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He was next, when they had marched down to the Headmaster's study they had formed a line and he was the fourth.
It had started innocently enough, just a little horseplay in the dormitory then the locker had fallen over. Before anything could be done the lights had come on, and six junior classmen had been caught. All six had frozen as the Headmaster surveyed the scene.
"Straighten that mess up, and all six of you come down to my study".
He turned and went out his footsteps echoing in the hallway. Silently they stood the locker up and put on their slippers, then bathrobes over their pajama's. Someone snickered nervously as they trooped out and headed for the stairs, and down to the study.
The rules were plain, simple, and they all understood . . . after lights out, to bed, some quiet talk was ignored, horseplay was not. They were all about the same age somewhere between their 16th and 17th birthday's. All had been at the school for at least two years. They had all been caned before, they all had knots in their stomach's, they all knew it was going to hurt like hell.
They entered the study ante room and stood against one wall facing the door to the inner sanctum. The first in line looked back at the other five, and with a shrug of resignation walked over and knocked on the door to the study.
"Enter"
He opened the door and dissappeared through it closing the door behind him. Perhaps it was almost a full minute, it seemed like an hour to the youth's before the silence was broken by a "SWOOSH" followed by a loud "WHAAACK". They all glanced back and forth at each other. Five more similar series of sounds followed.
After another hour long minute the door opened and the young man limped stiffly into the ante room. He eyes were watery, but he managed a nervous smile as he reached and touched the next in line on the shoulder. The signal to cross the room and enter the study through the now open door.
They glimpsed the form of the Headmaster flexing the cane before the door closed blocking out the scene. They all mentally counted the strokes as the cane lashed the buttocks of the second participant. The door opened again the scene repeated itself, a watery eyed youth tapped the next inline, and they again saw the instrument being flexed in the hands of the administrator.
The door swung silently into it's frame the lock clicked quietly into place. He was counting, knowing that when the count reached six, there would be a last minute to compose himself before he entered the study.
He had been in there before, for the same reason, to be caned for an infraction of the rules. The large desk with the leather chair it's back to the windows overlooking the Quadrangle. The rug in front of the desk were he would soon be standing facing the fireplace waiting to follow the ritual that he outwardly hated, and feared. To the left of the hearth the umbrella stand that had never held an umbrella, but was merely a receptacle for the canes, that were wielded to maintain order. He knew also that as soon he was safely in the security of his bed or perhaps before, he would get an erection. Envisioning the scene in the study as the six youth's were flogged with the cane, he would bring himself to an orgasm while the soon to be kindled fire in his buttocks subsided from a fireball to a stinging heat.
FIVE . . . SIX, his eyes glued to the door the knob turned the door opened, and a tearful boy exited the room were he had painfully paid for his indiscrection.
The tap, and he took the first step to what he knew was going to be another very painful two or three minutes in that paneled room. He half turned to close the door, and moved further into the room. The Master who represented the authority granted to him by all the parents as the students were admitted to the accademy stood in front of the desk. A cane in his right hand hung almost to the floor it looked like an extension of his thumb. His coat was on a nearby chair, his shirtsleeve loose at the wrist so as not to restrict movement.
Pointing to the chair with the cane he spoke one word . . . "Robe"
The boy took off his robe and stood in his pajama's, and slippers. Again the cane was used to indicate a spot on the carpet between the desk and the fireplace. The cane tapped his legs shoulder width apart. There was no need for any dialog each party aware that the other knew the routine to follow. The fire crackled the boy could feel its warmth, on the front on his legs soon another heat would be generated behind him. He felt a slight pressure on the back of his neck, another unspoken command that meant he was to bend and grasp his ankles. In position he felt rather than heard the Master step closer, then the elastic of his waistband stretched as it crossed his hips and buttocks. The pajama trouser's were pulled down to his knees to hang loosely on his lower legs, exposed his buttocks clenched and dimpled in anticipation of the caning. Another light touch of the cane as it was used to slide his pajama coat up his back to ensure that it would not interfere with what was to follow.
The picture was complete. The youth bent at the waist tightly gripping his ankles facing the fire. The buttocks taut and pale in the light of the desk lamp. The Master to the boys left, and slightly to the rear. The boy looked into the flames, the Master raised the cane almost straight up.
"SWOOSH" . . . "WHAAACK", a red stripe leapt to the surface of the pale buttocks. There was a sharp gasp as the boy sucked air into his body, he did not move, that was unheard of. By the third stroke of the rattan as it lashed the exposed flesh of the boy the tear ducts had begun to release a film that blurred the flames in front of him. While the powerful strokes of the heavy cane added fuel to the fire in the rear.
The fourth red stripe joined the other three now darkening and raising to welt's. The fifth soon joined them, the sixth definitely more powerful. The last stroke was the masters way of signing his handiwork, and was always laid on to cross the others on a slight angle as if to stitch them all together. The boy waited motionless while the Master watched his signature stroke appear. Satisfied with his work he again touched the boy's shoulder with the cane, and the boy straightened pulling his pajama's back up over his now extremely painful buttocks as he did. His penis was beginning to stir. He slipped into his robe, the first steps to the door the most painful as the muscles in his buttocks took the strain of movement.
He opened the door, passed through, and moving over to the remaining two youth's touched the next in line. That boy moved to the open door, and as the latest recipient of the cane passed into the hallway he heard the click of the latch, in his mind he could see number five taking off his robe then bending, the pajama's being lowered, another pair of youthful buttocks exposed, nervously clenching. The cane raising.
The stirring in his loins continued his penis leapt upward from its flaccid state to a pulsing erect position. As he entered the now dark dormitory, someone quietly asked "How was it?.
"Scorchers" was his whispered reply.
He slipped out of his robe, and into his bed. Laying gingerly on his back he raised himself slightly, wincingly he slid the elastic waistband over his stinging buttocks allowing his now throbbing penis to spring forth from his clothing. Being careful to be as quiet as possible he began to stroke his rock hard rod listening for any signs that others might be aware of his actions.
The stroking continued, he closed his eyes, and pictured the scene as number five stepped out of the study and tapped the last boy to enter. The cane pointing to the chair . . . "Robe". The cane pointing to the spot on the carpet. The cane touching the boy's neck. The boy bending at the waist. The master reaching forward and lowering the last thin film of protection from the boy's buttocks.
"SWOOSH" . . ."WHAAACK", the red stripe leaping into view across the clenched bottom of the last to receive the caning.
The door opened number five entered, "How was it?" the same curious voice.
"Murderous" the answer was whispered chokingly. Followed by the sound of a bed being occupied, a gasp as the buttocks of the fifth youth took the weight of his body. Sheets rustled with the sound of a turning body.
The boy continued to stroke his penis, the tempo increasing. Then a silent intake of breath as his prostrate sent yet another unspoken commando to the testicles of the supine boy. They in turn sent a stream of heavy youthful cream spurting into the old towel the boy kept hidden in his bed for just such purposes.
Arching his back the muscles in his hot bottom stung with a pleasant warmth as they contracted in unison with the spurting of his orgasm. Catching his breath each time his hand contacted the tender helmet of his manhood sending more signals of delight to his brain.
The door opened number six entered, "How was it?" . . .
The reply was lost in youthful euphoria as he milked his throbbing rod of the last drop of his juices.
The boy then smiled, thinking "if you are like me the best is yet to come".