Henry knew what he wanted.....he had always known........
Now a responsible bank manager and with a sound reputation in the local community he was a man with a charming wife who did all she could to pease him. All he required now to complete his perfect family life were the children.
The orphanages were full of boys whose parents had died in the war, resources were beyond breaking point so placement was fast and easy. The country was calling on all respctable couples to step forward and take a child if they were able to. It was the 1940's.
Henry sat comfortably in his study staring out over the lawns at the setting sun, the sky was a haze, white clouds dotted the horizon and the sun streamed in through the french windows. Henry stroked the thin whippy cane though his hands.
The boy can clean the car every Sunday and give it a good polish, he thought.
He pictured the young lad bent double over the easy chair just in front of his desk. His shorts would be at his ankles and his white underpants at his knees. The boys silky smooth buttocks would be presented awaiting the stick's attention.
The boy would be uncomforable as the back of the chair pushed firmly againt his lower stomach, bottom poking up high. The little fellow would be on his tip toes hoping that the ordeal would soon be over.
His discomfort would be increased as the stick made it's first burning impression on his soft young bottom......but Henry was getting ahead of himself.
He was looking forward to giving his new son his first beating.
Hopefully there would be resistance, some tears of course, some begging and promises to be better.
There would be the swish of the rattan stick, the squeels of pain, the hand flashing back to protect the innocent flesh from the pain, the extra strokes, of course, the trip up to the boys room afterwards for a rubbing better session and the sound of sobbing boy with striped bottom.