After my first painful encounter with the cane, I took care not to get into any trouble that might lead to a similar stinging experience. However, I retained my weird yearning to be beaten and marked by the cane, which was only curbed by my fear of the inevitable pain it incurred. I had certainly enjoyed the temporary 'star' status imposed upon me in the aftermath of my caning when, along with other boys, I was frequently required to have my striped bottom compared to the rest on show. Alas, this popularity lasted only as long as he marks remained visible!
Several months had passed since my first caning and it was alsmost the end of the Summer term when I was caught misbehaving in the classroom whilst 'Pop' was out of the room. Before going out he had set some work to be done in silence during his absence, but after a few minutes I foolishly decided to leave my desk and speak to a friend several places away from mine. I had hardly reached his desk when I realised that 'Pop' was returning and peering through the window at ME!! I froze to the spot - petrified! Oh dear! My heart missed a beat and my stomach tightened up as he entered the room, still glaring at me. I sensed the others in the room were all watching me too, no doubt gleefully anticipating my fate.
'Pop' was visibly angry, but calmly and ominously ordered me,
"Come out the front, Anthony."
At the samw time, as I feared, he took the cane and punishment book out of the cupboard. I stood in front of the class, feeling very alone and foolish, having got myself into the situation. I knew all the eyes of the class were upon me, and my anxiety increased considerably on seeing Mr. H. irately brandishing and swishing the cane through the air. My stomach was churning sickeningly.
He then curtly informed me,
"You were told to get on with your work quietly while I was out of the room. You've obvously not been doing that because you're wandering about. There's no excuse, you've been blatantly disobedient. Face the blackboard."
I did as ordered, at the same time hearing the instruction dreaded by all errant schoolboys,
"Bend over and touch your toes."
Naturally, on doing so I was terribly nervous and self-conscious, knowing that I was passively presenting my backside for a beating in front of all the boys, who I knew would be staring intently at my grey short trousers pulled tightly over my bottom, waiting for the cane to swish across it. A sight i always enjoyed when it was another boy's bum! Not so much now it was mine!
Again I was told,
"Touch your toes, boy."
I could feel the cane tapping my backside, stinging slightly, as it encouraged me to stretch right down and reach my toes. As it continued to be flicked and carefully aimed across my rear end, I became increasingly tense, contemplating the number of strokes I was going to get, hoping desperately that it wouldn't hurt as much as last time.
Suddenly the silence in the room was shattered by the waspish "SWISHCRACK!!" of the first strokw making a resounding contact across my bottom, causing me to involuntarily jump up slightly and I only just managed to restrain an impulse to cry out, as the stinging bite of the cane cut viciously across the cheeks of my bum. I had been anticioating the pain, based on my earlier experience, but it was even worse, stinging horrendoudly and the mere thought of more to come made my eyes water. I remained painfully in position, very aware that some 25 pairs of eyes were watching my reaction with morbid interest.
I braced myself for the next stroke, hoping it would be the last and I'd be allowed to get up afterwards. A few seconds later the cane again swished and "THWACKED!!" loudly and sharply, like a whip across my bottom, inflicting another streak of fire and causing a dranatic upsurge in pain as I audibly gasped and straightened up with the agonising sting, impulsively clutching my backside, at the same time being sharply ordered,
"Stay down, boy!"
I repositioned myself, frantically concerned that more strokes were to come. My eyes were watering as the devastating pain raged across my bottom, it was like being branded with a red hot poker. My ordeal was building up rapidly and relentlessly as I felt myself trembling, I was so close to my pain threshold and feared I would break down completely as a result of further strokes, but I steadfastly continued touching my toes, eyes tightly closed, hoping to stem any tears. It was so difficult to stay in position with my backside hurting so much, and all I wanted was to be able to get up and rub my fiercely stinging bum. Still bending over, I waited and waited, time appeared to have stood still. My mind was in turmoil and I got to the point where I was actually wishing for the next stroke to arrive, just to get the ordeal over and done with! In reality it could have only been a few seconds, but in my wretched situation it seemed an age. Finally my wish was granted!!
"SWISHCRACK!!" for the third time the cane whipped unmercifully across my already desperately painful backside with another ferocious and electrifying contact, causing me to yelp and spontaneously leap up, both hands grabbing my now viciously stinging bottom, ablaze with all three three strokes raging inexorably as one across its cheeks. To my relief I was allowed to remain upright, vigorously rubbing and trying to soothe my unbearably painful bum.
Then I heard 'Pop' telling me,
"Let that be a lesson to you, I won't have disobedience in my form room."
At this point he entered my name in the punishment book, whilst I had to stand in front of the class, eyes watering, still frenetically clutching and rubbing the seat of my short trousers, endeavouring to mollify the pain. I made no effort to conceal my distress, my facial expressions and general demeanour made it obvious that the thrashing was immensely painful. The cheeks of my bum were fireballs of intense, blistering pain, which totally consumed me. It really felt as is my bum was on fire, it was excruciating. The cane and punishment book were returned to the cupboard and I was allowed to go sombrely back to my desk, still firmly massaging my fiery bottom.
