When the first stroke landed on his buttocks, the pain was so intense he cried out and grasped his injured behind. This had cost him another extra stroke , but it was nothing compared to the shame he felt in front of the girl, showing his bare bottom and crying like a small child. He started to sweat with the humiliation. But when stroke after stroke whipped down across the weals left by the earlier caning, he had almost forgotten about his shame and had screamed out his agony. Nothing had helped and he was forced to endure the full dozen plus about 3 or 4 extra cuts because of "poor comportment." Aunt Mattie had held him in place with an iron grip and his uncle had applied the cane with exceptional vigour, perhaps to impress his audience.
And they were duly impressed, especially the girl Lena. "What a whipping!" she exclaimed when the cane was put away. She eyed the boys thrashed backside and the the purple weals that now covered it from midway down to the thighs. "Do all boys get whipped like that when they are naughty?"
Aunt Mattie chortled. "I dont know, but they should be. Boys are wild creatures and, like wild horses, need to be broken, not with whip and spur, but with cane, tawse and birch."
"And does it always have to be this severe? It seems that young Derek got two beatings on the same day." Lena couldnt tear her eyes from the now wriggling, clenching bare buttocks.
"It depends on the misdemeanour, of course," Uncle Brian returned after replacing the cane in the cupboard. "But as a rule, each fault should be thoroughly beaten out of a boy. And since boys are by nature an obstinate, willful and disobedient lot, they should always be caned or strapped with utmost severity. They have a tendency to take advantage if they sense any weakness in the disciplinarian."
"And if he faults again today?" Angela Parsons wanted to know, "would you cane him again?"
"Of course. You must never let up. When his behind is sore enough, he will gradually start to behave more acceptably."
After a lengthy silence when all were staring at the wriggling boy, pushed deep into the leathery fold of the large chair, Uncle Brian turned to the still sniffling youngster.
"Stand up, Derek. Mathilda, perhaps you could assist?"
Aunt Mattie took the boys ear and dragged him quickly to his feet. Derek, suddenly aware again that he was exposed from the waist down, quickly covered his front with both hands, bending forward in an effort to make himself as small as possible.
"Stand up straight, boy," Aunt Mattie snapped sharply, "and take off your shirt."
"But, Aunt Mattie, Ill be...." He couldnt finish the sentence and just the thought sent him into a paroxysm of shame.
"Brian, do you think he needs a few more with the cane?" Aunt Mattie asked.
"No, no," the boy instinctively grasped his tingling bottom, then, face almost puce with embarrassment, removed his shirt and stood naked except for his socks and slippers. He couldnt look at the visitors, particularly Lena. This was terrible and his ears burned.
"Now remove your slippers and socks," Aunt Mattie continued, unconcerned about the boys deep embarrassment. They watched with amusement as the boy bent to remove his socks thereby displaying a well-spread pair of wealed bottom cheeks.
"Now stand straight, place your hands behind your head, and look at us, not at the carpet," Uncle Brian ordered making the boys shame complete. The naked boy, who hated to be seen urinating by other boys, now had to exhibit himself fully disrobed in front of strangers and a 17-year-old girl. He thought he would die. He wished to die or disappear, but managed neither. He just had to stand there and be gazed at from head to toe. He was acutely aware of his small, undeveloped genitals fully displayed, his sore, throbbing buttocks and his humiliation. He began to sob quietly but his audience was unmoved.
After what seemed an eternity, he was allowed to stand in the corner, press his nose closely to the wall and exhibit his swollen behind. He stood and listened as they commented on his behaviour, his punishment and his nudity. No one cared that the boy was weeping with mortification.
"He seems like a well-punished boy," Eric Parsons opined. "Most satisfactory, I should say. Im sure he has learned a valuable lesson. You can tell from the tears running down his cheeks. And, of course, from the purple weals and bruises on his little backside."
Nevertheless, this humiliation had taken place in his new home and, even though witnessed by 3 strangers, his shame was confined to these 4 walls. It was different with his new shorts.
He had been so ashamed to be seen in these shorts that that first whipping had not been able to subdue his rebellion. Each day was torture at school and on his walk to and from school. It had required a series of the most severe canings before he had finally been broken and he now wore his shaming shorts daily without a fight. He was still so mercilessly teased by some, that his face flamed a beet-root red, but he no longer argued with his aunt and uncle.
Now he was trudging home with his wealed upper thighs on display. His thoughts went to the note he had to give his uncle when he arrived home and his burning welts seemed to glow even hotter. As much as he feared his uncles cane, he worried almost as much about who would be at home. As he had experienced that time when first introduced to his new wardrobe, the humiliation of being punished in front of a girl was almost worse. And it seemed that somehow there were always some visitors present when he was forced to remove his shorts for discipline.
He was therefore greatly relieved when he found the house empty of visitors. His uncle was in his study and Aunt Mattie was busy in the kitchen. Derek slipped off his shoes and changed into his slippers. Then he brought his book bag upstairs to his room.
"Derek, come downstairs," he heard his aunt call and he quickly joined her in the kitchen.
"Yes, Aunt Mattie?"
"Your school telephoned. It seems you have a weak bladder and that you visit the bathroom too frequently. We will have to deal with that. But before, I want to see that note you have brought home."
Derek reached into his shorts pocket and fished out the teachers note. If he had had any ideas about keeping the matter quiet, it was quickly dashed. He handed the note to his aunt.
