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School spanking did not stop at age 16
Part 17 – Cornish Cane

by SimonRed

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Copyright on this story text belongs at all times to the original author only, whether stated explicitly in the text or not. The original date of posting to the MMSA was: 12 Apr 2018


I had been a member of the Cornish Car Club for six years, and on the committee for 3 of those. Many of the members had been with me at school so I was well known. But I was also professional in my duties and people had seen that I didn’t let friendship get in the way of doing things correctly. It was this trait that led to my downfall in November.

I was Secretary of the Meeting for the annual Rally of the Coasts, an event that used closed tracks often just on the cliff top or near to the beaches and it used routes on both the north and south coasts of Cornwall. On Saturday afternoon I had to check registration of the vehicles entered for tomorrow’s Rally prior to them going into Scrutineering. This involved making sure they had valid Driving Licences, valid Competition Licences, Club Membership, and that the Vehicle Registration documents and insurances were valid.

It was whilst doing this that I became aware that Nick’s vehicle was not the one on his documentation. Those documents were for the same make and model but a different car that had a different registration; they had changed number plates over. Nick was my friend but I couldn’t let this pass, and if there had been an accident or something there would be big trouble all around. I had to exclude him from the Rally and of course he wasn’t very happy at all, neither were Steve and Dave his support crew.

What made it worse was that the change of vehicle could be blamed on me. Nick’s uncle owned a farm on the coast and it had a couple of long lanes which were similar to those of the Rally so we sometimes went to test the car out. Nick’s navigator was at work on the Wednesday when we went to do some testing so I volunteered to co-drive as I had a lot of experience at this. First thing we drove the lanes slowly, stopping to close off gateways, inform people what we were doing and also make notes on the map of any hazards. We came across a section of wall which had fallen into the lane, and we did what we could to remove the stones.

I marked this pile of stones on the map as a caution. Then we ran some timed runs with me calling notes from the co-driver’s seat. The first lane went well and we made four runs and achieved a 15second benefit after tuning brakes and adjusting the carburettor. But on the second lane disaster struck when we hit the fallen stones and broke the front suspension; this could not be repaired in time for the event and that is why they swapped cars. I was blamed for this because when I had recorded my notes I marked the rocks on the wrong bend within this lane.

I apologised and complained that I had a sore bottom after the impact because the passenger seat was a temporary one without much padding. A sore bum, that’s certainly what you deserve. Then Dave and Steve recalled to Nick a time from my school days when I got cane in front of the whole class bare bottom for something they had done, nothing I had done. CRRAAAACKKK, CRRAAAACKKK ... CRRAAAACKKK. Dave recounted, He shouted after every stroke, and Blenkinsop gave him two extras for all that fuss Mind you Blenkinsop was a real bastard and he would have killed me. Everyone laughed and the air was cleared.

It was the following weekend before I met my friends again; I was too busy on the day of the Rally with my duties and did not see them. They all went out as a second Service Team for Paul and Sam who won a Class Cup with a similar car to Nick’s. I avoided presenting that cup at the prize giving as that would have been rubbing salt into Nick’s wounds. We went back to the farm of Nick’s uncle to sort out that wall. His uncle had been told that we had hit the wall, but that wasn’t true; nevertheless we agreed to rebuild it. Pete, Nick’s usual navigator came out to help and he knew about wall building. In just over two hours we had the wall stock proof, which was good enough for now.

It had started to rain and that was reason enough t to halt. However, things were not quite as they seemed and as we walked up the field towards the gate leading back into the lane. Pete got hold of me and told me, Take your clothes off Simon. You told Steve that the collision had given you a sore bottom but that was nothing to the bottom you are now going to get. We don’t have any canes, which is a pity because we know from school how much you like that, but we can still beat your ass. Now get undressed and bend over that gate. Dave and Steve closed in on me, there was no escape. I stripped in the rain and was led up to the gate where I was bent right over and tied with my legs wide apart. Each of my friends then removed their trouser belts, doubled them over and started hitting me. TTHHWWWAAAAPPP, TTHHWWWAAAAPPP, TTHHWWWAAAAPPP, TTHHWWWAAAAPPP, ... TTHHWWWAAAAPPP, TTHHWWWAAAAPPP. They each gave me around a dozen strokes from neck down to my knees but especially across my bottom. When they finished they jumped in the car and drove off leaving me naked, tied to the gate and wet.

