Bob and his Dad had driven for an hour from their home down to Delaware to Dover Academy, the prep school which Bob was attending as a junior. It was a Saturday morning in the Spring. Two days before this, Bob had used his car to take three fellow-students out on a magnificent Spring day to play some ball and generally enjoy the day; they should, of course, have been in school. Yesterday Bob had told a senior master that his car had broken down and he had no way of getting to school. The other boys were passengers of his every day, so of course they could not have come either. But when the teacher, suspecting something, questioned one of the boys separately, the boy confessed that they had all simply taken the day off.
Bob was summoned to the headmaster's office and asked point blank for the truth. Not knowing about the younger boy's spilling the proverbial beans, he looked the head straight in the eye and lied. That did it. He was ordered to come to school on Saturday afternoon at 3 P.M. with his father, or face expulsion. "Major Mason, I do hope it's clear to you that what is about to happen is totally within school policy - as well as being agreed upon in the consent form which each parent had to sign."
"Oh yes, certainly Dr. Wilson. Bob's mother and I fully approve of the discipline at Dover Academy. Your reputation is fair but firm, headmaster; this is a major reason why we chose this school for him."
"Good, then. I do not need to emphasize that chastisement of a boy, in particular a junior like Bob, is never pleasant. It's simply necessary, given his serious misdeeds."
Bob himself stood to the side, hands behind him and head bowed slightly. He stood six feet two inches tall, and was Center on the Varsity basketball team. He listened with a sense of dread, knowing the inevitable.
"It isn't common that a boy reaches sixteen and then still needs to feel the cane for the first time. Most boys receive it much more frequently, and at a much earlier age, although a few make it through this school without ever feeling it. I've checked through his files, and your son's deportment has been rated satisfactory in most terms. That's why it surprised me to learn that he skipped school and then lied to a senior master about being caught. Mr. Hoffman also reported to me that Bob was impertinent, even defiant, during the entire investigation." His stern gaze next focused on Bob. "Do you have anything to say for yourself, young man?" "N-no, Headmaster."
"And so you admit the infraction and also admit that you deserve corporal punishment - as the school rules clearly call for in this case."
"Yes, Headmaster." Bob knew there was simply nothing else he could say now. Better to come across as resigned to his fate.
"Very well, then - there is nothing more to discuss. It's my view that as well as skipping class,, you have been untruthful and defiant. The cane is called for with regard to the truancy. However, when I detect a boy is getting above himself, especially one of the older boys, I find that a firm bare-bottom hand spanking does wonders in putting him right back in his place.
"His mother and I have noticed an attitude problem of late."
Bob glanced at his Dad with a look of both fear and rage. His comment had dug him only deeper into a hole. And to think that he had hoped that his Dad had come down to bail him out of this mess.
"You do see, of course, Major Mason, why I insisted that you be present. There is a matter of decorum here. As you probably know, much of my experience has been in elite English public schools. Even in today's world, a headmaster in an English school may spank or cane on the bare bottom with no one else present. For how much longer is anyone's guess, for the use of corporal punishment is falling into disfavor there as here. And here in the States, I much prefer a parent as witness. It removes, shall we say, any hint of improper conduct on my part."
"You can't be too careful these days, Mr. Wilson. I fully understand and appreciate your thinking."
"Very well, then, no need to delay any further." The headmaster pulled the armless straight-backed chair into the center of the spacious room. "Right over here, Bob . . . . that's it, now pants down and over my knee . . . .I'm sure you think you are much too big for an old-fashioned spanking. Well, you'll soon see how a sound spanking can change your mind - even at sixteen."
Bob felt profoundly shamed and fearful as he obeyed his headmaster, undoing and lowering his pants before draping himself across his knee.
"You see, Major Mason, it does a boy like Bob a world of good to be taken down a peg or two at his age. As the English headmaster with whom I worked used to say - 'Once a boy's trousers come down, he loses some of that high and mighty opinion of himself' - quite right, I think." The headmaster paused a moment, then . . . SPANK, SPANK, SPANK . . . . .the headmaster began Bob's punishment with a series of sharp spanks alternating between his sturdy bottom cheeks - now bouncing under the sting and starting to redden even with this initial volley. "Keep your buttocks soft, young man, you're over my knee to have your attitude changed, and I want to see you taking your spanking without any hint of resistance. If you scrunch them even once, I shall have to begin the punishment all over again! Do you understand?"
"Y-yes, Headmaster."