"I shall read it to you," his aunt said after having glanced at the writing. "It says, Dear Mr. and Mrs. Halsey, it is my sad duty to report that Derek has once again been late coming back from recess. It appears that he visits the bathroom much too frequently and will need some training in this respect. Of course I had to punish him for this lateness but would nevertheless suggest that you reinforce the caning with another disciplinary action in your home. I gave the boy eight strokes and would encourage you to administer a further dozen or so before bedtime so that he remembers to maintain punctuality in the future. Yours, etc. - Well, what do you say to that, boy?"
"Oh, please Aunt Mattie, not another caning. My bottom is still awfully sore and I can hardly walk."
"I suppose thats why your master suggested the caning to be given at bedtime, so you wont have to walk anymore today. Lets go and ask your uncle."
She gripped the boy by the ear and propelled him towards the study. Uncle Brian looked up from his paper and saw his young nephew, red-faced, close to tears; his aunt was pulling his ear so hard, his head was tilted at a painful angle to keep it attached to his head.
After Aunt Mattie had explained the situation to her husband, he nodded with understanding. "Yes, little boys being late to class is serious. I thought we had taught him the importance of punctuality."
"The teacher suggested we give him a dozen before he goes to bed."
"Very well. He can wait in the corner; no supper for him tonight. A good caning and then to bed."
"Yes," his aunt assented. "I will just call the Parsons. I want Lena to witness the punishment. You like that, dont you, Derek?"
A hot flood diffused the skin of his face up to the roots of his hair and his right ear turned the same dark shade of red as his aunts grip had left the other. "Oh, please, Aunt Mattie," he whined, dreading the shameful exhibition, "why do you have to ask them? Please dont."
But Aunt Mattie was already on the telephone as Uncle Brian snapped, "Into the corner with you, boy."
Derek stood in his usual corner and listened to his aunts conversation.
"Yes, Angela. He got a caning at school but his teacher insisted we punish him again tonight. Since Lena seems to be interested in boys discipline, I thought you might want to come over for a drink and watch. Itll also do the boy some good to be exposed to ridicule. Humility is a virtue he sadly lacks."
Derek was crying. His bottom tingled and ached. He was hungry and tired. He was to get a dozen cane strokes and it was to be witnessed by this girl again. He cried harder.
About an hour later the visitors arrived. "Where is that naughty little boy?" Lena called with a grin. "Time for punishment! And I hear it will be a very severe one."
Derek in the corner felt his face flame again. It wasnt fair, he thought, to let this girl witness his shame. He wanted to disappear into the floor.
As they all entered the study, Brian showed them where to stand or sit. Then, to the boy in the corner, he ordered gruffly, "Come here, boy."
Derek slowly turned, his red face directed at the carpet. His fingers anxiously twisted the hems of his little shorts.
"You will greet your visitors politely," Brian continued. "Shake hands and tell them how happy you are that they could come over and watch a lazy little boy getting his just desserts."
Derek bit his lips, trying not to cry. Slowly he raised his head and approached the Parsons. "Hello," he said softly. "I - er - am happy you could come to - er - to..." He fell silent.
"I think we better add three strokes for disobedience," Aunt Mattie opined. "Now finish your sentence properly."
Derek swallowed hard and tried to remember. "...come to watch me - er - getting - er - my just desserts," he finally finished.
"And you are -" pressed his aunt.
"A - a lazy little boy," Derek admitted.
"Very well, then, drop your shorts. What are you waiting for?" Brian snapped.
Once more, most reluctantly, the red-faced boy unbuttoned his tight shorts and pushed them down.
"Now get across Mrs. Parsons lap. I have asked her to warm up your backside for you so you can better feel the cane. Lena, you will please hold down his legs."
Derek saw his uncle handing Angela Parsons a short, thick strap. He approached where she sat near the window and slowly lowered himself across her knees. Lena immediately came up, knelt near his feet and firmly grasped his ankles.
Angela gripped the strap. "How many should I give him?" she asked.
"Twenty on each cheek," Aunt Mattie suggested. And immediately Angela raised the strap and brought it down with surprising force across the boys left buttock. Derek squirmed and raised his head. The strap stung like fire across the cane weals. Angela gave the boy the next strokes rather quickly, all on the same spot until the boy yelled. His left buttock was turning purple.
"Take your time, Angela," Mathilda said with a smile. "Let the sting sink in properly before you give the next."
So the last lashes of the twenty were given m ore slowly and deliberately and the boy cried harder. He felt as if the skin would come off his left cheek. Then it was the right buttocks turn to get the same treatment. Lena had a hard time keeping a grip on the boys legs. In his pain, he tried to kick and flail his legs, but Lena was a strong girl and she gripped the boys calves firmly.
When the introductory warm-up had been completed, the weeping boy was put back on his feet and inspected from all sides. His shirt was not long enough to cover his bottom and they all took their time looking it over.
"Good," Brian said. "I think that fat little bottom is ready for the cane. Bend over that chair," he added to Derek.
The boy glanced pleadingly first at Brian and then at Mathilda, but neither gave him any sympathy. The visitors just looked on impassively, only Lena smirking a little when the boy gave her a quick, embarrassed glance.
He walked over the the chair and bent over the back, well forward, and gripped the far legs. His red-purple buttocks, stretched and gaping, were ready to receive their punishment. Brian walked over to the cupboard, selected a senior cane, and ambled back, swishing the cane through the air. "I think this will do the job. Stop crying, boy. It will be only one dozen. Very lenient for such a lazy boy."