used in the first three years and the heavier senior cane there after. Depending on who gave it and how many strokes the marks would last for between three days and two weeks.
Mr Wood was the most severe of the teachers. He was the only one who gave bare bottom canings and he did so quite regularly. He also caned for the headmaster as, or so we all believed, younger and stronger and so able to inflict a more severe caning. Usually Mr Wood caned in the front of the class room and I had been caned by him in this way several times, he never gave less than eight strokes and quite often twelve, having carefully positioned the recipient over the desk he delivered instant and stinging justice. On other occasions there was a requirement to report to his room which was just off the main entrance of the school and was passed by every boy several times a day. The room was laid out in such a way that with the door open which it always was, those passing could see at right angles the bare bottom of the boy who was bent over the desk but not the upper part of his body or face. Mr Wood was also clearly visible as he administered the caning to the anonymous ever reddening bottom. I had been caned in his room on a number of occasions and always felt a tingle when I passed by and there was the familiar swish and crack of the cane, I always wondered who it was if I didn't already know, I think that Mr Wood caned nearly all of us at some time so there was a wide choice of possibilities.
The last term was nearly over, we were almost finished our A levels when I started to think about Mr Wood. He was very strict and he never let anyone off a caning that he thought was deserved. I had not had much contact with him in the last year and it was nearly two years since I had been to his office for a caning. There was something about a caning from Mr Wood, it certainly it hurt but there was also the fiery glow that lasted for a couple of days and the stripes that were to show when changing for sports or showering afterwards. Inspite of the exams, we still played sports, there were various competitions organised by Mr Jacob, as a diversion to the pressure of the exams, which concluded in the couple of days after the exams finished. I was playing in the tennis tournament and was doing quite well and I certainly expected to reach the quarter finals.
As the last week began I decided that I was going to set myself up for one last caning from Mr Wood before the tennis match so that I would have a set of stripes to show when changing. My chance came unexpectedly when on Tuesday morning he arrived to invigilate our exam. The school rules were strict about uniform and the result of not wearing uniform correctly was always the cane. That summer was very hot and teachers had been taking little notice of us undoing the top buttons of our shirts underneath our ties during the exams. That morning I decided to take my tie off completely and see what happened. I worked through the paper and was aware that Mr Wood had noticed me as I saw him commenting to Mr Fisher who was invigilating too. The end of the exam came and Mr Fisher started to collect the papers. I didn't hear Mr Wood come up behind me and was surprised when I heard him say, 'Philips, see me in my room at 12.15.' I just nodded, 12.15 was the start of lunch time. I felt my heart start to pound, there was twenty minutes to wait, was I going to get the cane or not. Leaving the hall, I was mobbed by a few others who had seen what had happened. I began to feel nervous, what had I done, did I really want to be caned a couple of days before leaving school.
The minutes ticked by slowly and just after 12.10 I made my way to Mr Wood's office. He was already there, I knocked on the door and he told me to come in. He was standing behind the desk and I stood in front of it at right angles to the door. I immediately noticed the two senior canes that were lying across the top of the desk, both three feet long, half an inch thick, made of yellow rattan with the curve of a handle at one end. My stomach churned as Mr Wood pointed out that I had failed to wear my uniform correctly and that I knew what the consequences of this were and that just because I was doing an exam or because it was the end of term nothing had changed. 'Accordingly,' carried on Mr Wood, 'I'm going to cane you, I am going to give you twelve strokes in the hope that you might remember that dress and appearance are important parts of how you present yourself. Drop your trousers and bend over.'
I gasped, twelve strokes seemed a bit much but then I remembered that I had sought this caning and I was going to take each stroke calmly. My hands moved to undo my belt and trousers as Mr Wood picked up one of the canes and started to flex it in the air. He always did this as though to make it more supple and painful. Dropping my trousers and underpants to my knees I bent forward over the desk, aware that it was almost familiar but that this would be the last time I would see it from this angle. Mr Wood moved behind me. I heard the bell ring and class room doors begin to open at the start of the lunch break. Many boys were going to pass the door in the next couple of minutes and see yet another bottom receiving a caning, the thought of all that I had seen and the times I had bent over here before sent a tingle up my spine.
