AUNT JUSTINE
"Bobby, come downstairs this instant!" Jane Brent called sharply and the 12-year-old emerged from his room and scampered down the stairs in what was close to panic.
"Yes, Mum?" he squeaked like a frightened duck.
"Come here and shake hands with my sister Justine," Jane said gruffly. "Shell be staying with us for a few days."
The boy looked apprehensively at the tall newcomer. He had not seen his aunt for many years and she was a stranger to him. She was several years younger than his mother and very athletic looking. She stood and looked down on the boy with something akin to disdain.
"My, my," she said with a snicker, "what a sorry excuse for a boy." She eyed the boys rumpled, grubby shorts. "Still wearing those brief little shorts, I see. I hope you regularly warm up the seat. Looks like the boy wants daily thrashings." She laughed as she shook Bobbys hand.
"Come in and take off your coat," Jane said, ignoring her sisters remark. She was used to Justines manners which hadnt changed since they were very young.
"Come along, Bobby," she said when they were heading for the living room, "tell me all about your school. What have you learned lately? When were you caned last? How many strokes, eh?" She guffawed, made herself comfortable in a big armchair and drew the reluctant boy between her legs, holding him firmly by the hips.
Bobbys face reddened and he stammered about learning maths and geography and history.
"And?" Justine asked with a mischievous twinkle in her eyes.
"And? er - I dont know -"
"Reluctant to talk about the cane, are you? No need, my boy. I know all about how boys get caned at their schools. I have seen it many times. Too bad that too often they are allowed to keep their shorts up. Quite unnecessary in my opinion. A good caning should always be administered on the the boys bare bottom, dont you agree?"
Bobbys face turned a deeper red and he blinked at his aunt. And she was going to stay for several days? He didnt think he liked the idea. This wasnt going well at all.
"I - er - was caned twice last week," he finally brought out, blushing furiously.
"Good, good. Tell me all about it. Bare bottom, I hope?"
"Yes, Aunt Justine," the boy answered dutifully.
"Excellent. Just as it should be. How many strokes?"
"I - er - um - eight the first time and twelve the second," Bobby mumbled.
"Not enough," Justine opined. "Not nearly enough. I should think a dozen the minimum for small misdemeanours. Certainly more for anything more serious. Jane, you should talk to the schools headmaster. Tell him they should use the cane more frequently and more severely on their boys. Do them all a great deal of good, I say."
Jane smiled. "The schoolmasters are all aware of Bobbys requirements," she said mildly. "They have instructions to report all of Bobbys faults and punishments to us. We then deal with the boy later at home."
"Ah, thats much better. May I have a look at Bobbys bottom? Does he still have the marks?"
"I should think so. Bobby, pull your shorts down and show your aunt your cane marks."
"But, Mum -" Bobby started.
"NOW!" his mother snapped and the boy quickly obeyed.
Justine examined the purple and black welts that were still quite vivid across the white flesh of the boys plump little buttocks. She traced them with a finger and pinched and squeezed them quite painfully. Bobby clenched his bottom and tried to back away.
"Stand still, Bobby," his mother said. "Justine just wants to examine you. Nothing to make such a fuss about."
"Are these the marks from the school cane or yours?" Justine wanted to know.
"They are probably from both. I dont remember how many Peter gave him."
"Well, considering that he was caned twice at school with a total of twenty strokes, plus the additional cuts from you and Peter, I think there are far too few marks left. Shows he is not being punished severely enough. He should exhibit at least 3 dozen solid weals across that fat rump of his. Oh, that reminds me. Bobby, go out to my car and bring me the package you will find on the front passenger seat. Its a present for you."
"A present?" Bobby said excitedly, forgetting for a moment his bare bottom.
"Yes," his aunt confirmed. "Go and get it. No need to pull your shorts back up. Just leave them here."
Bobby looked as if he were about to protest, but he changed his mind and scampered off, naked from the waist down, into the icy weather outdoors. He returned within a few minutes, shivering, holding a long parcel wrapped in brown paper.
"May I open it?" he asked impatiently.
Justine smiled. "You may, my boy. You may. And we might all have a turn using it, wont we, Bobby?"
"Yes, Aunt Justine. You may all use it. What is it?"
"Open it and see. I know you will fully appreciate it. I know thats what you have always wanted, always asked for, and never really received enough of its full benefit."
Bobby quickly ripped off the wrapping and, seeing what was inside, stood quite still, his face a deep red once again. He stood there holding a long, whippy, yellow school cane of impressive dimensions.
