Four hours of solid study was Tristan's instruction for the afternoon but his father returned unexpectedly and caught the lad reclining in front of the television set.
"What the hell!" his father exclaimed as he entered. "You were given an instruction to prepare for your exams next week and I find another example of your disobedience. I've had it with you lately."
"Sorry, Dad."
"Not half as sorry as you're going to be, Son."
Tristan guessed what was coming next and he wasn't surprised when his father made the dreaded announcement.
"Turn the TV off. Get to your room and prepare for punishment. We'll see if the strap teaches you some obedience."
Although only three rooms away, the walk to his bedroom felt so far away. Already he was strongly regretting his disobedience, and realised the time had now come to pay the penalty. He opened the door, entered the study, closed the door behind him and prepared for his punishment.
A strapping was nothing to regard lightly. Even though he was seventeen years of age and a well built young man, it didn't take too many lashes with the strap before the boy would be crying uncontrollably.
From a very early age, Tristan had been whipped solidly across his bare buttocks for the slightest misdemeanour. These whippings would be administered with a thick leather strap, split at the ends to give maximum effect.
A minimum of six strokes would be awarded for even the slightest offence. Tristan knew that this act of disobedience would certainly not be regarded as a slight offence!
The lad stripped to his underpants and stood at attention for what seemed like an indefinite length of time, contemplating his father's arrival.
As a constant reminder of the discipline that would be given to him whenever he needed it, the strap hung on the back of his bedroom door ready for use at even the slightest provocation.
His father was really furious on this occasion and it was confirmed the moment he entered.
The boy was handed a jar of vaseline and told to prepare the strap for punishment. A well conditioned strap, his father had constantly told him, made certain that its benefits would well and truly be appreciated in helping him understand the errors of his ways.
Tristan could see that his was about to well and truly understand and appreciate the error of his ways!
He also knew that a well conditioned strap was twice as painful when the four moistened strips of leather at the end made contact with the skin.
"Just as you boys need the strap every now and then to keep you in peak condition," said his father, addressing his errant son, "so the strap needs oiling to keep it in peak condition. Then it will do you a lot more good, won't it, Son?"
"Yes, Sir."
"Less than a week to your exams, young man, and what do you do the moment my back is turned? Watch the TV. Don't you care about your results or don't you know how to be obedient, which is it, Boy?"
"I do care, Dad but I needed a break. I am sorry I was disobedient."
"Well, let's hope you learn from your disobedience. Over the desk!"
"How many am I getting?" the boy asked, already quietly sobbing.
"Sufficient to teach a seventeen year old boy obedience," was the reply.
Tristan handed the strap to his father, removed his briefs and approached the desk. He spread his legs apart so that as much as possible of his buttocks were exposed for punishment and bent down low across the desk. He grasped the other side of the desk to hold himself steady.
He waited for what seemed line an eternity whilst his father repeatedly flexed the strap and then gently positioned the split ends across his son's bottom, ready to take aim and to commence the beating.
Tristan's father drew the strap back high over his shoulders in readiness for the first stroke. The strap flew through the air culminating in a loud thwack as the four supple thongs of leather were laid to rest across his son's naked bottom. As it flayed across the boy's buttocks, the lad, as was the custom to count the punishment, called, "One, Sir."
His father again positioned the strap, took careful aim and administered another stroke, this time even harder.
"Two, Sir. . . . Three, Sir. . . Four, Sir."
The punishment was slow and drawn out. At least five to ten seconds lapsed between each stroke. Whilst his father considered that a "drawn out" punishment was more beneficial to the lad, Tristan was pleased that the interval between each stroke allowed him to regain his breath and to steady himself for the next stroke. He did not want to flinch during the punishment.
This time, however, the boy was not successful. As the fifth stroke cut across his bottom, the lad jumped.
"Stand up." ordered his father. "What are the rules about moving during punishment?"
"Moving means I get a caning, Sir."
"Well, get the cane out of the cupboard and be quick about it."
The lad took six solid cuts of the cane across his bottom and replaced the cane in the cupboard. He again handed his father the strap and resumed the punishment position over the desk.
And the whipping continued . . . .
He was determined not to flinch again and he took the remainder of his whipping without the slightest movement, although screaming with pain at each stroke.
In all, Tristan was given a total of fifteen strokes of the strap, plus the six cuts of the cane.
The lad's raw, bruised and battered buttocks were a salutary reminder to him of the errors of his way. His school work and examination performance showed a remarkable improvement as did his willingness to follow instructions.