'Straighten your legs,' said Mr Wood. I had bent over and bent my knees so that my bottom was lower. I straightened my legs and raised my bottom higher, deliberately keeping my legs together. I knew what would happen next. 'Open your legs,' said Mr Wood. I eased my legs apart and felt the cane tap on the inside of my knees. 'Open your legs wider,' ordered Mr Wood. This was always part of the ritual of the caning. Mr Wood liked to make sure that any caning he gave caused a maximum degree of discomfort and therefore he liked the boys bottom well raised so that the crown was at the top of the area that the cane would land on and this was best achieved if the boys legs were straight and also he liked the muscles relaxed and to cover the largest area and this was achieved by making sure that the boy in question opened his legs wide making it impossible to tense the muscles of his bottom.
I opened my legs, aware that people were starting to pass the door and I could visualise the what they were seeing - a bare bottom, black trousers pushed down to the knees and a pair of white underpants on the top of them. Mr Wood stepped behind me and with a well practised flick of the cane moved my shirt tail up over my back. He took up position behind me and to the left.
'As I said,' he started, 'I'm going to give you twelve, as usual, if you stand or move your hands over your bottom I will give you an extra stroke each time that you do. Here comes the first stroke.' I saw him raise the cane from the corner of my eye and then I saw the yellow blurr as the cane cut through the air and the was a loud swish and then a crack as the cane landed across the top of my bottom. For a second I felt nothing and then as Mr Wood drew back the cane for the second stroke the once familiar pain exploded in my bottom. I could here people passing the door but all seemed so far away as the cane swished again and the second stroke landed just below the first. A second weal of fire blazed through my bottom adding to the first. Strokes three to eight followed the same pattern of parallel weals moving down with seven and eight cutting into my underbottom. Mr Wood was certainly on form. My bottom was blazing and I was totally aware of every weal the cane had raised and of the total pain of them all. I had not cried out or moved and was determined that I was not going to. The ninth and tenth strokes landed diagonally setting the weals they crossed over ablaze anew. I gritted my teeth and tried to breath deeply. As Mr Wood drew the cane back for the last two strokes I was determined to appear defiant and as such thrust my bottom out to meet the cane for the last two strokes. The twelfth stroke landed with maximum force and I had to grit my teeth to stop from crying out. I shut my eyes, determined that I was not going to cry. Mr Wood was still standing behind me and I knew that as he had not told me to get up I should stay still or risk an extra stroke. Again I could visualise the scene from the entrance hall. A bare bottom, covered in weals throbbing messages of intense pain to the boy concerned, Mr Wood standing back, cane still in hand as though admiring his work.
'You may stand and pull up your trousers,' said Mr Wood. I rose painfully and gently raised my underpants and trousers aware of the weals across my bottom that would take days to go down. 'You may go,' said Mr Wood. I smiled weakly at him and left the room.
I did not feel like lunch and my bottom was throbbing so much that I decided to go and get ready for the tennis tournament that afternoon, changing and sitting out on the cool grass was quite attractive. I went along to the locker room, there was no one there and I started to change, pausing after I pulled down my underpants to look in the mirror at the still glowing weals that crossed my blazing bottom. It was good to feel the cool cotton of my shorts against my bottom. I spent a while lying out on the grass and then the tournament started. A few of the guys asked me what had happened with Mr Wood but I made no comment waiting for everyone to see my trophies!
The game was hard to play with such a sore bottom but I won and then spent a while watching the other games and sports that were in progress. I wanted to time my return to the changing room for maximum effect. About 3.30pm Mr Jacob called a halt to the various activities and we trooped back to the locker room. The showers were already turned on and there was some steam in the locker room. Like any men's shower it was a big open gang set-up with space for about fifty guys to shower at a time. I undressed slowly and collected my soap and shampoo waiting until the last minute to drop my shorts. The stripes were by now more purple but still looked incredible and there were comments of amazement as I stood under one of the showers at the centre of the room. What I had not noticed was that Mr Jacob was also showering. He often did use the gang shower in preference to the private one in his office. He was some sight to see clothed but naked he was quite stunning. Standing under the jets and looking around I saw him look at my bottom. 'Well Philips,' he said, 'I don't know what you did to deserve an arse like that but it proves what I've always believed.' I looked at him blushing. 'A gang shower is a great leveller,' he went on, 'there are no secrets here.' Little did he know, or maybe he did that by now I was enjoying the fiery glow of the last caning I got at school.