Getting to the bottom of the caning which changed my life. - Sex Stories

Getting to the bottom of the caning which changed my life.

"Timothy, I think you know what is required, I've talked enough, now it's time for you to go and take a shower, and get into your pyjamas." Instead of reassuring me, his calm, caring voice was so completely out of character it had the opposite effect. I felt a prickle of heat down my back. Brother Martin was a big bully of a man and never given to such soft, paternalistic words. But what really scared me was that it sounded like even he was daunted by the punishment he had planned for me. My legs were quickly turning to jelly. "You won't be in any condition to go down to the refectory tonight, and tomorrow you'll be staying in bed all day. I'll let your teachers know. Now off to shower's, I want you back here in five minutes." Tears welled in my eyes. Why in my pyjamas, it was only four in the afternoon, why would I have to stay in bed all the next day? My mind was already reeling under an impossible barrage of emotions; fear, guilt. shame, anger, all of them endlessly seeking a different ending to this nightmare which had begun to unfold when I'd been summonsed to report to his office in the middle of an ancient history class. When he walked out the dormitory door to go and fetch the cane, it finally hit me - this was the most serious trouble I'd ever been in. I'd been so stupid luring Peter into the deserted piano room during late study a week earlier. I was obsessed with girls and wanted to share with him my desperate need for sexual exploration, but also, although I could ...

... hardly admit it to myself, I felt strangely attracted to him. He was the same age as me but a little like a girl himself, cute and angelic. And I'd been just too eager to stroke his beautiful pale pink penis and feel it swell and grow stiff in my hand. I knew Peter was very religious, so I should have realised that guilt might get the better of him, that he might have to confess to someone. I cringed now as I remembered masturbating him and watching enthralled as the seemingly inexhaustible supply of creamy translucent semen erupted all over my arm, but then scared and dismayed, as the look of pure ecstasy on his delicate face quickly gave way to shame and regret. Although he was an unmitigated sadist, I knew that Brother Martin also didn't have much choice in all of this. I was a trusted senior prefect. I knew the rules, and St. Patricks was probably the most strict disciplinarian Catholic Boarding School in the whole country. He could have made it made it official and reported me to the Principal, in which case I would have been automatically expelled, but he had decided to exercise his discretion as the dormitory master and punish me himself. The cane would undoubtedly be applied at the extremely painful end of the scale, but I reassured myself that then thankfully, although my fingers would swell up like sausages, nothing more would be said about it by him or me. Brother Martin knew that I would accept whatever punishment he decided for me because I would rather die than ...