Afer his beating from Mitchell, Sam limped back to his dormitory, rubbing his bottom furiously as he went. It had been his intention to share a midnight feast with Larkin, who was his best friend and whose bed was next to his. Larkin whispered his question:
"What did you manage to find?"
"Nothing, Mitchell found me first."
"Oh, bad luck, what's he going to do?"
"He's done it. He gave me six on the bare bum."
"Cripes, does it hurt?"
"Well, put it this way; if Mitchell ever has a son, he'd better have strong legs cos he's not going to be able to spend much time sitting down."
Sam got into bed, lying face down for obvious reasons. Larkin got out of his bed and felt for his torch in his bedside locker.
"Do you mind if I have a look?"
"No, course not, you can tell me how its colouring up."
Larkin lifted Sam's bed clothes and gently pulled his friend's pyjama trousers down. He let out a loud gasp as he saw the extent of the already apparent bruising.
"Wow, I've seen some whacked bums in my time, but nothing like this. Can I put my hand on it to see how hot it is?"
"OK, but prepare to be burned."
Larkin felt the hot throbbing bottom.
"I see what you mean. I wouldn't call it exactly icy. Is the pain wearing off at all".
"Yeah, it still hurts like hell, but it's getting better all the time."
Sam then confided his plan to his friend. He explained that no one else was to be told until the moment that he made his application, but he was firmly decided that the moment the effects of his latest beating had resolved he was going to apply to join the Three Stripes Club. Larkin swore he would keep the secret and then said that he would hope to be the next new member after Sam.
"But you haven't even been whacked with a slipper or gym shoe yet".
"I know, it's ludicrous isn't it? I've never got away with so much in my life before. But I've heard that some of the prefects have been betting about who can whack me first, so I shouldn't have to wait long."
Mitchell's gym shoe left its mark for just over a week, during which time it was amazing how many first year boys seemed to find themselves in the showers at exactly the same time as Sam. He had no objection to (in fact rather enjoyed) the amount of attention he was getting from his peers.
Also, during that week, a prefect called Cox managed to win the bet in relation to Larkin. He was given four in his games shorts for talking in prep. He showed his scarlet bottom to Sam before anyone else. It was not, of course, on the scale of Sam's after the Mitchell treatment, but it was pretty impressive. Sam was slightly perplexed to find that he had quite a pleasurable sensation in the area of his groin on seeing the evidence of his friend's beating. It was just a slight hardening, and he had noticed that happening occasionally without any obvious cause, but he had no doubt, this time, that the feeling was initiated by seeing Larkin's firm round bottom with the fresh marks of a gym shoe on it. He wondered whether other boys ever reacted in the same way, but he wasn't going to risk asking anyone.
Sam checked his bottom in the washroom mirror on the night of the eighth day after his beating from Mitchell. All bruising had now disappeared and he realised that the time had now come to make his application to join the club. Tempting though it was to delay a little longer, he knew that he must stick to his decision. He decided to tell the rest of the dormitory after lights out, so that he would not be able, without considerable loss of face, to put it off any longer.
The news caused great excitement amongst the boys. The urgent whispering went on for some time. Sam did not himself take part after making the announcement on the grounds, as he explained, that he did not want to risk another whacking before his initiation. That was a wise decision since Tomlinson appeared about half an hour after lights out and was delighted when five boys owned up to talking. He gave them each three with a slipper over their pyjama trousers and retired to bed that night in a state of some arousal.
After breakfast on the following morning Sam made his way to Launceton's study. He was the secretary of the Three Stripes Club. He was a handsome youth of fourteen. He was much liked in the school and there had been no surprise when he had been elected to the post of secretary (the only office in the club).
In the first term of a new school year there was always much speculation amongst the older boys as to the potential shown by the new boys. The general assumption, of course, was that the latest crop had nothing like the sense of adventure of their predecessors. That was usually the opinion every year. But, as the weeks passed, more and more of the second and third year boys were beginning to talk of Sam Whitstable as possibly being an exception. His achievements on the games fields had been impressive. The way in which he had taken on a second year bully (Nicholls) who had picked a fight with the frailest and smallest of the new boys (Whiteman) had been widely remarked on (Nicholls had ended up making a tactical retreat but not before acquiring a splendidly black eye). Lastly, of course, word of the Mitchell beating and the stoical way in which Sam had taken it had spread quickly. Launceton was not wholly surprised to find, therefore, that the first applicant to join the club was Sam. He was a little surprised, however, to find the application coming so early in the school year. As a rule, it was unusual for any applications to be made in the first term. Normally, there were no applications until one of the new boys managed to get caned by a master (and thereby gained automatic membership). That tended to happen well into the second term of the year and it often sparked off a spate of applications from others who became envious of their contemporarys new found status. Launceton was not at all displeased to find such an early application being made. There was no doubt that the occasional initiation ceremony added spice to the club's life and he was sure that the members would be grateful for Sams courage.
