Rick stood in front of me, an anxious, scared look on his handsome face. Rick was a Chinese boy of eleven or twelve whom I had adopted about six months ago, with black hair cropped short and dark eyes that right now he couldnt keep off the cane I was holding. The boy was dressed in his usual short-sleeved shirt, brief shorts, ankle socks and sandals. He was nervously pulling at the cap in his hands.
"This is another quite dreadful report card," I said in a stern voice. "Your headmaster suggests a good, sound caning from me might be helpful to teach you to apply yourself more to your studies. It seems you pass the day dreaming instead of studying. We will have to correct this. Take your shorts down."
It wasnt the first time Rick was in this situation and he didnt hesitate long. He put down the tortured little cap, unbuttoned his tight shorts and pulled them down to his ankles. His insignificant underpants followed quickly. Then he turned and climbed onto the heavy leather-upholstered armchair. With is face well down over the chair back, his little bottom well up at the correct angle, he waited, resigned to his fate.
I stepped closer to inspect his bottom. It still had livid welts down the lower half, the result of a nice, long thrashing a couple of days ago. I made sure that the boy would receive at least three beatings a week because I knew he would get completely out of hand if not constantly reminded by a very sore and tender backside. Not only was he a lazy, negligent little scamp, he was also prone to nasty temper tantrums when things didnt go his way. I had to put a stop to this even if it meant a daily flogging.
I let him wait. It was part of his discipline to take time to think about the pain his bottom would soon experience. Of course he remembered his last whippings quite well, but the anxiety prior to a fresh installment was always the same, perhaps even higher, when his buttocks still hurt from a previous punishment.
I swished the cane through the air. That also helped to concentrate the boys mind on the forthcoming beating. I heard Rick give a little moan and I smiled. I swished the cane again. After another two minutes or so, I started tapping the tip of the cane across his exposed skin and I saw the flesh tremble a bit. I stroked the cane up and down the rounded cheeks and the boy twisted about. Yes, he was anxiously waiting the pain to come.
"I think I will give you twelve strokes today. Not a lot, I admit, but each stroke will be quite severe. I want to make certain that you feel each one to the fullest. You might even bleed a little but they say naughty boys should lose a little blood each day. Although I believe that was in the days of the birch rod when a good swishing normally brought out quite a bit of bleeding welts. We should really try the birch one of these days." I swished the cane. I was enjoying this. I almost was sorry to have to start the caning at some point; this introduction gave me as much pleasure as it bothered the prostrate child across the chair. I stroked Ricks naked buttocks with the cane.
With a sigh, I at last raised the cane.
"You will count each stroke, followed by a thank you, sir," I said. "Is that clear?"
"Yes, sir," came the trembling whisper.
"Each time you forget, wait too long, or miscount, I will give you two extra strokes, so be careful." I smiled as I watched the boys worried face. He was close to tears.
When giving Rick his thrashings, I try to draw out the procedure for as long as possible. Giving a dozen cane strokes doesnt take more than a couple of minutes even with a ten-second pause between each stroke. That is much too short a time. So I prepare the boy for the forthcoming agony so he can picture clearly what he is in for. This I have now done for almost ten minutes or so and he is now in the right frame of mind to receive some very hard cuts.
I like to aim for the lower buttocks and the upper thighs, and especially in the parts between. That makes sitting painful for several days so he can remember his punishment for that period of time at least. I raised the cane high, turning my upper body slightly, then whipped it down across the boys chubby buttock, nice and low. Following through, and with a little twist of the wrist, I applied full force to that first stroke. The cane bit firmly into the flesh and I held it there for a moment, waiting for the count.
"Aaarrrghh...One, sir... Th-thank you, sir..." came the gasped reply.
I stroked the trembling bottom for a while, waiting for the effect to sink in fully. Then I tapped the lower buttocks and raised the cane once more. And brought it down, hard.
"Oooowwww! Oh-oh-oh....T-two, sir... Th-thank you, sir..."
And thus all the way to twelve. I had to admire the boys stoicism. His backside swelling a little more with each stroke, the thick welts deep and purple, he never moved out of position or miscounted. The fear of additional strokes does wonders for a boy under punishment. Next time I will have to try harder and see if I cant get him at least to put a hand back trying to protect his whipped behind. This would cost him and extra two cuts and may help to make him miss the next count. But for now, hes had enough. After an adequate intermission, I allowed him to get off the chair and assume the usual position in the corner where he will remain for the next hour, hands on his head, unable to soothe his throbbing bottom.
"You will go to your room and sit at your desk doing your homework," I told him, evenly. "I will review the results before supper and hope, for your bottoms sake, that this time youll have produced a perfect score."
