At the grammar school I attended, the cane was sometimes administered to the palms of the hands, and it really used to sting. The first time I got the cane at school, as I described in an earlier account entitled ‘A Boy’s First School Caning at a South East England School’, I got it across my hands. I would now like to relate the events that led to my second school caning which occurred within two weeks of my first caning.
In many ways, the second time that I got the cane was related to an incident which, I think, sparked my interest in CP. It all began the summer after I left primary school. The following September I was due to begin grammar school, and although I was a little apprehensive about starting a new school, many of my friends were also going to the same school, so I wasn’t too concerned. Also, the long summer holidays provided the freedom of the outdoors and a break from the rigours of lessons and homework.

At both primary school, and during the holidays, I used to hang around with a group of boys who were all the same age as I was. We didn’t get up to any mischief, and in the summer break we mostly played games in some nearby fields. One of the boys in the group was named Christopher, and he had a brother named Michael. Michael was about two years older than Christopher, but rather than spending time with boys of his own age, Michael seemed to prefer the company of us younger boys. He became the leader of the gang, and he also seemed to take a bit of a shine towards me, often calling at my house.

Michael was already a pupil at the school I would be going to in the autumn, but he never said anything much about the place. In fact, he avoided talking about school altogether, nor did he say much about his brother. He did, however, mention on more than one occasion that, when he misbehaved at home, his dad gave him a nasty tap with the cane. He always used the same phrase, never once saying that his dad had given him the cane, or that his dad had caned him, but he always said that his dad had given him a nasty tap with the cane. He also seemed to speak about it quite openly, and didn’t seem at all embarrassed about it, which struck me as rather strange. Had it have been me, I wouldn’t have wanted to mention it to anyone.

At junior school, even though I’d been given the ruler across the palms of my hands and had had the backs of my legs slapped on a number of occasions, I had never been caned, either at school or at home. Nor did I know of any other boys who were punished in such a way at home. Nevertheless, I was aware that the cane was used at the school I was due to go to because my mother had attended a parents meeting with the headmaster of the school. When she returned home, she told me the headmaster had said the cane would be used if, as, and when it was considered necessary.

Michael, however, had never spoken about the use of the cane at the school where he was already a pupil. Even more to the point, neither had he revealed how much the “taps” with the cane he received at home had hurt. All of this led me to assume the taps Michael had told me about were nothing more than just taps; a sort of gentle reminder from his dad that he should watch his step.

Even so, Michael’s colourful wording had piqued my curiosity, and on one occasion I had ventured to ask him what a tap with the cane actually felt like. He didn’t answer, but simply chuckled to himself. Two or three weeks afterwards, on a warm, sunny day, we were playing in the fields as usual. Michael decided that we should play mock sword fights, using fallen branches as swords, so we all searched around for a suitable branch. Before we all paired up to begin the playfight, I noticed that Michael had found himself a firm but rather flexible branch. It didn’t look as if it would be much good as a mock sword because it didn’t seem rigid enough, but as I was soon to find out, Michael had other ideas in mind. I paired up with a boy who was one of my best friends.

As things got going, I noticed that Michael hadn’t really paired up with anyone. Instead, he was running around and joining in a fight here and there. A short while later, out of the corner of my eye, I saw him running towards me, slightly to my right, with his sword held high in the air. He ran behind me, and as he did so, an excruciating sting erupted in the seat of my shorts. I immediately dropped my sword and clutched hold of my buttocks with both hands, and much to the amusement of the boy I had been playfighting with, I began to perform an involuntary dance. It quickly became obvious that Michael had whacked me really hard across the seat of my shorts with his ‘sword’.

“You can’t do that,” I shouted out to him.

“Yes I can,” he shouted back, “and I just did.”

I remember that it took more than a little while for the sting to dissipate, during which time I carried on clutching and rubbing my cheeks whilst jumping up and down and performing my wild little dance.

Later, when it was time for us all to go home, Michael came up to me. “Now you know what a nasty tap with the cane feels like,” he said. “Imagine what six nasty taps with the cane would feel like!” he added.