After about 20 minutes on my own a pickup approached and it was Nick to rescue me. It was driven by his cousin Ian who was a little older than Nick. Ian came up to untie me knowing how the lads had strapped me and exclaimed, what a sweet ass, ooh I could cane that. Nick replied, He doesn’t like being caned. The lads told me how he squealed the last time he got caned at school. Ian chortled, All the more reason to give him some. They untied me and offered me my clothes but I didn’t want to put dry clothes onto a wet body. However, I didn’t expect that I would have to ride back standing naked in the load bed holding onto a frame behind the cab; pickups in those days were just 2-seaters with an open load bed.

There were cheers as we arrived into the farmyard and I was thrown a towel and quickly dressed. Someone asked if I was okay, but it wasn’t really with any serious interest in my pain but more of a social convention. I replied that I was good and I told them that I deserved what they had done and I hoped they would forgive me. They warmly agreed and Dave said later that they hadn’t wanted to harm me but they felt I needed sorting out. I agreed and Steve remarked, Well we know what to do next time you go wrong; cane you. Everyone laughed and I realised we had all gone back to how we were.

In that moment I chose to tell Nick that I did feel responsible for the damage to the suspension and I would give him the twenty pound it had cost for the secondhand strut. Ian overheard and exclaimed, Give him twenty cane, lad! Nick don’t need the money. Nick replied, I can’t do that, he’s a really good friend. Ian then added, Oh I’d cane that sweet ass for you. Nick took me aside and whispered in my ear, He would cane you too, and hard. He did me this morning because we didn’t come back on Wednesday to sort that wall out and some sheep nearly got through the gap. With that he lowered his trousers a little so that I could see at least six stripes across his bottom.

Now I felt guilty again because I let them down on Wednesday when I couldn’t get time off work and none of us turned up to repair the wall. Ian had walked across the yard and returned with a long stick. Did cousin with this today, let him give you some that’ll light up thee little ass. That got everybody’s attention away from the Cornish Pasties they were chomping on. It was still raining but everyone was stood under the canopy of a farm building. Oh he don’t like the stick. A voice exclaimed, whilst another shouted out, but he’s warmed up now, he won’t squawk now like he did at school. Nick pitched in, but instead of defending me or protecting from the lynch mob he stated, I wont take his money but I’m not going to cane him myself. One of you lot can do it if you want.

Then everybody started calling out Ian’s name and he replied. I can cane him out there over the old saw horse and he can squawk as much as he likes and the only person who might take notice is my father and he’s deaf. The writing was on the wall as surely as stripes would soon be written across my bottom. I felt bad that Nick had been caned this morning, and guilty because I had not turned up on Wednesday and had let people down. So when they advanced towards me I only offered token resistance and was easily stripped and tied down over the saw horse. How much was the strut? asked Ian, and when someone shouted out Twenty quid Ian responded Twenty strokes then. I gulped because I was expecting just six strokes and had decided I could probably endure that, but twenty was a much more difficult task for me and I would surely break down.

But in a last minute change of heart Ian offered, Special offer today, fifty per cent reduction, so that will be twelve strokes. I answered back, Fifty per cent of twenty is ten, not twelve. Ian came right back at me, and two extra for insolence makes fourteen. Get down lad. There were roars of delight at this development from the lads around me. Now I had to put on a performance for them, no squealing like at school; I had to recover my place in their hearts and a good caning might just do it. With that the caning began and I realised immediately how Nick had got his stripes, CRRAAAACKKK, CRRAAAACKKK, CRRAAAACKKK, CRRAAAACKKK, CRRAAAACKKK, CRRAAAACKKK. Ouch, Ian was unbelievably good at this, or so it seemed in my limited experience of being caned, and bearing in mind it was eight or nine years since this had last happened to me.

Ian paused after six and asked for my legs to be widened and then he continued. CRRAAAACKKK, CRRAAAACKKK, CRRAAAACKKK, CRRAAAACKKK, CRRAAAACKKK, CRRAAAACKKK. Clearly he had his second wind because the strokes were harder but I was now practised and even more determined not to show weakness. Two more to go, and at that moment a voice from the back announced the arrival of Old Jack who was Ian’s father and Nick’s uncle. This the lad what damaged our wall? Jack asked. He was informed No! but he plainly didn’t hear. Instead he asked How many strokes to go? Ian answered, two, and Old Jack requested, Let me give im those with The Quietener. He held up a thick old stick of uneven character and almost black with age. Pushing Ian to one side he began his work, CRRAAAACKKK, CRRAAAACKKK, CRRAAAACKKK, CRRAAAACKKK.

