David, twelve, was on his hands and knees on the floor of his bedroom playing with his toy train. His sister, Elizabeth, aged ten, watched from the door. Seeing the upturned backside of her brother, she couldnt resist the temptation. Quietly she slipped into the room, raised her hand high and, with all her strength, brought it down on the boys bottom.
David let out a screech and fell to the floor. His bottom was actually quite sensitive and the unexpected blow, even from her little sister, was quite painful. He rose, his face flushed with pain and embarrassment, and lunged for Elizabeth. With a little giggle, she quickly turned and ran back to her own room, David following hard on her heels. She reached her room and was about to slam the door, when David managed to get his foot in the jamb. He pushed his way through and when he saw his sisters grin, he exploded. Grabbing the first object at hand, he pitched a heavy book at her. It missed, flew past the girls head and crashed onto the table behind her, taking a crystal vase with it. There was a loud crash and the twinkle of glass, then silence. The children looked at each other for a second, then Elizabeth howled, Mummy, Daddy! Come quick! Look what David did!
Less than a minute later, Gregory and Julie Dawson rushed into the room.
Whats going on here? Gregory Dawson shouted. Cant you children behave?
Look, Elizabeth said rather smugly, he threw the book at me and broke Mummys vase. Having regained her composure, she now actually felt quite triumphant. Here she was the innocent victim of her vulgar brothers attack.
Julie Dawson picked up the book. This came from the library, you know. Its an expensive art book Beth asked me to borrow. Its been ruined. Well have to pay for it.
And what about that vase, Mummy? Elizabeth asked, pointing at the many small pieces on the floor. That was your favourite, wasnt it?
Julie nodded. She looked at the crestfallen boy who stood, twisting the hems of his brief shorts, looking at his feet. His face had now become quite pale.
Well, David, his father said, approaching the boy, what do you have to say for yourself?
The boy cringed. She hit me, he finally muttered.
And you think thats an excuse to destroy valuable property?
I didnt do that on purpose, David said more loudly. I just wanted -
Yes? Wanted what? To hit your sister in the head. Is that it?
Well, yes, but - the boy said miserably.
But nothing. We will see if we can teach you to control your temper tantrums in the future. Wait for me in my study.
After the boy had left the room, Julie, with Elizabeths help, started to clean up. Dont touch the glass, Beth, she told her daughter. Ill do that. You can try and see if the book can be repaired. The binding has been dislodged and several pages have been ripped. Well have to see if we can get a new one to return to the library.
As Gregory Dawson was about to follow his son downstairs, Elizabeth stopped him.
Daddy, can I come with you?
But Im just going to the study, Beth.
I know, but I want to watch.
Watch David being punished?
Yes. After all, he attacked me. I want to see him getting it.
Why not? Julie said with a smile. Might do David some good, having his sister there. Hes getting too big for his boots.
The boy stood in the middle of the large room, the picture of a naughty schoolboy awaiting his fate. His look of alarm as he saw his sister traipsing behind her father was comical. Why is she here? he asked.
She wants to watch. That is her right, seeing that you tried to hurt her. Do you know what might have happened if you had hit her in the head with that heavy book? Do you realize the seriousness of your offence? You understand why you have to be punished most severely?
The boy bit his lip and hung his head. Yes, sir, he said quietly.
I know that after yesterdays caning your bottom is still a bit sore, but this cant be helped. Its really your fault. So take down your shorts and kneel on the bench. Hands on the floor, knees apart.
The boy silently obeyed and his face flushed hot again when she heard Elizabeths giggle.
Gregory went to the cupboard and returned with a dripping birch rod. There were always a couple of rods steeping in brine to keep them supple. He had flogged the boy about two weeks ago, but several fresh ones remained to be used today. However, he would have to get new ones soon.
He swished the twigs through the air to remove the excess water and approached his sons bared backside. It showed livid signs of the previous caning and others, fainter, from earlier whippings. Gregory was not concerned with this old evidence of the boys many acts of naughtiness. This was a new offence and one that merited exceptional punishment.
You will receive four dozen, Gregory calmly advised his bending, bare-bottomed son, followed an hour later with two dozen with the cane.
A gasp from the boy. The girl, sitting nearby, nodded her head with satisfaction.
And the same dose for the next three days, Gregory continued as he placed himself behind and to one side of the boy. He raised the birch.
There was a noisy intake of breath as the first stroke landed full force across the lower parts of the boys naked buttocks. The twigs bent around the curve of the lower bottom while the hard buds at the tips bit into the inner parts. Almost immediately angry read lines swelled up. A pause and the birch was raised again.
Elizabeth watched, fascinated by the rush of the rod and the thud of the impact on the boys flesh. The birch landed on the same spot and the boy let out squeal of pain. Gradually the birch worked its way down towards the thighs and soon the tops of the thighs were ridged with thick welts. The girl had seen her brother being soundly caned many times before and she was used to the boys antics during the infliction of his punishments, but she was astonished at the reaction to his present birching. After just seven or eight strokes, David was howling, real, full-throated roars of agony.
Having done its work on the thighs and lower cheeks, the birched now moved upwards again, slowly, a millimeter at a time; the cuts scorched the boys buttocks until they reached the crest. A dozen had been completed and Gregory decided on a longer pause to rest his arm and to allow the boys bottom to regain its sensitivity.
The second dozen was a repeat of the first, except that the boys screams were louder and higher-pitched. He was swaying on his arms, his skin gleaming with sweat. As the birch twigs smacked the skin over and over, little scratches started to bleed. The underside of the buttocks and the cleft between them looked red and inflamed. The upper thighs were blotched red and purple, thick with bumps and ridges.
All right, David, you may get up and stand in the corner. Remove your shorts, fold them neatly and place them on the desk. Now into the corner, hands at neck rest. You will remain there for the next 30 minutes. Then we will continue.