Between breakfast and assembly the boys did not have to wear their jackets. Sam arrived in Launceton's study dressed in a white shirt and close fitting grey trousers. Launceton looked him up and down and liked what he saw. The boy was clearly strong and fit. His body looked firm and was entirely free of flab or fat. There was the slightest round protuberance to be seen at the seat of his trousers. It promised to be a highly attractive target for some lucky boy.
Having made his official application, Sam returned to his study to collect his jacket and set off for assembly. It is astounding how fast some news travels. As he walked into the assembly hall a great many furtive and admiring glances were aimed in his direction. He was not immediately aware of being the centre of such attention, but it did not take long for him to realise that he appeared to be the topic of many whispered conversations. He did his best to give an impression of being unaffected by his new found fame. But it was not easy. Everywhere he looked he could see eyes appraising him. Eventually he resorted to the schoolboy's common practice of taking a great deal of interest in his own shoes.
Over the next few days the interest in Sam did not wane. Second year boys (and even some third year) came up to him during school breaks and engaged him in conversation. Some spoke of his forthcoming ordeal, others talked of quite unconnected subjects. What they all had in common was a desire to see how this brave young new boy "ticked". Boys in his own year, who had long since recognised his talents, looked on him with even greater respect than they had previously. Amongst the members of the club there was fevered debate about who to elect to carry out the caning. It was always a privilege for any boy to be chosen for this task, but there was no doubt that Sam's physique and character were such that it would be a particular honour to be able to cane him. A certain amount of canvassing was going on ("if you vote for me I'll promise to vote for you next time" and so on).
Sam tried to remain oblivious to what was going on around him. He paid unusual attention to his academic work. He played sports with even more than his usual vigour. But of course he did not entirely succeed in clearing his mind of the one burning topic of the hour. Indeed, the closer his visit to the clubhouse got, the more, inevitably, his mind dwelt on it. It would be foolish to pretend he was not nervous. He had always been strong when it came to preparing for and undergoing punishment. Even as a boy of eight or nine, when he knew that his father's return home from work would herald a painful session in his bedroom, he had contrived to remain cheerful throughout the day. Certainly, when facing a slippering at school he had always put on an outward impression of absolute calm. But the interval between sentence and execution had never been longer than a few hours. To have to wait a whole week was not easy, especially when it was clear that everyone around him not only knew of, but was fascinated by, the ordeal he was facing. On the whole, he did remarkably well in his attempts to lead a normal life for that week. Only occasionally did anyone see him absent mindedly passing a hand over the seat of his trousers as he contemplated what was to come. Inwardly, he was certainly suffering. Not only was there this protracted period before the beating, but it was, after all, going to be his first experience of the cane. As any boy will tell you, the knowledge that he is shortly to be caned for the first time in his life does not bring much comfort. He knows it will be more painful than any of his previous punishments, but he does not know how much more painful. He can guess that the pain will be of a different type from the pain of the hand or slipper, but he does not know in what way it will be different. He fears that he will not be able to take the punishment without some embarrassing reaction (he might cry or jump up before it is over). The fact that, in addition to all those normal fea! rs and worries experienced by countless thousands of schoolboys up and down the land, there was the knowledge that his beating was to be watched avidly by twenty or so boys, a great many of whom had been through the same ceremony, did not make those days any easier for Sam.
As the day of the election was approaching it was becoming pretty clear who would be chosen. No one actually carried out an opinion poll, but the consensus was that Launceton, the club secretary, was the obvious candidate. Not only was he the most popular third year boy in the club (as witness his election as secretary) but he also had the distinct advantage of being an exceptionally good tennis player. As a result, his right arm was particularly strong and his aim with a tennis racket was unrivalled in the school. The general opinion was that his aim with a cane would be equally sure.
