Richard, you are now almost eleven years old and too old to be behaving this way, Bill Jensen said as he stood over his young stepson flexing a long cane. Jensen enjoyed these moment. He had caned the child only last week and had been looking forward to a repeat performance ever since.
Jensen had adopted the boy about five years ago on the insistence of his late wife and he had always felt frustrated that she wouldnt let him beat the boy the way he felt all boys should be disciplined. It was foolish to raise a boy with just an occasional spanking across the knee, which was the most his wife allowed, and that not more than perhaps twice a week and with ample justification. Jensen always found such justification and spanked the child as hard as he could, but never as severely as he would have liked. He had itched to take the thick leather strap to the boy from the beginning, but didnt want to antagonise his wife. So he had spanked and spanked as much and as hard as he dared.
But around two years ago his wife had met with a fatal accident and he was left alone with the 8-year-old and out came the tawse and the cane. Now there was no holding him back. He thrashed the boy for all and any excuse several times a week until the boy howled in agony. He liked that.
Of course he had to control himself, hard as it was for him. He didnt want to harm the boy, just discipline him properly. He always inspected the childs buttocks carefully after each thrashing to make sure that it was in condition to be punished again in a day or two. He never drew blood except, occasionally, when he caned. On those occasions, when the boy had been particularly naughty, some of the heavier cuts bled a little, but not enough to worry him. A wet cloth would wash it clean and there was never enough to seep through the thin, skin-tight shorts he made the boy wear over his skin.
And now here he was once more, holding the cane, looking down at the frightened little boy who knew exactly what was coming. Young Richard had spilled his milk resulting in a stain on the expensive tablecloth. Not only that, but when he met his fathers stern, disapproving glance, the boy had jumped from his hard chair and run to his room, slamming the door. Such behaviour was not to be tolerated and Jensen knew that the severe caning he was going to inflict on the boy was well deserved. This time he would administer twelve solid strokes across the small, round, chubby little buttocks.
Shorts down, he said in his most severe voice and Richard obeyed, his face white and anxious.
Turn around and bend over. Show me that naughty little behind that needs whipping so badly.
The boy unbuttoned his trim, abbreviated little shorts and pushed them down his legs.
Down to the ankles, boy, his father reminded him when the shorts hovered around the knees. Richard pushed them down, bending as he did so.
Hands on the floor, knees straight, his father commanded.
Jensen watched and was disappointed to see that the stripes from the last caning, originally so nicely ridged and swollen a deep purple, some shading into black, had in the interim faded considerably. He had looked forward to caning again right across those weals. Oh, well, he would see to it that new welts would soon rise all over those plump cheeks. Ten- or eleven-year-old boys backsides arent very large so a sound caning would cover most of the area. However, Jensen much preferred to concentrate on the lower, fleshier parts of the buttocks and the upper thighs where he knew the impact of the cane was much more effective. When he disciplined the boy, he felt the pain should be as sharp as possible so the boy would remember the lesson. The unavoidable result was that those portions would absorb many more lashes.
The boy had ample experience in those areas. He was hardly ever comfortable sitting on the hard chairs at home or the wooden benches at school. During the days after one of his fathers canings, he couldnt sit down without a small whimper every time he lowered his buttocks onto these hard surfaces. An additional effect of placing the cane where his father did, was that the brief shorts didnt hide the purple welts across his upper thighs, thus having to endure the humiliation of showing people how he was punished.
I will give you twelve hard strokes of the cane, Jensen now announced with undisguised glee. I intend to make them felt so you will remember them. I assume you agree that your disgraceful behaviour merits the most severe punishment, dont you?
Richard knew better than say more than a simple, Yes, sir. Protests were only punished with additional strokes.
Some more tapping as Jensen measured his distance carefully, the raised the cane high and, with the full force of body and shoulder, as well as a rotation of the hips, he brought the cane whistling down across the underside of the boys buttocks. The he waited, eyes glued to the spot where the cane had landed. The force of the blow had left a white line on the flesh but it quickly deepened to pink and then to an angry crimson. Simultaneously, the boys shriek echoed through the room.
One, sir, the boy whined as soon as he got his breath back. Th-thank you, sir. He had been taught this response at his first beating years ago. He knew that if he forgot or made a mistake, the whipping was repeated.
Jensen gave a grim smile of satisfaction. Yes, this was the way to ensure a boys obedience and close attention to rules and regulations. Without such discipline, boys grow up coarse and violent, aggressive and arrogant. Such characteristics must be discouraged from an early age on and the cane is surely one of the best methods to accomplish this.
He raised the cane again and the second cut landed so close to the previous, they almost touched. Another howl from the small boy and the required response in a shaky, small voice.
Jensen noticed how the two weals ran into each other, already showing signs of a later bruising right where the boy sat. Excellent.
The following strokes were all delivered full force and the boy screamed and wept but stoically retained the required position. He didnt want to invite additional pain by moving, much less straightening up, He had once or twice been so soundly birched for such an offence that his bottom had been flayed and he had to remain lying on his stomach for the rest of the day before he was sent back to school, his buttocks still burning inside his shorts.
After six strokes, Jensen put down the cane to rest. No need to get his arm too tired to handle the cane adequately. He let the boy remain in position while he went to get a glass of water. Then, sitting comfortably in his easy chair, he observed the bending child. Yes, the welts were rising nicely. Four across the lower buttocks, two across the upper thighs. The next six would land on the same area, except this time it would be four across the thighs and two on the buttocks. All nice and close together so there would be one wide bruise.
Jensen let about twenty minutes go by, then he rose, picked up the cane and approached the boy once more. Young Richard, watching out of the corner of his eyes, started to tremble.
Please, sir, no more! he pleaded, knowing it was useless. Jensen just ignored it and whipped the cane smartly across the weals on the thighs. Not surprisingly, the boy howled, more loudly than before.
Seven, sir, he whimpered. Thank you, sir.
Dont be such a baby, Jensen mocked the child. I want to hear you count in a loud, clear voice. And say thank you, sir as if you meant it.
Down came the cane and Richard tried to speak louder and more clearly, although gasping with the intense pain.
Not good enough, was Jensens opinion. Disobedience warrants additional two strokes. And next time, follow my orders.
Three terrific strokes followed but the boy, with great effort, managed to howl out the words to Jensens satisfaction.
The last three cuts were the hardest and the boy blubbered unashamedly. His bottom felt on fire and it was all he could do to remain bending, hands on the floor, knees straight. He knew he couldnt have taken another stroke without falling.
Satisfied, Jensen put down the cane. Your punishment is over, Richard, he said, looking down impassively at the writhing, sweating, weeping boy. Go and stand in the corner, hands behind your neck, and think about your future behaviour. Think about the consequences of continued disobedience. Think about the pain in your behind. Promise yourself to improve in the future and follow my orders implicitly, do your homework properly, watch your table manners, all those things boys your age seem to think unnecessary.
With a last glance at the wealed bottom of the ten-year-old, he left. He could still hear the boys whimpers as he closed the door. Yes, a very salutary treatment for a very naughty little boy. He was looking forward to the next occasion in the near future.