“Junior Monitor - adjust his jacket.” comes the routing instruction from the caner.
Lumsden, the Junior monitor, standing closest to me, moves forward and folds my jacket well clear of my buttocks.
“Wilson, I’m sorry you felt it necessary to appeal aginst my decision to beat you.  You will receive two extra strokes.”
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 footsteps 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 uttering that but couldn’t help it. The pain is continuous now and the fourth stroke came before the sting of the third had subsided.  Not half way I think, I was a fool to appeal. Twice those still to come.
“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 the stripes stretch sorely.
‘Swish-ACK’
“Five! Whar Oow!”
I couldn't help it, it just came out.  That was 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. Oh dear, now the two extras.
‘Swisk-ACK’
Not so bad - yes it hurts but my bottom is on fire all over and number seven just fans the blaze a bit.
‘Swish-ACKKK’
I’m sure that one was harder, but of course it wasn’t - they are all max-hardness.  But is wasn’t too bad and I kept silent except for heavy breathing.
“You may go Wilson.” Comes Hamilton’s voice.
I get up and there’s a feeling as if the bruises were folding up - the burning is still strong. I adjust my folded back jacket, walk up to Hamilton and say just those two proscribed words.
“Thank you”
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 about two minutes, the actual caning taking just over a minute.  One full minute of repeated searing burning stings.
In the corridor I give my bottom a really good hard rub. It feels better. One of my pals passes by.
“Been beaten?” he asks.
“Yes I got ten 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 is 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 superb 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.  Many 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 just a trace of blood on my right globe where several strokes have fallen on the same spot.  I 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.

“Very well Wilson.  Kneel on that chair,  lean over he 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.