During my third year at middle school, several events happened that had a major impact on my life, that are still with me today. The onset of puberty meant that girls were becoming more interesting. The previous year, I had suffered the worst caning I ever had by a sadistic teacher who just loved to cane. Most of the school thought she was out of her mind and it was a relief to get into the third year before I moved onto the senior school. At my middle school, women as well as men could cane either sex, as each year had a male and female head of year.

These teachers not only ran the year, but also taught a subject. I had witnessed class canings and slipperings during lessons; normally it was one or two strokes on the hand or bottom, but for serious offences you would be sent to the head of year for punishment. There it would be a caning, normally 4 or 6 strokes, depending on what the offence was.

The head of year for the third year was Mr H and Mrs B. Mr H was in his late 50s and taught History. The whole school thought he was having an affair with Mrs B, who was the girls’ games mistress and probably slightly younger, with short blond hair and she was pretty trim. They always seem to go around together and took school foreign trips and often lunched together.

Mrs B was always in her games kit; blue top, light blue gymslip, white socks and plimsolls. All the boys fancied her and, whenever she went up the stairs, numerous boys would be looking up to catch a glimpse of her underwear and bottom cheeks. At most playtimes, boys would gather and one of the favourite topics was Mrs B and who had caught a glimpse of her walking upstairs.

At the school, a new gym was built and on certain times during the day, and when the sun was in the correct position, and the windows of the gym were opened to a particular angle, you could see the reflection of the girls showering and getting changed after PE lessons. The best time to see this was towards the end of the day as most pupils had left, so it was usual for a group of third years to play football outside the gym, but all having the same motive.

It was after one of those end of school games that I got the caning from Mrs B. Most of the boys had gone home after the impromptu game of football had ended and I had left the premises, but I had to return as I had forgotten some homework. I climbed over the gate as the major school gate was locked and the only way out was by the gate by the gym.

I collected my books from my locker and, as I was leaving, I noticed that there were several girls changing, due to the fact they had played a netball match against another school. Sheer bliss, as I watched transfixed on all those girls changing. I heard a voice calling, but paid no attention. Again a voice called out, but I was still glued to the sight before my eyes.

Suddenly, I felt a thwack on the head, and it was Mrs B.

“What are you still doing here, after school? Haven’t you got a home to go to? You know that it is forbidden to stay after the school has been locked unless you are playing games,” she asked.

I could not tell her the real reason why I was still there.

“Sorry, miss, but I left my homework in my locker, so I came back to get it.”

“Well, that is not acceptable,” she replied. “Up to my office now. I will deal with you once the girls have all gone home.”

Slowly, I made my way to her office and waited outside. After an age, I heard her coming up the stairs.

“Ok,” she said. “Inside, now.”

She opened the door and I entered. Inside, it smelt of stale sweat, and it was a jumble of all sorts of games equipment, balls, nets, bibs and other pieces of sports equipment. In the middle of the room was an old small vaulting horse that had seen better days.

“Right I want your blazer off and stand there,” she ordered.

She opened a large metal wardrobe, which had numerous pieces of gym clothing, skirts, pants, tops, shorts, as well as some canes and a punishment book. She took out a pair of old off-white shorts and a red smelly top, that seemed about 2 sizes too small and threw them to me.

“Put these on and be quick about it, or it will be worse for you.”

With that, I quickly got undressed and waited for the next instruction, standing in a pair of too-tight shorts and a top that was all creased, and my normal grey school socks.

Whilst I was dressing, she got out a selection of canes, all different lengths and thicknesses, and began swishing them.

She turned and faced me and said, “I think this one would be best,” swishing it, “Or maybe this one.”

She made her selection.

“Right, boy, no arguments, get over the horse now.”

I climbed up onto the horse with the tight clothes cutting into me.

“No! No! No!” she said. “The other way; lengthways. I need to get a good swing.”

So, I got down and remounted the horse. I could now see an upside-down Mrs B with a long cane in her hand at the other end of the room.

“Come on, hurry up. I want to get home,” she said.

The sentence was then announced, “As you were out of school bounds, you will get 6 strokes. Any movement, then there will be more,” she barked, her voice was getting more inpatient. “Right, keep still.”

Between the horse legs, I saw her run up the 4 or so steps and pull back the cane. There was a split-second delay as the swish sound hissed the air, then a crack and then a pain right across the middle part of my bottom as the cane made its presence felt. I watched as she walked back ready for the next stroke. I got a perfect view of what every boy in the school had dreamt about, all I could focus on was her.

“Stroke number 2 coming now,” as she ran down the room.

Swish, crack as the cane was unleashed into my backside. The tight shorts did not help the situation. It was a mixture of pain and pleasure as I watched her walk back to her mark.

“You know the rules,” she said as she ran down to deliver stroke number 3. “You are not allowed in school after hours.”

Crack as the cane hit the fleshy part of my bottom that was sticking out of the old pair of shorts.

“I hope this is a lesson that you are learning,” she said as she walked back to her mark.

All I could focus on was her gymslip swaying. I saw her turn and run to despatch the next stroke. The swish, the crack, the cane cut into my backside again.

“I will not have children breaking the rules. It proves to me that you are not focused on your schoolwork and have no responsibility,” as the fifth stroke landed with a bit more force, crossing a couple of previous strokes. I moved forward slightly as the cane hit.

“Hopefully, this will teach you,” she said, walking back to deliver the last stroke. “If not, I will have to cane you again. Do you hear me, boy?” she said as she ran up to deliver the final stroke.

With a swish and crack, the last stroke was given.

She left me on the horse for about a minute as she walked back to the metal cupboard with the canes in her hand. Even though my bottom was on fire, the sheer delight at watching her was well worth it.

“Ok, you can climb down from that horse now and no rubbing,” she said. “Take off those shorts and top, and get dressed quickly.”

She was now behind her desk writing in the punishment book. I got changed as the ill-fitting clothes had cut into my skin and I could feel the ridges on my bottom as I pulled up my trousers.

When she had finished writing, she told me to leave. I went home to look at the marks that she had delivered; red and blue marks were very visible, but I knew that sensation that I was now feeling was greater than the pain.