Can’t count boys, get to my age and numbers just get messed up, but he had a twinkle in his eye as he said it. Then he added, You’re good boy, Ian can’t take a spanking like that. Come back and let me spank you properly.I could say that he was brutal, but that would not do justice to his skill; he might not be able to hear nor to count but his precision with a cane was almost majestic. I was untied and took a few moments to rise from the saw horse. The lads were clearly impressed, and I have to say I was quite satisfied with the way I had suppressed my reactions, controlled my body and ignored the pain. Overall I felt a real sense of achievement. So I proposed we went up the road to the pub, and as a non-drinker I volunteered to drive the pickup with about eight of us in it.

Friendships had been firmed up after this temporary fracture, but worryingly I now had a new friend, Old Jack. Every time I went up to Ian’s farm Old Jack would pop out of somewhere and ask if I had come for my proper spanking. After a few weeks I talked to Ian about his father. Oh he’s serious about it, he thinks you will take a good caning and it’s years since he caned me or Nick. I was shocked because I hadn’t realised that he meant this spanking, I just thought he was being amusing or something. I told Ian, Well I’m not going to bend over in front of all you lot. They’ll think I’m weird, and if he hurts me too much they’ll also think I am a wimp. Ian listened attentively and then responded, So apart from that my dad can cane you then? I spluttered in my coffee and couldn’t find words so in the end I just shut up.

A week later on Saturday Ian phoned up and asked if I could come up to the farm. I told him that all the other lads were going to the Football match at Plymouth. I know, Ian told me, we just need a little help and you’re the only one left. I was a little surprised but 30 minutes later I set off and was at the farm after an hour. After a chat and a tea we drove in the pickup to the top barn together with a friend of Ian’s from a neighbouring farm. This barn was an ancient stone building remote and on the cliffs and possibly built for a different purpose two centuries ago. It was only after we got out of the vehicle that Old Jack asked, Have you come for a proper spanking? When I caught sight of a trestle similar to the saw horse that I had been caned over before I began to realise that I might have been set up.

Old Jack reached behind the seats in the pickup and fetched out The Quietener, an ironic name for something actually designed to make its victim very loud indeed. To be honest Old Jack’s fascination with spanking me had also begun to fascinate me; how painful could it be and could I survive it. Nobody is going to know about this, said Ian, Jack won’t tell [I’m not sure I believed that statement, as Jack could be indiscrete at the best of times]. It will just be between us. Seems that Ian had planned this out carefully and I didn’t feel that I could deny them now. Besides that, today I needed to find answers so I didn’t need help to undress and position myself over the frame.

Old Jack approached me and declared. Six strokes, said the old farmer, given hard, he added. My earlier enthusiasm to sample his skills quickly drained away. But it is too late to fight it. CRRAAAACKKK, CRRAAAACKKK. The first two strokes fell with a fire that I couldn’t imagine. Was this the same Old Man who had caned me back at the farm a few weeks ago? Plainly it was, but either he had been practising or I had gone weak. CRRAAAACKKK, CRRAAAACKKK, Two more strokes hit my bare buttocks and I began to cry in amongst all the cursing that I had answered each stroke with so far. Even though my friends were not here to witness my weak performance I still felt that I had disgraced myself and disappointed my punishers; my poor performance would be reported abroad. CRRAAAACKKK, CRRAAAACKKK. The first six ended with no less pain, and tears were running down my face and I was getting hoarse from screaming and shouting.

I couldn’t believe the pain that Old Jack was inflicting on me, especially as I had more or less volunteered for this caning. I had clearly miscalculated in my wish to appease the old man and keep his son happy, and let’s be honest satisfy my own curiosity to find out what a real caning would be like. I was hurting badly. As the sixth stroke fell I made to get up, decided to get away from this and not take any more pain. But I was held down by Old Jack and his son Ian. If they weren’t enough a third person had appeared; Ned was a tramp or hobo who lived rough in the area and he had been sleeping in the old barn and got woken by my screams. Ned, fetch some binder twine from yon pickup, said Ian. Suddenly I was being tied hands and legs to the frame by the tramp. Pretty bum, said Ned as he tied me and Ian replied, you can’t have im Ned, he’s not like that. [Maybe] When I was firmly restrained Old Jack picked up the cane again and Ian shouted out Six more for squealing like he did at school, to which his father responded, Twelve.