It was no surprise, then, that Launceton received the overwhelming majority of votes at the club meeting held on the Friday afternoon before the ceremony. He allowed himself a small smile of pleasure before considering how he would train for the event. The caning was scheduled to take place at 8.00 p. m. on the following evening. He had the rest of the day and all of the Saturday afternoon in which to perfect his technique, and he was determined to make best use of his time. He decided that his first call would be on Mitchell. He was the only prefect with caning privileges (although only masters could cane twelve year olds the head boy could cane older boys). If anyone could advise him on the most efficient ways of beating boys' bottoms it would be Mitchell. He set off back to the main school building.
As Launceton headed up the drive he came across Sam, who was walking towards the area of the clubhouse in the hope of getting some news.
"Is it you Launceton"? Sam asked.
"Fraid so Whitstable. I'd like to say I'd go easy on you, but that wouldn't really be in the best tradition of the club. So I'm going to have to give it my all, but I hope there won't be any hard feelings."
"Certainly not. I'd never be able to live it down if you didn't swish me as hard as you could. Anyway, I have to think on the bright side and, so long as I don't crack when youre whacking me, it'll mean I get into the club and one day I'll get to swish a new boy myself."
"That's the right attitude. For what it's worth, I can tell you that I don't think there's the slightest chance of you cracking. Anyone who can take six from Mitchell on the bare bum as well as you did will have no trouble taking three from a third year boy, even with a cane. By the way, I'm sorry to have to tell you this, but I am on my way to ask Mitchell for some tips on caning techniques. He only became head boy this term, but the word is that the few swishings he's so far given have been works of art, and he's had two terms as an ordinary prefect so he's got quite a bit of experience with the gym shoe."
Launceton hurried on his way. Sam had mixed feelings about the news. On the one hand, he was pleased that he would be caned by such a thoroughly decent chap as Launceton. On the other hand, he knew of the older boy's ability on the tennis court and he suspected that those skills would transfer naturally to the punishment of boys. The butterflies in his stomach were multiplying all the time.
Launceton knocked on Mitchell's study door. "Come in", came the response immediately.
Launceton explained his mission.
"Well, you're in luck. I've got to cane Robinson this evening. He's in the Three Stripes, so I daresay he'll gladly agree to let you watch and I can talk you through it as we go along."
"That's great Mitchell, but why's he getting swished?"
"He was out after curfew last night. Tomlinson saw him climbing through the second year common room window at past eight o'clock."
This was not good news for Launceton. He had been with Robinson on the previous night. He had obviously been lucky in that he had not been seen climbing through the third year common room window. But his luck had just run out.
"Oh dear. I was with Robinson after curfew Mitchell, so I suppose you're going to have to swish me as well."
"Mm, that does rather complicate matters. You're not going to be much in the mood for concentrating on my technique with Robinson if you've just been caned yourself or if you're just about to be caned." Mitchell thought for a minute. "Look", he continued, "I could break my normal rule about only caning boys in the evenings and give you your beating now. That way you should be sufficiently recovered when it's Robinson's turn this evening."
"That's really kind of you Mitchell. Thank you very much".
"That's ok, I know how important it is to get a Three Stripes caning right. Now, I had been going to give Robinson four, but as you've owned up as well I'll only give him three. As you're a year ahead of him, you'll have to have four. Does that seem fair to you?"
"It certainly does".
Without waiting to be asked, Launceton took his jacket off and laid it over a chair. "Where would you like me to bend over?"
Mitchell moved a chair to the side and pointed to the centre of the room. He then went to the corner cupboard and retrieved a three foot long bamboo cane. Launceton took up the familiar position, bending over and clutching his ankles. His school trousers were tight. The rounded shape of his firm young buttocks was clearly defined. Mitchell had admired that bottom before, when wielding the gym shoe in previous terms, and had been looking forward to this moment for some time. He took his time as he walked into position. He gently tapped the cane on Launceton's bottom, to make sure of his aim, and then slowly drew it back behind his right shoulder. He could see Launceton tensing his muscles. He waited a couple of seconds and then swung the cane forwards with all his might.
Launceton was mightily impressed by the first stroke. It produced an instant searing pain across the middle of his bottom and he felt the whip effect on his right thigh as the cane lashed around his right buttock. He tightened his grip on his ankles. This was going to be quite an ordeal.
