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

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

... it was over. I felt like I had been forced to sit down into a tub of red hot coals but I didn't care anymore. I looked back at my torn skin and felt the thick lattice of welts. The shape of my buttocks was completely unrecognisable and I knew I would never be able to hide this black and blue mess from my mates during showers. I also knew that this wasn't the end of it, that Brother Martin had never wanted to do me a favour, but was deriving some vicarious pleasure from it all. He would have been well aware that the sound of a two centimetre thick cane being whipped into a boy's bottom was very different from the short clipped sound of getting it on the hand, and that most of my friends would have heard the beating and known that that like the boy in the urban myth, I was being flogged because I'd been involved with other boys. But I didn't resent him, I just wanted to just remain there, naked, legs open, completely exposed, defeated, subservient, and in a way his supreme conquest. Throughout my complicated young life, I'd always so fiercely defended my honour and maintained my self-respect, but now that I'd finally surrendered it to someone else, I found that I could relax; even if it was just for a brief moment, that was worth it. I wasn't my own responsibility anymore, and that felt incredibly liberating. I felt wonderfully safe and comfortable in this new place. Perhaps because being at rock bottom, I felt there was nowhere lower I could sink to. As the pain and the heat ...

... seared through my body, I realised that I actually felt more alive than ever, and I longed for gentle hands to now slide between my buttocks and stimulate me. Brother Martin told me to remain there until I was ready to get up and get into my my pyjamas, then put myself to bed. He emptied the bucket, and went off to his cubicle closing the door behind him. I knew that the excessive rustling of papers was to disguise the sound of him masturbating, just as I knew that I would never be going back to my class. I left the school two days later, and now reflecting back from my middle age, I realised that in a parallel universe and perhaps a more enlightened era, where Brother Martin and I both understood ourselves better and got what we really needed, my bottom would have provided a far mored pleasurable adventure for both of us, and he would have given me his hard cock, not the cane. I realised that he had taken revenge on me and on the celibate life he'd chosen which had robbed him of any opportunity to ever experience that pleasure. Perhaps we all pre-determine in some way what happens to us, and invite into our lives those transgressions which are necessary for us to open our eyes and find out who we really are. At first I thought that it was traumatic experiences like this one during my schooling which led me to become a submissive and, from there, stumble into bi-sexual liaisons. But now I think that is too convenient an explanation. As far as I can tell, all of my friends who ...