I watched him slowly lower his hands, pull up his little shorts over his spectacularly striped behind and stumble out of the room. And as I watched, I was already looking forward to our next session. I didnt think the boy, sitting with his tender buttocks on the hard desk seat, would be able to concentrate enough for a 100% grade. No matter how much he begged and pleaded, he would get another good dose of the cane, either still today, perhaps tomorrow, but certainly by the day after. No reason to leave Ricks backside without any cane marks. It only encourages him to further laziness.
Reluctantly I replaced the cane in my closet. It was time to concentrate on my other duties.
Supper was eaten in the kitchen, with young Rick sitting on his usual hard wooden chair. He squirmed about a bit until I landed a good smack on his bare thigh. "Sit still, boy," I said sternly. He sat still after this, showing once again that boys will only obey after they have felt some pain.
I didnt wait long after supper to take Rick back to his room to inspect the masterpiece he had produced. The work was typical for a boy Ricks age: hurried, sloppy, mistakes crossed out, ink spots and dreadful handwriting and spelling.
I looked at him. The boys face was drawn and pale as he knew what he could expect. "Is this the best you could do?" I asked him.
"Y-yes, sir... I - er - I tried very hard."
"Well, Ill have to teach you to try harder, wont I? Perhaps a good dose with the heavy tawse will remind you to make greater efforts with your homework in the future. Bring me the one marked "XH."
He hesitated, his eyes large with fear. "Oh, please, sir -" he started, but I interrupted his stupid excuses. "Now!"
With a little gasp, Rick went to the cupboard and brought out the required tawse. Two inches wide, cut into two one-inch tails, about 30 inches long, it was made of excellent butt leather about 3 8 inch thick. An excellent instrument for teaching schoolboys how to write essays and do proper homework. He handed it to me with the awe usually reserved for religious objects.
"Shorts down," I snapped. I watched with great amusement as the childs trembling little hand flew to the waistband of his shorts. He fiddled a moment, unable to unbutton in his nervousness, but then finally pushing the tight shorts down his thighs. Once at the lever of his knees, they fell to the floor and he stepped out of them.
"Over the chair," I now ordered. Ricks shirt didnt come below his waist, leaving him properly exposed for the coming punishment. No need to roll it up to expose the buttocks fully. Saves a lot of time.
I slapped the tails of the tawse lightly against my flat palm and the noise made the boy jump. He pulled himself further over the chair back, raising his buttocks and then spread his legs wide apart so that his cleft was fully opened. At least he had learned this much but only after systematic training, of course.
I took my time. The cane marks were livid and raised. The 12 strokes were all nicely placed on the lower buttock and high up across the thighs. Although I would not spare these parts for his coming punishment, I would concentrate more on the middle and upper portions of his chubby little behind. And by middle I meant not only horizontally across the cheek, but also vertically between them. Those are particularly effective I have found.
"Now, lets see. How many should we give you this time? Maybe we should start with six." Here I paused to let the boy think he was getting off this easy. "Yes, six across the left buttock, six across the right buttock, six across each outer thigh, six across the inner thighs and - you lucky child - a full dozen down the cleft between your buttocks."
Rick wailed. "Oh, please, sir, not so many! Im still so sore. Please! Ill do better next time. Really, I will. Only please dont beat me so hard. My bottom still hurts so much! Please!"
I stood smiling until his whining finally stopped.
"Well start with the six across your left buttock," I said, raising the heavy tawse.
I brought it down as hard as possible. The tails smacked sharply around the cheek, curling into the crevice. Then I repeated the process on the right cheek with the tips of the tails again biting nicely into the childs anus. Rick howled and it was only the second stroke.
Five more times across each buttock and the boys poor cleft had to take a dozen hits. More was to come but first a little pause. I wanted Rick to absorb each stroke and each group of strokes to the fullest.
Now it was the thighs turn and the boy roared as the thick leather branded his inner and outer thighs until they were almost purple from the buttocks to halfway to the knees. His backside shook and wriggled, he squirmed and writhed with the fiery pain that increased with every stroke, but the fear of even more punishment kept him in place. Yes, I had trained the boy well.
I changed position to stand at the boys head, looking down at the split buttocks. It was time to whip him down the center, into the cleft, across the anus and in between his legs. Very tender parts in a boys anatomy and I felt sure that Rick would remember this lesson when doing his next homework.
I raised the tawse.....
The entire punishment hadnt taken more than ten minutes or so, but it had had its desired effect on one small schoolboy who now stood trembling and sobbing in his corner, naked from the waist down, shorts still on the floor near the chair where the discipline had been administered.