I was fourteen years old and had never been in serious trouble before. I had been getting behind with my school work so one day I cheated. I returned to my classroom one evening after everyone else had left, opened the desk of the boy who was always top of the class, took out his exercise book and copied down his answers. He may have been top of the class but that did not mean that he had got everything right. I had exactly the same questions wrong as he had, and furthermore I did not understand some of the answers I had copied out. I had not been very cleaver! My crime was exposed and I had to own up to my misdeeds.
At nine am. the next morning the headmaster passed sentence on me. I was to report to him at four in the afternoon for six strokes of the cane. I was a shaking bundle of nerves that morning and it worsened as the day progressed. The hour of retribution arrived and I made my way to the headmaster's door and gingerly tapped upon it. The headmaster told me to wait outside until he was ready to see me. I felt convinced that this was a deliberate ploy to increase the apprehension for me. My stomach was churning over, and that was doing strange things to my digestive system. I felt a pressing need to go to the toilet, but I dare not leave my place outside the door!
I was kept waiting ten minutes which seemed like ten hours. When I was called into the study I was getting really desperate. I was squeezing my buttocks together with my hands. Before the headmaster could say anything to me I yelled out -
"Please sir, I want to go to the toilet immediately!"
He could obviously see that I was close to having a messy accident and he rose straight away from his chair
"Come with me, Bradley!" he said as he made tracks for a door at the other end of the room.
Still squeezing my buttocks together I followed him the few yards to his own bathroom. I couldn't wait to be told! I dashed to the toilet, dragged down my trousers and underpants together and flopped down on the toilet seat in the nick of time! The headmaster just stood in front of me and watched! What humiliation! The plop-plop-plop seemed to echo all round the bathroom! It was temporally interrupted while I involuntary let out a long, loud, juicy, trumpeting fart! The stink was overwhelming! The headmaster continued to stand and watch me as I tore off the toilet paper and wiped my arse! I pulled up my pants and trousers and washed my hands before being taken back into the study.
All that and I still had the caning to come! The headmaster opened a tall wall cupboard to reveal a row of canes hanging inside. There must have been a dozen or more of them.
"After that little distraction I think perhaps we can now concentrate on the purpose of your visit here!" he told me.
My knees were knocking, my body was shaking, my throat was dry and my arse was tingling in anticipation of what was in store for it! He took out a cane, flexed it in his hands, swished it through the air and brought it down with a loud CRACK! onto a cushion on his chair. A deep indentation appeared in the cushion. I winced! He replaced the cane and selected another, going through the procedure again. I had heard that he always did this, going through about half a dozen canes before selecting the one he was going to use. It was all part of the philological warfare to reduce a boy to a wobbling jelly before the caning begins! In my case he need not have bothered; I was a wobbling jelly before I had even knocked on his door! He demonstrated six canes before settling on one of them.
"This one should do nicely for you, Bradley! Fetch that ottoman from near the fireplace and bring it over here!"
The ottoman was a circular, hair-stuffed seat which stood about eighteen inches high and two feet in diameter. After I had brought it over to him he sized me up with his eyes and readjusted the position of the ottoman to about four feet from the side of his desk. He was apparently, something of an expert at placing it just the right distance from the desk according to the size of the boy.
"Get down on the floor, Bradley with your knees right up against the ottoman, bend over it and stretch out your arms to take hold of the legs of my desk."
I got across the seat and had to stretch with all my effort to reach the legs of the desk. My chin was on the carpet and I could feel that my arse was sticking up with my trousers stretched taut around it!
"Let go of those legs if you dare, Bradley!" he warned me, "You will get extra strokes if you do!"
I heard a swish and a noise like a firecracker! The searing pain which followed left me in no doubt that the firecracker was the sound of the cane landing on my arse! I opened my mouth wide but no sound came out. The second stroke left me gasping. The pain seemed to intensify a second or so after the cane struck. I was stretched so tightly that I could barely move an inch, and I dare not lose my grip on the desk's legs. On the third stroke I yelled out with a loud "Agh!" and again on the forth. When the fifth one landed I cried unashamedly. It was a relief to cry! The sixth stroke left me bawling like a baby. I scrambled up as quickly as I could, pressing my hands firmly against my arse!
The headmaster walked leisurely to his cupboard and replaced the cane. He never said a word until he returned to me.