It was then that two things suddenly became clear to me. Firstly, Michael had intentionally caned me, and secondly, the taps with the cane that he had referred to were more than just mere taps. Nevertheless, my interest had been roused, and I became aware that part of me wanted the experience to be repeated.
September finally arrived and I began attending my new school. I settled in fairly well despite finding the regime rather strict. It soon became apparent that high standards were expected both regarding work and dress code. All 1st and 2nd year boys had to wear uniform short trousers and knee socks which had to be kept pulled up at all times.

Not wanting to get into any trouble, I worked as best I could and also made sure my knee socks were pulled up all the time as the rules required. I didn’t see much of Michael. He had recently been made a junior prefect, which meant that he got all the jobs that the senior prefects didn’t want to be bothered with, such as being placed on duty at the school gates in the mornings to book any latecomers. So, in case Michael’s promotion to the ranks of junior prefect had given him a misjudged sense of superiority, I caught the early bus to school every morning in order not to run the risk of being late. Even so, I had to admit to myself that I was tempted to do otherwise.

After a good start, as time went on I started to slack a bit, and I got a little lazy over having homework ready on time. Such misdemeanours were invariably rewarded with a dose of the slipper which was administered while I bent over touching my toes in front of the class.

Also, at the beginning of my second term, as I’ve previously described, a boyish prank in the changing rooms after a PE lesson led to my first caning.

It was during that term that, because the mornings were quite cold, I became more and more reluctant to get out of bed early, so I thought about catching the later bus. I tried it once, and it still got me to school on time. Even though there wasn’t much time to spare, it seemed to work out reasonably well, so I carried on doing it.
Then, one morning, the inevitable happened. The later bus was late. When it finally arrived it crawled through the unusually heavy traffic, eventually reaching the bus stop near the school, leaving me with about a minute or two in which to run to the school gates. I dashed like mad to the school gates where I found that Michael was the on-duty prefect for that morning. He had been the on-duty prefect at the gates on a number of occasions when I’d arrived and there was never any problem, but now, because my knee socks had fallen down and were hanging untidily around my ankles, Michael stopped me from entering.

“Pull your socks up before you go into school!” demanded Michael.

“I can pull them up as soon as I’m inside the gates,” I pleaded. “Please let me in. The bell is about to go any second.”

“You know the school rules,” he replied. “Pull your socks up now before you go through the gates.”

Grumbling under my breath, I stooped down and pulled up one of my socks. As I was about to pull up the other one, the school bell sounded signifying the start of the school day.

“Oh, you swine!” I shouted angrily. “You’ve made me late now!”

Michael didn’t reply immediately, but took out his prefects notebook and began making detailed notes in it.

“If you had done as I asked in the first place,” he eventually said, “you wouldn’t have been late. You made yourself late by arguing with me.”

“You did it on purpose,” I retorted, even more angrily as I finished off pulling up my sock. “What difference would it have made whether I pulled my socks up inside the gates or outside?”

“Get in to school,” he ordered. “I’ve had enough of your cheek for one day.”

Considering the exchange that had taken place with Michael, I wasn’t too surprised when, later that morning, another prefect arrived at the classroom I was in and informed the teacher that I was to report immediately to the deputy headmaster. I knew by now that, when a boy was summoned to the deputy head’s office he was in a bit of trouble and could expect some form of punishment, but I took comfort in the fact that, due to the triviality of my offences, I would be treated with at least a degree of leniency. Also, once I had explained what had really happened, my innocence in the sequence of events would become clear.
As it turned out, however, I didn’t get a chance to explain anything. Instead, I was thoroughly lectured and told in no uncertain terms that lateness and untidy dress, for whatever reason, was frowned upon. I was also told that showing disrespect to a prefect, junior or senior, would not be tolerated. I was then informed that I would receive two strokes of the cane for each of the three offences that I had committed.