Old Jack paused after the first six, drank water from a bottle and conversed with his assistants. Then he started again. CRRAAAACKKK, CRRAAAACKKK, CRRAAAACKKK, CRRAAAACKKK, CRRAAAACKKK, CRRAAAACKKK. Old Jack’s second six made me aware of his precision and care which tended to disguise the cruel collision of cane on bare bottom; it bloody well hurt and I couldn’t prevent myself from communicating this to my team. But I had respect for what Old Jack was doing and wondered what more of The Quietener could do. I quickly found out. CRRAAAACKKK, CRRAAAACKKK, CRRAAAACKKK, CRRAAAACKKK, CRRAAAACKKK, CRRAAAACKKK. It didn’t get easier to take this final six, and I was glad that there was only the ample Atlantic Ocean to hear my cries, but apart from a few slight bleeds I wasn’t harmed.

At the completion of the eighteen strokes I was untied and although badly hurting I quickly became much calmer, and slower got a feeling of satisfaction from having taken this caning and survived. Look after him, Ned, Ian said to the tramp, we’ll be back in about an hour to collect him. Off they drove further up the cliffs to move some stock between fields and tend to some fences. Ned took me inside the old barn and encouraged me to lay down on some hay bales and then he started to massage me. Pretty bum. Ned said once again, even prettier with them stripes on it. Then he reached into a corner of the barn and retrieved two very stout wooden sticks, Hit thee with them, next time, not today. I’m harder than yon farmer. Ned put the sticks away and then started to trace along my welts but ever so gently and then more firmly almost as though he was trying to flatten them.

This was very soothing up to the point when his fingers started poking my asshole. That needs filling, said Ned, but they said I couldn’t have you so I leave you intact this time. I relaxed more and gradually fell asleep, only waking up when I heard the rough clatter of the diesel pickup. Jack and Ian were amazed to find me still naked, but I told them I was just chilling out and Ned had been looking after me. Has he? Asked Ian, did anything happen? I answered that Ned had been very caring and that appeared to satisfy Jack and Ian. I saw them slip some silver coins into Ned’s hands and when I had put my clothes back on I reached into my pockets and did the same.

Before we drove back Ian told me about Ned and how it is believed he lived up near Launceston on a farm up on the Moors. But he ran away when he was about 18 years old and had been living rough in the area for around ten years. He seems harmless, or at least nobody has said a bad word about him, said Ian, and he will labour on the farms during lambing, planting, potato harvesting, milk cows and so on. Just pay him cash and no tax or payslips and he’s happy. They didn’t know he was sleeping in the barn, but had noticed that he put tarpaulin over a hole in the roof so that helped to keep the hay dry.

Ian continued, Ned seems to manage and we hide him from the authorities when they come sniffing around. Nobody knows his story but he has kept out of trouble since he came down here and he is known at Paul and Leedstown and St Buryan. Just seems to move around so that people can’t get tired of him. We gave Ned a lift down to the village and bought him fish and chips and a bottle of beer which he ate sitting on a bench. He didn’t want a lift back.

Whilst in the chip shop we heard there had been a landslip on the line near Lostwithiel and no trains were running to Plymouth at present, so that was going to make problems for the football supporters. Ian asked me to stay for a while and we talked for a long time. I knew his cousin Nick quite well, but almost nothing about Ian and he told me how close they had been to each other, Nick being four years junior. My dad [Old Jack] used to beat me regularly to try and sort me out, but The Quietener didn’t change me and he stopped when I was 16. The following year I took over beating Nick when he was 12 after his father was killed in a tractor roll over. Nick reacted badly and went out out of control and strangely the caning gave him back something he missed from his father, and he still wants it now from time to time; it’s not sexual for Nick unlike it is for you. I spluttered on my tea when he claimed that I had a sexual interest in being spanked; surely it was just coincidence that I got an erection whilst being caned.

I moved the conversation onto the interest which Nick and I shared around motorsport and Ian told how Nick had always played with cars, collected car books and posters etc; it was my own story. But Ian returned to the spanking. Old Jack was really impressed how you took the cane today; says he hasn’t used The Quietener that hard for as long as he can remember. You took it well. I responded, I didn’t have much choice with me being tied down, and it bloody hurt. Still does. Ian replied, I’d like to cane you until you cried like that. I stood up and pushed off my trousers, took off my pants and said to Ian, look at what Old Jack has already done. I don’t think my bottom wants any more cane. At that moment I couldn’t disguise my massive erection, nor did I try to. Ian assured me, Not today, Simon, but I can see that do want some more cane, and in a few days I’m going have that ass of yours.

To be continued

 
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