"I hope that you are feeling this, Bob. I know you'll find a hand spanking from me quite a salutary experience. But I digress; we've only begun."
Standing to the side, Major Mason admired the headmaster's disciplinary skill. It was instantly clear that Bob was now beginning to regret his recent ways. All for the good, he said to himself.
The spanking continued for another several minutes, each minute raining down another fifty or so hard smacks. The boy's legs began to flutter kick in response to the growing sting on his ass. At this point he cared little about being so much on display. Instead his thoughts were on his growing discomfort. He had no idea how much a spanking like this could hurt. What must the cane feel like? He tried to block out the thought.
"You see, Major Mason, your son is now learning a time-honored lesson in deportment. While the cane works wonders - as you shall soon see - there's nothing like a very sound hand spanking to bring a young man to his senses. And I think that's just what's now happening with Bob, isn't it boy?" His words were punctuated with another series of crisp smacks across both cheeks, now each a rosy shade of red.
"Oh yes, y-yes Headmaster. I'm sorry, really sorry. I am. I am."
"I think you are indeed, Bob." He completed the hand spanking with another two dozen extra firm spanks to the boy's blazing bottom. "And I'm sure you are going to be even more sorry for your serious misdeed once you've had your first caning."
Bob gasped at these words. "Please, Headmaster . I've really learned my lesson already - I know I have."
"You're well aware of school policy, Bob. It's six of the best with the cane for skipping class - no exceptions. And your lying in an attempt to escape being caught only compounds the misdeed. You should be glad that you are only about to receive one set of six, and not two. Had you been before me before, that's exactly what you would have received. No, your spanking just completed was only to put your senses right. There's no avoiding your well-earned chastisement, young man. Now, you may get up and position yourself over the back of that chair."
Bob did as he was told. His movements from off his lap to behind the chair and then bending over it were somewhat clumsy, forced by the constraint of his briefs now slipped to his ankles.
"You can step out of those, Bob. Then part your legs so as to straddle the seat. . You bottom will be nice and open for the cane."
Bob felt himself blush at these words. He knew now that his Dad would not object, given his respect for the headmaster. He felt so _d_a_m_n_ vulnerable, so exposed, and not a little frightened as he obeyed.
"That's better - now head and shoulders well down...hands with a good grip on the seat. You needn't be warned to keep them there. Still you should know that failing to maintain your position means double strokes - which you won't like one little bit."
He remained still, fearful now of the awful consequences of any disobedience. He was acutely conscious that, in this position, legs spread far apart so that he could straddle the chair, his ass stuck out behind him, and his genitals hung down between his widespread legs, clearly visible to all from the rear. The head always had this way about him making every boy in the school cringe in fear whenever on report in his office. Bob, junior class president, felt no different. He heard his footsteps as he walked to the far side of the room. A cupboard door was opened; then he heard the unmistakable sound of the cane swishing through the air.
"You see, Major Mason, when used properly, the cane leaves a most memorable sting with no damage or injury. The marks themselves, may last a week or two, but they are an excellent reminder. Bob is an athlete, clearly in good physical shape and will have no problem withstanding the traditional 'six of the best' on his bottom."
The head took his position to the left and slightly forward of the bent-over boy. Now that he had Bob positioned perfectly, he was going to make sure that he received a proper caning,
"Now Bob, after each of the six strokes you will say, 'Thank you for number one, sir. I'll never skip class or lie again, please give me another stroke. ' and so forth. Is that clear, young man?" "Y-yes, sir."
"Good then. Relax your bottom boy - it will only sting more if you remain tense. No boy enjoys his first caning, but I expect you to take it in good form. Again, Major Mason, have no concern at all. This is very much in Bob's best interest."
Bob shut his eyes, held his breath, and waited. Finally he heard the awful SSSSWWWWWWIIIIIITTTTTTTT from above - followed by a deep piercing sting that took his breath away.
He gasped audibly - having in no way been prepared for the unique sensation. He paused and then struggled out the words, "Th-th-thank y-you, s-sir for number one. I'll n-never skip class or lie a-again. PPPlease give me another stroke."."
The headmaster paused. A vivid twin tracked welt was forming across the very fullest part of Bob's young, previously uncaned backside. He had always been very deliberate while using the cane. No need at all to rush - let him feel the full impact of each stroke. A good thirty seconds elapsed. ` "A-a-agh," Bob uttered at the second stroke, placed just an inch below the first. Oh my God, he thought to himself - how can I stand four more of these? But he managed to repeat the phrase as required.