I could hardly believe what I was hearing. I wasn’t expecting to be caned, and I certainly didn’t think that I would get the cane just for something as frivolous as having my socks down. It was obvious the notes Michael had written had been, to say the least, economical with the truth. The deputy head then took out a supple looking cane from his desk drawer. I remember being astonished at how immaculate and admirable it appeared. It looked pristine, and the sight of it almost took my breath away. Despite its slender shape, I suspected that it would deliver quite a disagreeable sting.

I was then ordered to bend over and touch my toes. I reluctantly obeyed and got an upside down view of my bare knees as I did so; a sight which was already fairly familiar due to the classroom slipperings that I’d received. I felt my uniform shorts stretch and tighten as I tried, unsuccessfully, to fully touch my toes. There then followed what I now consider to have been a bit of ritual, and the back flap of my blazer was folded over so that it wouldn’t get in the way of the cane. After that, the cane was placed gently on the nape of my neck to encourage me to bend a little lower so that my bottom would be properly presented.

I must admit that I began to feel some kind of strange excitement as I waited for my punishment to commence, but when the cane first made contact with the seat of my school shorts it instantly reminded me of just how nasty a nasty tap with the cane can be. The sting that erupted was sizzling. I couldn’t help jumping up and clenching hold of my bottom as I had done that day in the fields, but after being allowed to give myself a few comforting rubs, I was told to bend over once more. I was also advised not to stand up again until I was told, and the instruction was accompanied by a sharp slap across the back of my bare thigh to ensure that I had understood. As soon as the flap of my blazer had been adjusted, the caning recommenced.

The stroke that followed seemed slightly less intense than the first stroke had been, and I managed to remain in position. I winced before each one of the remaining four thwacks were administered, but I was determined not to cry. I must admit, though, that as my ordeal neared its end, my eyes were feeling very moist, to say the least. The pauses between each stroke of the cane were also rather lengthy, adding to the overall discomfort. Then, after the cane had bit into the fabric of my school shorts for the final time, I was eventually allowed to stand up.

I could hardly wait to clutch hold of my throbbing cheeks with the palms of both hands, and as I gently massaged the tender indentations that the cane had dispensed, I finally began to experience some relief. As soon as I had regained my composure I was instantly dismissed.

I still experienced some soreness when I started walking, and on my way back to the classroom I decided to take a quick detour to the cloakrooms to wash my eyes with some cold water. As I made my way there, I remember that Michael’s words, “imaging what six nasty taps with the cane would feel like”, came into my mind. Well, now I knew, and I realized that Michael had played a coercive role in making sure that I knew. Then, as I rinsed my face, I also remember feeling a tingling sensation in my buttocks which wasn’t at all unpleasant, and that rather confused me.

I eventually plucked up the courage to enter the classroom, but feeling very embarrassed, walking a bit like a marionette and avoiding eye contact with anyone. The teacher never said a word, and allowed me to settle at my desk without passing a single remark. I sat down gently, and the lesson continued as if nothing had happened, even though everyone knew precisely what must have taken place.

Later in the day I even began to revel a little in answering the questions that my classmates bombarded me with. The red mark on my thigh also became the focus of some attention. Six strokes of the cane, largely thanks to Michael, but even to this day I haven’t held any grudges. In fact, by the time I had arrived home on that day, I had virtually recovered from my unpleasant experience and had bounced back to normal.

Later, when I was undressing for bed, in the mirror I caught a glimpse of the cane marks that I had acquired, and for reasons which I didn’t fully understand, the sight of them caused me to mentally re-enact the caning I’d got earlier in the day. As I did so, I experienced the same strange feelings of excitement as I had done while waiting for my punishment to begin.

I wouldn’t say that my caning had been overly severe. Such punishments were very much a part of school life at the time. They were never brutal, but they hurt, nonetheless. Having received two school canings, I even began to feel proud of the fact that I had now, without a doubt, joined an entire assemblage of schoolboys who had endured traditional schoolboy canings. I also knew that, due to my occasionally rebellious nature, it was likely that more would follow, but I wasn’t ready to go through it all again just yet. So, the following morning, I made sure that I wasn’t late, and caught the earlier bus to school.