Date: Sun, 07 Sep 2003 07:44:26 +0000
From: nigel doolwy <horny_writer@hotmail.com>
Subject: The Five Bar Gate by Nigel

THE FIVE BAR GATE
By: Nigel aka Horny Writer
horny_writer@hotmail.com

Growing up in England in the 1970's was a good time to be a teenager. Good
in almost every way save for perhaps one -- school !  School was an
experience we all had to go through and one we all learned to manipulate as
best we could to our own advantage.  I doubt much has changed over the years
in that sense but for us there was a major difference than that lads know
today.  In my youth the rule of law was enforced by way of corporal
punishment.

Looking back now I guess it didn't do us any harm and it certainly was a day
of extreme folly when a conservative government under the Iron Lady Maggie
Thatcher bowed to lilly liberal do-gooder pressure and abolished the cane in
state schools.  What a stupid thing to do !  Today our schools, here in
England, have abolished discipline, good manners are a thing of the past and
learning something kids only do when they have become tired of playing the
fool.

I was slippered and caned many times during my school career.  Caned once
for not doing my homework, then again for fighting.  I was slippered for
talking in class, for making a noise getting changed for PE, for being too
slow getting changed for PE, for forgetting my PE kit and for taking a short
cut on a cross country run in PE.  And there were several other times as
well.

WHACK -- WHACK -- WHACK -- all the way from the first year aged eleven to the
fifth year at 16+.  At least the sixth form offered an armistice for a lad's
backside as it was quite unheard of for a six-former to be caned.  NO WAY !

But every rule has to have its exception.

Paul was my best mate throughout secondary school and we were on the same A
level course in the sixth form.  My birthday is in November and Paul's in
January, so by the April before our final exams and the prospect of leaving
school we were both well into adult life.  Paul was a cheeky sod and his lip
had earned him a few slipperings in the junior years, nothing too serious
but on this occasion he overstepped the mark and strode dangerously through
a metaphorical barbed wire fence and into a minefield of destruction.

He was involved in some trivial argument with one of the female members of
staff, so trivial I can't be certain now what it was about.  But I do know
with conviction that Paul was right and the unfortunate Mrs Perkins was
wrong.  Being my friend I backed him up and put in my own two-penneth
against this lady.  Lady ?  that's an exaggeration for she was an old cow !

Paul was becoming more and more frustrated until he brought everything to an
abrupt end with:  "Why don't you get your facts right you flat chested bitch
?"

Facts -- she certainly had them wrong.

Bitch -- without a doubt she more than qualified.

Flat chested -- Paul you were wrong there mate. Mrs Perkins had tits that
could knock holes in a Sherman tank.  A failure in observation that was to
cost dear !

Mrs Perkins had strutted away indignantly and I kind of presumed that was an
end to the matter.  I have to say that I was surprised, therefore, when an
hour later both Paul and I were summonsed to discuss events with the
Headmaster.

"Don't worry I'll back you up,"  I assured my friend.  "I'll tell him what
happened."

"Thanks mate but don't worry, I mean what's the point ?  What's he going to
do ?  He won't suspend me this close to the exams so I'll just stand there
and take whatever bollocking he decides to give me."

It was probably the best course of action so I would just go along with
however the situation developed.

We arrived at the door to the Headmaster's study, to a younger boy a portal
of doom but we were sixth formers.  Had it been me I would have announced
our presence with one or at the most two gentle taps on the door.  Not Paul.

Tap-ta-tap-tap -- TAP -- TAP !

The echo was only just fading when the door opened and we were invited in.
the sight that met my eyes was incredulous and sent shivers all the way
through my body.  On the Headmaster's desk, in clear view and ready for
action, was a cane.  And placed ready in the centre of the room was the
leather armchair we boys knew as the whacking chair.

Paul was going to be caned !  And further more I was going to have to stand
there and watch !  A sixth former was going to be caned, unheard of !

I quickly shot a glance at Paul who had faded to an ashen white.  Paul was
about to be caned and I was going to have to stand and watch !

WRONG !

The Headmaster began his punishment lecture a couple of sentences into which
It became apparent that we were both going to be caned.  Bit I hadn't done
anything !  But it was futile to protest, in the Headmaster's eyes I was
guilty as an accessory to insulting Mrs Perkins' ample bosom and true enough
I had argued with her alongside Paul.  I was an adult, as near to being
nineteen as I was eighteen and sixth formers did not get caned !  But we two
were.

The tirade of reprimand which I had long since ceased to listen to came to
its end and the Headmaster picked up the cane.  He swished it through the
air a couple of times making a terrifying sound then  indicated for Paul to
bend over the whacking chair.

"Six of the best,"  he pronounced.

Paul silently mouthed the word sorry to me and took up his position.

Six of the best ?  I was certain that those six would be six of the very,
very best.

Paul's backside was tight in his grey trousers and the line of his
underpants showed clearly through the material.  They would be a poor
defence against the severity of the thrashing that was about to be
administered.

Our Headmaster was a big man, probably in his early fifties but well
presented and in full possession of his youthful strength.   He positioned
himself like a golfer about to take a swing.  He shuffled his feet until he
was satisfied he was in the best possible stance.  He raised his arm high
into the air, paused while he eyed mentally the target then thundered the
cane down at a truly incredible speed.

