So I accept:
“No nothing to add to what I told you before.” I say, my voice slight;y trembling,
“Very well Wilson. Kneel on that chair, lean over the back and grasp the bottom rungs of the other chair.” Hamilton points with the cane at the two chairs back to back.
I obey and feel my trousers tighten round my bottom as I stretch down to the lower rung.
These instructions are given explicitly in identical words even if you have been caned several times before and know the procedure well.
“No nothing to add to what I told you before.” I say, my voice slight;y trembling,
“Very well Wilson. Kneel on that chair, lean over the back and grasp the bottom rungs of the other chair.” Hamilton points with the cane at the two chairs back to back.
I obey and feel my trousers tighten round my bottom as I stretch down to the lower rung.
These instructions are given explicitly in identical words even if you have been caned several times before and know the procedure well.
“Junior Monitor - adjust his jacket.” comes the routine instruction from the caner.
Lumsden, the Junior monitor, standing closest to me, moves forward and folds my jacket well clear of my buttocks.
There is a short pause, then I hear two running footsteps and a simultaneous
‘Swish-ack’.
For a fraction of a second there is no pain - just a feeling as if the cane is stuck to my bottom. Then the sting comes!
“Wow!” I think, but somehow it’s nothing like as bad as I expected and I decide I’ve been worrying about it too much.
“Swish-ack.”
An instant swingeing sting fills my body and mind. I remember then how each stroke seems hurts more than the last. I take care to utter no sound as that would only satisfy the Monitors.
Seven seconds then the running footsteps again and
“Swish-ack.”
Number three - that really hurt. It’s as if boiling water had been poured onto my bottom. I take a deep breath to hold my silence but the burning sting is fierce.
“Swish-ack.”
“Whar!” I regret mouthing that but couldn’t help it.
The sharp burning pain is continuous now and the fourth stroke came before the sting of the third had subsided. Only half way I think.
“Swish-ack’
So far all the strokes have been low on my buttocks, that one was very low, almost on my thigh. I am breathing fast now but managed to stay silent except for a gasp that time.
I move one hand up to the rung above the bottom one allowing my bottom to flex slightly. “Ah that’s better” I think.
“Wilson! The bottom bar please, and I don’t want to have to tell you again.”
I drop my hand back to the bottom bar and feel my bottom stretch sorely.
‘Swish-ACK’
“Five! Whar Oow!” I couldn't help it, it just came out.
That was by far the worst yet, it’s almost unbearable pain now. My bottom is on fire all over. That stroke must have fallen on top of a previous one.
‘Swish-ACK’
“Oh no! Arrh!” I bluster.
Stupid ass me think. My bottom’s on fire. I look over my shoulder at the row of watching Monitors. Several are grinning with satisfaction at my uttering. I must keep silent.
“Face the wall!” Comes the immediate command from Hamilton. Then:
‘Swish-ack’
But somehow that wasn’t so bad. Unknown to me the endorphins produced by my body in response to pain are working. I feel better about the whole thing - only one more to go.
‘Swish-ack’
It’s just as hard as the others and must have fallen on earlier bruises, but somehow it doesn’t feel so bad. It’s over anyway!
“You may go Wilson.” Comes Hamilton’s voice.
I get up, adjust my folded back jacket, walk up to Hamilton and say just two words.
“Thank you” I have to thank him or I would get extra strokes.
I glance at the Monitors, they all seem amused for some reason, I walk to the door and leave.
From entering the Old Grange to leaving has taken just under two minutes, the actual caning taking just about a minute. One full minute of repeated searing burning stings.
In the corridor I give my bottom a good hard rub. It feels better. One of my pals passes by.
“Been beaten?” he asks.
“Yes eight but not too bad.”
“Can I see the stripes?” It’s the inevitable question.
“Yes,” I respond, “but not here!”
Of course I want to see them myself; we both walk to the washroom where there’s a row of mirrors over the wash basins. I drop my pants and glance in the mirror.
“Cor!” exclaims my pal. “Who was it?”
“Hamilton.”
“Gosh! He did a super job.”