Mitchell was pleased with the first stroke. It had felt just right. He was confident it had been extremely painful. He noted that Launceton had held his ground very well, but it didn't surprise him. The younger boy had always been a delight to slipper, never making any sort of fuss and never getting out of position. It was only to be expected that he would take the cane well.
Mitchell counted to ten under his breath before launching number two. He was aided this time by the thin mark left by the first stroke. He aimed just above it. The cane crashed down with the same force. There was the slightest intake of breath from Launceton as he felt the burning impact of bamboo on bottom. But again he held his ground firmly. Mitchell was pleased to see that the second stroke had landed just where he had intended.
"Half way through", Launceton said to himself as he waited for the third. He could feel the two stripes of pain with an intensity he had not known before. He was certainly being beaten by a genuine expert.
The third and fourth were also perfectly placed and delivered with equal force. As the last landed, Launceton was grinding his teeth and digging his finger nails into his ankles. There was no doubt, he thought, he had been well and truly thrashed with an expertise that he doubted could be equalled in any school in England. He knew that the pain would start to ease quite soon, but, as he slowly stood up, holding his bottom with both hands, he could only think that this was the greatest pain he had ever known.
"Crikey, Mitchell, that was amazingly hard. Is my bum on fire, cos it feels like it is?"
"I don't think we need a fire extinguisher Launceton. You took it very well, as I expected. Now why don't you go and tell Robinson about his reduced sentence and ask him if he minds if you watching his beating?"
Launceton set off to Robinson's study, madly rubbing his bottom as he went.
"Why on earth didn't you tell me you'd been caught last night?" These were Launceton's first words as he entered Robinsons study.
"Cos I knew you'd own up and I couldn't see much point in both of us getting swished. After all, it was my own fault that I got caught. Anyway, how did you find out?"
"Mitchell told me. I was asking him for some tips on how to swish Whitstable and he suggested that I should watch him swishing you this evening, if you didn't mind. So I asked him why you were getting it and he told me. Anyway, the good news for you is that you're only going to get three now."
"So he's going to swish you as well is he?"
"No, he's just done it. He was really decent and said he'd do it straight away so that I would be recovered in time to watch yours later. Would you mind if I was there?"
"Of course not. I'm only pleased I can help. Come on, let's see your stripes".
Launceton undid his trousers, lowered them and pulled down his underpants at the back to reveal the four livid stripes across his bottom.
"Wow, that's what I call a swishing. Hey, you've got four stripes, how come I'm only getting three?"
"You're a year younger than me remember. You've got plenty of time to get four in the future."
Launceton gave his bottom another rub before pulling his pants and trousers up again.
"Look Robinson, seeing as you are helping me out, how would you like to deputise as secretary tomorrow?"
"That would be great. Can I really?"
"You certainly can. I'm sure you'll do it very well. Look, we've got about an hour before your swishing, do you feel like coming over to the clubhouse and helping me get in a it of practice on the dummy?"
"I'm game for that, let's go".
The dummy was a stuffed model of a boy. It was about the average size of a twelve year old and it was used by boys who were due to carry out club canings for practising on. The two boys put it in position, bending it over the table on the dais, and Launceton got to work on it with the club cane. Robinson made various helpful suggestions and, after three quarters of an hour or so, Launceton felt he was beginning to get the knack. They decided to bring the dummy and cane back to Launceton's study so that he could get some more practice in later.
Launceton and Robinson stood outside Mitchell's study door. Robinson was taking deep breaths and gently rubbing his slim, firm bottom with hands which had become a little sweaty. Even Launceton, who was not going to be on the receiving end of the cane, was feeling unaccountably nervous. They waited till they heard the clock striking the hour and then Robinson knocked.
"Enter".
This time the room was already prepared for the beating and Mitchell had the cane in his right hand. Robinson removed his jacket and Mitchell pointed to the spot where Launceton had bent over earlier. Robinson took up the same stance.
"Ok Launceton", said Mitchell, "I'll talk you through it. In the club you use a table for the boy to bend over. My personal preference, as you know, is for the boy to put his feet six inches apart, bend over and clutch his ankles without bending his knees. That stretches the bum perfectly and maximises the pain. Of course you'll have the advantage that Whitstable will only be wearing underpants, but it will be worth making sure that he stretches across the table as far as he can. Now, aim is absolutely crucial. Let me show you why."