The scream of the air as it fought to get out of the way of the cane was
deafening but dwarfed by the loud pistol crack as the rattan wood met the
slenderly protected flesh of Paul's behind.

I watched as my friend's body tensed with the shock of pain reeled through
him.  My eyes were fixated on his behind and to the cane passed out of my
peripheral vision.  Only that terrible swishing sound told me it was on its
descent for a second time.

Time went into slow motion as the full six were delivered.  Truly, truly,
truly six of the very, very, very best !

I had seen many a lad get a whacking both with the slipper and the cane but
none ever received the thrashing then given to Paul.  As he finally stood up
his eyes were glazed and I could see so well that he was fighting back the
tears.

Now it was my own turn.  The Headmaster pointed with the can towards the
whacking chair.  Like a condemned man taking his final steps to the gallows
I made my was to the chair.  My palms were wet with sweat and felt sticky
against the leather.  As I bent over I pinched my buttocks together and
waited.

I sensed the gentle touch of the cane rest across my buttocks as the
headmaster prepared the place where he intended to make the first stroke.  I
clenched my teeth together and waited.  The cane lifted off and I prepared
for that dreadful swishing sound which would announce it's return.  It was a
long time coming but when it did it was like an express train roaring
through the station.  Faster and faster until it's progress was abruptly
halted by the firm cheeks of my adolescent behind.

The pain was incredible, it was as if  somebody had rested a red hot poker
against my naked flesh.  I could not possible have previously conceived the
absolute pain that first stroke would bring.  I gasped for breath and my
fingers bit into the leather arms of the chair and I braced myself.

I was so deeply reeling in agony that I did not hear the swish of the
approaching second stroke.  It felt as if it landed directly on top of the
first and it's pain, if anything, was greater.

It is a fallacy to think that punishment canes were made from bamboo, the
like  of which gardeners use to tie up and support their plants. No,
punishment canes were made of a far more evil material -- rattan.  Imported
from the far east this is a very flexible and whippy wood, capable of
imparting far more pain upon impact.  We boys knew well that canes were
produced in differing strengths with the senior cane being the longest and
greatest in diameter.  It was a senior cane which was now chastising me.

The third stroke came in lower than the earlier two, I distinctly felt it
land differently and with it tears started to form.  I fought them back,  I
couldn't possibly cry.  No way !

Apocryphal tales tell of school boys being caned across their naked
backsides but I never knew of this actually happening to anyone.  However,
for what good they were doing the Headmaster may just have well ordered me
to strip naked and take my beating nude.  Neither the pain not the
humiliation could have been greater.

Number four and I told myself that now I was past half way. If only I could
hold out for just two more strokes.  But did I have any choice ?  I had to
hold out, there was no other option.

Number five and I was about to beg for mercy, to be spared that final
stroke.  My lips opened and were about to utter the words when I heard the
swish of number six.  That final swish was louder than before and the pain
it brought with it equal to the previous five added together.  I let out an
unintelligible cry and thanked God it was all over.

Slowly, very slowly, I stood up and the contours of my deeply wounded behind
moved only to renew the pain which was racing round my body and trying in
vain to escape.  I stood next to Paul and winked an eye at him.

The Headmaster now launched into his post-punishment lecture.

"This is not the first time I have had cause to thrash a sixth former and
let all be assured that if the need arises again I will not hesitate to
repeat the dose I have given to you two.  As senior members of the school it
is your responsibility..."

I stopped listening to him, allowing the tirade to go over my head and
bypassing my ears.  I had more important things upon which to concentrate,
my thoughts were too deeply concentrating on the agony I was suffering.
>From previous canings I knew the pain lasted long after the final stroke and
I knew on this occasion it could last for hours.

"I think it is best," the Headmaster was coming to the end of all he had to
say. The cane was still in his hand and he was tapping it gently on the side
of his trouser leg.  "I think it best if you both now go home, take the rest
of the day away from school and reflect on your punishment.  Return tomorrow
and start a new."

"Yes Sir."

We did go home, at least we went to Paul's home.  As we walked my friend
offered long and sincere apologies.  It wasn't his fault and I told him so.
I tried to quell his feelings of guilt and to a small extent I think I
succeeded.

"Fancy taking a look at the damage ?"  Paul suggested.

"Sure."

We dropped our trousers and closely inspected one another's backsides.

"Fuck me it's a five bar gate !"  I exclaimed.

A five bar gate for those who are fortunate enough not to know,  is where
five of the strokes have been laid down across the buttocks in a parallel
formation with number six cutting diagonally through them.

"The same for you,'  Paul said.

That explained the final stroke, why it hurt so much as it bisected its way
through the bruised flesh of the earlier lines.  It takes a skilled caner to
be able to deliver a five bar gate, for certain our Headmaster was a very
highly skilled caner.  He had just give out two five bar gates !

I laughed, it wasn't funny but it brought relief and made me feel better.
Very soon we were both in fits of laughter.  A strange sight we must have
made, our trousers and pants round our ankles, naked from the waist down and
each with a glowing behind.  Neither made any move to cover up our modesty.
I guess it felt good allowing the air to circulate round us.  It was also
somewhat horny if you understand my thinking.

"Fancy a wank ?"  Paul said.

I did. "Sure it may help take away some of the pain."

"I'm sure it will,"  Paul grinned.

And so ... But then that's another story !

Hope you enjoyed that guys -- love to hear from you: horny_writer@hotmail.com