The hard wooden seat of my desk did nothing to relieve the terrible pain from the red hot streaks of fire which were penetrating ever deeper and painfully into the fleshy cheeks of my bum. I kept changing my posture, trying to make myself more comfortable, at the same time being conscious of other boys watching my discomfort with amusement, but I recall nothing of the lesson we were having at the time. Even at the end of the lesson my bottom was still stinging and I remember feeling the simmering weals pulsating warmly, with my thin summer Aertex underpants clinging to my skin with a sweaty clamminess, making me wonder if the cane had cut me and made me bleed.
During the luch break I was surrounded by classmates, asking the usual questions about my beating and commenting that it had been more severe that normal, 'Pop' had been angry and had really laid into me with deliberate severity. At one point during this discussion, I felt a friend's hand soothingly caressing my bottom, a kind and pleasant gesture, I thought at the time.
Eventually I was left with a couple of friends who accompanied to the toilets to view the evidence on my sore behind, then glowing with a very pleasant warm tingle. Once in the toilets I quickly downed my trousers and thin cotton trunks and presented my bare bottom for my enthusiastic friends to view. They both gasped and made very sympathetic comments on seeing the three red, livid weals closely and evenly aligned across the cheeks of my fair skinned bum, confirming the harshness of my caning, of which I had no doubts, personally! To my relief there was no mention of any blood and I was delighted when I felt them gently fingering the weals, causing the muscles of my buttocks to spontaneously contract with the sensitivity of the feeling. All I wished for was a mirror so I couold see the marks for myself. After all, most boys revelled in the subsequent attention given to their bottoms when they had been caned.
We had cricket in the afternoon, so I was able to take advantage of the large mirror in the changing room and at last view the results of my beating. Jusst as my friends had described earlier, there were three double edged red wels, like trm lines, two to three inches long across each of my buttocks, with less than half an inch of unmarked skin between each of the parallel raised furrows, ploughing neatly across the lower part of my otherwise baby smooth bottom. I gently caressed myself and thought the elation I got from the evocative ticklish sensation was probably worth the pain suffered to get it! How true the saying is, 'no gain without pain!' very aptly demonstrated by this latest experience of mine.
On returning to the changing rooms after cricket, I enthusiatically stripped off and went for a shower, deliberately adopting provocative poses to best show off the cane marks searing my bum. I then went unashamedly for a naked swim, pretentiously strutting around the pool showing off the very conspicuous visual evidence of my latest caning. I thoroughly enjoyed being the centre of attraction, yet again finding my perceived celebrity status an exhilarating experience. It must have been extremely conceited of me, but at the time I was so invigorated I couldn't help myself. In any case there were plenty of boys keen to view my bum! Such sights often inspired some of the older lads to develop erections and for those of us not quite old enough to have experienced such bodily reactions, it was flattering and amusing to be the cause of such a phenomenon. We were even more intrigued and astonished when some of these boys took their conditions a stage further!!
I was pretty _s_e_x_ually innocent at the time, but occasionally conscious of strange stirrings around my groin area which, though not manifested physically, nevertheless caused unusual sensations within my genital region, all of which I found puzzling.
On returning home I went to my bedroom, changed out of school uniform and posed in front of the dressing table mirror. I deliberately teased myself by very slowly pulling down my underpants to reveal and admire again the neat pattern of red weals, raised very clearly and symmetrically, like tangents across the pale orb-like cheeks of my trim, shapely bottom. Once again I became aware of that curious feeling within my loins.
Thankfully, on this occasion I was less worried about the marks being seen by my parents. For some weeks past I had been allowed to bath myself unsupervised, although I had to leave the door unlocked so that mother could enter if she wanted to. This routine was working well, except my mischievous young sister a huge jape to come in and catch me in the 'all together'. It obviously gave her a thrill to see me naked, yet I remained totally unfazed at being naked in front of her. In fact, in my laddish way, I rather enjoyed posing and teasingly flaunting both my male gender and pert, boyish bottom in front of her.
It was about a week after this later caning when her next 'sortie' took place and she saw the still very distinct purple lins across my bum. She seemed besotted by the marks, wanting to know the details of my beating and what it was like to be caned. I described the event as colourfully as i could, making her promise nit to tell our parents of my most recent caning. She agreed, but only if I allowed her bathroom capers to continue. This arrangement suited me, because I got a thrilling feeling of being a _s_e_x_ually nsughty young lad by letting her see me completely bare.
As the months passed my sister's intrusions continued, and despite my rapidly advancing adolescence, she seemed to remain unabashed. Even when my puberty was displayed as a firmly erect and outrageously visible part of my anatomy, she saw the condition as hilarious, seemingly unembarrassed by the situation.
More to come in the next episode.