Mitchell stepped forward and gently laid the cane across Robinson's bottom. He then beckoned Launceton forward, to get a closer look.
"Right Launceton, I want you to take the other end of the cane and bend it round Robinson's bottom."
Launceton did as he was asked. He pushed the cane gently into the right cheek of his friend's bottom and noted that the tip bent right round onto the right thigh.
"It is very important that the tip of the cane should not extend further than that. You can inflict maximum pain by ensuring that the end of the cane whips into the boy's thigh at that point. As I hope you have noticed from this afternoon's performance, the most raised part of the stripes will be around the right thigh." Launceton had indeed noticed that.
"The next most important thing to get right is your own position. You need to be just in front of the boy's bottom. That will maximise the whipping effect and ensure that both buttocks get the full impact of the cane."
As this running commentary was going on, Robinson was both fascinated and terrified. He was fascinated because he had never dreamt that so much thought and planning went into the apparently simple job of caning a boy. He was terrified for obvious reasons. But he stayed firmly in place waiting for the dreaded moment of the first stroke hitting his bottom.
"Now you pull the cane back behind your right shoulder and slightly twist your body round to the right as well. Once you are in that position you are ready to strike. What you should do is imagine that you are going to hit something just beyond the boy's bottom. That ensures the proper follow through. If you don't follow through you can find that you ease off just as the cane gets to the bottom, and that would not be a good idea."
Mitchell then delivered the first stroke with the immense force that he had used on Launceton earlier. Robinson, who was not yet as experienced as the older boy in being caned, made the slightest involuntary jump forwards. The pain, Launceton knew, would be intense. He felt for his friend and winced as the cane crashed into his bottom. But he also felt the beginnings of that familiar stirring between his legs. He hoped he would be able to contain his arousal sufficiently for it not to become obvious to Mitchell and Robinson.
After the first stroke Mitchell beckoned Launceton forward again. "If you look carefully, you'll see a line across the seat of Robinson's trousers where the cane landed". Launceton looked and saw it. "That is very helpful for getting your aim right for the next stroke. Of course, it'll be clearer for you tomorrow because you'll actually be able to see the stripe through Whitstable's underpants and on the bare bits of his bottom. There are some people who try to hit exactly the same spot again, but I don't think that's a good idea. Although the end result may look much worse, the pain is actually greater if you can spread it. For the next stroke I will try to get just above the first. Normally, by the way, it's a good idea to count slowly to ten between strokes to make sure that the full pain of each stroke can become established before you deliver the next one."
Robinson was not taking in much of the commentary. He kept hearing the word "pain", but he was feeling it much more. Part of him wanted Mitchell to get on with it and deliver the next stroke, but another part of him would have been quite happy waiting much longer. Then, it came. Wham. The pain had suddenly doubled, but this time he managed not to jump.
"Let's see how my aim was on that one". Mitchell and Launceton both leant forward to look for the second line. There it was, just above the first. Not bad at all. Launceton was becoming more and more conscious of the involuntary hardening between his legs. He looked down and saw the bulge. He let his hands rest just in front of it. In normal circumstances, when this happened, he would desperately try to think of something deeply unattractive to try to reduce his excitement. But that was impossible with the spectacle of Robinson's wonderfully firm and rounded bottom just in front of him being thrashed with such vigour. He just prayed that Mitchell wouldn't notice.
Mitchell then explained that he would aim just below the first stroke for the final one. He took up his position again. Robinson held his breath, gripped his ankles tightly, screwed his eyes shut and bit into his lower lip. He heard the swish of the cane flying through the air and then, in an instant, the crash as it dug deep into his firm flesh. If ever he had felt like crying out during a punishment this was the moment. But he bit deeper into his lip and kept quiet.
"Never let the boy stand up immediately after the last stroke. I always count to ten again. As you'll know from your own punishments, all you want to do is grab your bum and try to soothe the pain. It's very important that he shouldn't be allowed to do that until the full impact of the last stroke had sunk in."
There was a pause. Robinson was in agony, but he stayed firmly still. Eventually he was told he could get up. He grabbed his bottom and performed a little dance as he jumped up and down.