"What do you say, Bobby?" his mother asked with a threatening voice.
Bobby looked first at her, then at his aunt. The hand holding the cane was shaking.
"Th-thank you, Aunt Jane," he muttered.
"Thank you for the fine cane is what you should say. Thank you for your present. I like it very much. Come now, repeat it," his mother said.
Bobbys ears were flaming and he started to sweat. "Th-thank you - for the present," he finally said. "Thank you for the present. I - I like it very much." There were tears in his eyes now.
"Well, Bobby, seeing that you like the cane and your bottom is quite bare right now, lets see if this cane is up to your standards. Maybe a little trial to see its effectiveness?"
"By all means," Jane said.
"Two dozen?"
"Certainly. Bobby, bend over the back of the chair and behave," his mother ordered.
"But, Mum -" Bobby again tried but once more was interrupted.
"Do you want three dozen, Bobby?"
"No, Mum."
"Then get over the chair now and stop arguing. Get that bottom well up so Aunt Justine can get a good swing with that lovely new cane."
With a sigh of resignation, Bobby obeyed. He handed the cane to his aunt , walked over to the chair and positioned himself as he had been trained. Justine eyed the inviting target for a moment, swishing the cane the way she had seen schoolmaster do it before whipping a boy. Then she started.
As the first lash landed just under the fold of his buttocks, singeing his skin like molten lead, Bobby wondered why this lady hit so hard. He realised that she had aimed at one of the more painful weals and the pain made him cry out.
Justine waited for the boy to relax after absorbing that first cut. She had made a study of effective caning of boys and she tried to follow the basics as closely as possible. Jane took a chair and watched placidly as the punishment proceeded ever so slowly. The second stroke was across the upper thighs because Justine also had heard that boys hate to be whipped there. Bobbys reaction seemed to prove that point. He squirmed and writhed, mewling like a strangling kitten.
Justine looked at the two fresh welts coming up. Yes, these canes were just made for young boys backsides. The pain is intense and no matter how deep the marks, they fade after a few days, maybe up to 2 weeks, but after that a boys bottom is as good as new, ready for the next installment. Naturally, a teacher or parent (or visiting aunt) couldn't always wait until stripes had faded before inflicting fresh punishment on those boyish cheeks. Boys were intrinsically naughty and needed frequent thrashings, so it would not be very unusual to be whipping a still freshly wealed bottom - as she was doing now and enjoying every minute of it. She aimed carefully and brought the cane down with all her strength across the lower cheeks where they were the fleshiest. It was a beautifully applied stroke, she thought; right on target, good and deep. Apparently Bobby did not seem to agree because he protested vehemently with a loud howl.
"Hurts, boy?" Aunt Justine asked mockingly.
"Yes, yes. Oh, please Aunt Justine, not so hard. It hurts very much!"
"Excellent," Justine replied with satisfaction. "When boys feel sharp pain in their backsides they are more inclined to behave properly, study harder and generally are more obedient. Will you be more obedient, Bobby, after this thrashing?"
"Yes, Aunt Justine. I promise. Ill be good. Ill do my chores and homework. Please stop!"
"Stop?" Justine asked, surprised. "Did we come to number 24 already? I dont think so. I just counted to three. So we have a long way to go, young man. Better be quiet and take your medicine or it will just get worse. Did you know that some schoolmasters add three strokes each time the boy cries out or otherwise does not comport himself properly during a caning? Do you want me to follow this rule as well?"
"No, please Aunt Justine," young Bobby whined annoyingly. "I wont cry out again. I promise."
"My dear boy, I wouldnt make promises you are bound to break if I were you. You might be getting a third dozen. Now be quiet and let us continue."
Jane watched as the next nine strokes were applied, slowly and deliberately, mostly on the lower buttocks and upper thighs, areas which were slowly turning purple. Bobby did, in fact, break his promise and screamed loudly after each juicy stripe. When Peter returned home from work, they had just reached number eight and he stayed to watch the last four being administered with particular relish.
Justine put the cane down. "If you dont mind," she said, "we should wait a few hours before giving Bobby the second dozen. What to you say?"
Peter and Jane nodded. "Thats a good idea," Jane said. "I can prepare dinner and we can eat before we return here for the final installment. Bobby, you will stay in your corner as usual. We will call you when it is time to eat. And you can leave your shorts where they are. You wont need them anymore tonight."