My bottom seems bright red and blue all over. All the stripes, except one which is rather low and almost in the cleft of my thigh, are well placed on the lower quadrant. Several overlap producing dark blue areas on the otherwise, well ridged, scarlet stripes. The right buttock is worst but both have been well targeted.
I run my fingers along the ridges, there’s no blood which is good. It get a thrilling feeling as I touch the stripes. I pull my pants back up and feel good. I know that, in spite of my little utterances, I took that beating pretty well and now the all endorphins are working to the full and I feel great. In fact I wouldn’t mind going back for a few more strokes! At least that’s what I tell myself knowing that I won’t have to. I feel quite sexy too.
Lumsden, the Junior monitor, standing closest to me, moves forward and folds my jacket well clear of my buttocks.
There is a short pause, then I hear two running footsteps and a simultaneous
‘Swish-
For a fraction of a second there is no pain -
“Wow!” I think, but somehow it’s nothing like as bad as I expected and I decide I’ve been worrying about it too much.
“Swish-
An instant swingeing sting fills my body and mind. I remember then how each stroke seems hurts more than the last. I take care to utter no sound as that would only satisfy the Monitors.
Seven seconds then the running footsteps again and
“Swish-
Number three -
“Swish-
“Whar!” I regret mouthing that but couldn’t help it.
The sharp burning pain is continuous now and the fourth stroke came before the sting of the third had subsided. Only half way I think.
“Swish-
So far all the strokes have been low on my buttocks, that one was very low, almost on my thigh. I am breathing fast now but managed to stay silent except for a gasp that time.
I move one hand up to the rung above the bottom one allowing my bottom to flex slightly. “Ah that’s better” I think.
“Wilson! The bottom bar please, and I don’t want to have to tell you again.”
I drop my hand back to the bottom bar and feel my bottom stretch sorely.
‘Swish-
“Five! Whar Oow!” I couldn't help it, it just came out.
That was by far the worst yet, it’s almost unbearable pain now. My bottom is on fire all over. That stroke must have fallen on top of a previous one.
‘Swish-
“Oh no! Arrh!” I bluster.
Stupid ass me think. My bottom’s on fire. I look over my shoulder at the row of watching Monitors. Several are grinning with satisfaction at my uttering. I must keep silent.
“Face the wall!” Comes the immediate command from Hamilton. Then:
‘Swish-
But somehow that wasn’t so bad. Unknown to me the endorphins produced by my body in response to pain are working. I feel better about the whole thing -
‘Swish-
It’s just as hard as the others and must have fallen on earlier bruises, but somehow it doesn’t feel so bad. It’s over anyway!
“You may go Wilson.” Comes Hamilton’s voice.
I get up, adjust my folded back jacket, walk up to Hamilton and say just two words.
“Thank you” I have to thank him or I would get extra strokes.
I glance at the Monitors, they all seem amused for some reason, I walk to the door and leave.
From entering the Old Grange to leaving has taken just under two minutes, the actual caning taking just about a minute. One full minute of repeated searing burning stings.
In the corridor I give my bottom a good hard rub. It feels better. One of my pals passes by.
“Been beaten?” he asks.
“Yes eight but not too bad.”
“Can I see the stripes?” It’s the inevitable question.
“Yes,” I respond, “but not here!”
Of course I want to see them myself; we both walk to the washroom where there’s a row of mirrors over the wash basins. I drop my pants and glance in the mirror.
“Cor!” exclaims my pal. “Who was it?”
“Hamilton.”
“Gosh! He did a super job.”
My bottom seems bright red and blue all over. All the stripes, except one which is rather low and almost in the cleft of my thigh, are well placed on the lower quadrant. Several overlap producing dark blue areas on the otherwise, well ridged, scarlet stripes. The right buttock is worst but both have been well targeted.
I run my fingers along the ridges, there’s no blood which is good. It get a thrilling feeling as I touch the stripes. I pull my pants back up and feel good. I know that, in spite of my little utterances, I took that beating pretty well and now the all endorphins are working to the full and I feel great. In fact I wouldn’t mind going back for a few more strokes! At least that’s what I tell myself knowing that I won’t have to. I feel quite sexy too.