"I always examine a boy's stripes after a caning, Bradley." he told me, "Some are composed enough for this straight away and some are not. The state you are in puts you amongst the latter! You need time to recover! Report to me at seven o'clock tonight. You may leave my study now."
I left the study and ran, hoping nobody was going to see me in that state. I headed for the nearest toilets. They were the ones near the classrooms and fortunately all the boys had left that area. I locked myself in one of the cubicles, I had privacy there. I did not want to use the toilet, I just wanted to get my trousers and underpants down and away from my raw arse! I dropped down onto the toilet seat and just sat there crying for a while. The tears eventually stopped but the pain certainly did not. Venturing out of the cubicle I looked at myself in the mirror. My friends would be sure to ask me if I had cried. My eyes were a telltale red, I would have to admit that I had.
Tea was at six o'clock. Sitting down was an agony, but at least I managed to. I did not remain in the dining room for very long. I bolted down some food, gulped half a cup of tea and left. To my relief, the other boys I came in contact with were surprisingly sympathetic. The time arrived to return to the headmaster. I was not looking forward to it! Having my bare arse examined was going to be embarrassing.
The headmaster's study was also his living room. He was seated in a comfortable armchair before an open coal fire. He ordered me over to him and told me to turn round and bare my arse (he did not put it in those words of course!). That done I was made to bend over and touch my toes. He seemed to take ages looking at my backside!
"Have you learnt your lesson, Bradley?" he asked.
"Yes sir!"
"Yes! I think perhaps you have. I am going to take you into my bathroom and put some lotion and talcum powder on your posterior! That will ease it a little for you."
"Thank you sir!" I said because I knew that it was the answer I was supposed to give. In reality the last thing I needed was the further embarrassment of having him playing about with my sore arse!
He made me take my trousers and underpants right off from around my feet in his study, and then took me into the bathroom. From the bathroom cabinet he took out a jar of some sort of ointment, a plastic container of talc and what looked like a pastry brush. I could not imagine what the brush was for. He sat down on the closed toilet lid and put me across his knee in the traditional spanking position.
He started with my right cheek, his lotion covered hand sliding effortlessly up and down the buttock. Then I felt his hand sliding sideways across my arse toward my left cheek. As I felt his fingers getting ever closer to the crack my buttocks automatically clenched themselves together. When his fingers reached my crack his hand stopped moving sideways and started to move up and down, his finger tip using the crack as a sort of tramline to move up and down in. My arse muscles were aching like hell, yet I could not voluntarily release them while his fingers were riding up and down that very sensitive area! Eventually he lifted his hand and went back to the right cheek. I gave a silent sigh of relief as I released the clenched cheeks, but after a moment or two his hand again began to slide over to the left side and the whole process was repeated. It was repeated again and again! Finally his hand was removed altogether.
"That's enough of the lotion I think Bradley. Now for the talcum powder!"
I could just detect the talc being sprinkled on my skin, then he began to pat it in. There was I, across his knee, having talc patted onto my arse like a baby during a nappy change! This must have lasted for five minutes or so.
"That's about all the talcum powder your skin will absorb." he informed me, "Now I will just brush off the surplus!"
So that is what the pastry brush was for! Using short strokes he first brushed my right cheek and then the left. It tickled! He left the crack until last. Once again my buttocks closed ranks rapidly as the brush swept down the crevice! Then he removed his left hand from my waist and put it on my arse. Placing his forefinger on one cheek close to the crack and his thumb on the other cheek he forced my buttocks apart! I could guess what was coming! As soon as the ticklish hairs of the brush touched my arsehole I let out an almighty yelp, my arms and legs thrashed about and I rolled off his knees and onto the floor.
"Are you ticklish there Bradley?" he asked with a suggestion of a grin on his face!
What a stupid question! Who would not react as I had if somebody was tickling his arsehole!
"Yes sir!" I replied, feeling my face burning with sheer embarrassment!
He took me back to the study to get dressed. The ordeal was over! It took only a few days for the effect of the cane to disappear. The humiliation did not! For the rest of the term my face would flush red every time I made eye contact with the headmaster. He knew that! He seemed to make a point of talking to me or asking me questions in class knowing that I would be forced to look him in the eye! I would blush too every time I had to go and sit on the toilet; it would always bring back the memory of that day!
I had learnt my lesson. I never copied anybody else's work again. I never did anything wrong again. I dare not!