"A boy certainly knows he's been swished when you do it Mitchell. I don't think I'll be sitting down for quite a while."
"Don't worry, the pain won't last that long and the worst is certainly over. Off you go then, I just want a quick word with Launceton".
This was not what Launceton wanted to hear. He desperately needed to get his crotch out of Mitchell's sight. But he had to stay.
"There's just one more tip I would give you for tomorrow evening. I can't help noticing that you are rather bulging at the front." Launceton blushed deeply and looked at his shoes. "Don't worry, it's perfectly normal. Most boys of your age get turned on by swishings. I certainly used to." Mitchell did not think it wise to admit to his continuing urges brought on by corporal punishment. "It doesn't mean that you're queer or anything. It's just a natural reaction to seeing a boy's bum being walloped. All I would say is that it might be a good idea to wear a jock strap tomorrow as well as underpants. It'll give that bit much more support and, with any luck, you won't have such an obvious bulge as you have now."
Launceton was greatly relieved by Mitchell's words. He obviously knew that other boys felt like him about canings (you couldn't witness a Three Stripes initiation without noticing as much), but it was greatly reassuring to be told by someone as elevated as Mitchell that it was normal. He made his way to Robinson's study.
He opened the door without knocking. Robinson's trousers and underpants were lowered at the back and he was looking at his stripes in the mirror. He got quite a shock when he heard the door opening and was considerably relieved to see that it was Launceton.
"Here, come and have a look." As he said this he turned his back to Launceton to show off his wounds. They were certainly impressive. The stripes were still bright red (they had not yet got to the purple stage) and raised. Launceton thought, not for the first time, that his younger friend's bottom was simply exquisite. Many was the night when he had fantasised about having Robinson over his knee and smacking that perfect bottom until it turned scarlet. In its present condition it was one of the best sights he had ever seen. Although he had managed to calm his excitement on the walk back from Mitchell's study, the front of his trousers was again beginning to look like a tent. Robinson quickly noticed.
"I'm pleased to see I've given you some pleasure Launceton", he said, pointing at the obvious bulge.
"I'm sorry Robinson, I've been trying to control it, but it seems to have a mind of its own. That's what Mitchell wanted to talk about. He said it's a normal reaction at our age and that I should wear a jock strap tomorrow, to try to keep it down."
"Don't worry, I'm not exactly floppy myself and all I've seen is the end result."
"You're a good pal Robinson. What I came to ask was whether you wanted to help me with more practice on the dummy in my study."
"Yeah, that would be good. Shall we go now?"
"Well, actually, I wouldn't mind a quarter of an hour on my own first. I'll unlock my study door when I'm ready."
"That's a good idea. I think I might do the same as you and then I'll join you."
"Great, would it help to have another look at my stripes before I go?"
"You bet".
Launceton gently eased down the back of his trousers and underpants and showed his own war wounds to his friend. He noticed the immediate effect and was delighted to see that he could cause as much pleasure to Robinson as the youngster did to him.
Launceton pulled his trousers back up and left the study. He chuckled to himself as he heard the lock turning behind him. He could imagine exactly what was going on behind the door. He made his way to his own study, holding both hands in front of him to hide the evidence. He went in, slammed the door shut, turned the key and frantically undid his trousers.
A quarter of an hour later, the boys were together again in Launceton's study. They were now composed and calm, if a little embarrassed at what they had revealed to each other. Robinson broke the ice.
"I don't know about you, but I've just had the best one I've ever had. If the real thing, with a girl, is even better than that, I just can't wait."
"Me too. I can tell you that next hols I'm determined to pull. I'll go to every tennis club dance till I get my evil way."
While the boys were discussing their ambitions in Launceton's study, Sam was doing his best, and failing, to keep his mind off his forthcoming fate. He had been told of Launceton's practice session in the afternoon and he knew that the fourteen year old was being given special tuition by Mitchell. As far as he could work out, his caning was the only topic of conversation throughout the school. His nervousness was becoming greater by the minute. He had a whole night and most of a day to get through before the dreadful moment when the first stroke would crash onto his bottom. The next twenty hours were not going to be fun. The thought was not made easier by the sound, from the other side of the corridor, of a cane rhythmically swishing through the air and landing on what he guessed was the Three Stripes Club's dummy: Launceton was practising again!
To be continued.