I was no longer a school cane virgin. I had heard the words and felt the rod. Four strokes. My curiosity had been satisfied. But there was more trouble in store for me and my rear end....
It was the night after my first caning. In the dorm all was not quiet as it should have been. No noise or talking was allowed after lights out. Damian and Mick were trying to impress by discussing loudly the relative merits of some of the sixth form girls. "Well, I'd shag her!"
" Yeh, right. Like she'd shag you" You know the banter. My mate, Jim, was bored of all that:
"Hey, Zippy" he said.
"What."
"You still sore after your swishing?"
"Nope"
"Your first time wasn't it?"
"Yeh. Tell you one thing: four strokes was plenty." I lowered my voice: "I padded up and it still hurt."
"Blimey, Zippy! Good job Moron didn't catch you"
Suddenly the dorm lights went on. By the door stood Brother Tailor. "What's going on?" Silence. "Right. I'll see you all on the running track at seven thirty tomorrow morning and don't even think about being late."
I breathed a sigh of relief as the lights went out again. Running was a stupid punishment. I actually liked running especially in the summer. What a joke. I drifted off to sleep.
Next morning there was a certain grumpiness in the dorm. I guess we were not all morning people. Forbes was scowling. He was a big lad who liked his food and who liked his bed. He wasn't looking forward to missing breakfast. I pulled off my pyjama bottoms and pulled on a pair of soccer shorts from my locker. Rugby shirt, socks, trainers. Ready to run. I waited for Jim and then we made our way together down to the running track. The sun was shining. The birds were singing. It was going to be a good day. It was definitely going to be a good day. Boys arrived in dribs and drabs with Forbs huffing, puffing and waddling, bringing up the rear.
"Ten laps," said Brother Tailor. "Off you go." He opened his breviary as if to start reading his prayers.
Soon my lungs were full of fine May morning air. Round the track I went, stretching muscle and sinew, driving out all sleepiness. I felt great.
Soon my laps were done. I stood at the side of the track catching my breath. I was going to wait for Jim to finish but Brother Tailor called me over.
"Fr Moore's waiting to see you in his office. He wants to see you straight away. You'd better not keep him waiting."
My heart skipped a beat. What now, I wondered.
And so once more I found myself standing outside my form master's door. As before I knocked lightly and strained to hear permission to enter.
"Come in."
I pushed open the door and stepped inside. Fr Moore sat behind his massive desk reading a letter, his glasses halfway down his nose. A crook-handled punishment cane lay on his desk. I felt my adolescent member swell slightly and crossed my hands discreetly in front of shorts.
"You wanted to see me, Father."
"I certainly do, Schartz, and I think you know quite well why."
I frowned to show my puzzlement.
"Er...No, Father."
"PADDING!" he shouted. Suddenly I was terrified. Brother Tailor must have overheard everything.
"You and I have some unfinished business, mister. You have some nerve trying to pull that one on me. No-one comes here for punishment padded up. NO-ONE. What have you got to say for yourself?"
I was trembling. My mind raced but I couldn't think what to say. "Please, Father..." I began but then I just dried up. Fr Moore stood up. He picked up the cane and bent it menacingly between his hands.
"Let's try again shall we?"
He walked around behind me. A hand roughly tugged at the waistband of my shorts, a humiliating check for padding. For one dreadful moment I thought I was going to lose the shorts but the waistband was released with a snap and they resumed their former pert position.
"Bend over."
I could barely belief what was happening. I was about to be caned again and this time with only the flimsy protection of my nylon soccer shorts. I bent over.
"Further!"
Next I felt the cane tap against my buttocks.
WHACK!
So loud! And then, oh _f_u_c_k_, so painful. I had definitely been cheating last time.
WHACK!
Four of these would be plenty.
WHACK!
I sucked in some air. There seemed to be a pause. Perhaps that was it.
WHACK!
Now that was a real stinger. I straightened up a bit, my breathing rapid and shallow. We were finished Right?
WHACK!
Wrong. The bastard. I hated him. My bottom was ablaze. Another pause.
WHACK!
"Arh!" I started to cry. That last one had been lower that the others. Right in the crease between bottom and thigh. Bastard.
I stood up slowly. Breathing all disordered. Hands on bottom. This time there was no embarrassing tenting afore.
"Stop that blubbering, Schartz! That's what a caning should feel like. Now leave and don't let me see you in here again."
Wiping away the tears I walked gingerly to the door. I kept my head down as I walked slowly up the corridor. I headed straight for the bogs. Behind the closed door I carefully lowered my shorts and felt the weals on my smooth buttocks. I craned my neck trying to see the damage. The terrible burning was giving way to a strangely pleasant glowing. My dick stuck out in front of me. I wrapped my fist around it and gave a couple of long strokes. Soon I was pumping, eyes closed, mouth open, knees bent.
Through an open window I could hear birds singing as if nothing had happened.