Father and daughter left and the boy was alone. He wept silently for a moment, then just stood and sniffed. His bottom was ablaze with burning welts, throbbing and red-hot all over. Slowly he lowered his hands and carefully tested his swollen buttocks. He was amazed at the swelling, especially where his cane weals were still most prominent. How could he possibly take two more dozen? And the cane afterwards? And the same tomorrow, and the next day, and the next? He started to sob in desperation.
When Gregory returned, the boys hands were back at his neck. His father knew quite well that David hadnt kept his hands in place but decided not to press it right now. First hed have to complete the last two dozen with the birch.
David, go to the cupboard and bring me a fresh rod. This one has too many broken twigs to be effective. The way the boy limped towards the cupboard was amusing. Come on, hurry up, boy.
David brought out a new rod and handed it to his father.
Now that Elizabeth has gone for her lunch, you will assume the jack-knife position. On your back and bring your legs up and over. You can support yourself with your hands under your hips. Now spread your feet wide. If you lower your legs, I will add a dozen strokes.
The boys father stood by the boys head, looking down on the upturned, split buttocks. This was the best position for the birch which now could reach all those parts that were normally hidden from view. Although the cleft had already received its share, the anus and genitals were now also on display and the parts between the thighs would feel the twigs to even better effect.
He whipped the birch down in a sharp arc and the twigs whistled as they lashed the boy between the buttocks, the tips landing precisely on that small hole. The boy bleated and almost lowered his legs. He bent them a bit but at the last moment spread the knees wide open again.
When the twigs lashed in between his cheeks, anus and inner thighs once more, David writhed and squirmed, yelled and roared, but to no avail. The full twelve strokes fell relentlessly across the sore parts again and again.
Twelve hard cuts later, there was another pause. Gregory allowed the boy to lower his legs and he now lay limp on the bench, bare from the waist down, fully exposed. The sobbing boy was only concerned with the excruciating pain all around his middle. His face was blotchy with tears, his eyes red and swollen. He looked pleadingly at the tall figure standing above him.
The man ignored the look. Another dozen had to be administered and there would be no relenting. That was the first rule when punishing the boy. Each of the promised strokes had to be delivered. The fact that the boy was now contrite was of course desirable, but no reason to let him off a single cut.
Very well, my boy, legs back up. Well finish the last dozen.
For the last dozen, Gregory placed himself on the boys side and whipped the small buttocks cross-wise, concentrating on the lower buttocks and upper thighs until they were well flayed. Small drops of blood trickled down toward the bench.
The man let the boy lie. He threw the birch on the floor, went to the bathroom and returned with a washcloth. He quickly wiped the blood off the boys damaged skin. Get up, he said tersely. He watched as the boy lowered his legs and painfully struggled off the bench. Then the boy stood, bent and writhing in pain, waiting for his fathers release.
Go to your room. It is now - he looked at the clock on the wall, - one-thirty. You will be back here exactly at two-thirty. You can leave your shorts. You wont need them just now. You will sit at your desk and do your homework during this hour. Then you will report back to me for your caning. Run along now.
With a smile he watched as the red-bottomed boy limped out of the room.
David struggled with his homework for one hour, shifting his throbbing backside back and forth on the hard seat but without being able to alleviate the pain he felt there. He knew his father was going to check his homework later that evening and the boy shuddered when he thought about his reaction. With a sigh, he slowly rose from his chair and shuffled off to his fathers study.
Gregory Dawson was waiting for his son, his eyes on the clock. He smiled when he heard the timid knock on the door. One hour exactly. Yes, his son had learned obedience over the years, even though his behaviour could certainly improve considerably. He would see to it, he though, picking up the cane he had selected for the purpose at hand. A solid, yet most flexible junior school cane that would the job quite adequately. Davids bottom was sturdy as twelve-year-olds tend to be and there was no reason to be half-hearted with his thrashings.
Come in, he called loudly and watched the door open a crack and the boy squirmed inside. Gregory saw the pale and twitching face and knew that the boy was still feeling the effects of his birching. All the better.
Come over here, boy, he said tersely and the boy approached full of fear.
Im sorry to say that you will have to lower those little shorts of yours yet again, he said with an ironic smile. This will be two dozen, as you know, and I intend to make each one count. You will not attack your sister in the future, regardless of what you consider instigation. I understand she slapped your bottom. Why is that such a big deal? Do you really prefer a good swishing plus a sound caning? Was that really worthwhile? Answer me!
N-no, sir, the boy muttered. It wasnt.
And now you will have to pay. Its only right for a boy - just as everyone else - to pay for his mistakes. Now lower your shorts and bend over. He pointed to the solid oak chair that was normally used for such occasions. He watched with amusement as the boy tried to unbutton. His fingers trembled to such an extent that he fumbled at the waistband for many seconds before he managed to get the button through the button hole. Then the same down the flies. There were four buttons to deal with and each one proved to be a struggle. Things were not helped by Gregory swishing the cane menacingly through the air.
At last the shorts were around the boys ankles. He wore no underpants so his bottom was bare. He bent over the back of the chair, grasping the front legs.
Legs wider apart, boy, his father snapped, smacking the boys bottom with the cane. When that was accomplished to his satisfaction, he raise the short tail of the shirt up to the boys shoulders and stood back to inspect the object of his desire to discipline. The welts from the birch were still livid but there was no further bleeding. The rest of the flesh was the deep, dark red of an overripe tomato. He tapped the lower portion which still retained some of the bruising from yesterdays caning. Yes, the two dozen would hurt, as they should, and the boy would learn. Today and the next three days would be a period of learning and understanding how a twelve-year-old boy should comport himself.
Gregory Dawson slowly stepped up to the bending boy and took his stance.