The third may have been the worst. It hit down low, just where bottom meets thigh. Bob's body shook slightly as he made every attempt possible to absorb the shock to his body. His pause was longer, but he still managed to say the phrase of penance which the headmaster always required.
"You see, Major, just what a beneficial experience the cane is for a young man of any age. You son is feeling its smart quite keenly now, but he's also disciplined enough to follow the instruction given him. The lesson he's learning now won't soon be forgotten."
The fourth and fifth strokes were given closer in succession, about twenty seconds apart. Each one made Bob feel that he could withstand no more; but of course he did. Only one more to go, he thought - please, please give me the strength to hold up.
"Very well now, just one more to go. Take it in good form, Bob, and your chastisement is over. I'm sure that's incentive enough for you, isn't it?" There was a slight pause, and then SSSSWWWWWWIIIIIITTTTTTTT! The worst one yet, by far, right across the crown of his ass and stinging as much as anything he'd ever felt. It seemed to cut his ass literally in half. He squeezed his eyes shut, took a deep breath, and finally managed to say the required words.
"Thank you S-sir for number s-six. I promise, never, EVER, to skip class or lie again. Thank you for this chastisement, Sir." This was the required formula at the conclusion of every caning. Had he omitted it, the caning would have been repeated in its entirety. "I rather believe you, Bob. And I must say you did take your first caning quite well." Before giving permission to rise, the headmaster took one long look at the bottom before him, now nearly beet red and well marked with six deep parallel welts.
He walked to the front of the chair. "Let me help you get up." Bob had no idea of how much energy he'd spent in taking his caning - thus he was surprised to find that he needed this help. Once he was on his feet, they both could feel that the scene was over. "Oh God," he said, "that was incredible! I didn't think I could stand it."
The young man shook hands with the headmaster almost out of habit. "You're the best headmaster any student could ever have. I really, really deserved this punishment." He laughed. "You're going to love looking at those stripes every day in the mirror - a most pleasant reminder, I'm sure." He turned to Major Mason, "Good afternoon , Major. Thank you for coming. "
The father and son left the school and drove back in stony silence to their home. Upon arriving, the father said: Okay, Bob, up to your room. You know the drill. I will be up after a bit."
Bob climbed the stairs rubbing hid very sore ass. In his room he slowly undressed, carefully putting his jeans, shirt, and T-shirt away. Then he put two pillows on top of each other in the center of his bed, and lay over them, face down, so that his ass was raised on the pillows. The briefs he had just taken off he had stuffed in his mouth, and his feet were spread as far apart as physically possible, and in that position he waited and waited and waited for his Dad's arrival. Knowing what was inevitably coming, he waited in utter misery. His ass was burning up from the caning, the underpants in his mouth were, to say the least, uncomfortable, and holding his legs in that widespread position was difficult, and worse yet, he sprouted an erection. But he knew better than to relax, even for an instant. From past experience he knew that if he was not in that precise position when his Dad came in, he would receive forty-eight whacks with the razor strop, or even seventy-two, instead of twenty four. Since he reached sixteen, the standard punishment was two dozen with the strap, bare ass over the bed.
After a good half hour, his father came up, razor strop in hand. But first he applied oil of wintergreen to Bob's butt, all the more to heat it up for the strapping. He hated this. This raised the temperature of his posterior to the third power. Since Bob had been spanked at school a couple of hours before, his ass was already ablaze. The wintergreen increased this pain exponentially. His butt seemed literally on fire.
"Ready?" asked the father. "Yes, Sir," was the muffled reply through the make-shift gag.
WHACK! The strop descended across his ass cheeks like a stroke of lightning. "ONE, Sir," sobbed the victim. And so it went, for twenty-three more terrible whacks. Every square centimeter of Bob's ass and upper thighs was kissed by that strop, and kissed extremely hard. Bob knew better than to cry out or scream, much as he would have liked to. Anything like that would cause the punishment to start over from the beginning. So the reaction to each kiss of the strap was a grunt or soft sob at most. But the session would never ever be forgotten. And it was a good three weeks before the blistered and bleeding ass was again free of marks . . . which caused the boy considerable embarrassment at basketball practice each afternoon, as he changed clothes in the locker room. This was the last time Bob ever skipped class in prep school. The price for so doing was just too _d_a_m_n_ high!
JUVENES, SICUT NAVES, PER POSTORIORA REGUNTUR!