Renate Duresst, matron of the orphanage, was not someone to cross. Martin had tried to make an excuse for slovenly dress and Matron had not appreciated being contradicted to the Director. Matron had taken the sobbing boy by the ear and dragged him back to the dormitory. She sat on Martins bed and pulled the sniveling boy close.
"Now then," Matron said with grim determination, positioning the eight-year-old between her legs, "I am going to show you how I reward cowardly little scamps who try to lie their way out of a well-deserved caning."
She quickly unbuttoned the boys uniform shorts and pulled them down his legs. Then she pulled him over her left leg, pinioning his ankles under her right leg. She analyzed the cane stripes carefully as she stroked and massaged the small, firm buttocks. The welts were dark purple, turning black towards the end where the cane tip had bitten most deeply. The crease between buttock and thigh was especially badly bruised and when Matron squeezed the flesh, young Matron squeaked. She did this several times, like a child pressing the belly of his stuffed bear to hear it grumble.
After she grew tired of this enjoyable game, she started to spank. She had a large, hard hand and she used it with great effect. Left cheek, right cheek, left cheek, right cheek. On and on, alternating between cheeks but always concentrating on those parts most badly wealed and bruised. She had the small boy wailing in now time at all. She kept it up for almost ten minutes, her arm never getting tired and her hand apparently never feeling the sting.
At last she desisted, but held on to the crying child. She had him firmly in place with her left arm around his middle. Martin could squirm and kick his legs, but he could not escape a single slap.
The exertion merited a moments pause and she massaged the boys tingling buttocks. Martin thought this was done to alleviate the hot burning of his little bottom, but it was, in fact, meant to prevent the numbing of that area. She knew that after extended punishment, the skins nerves had a tendency to go to sleep, so to speak, and she wanted to make certain all the nerve endings were wide awake when she continued the punishment.
She reached into the drawer of the small night table next to Martins bed and removed a short, thick, two-tailed tawse. Martin gave a choked cry when he noticed what Matron was doing. "Oh, please, Matron, no more. I am so sore. I will be good. I will never argue again. I promise. Please stop now."
Matron gave a snicker. "Stop? Didnt I tell you that I would make you regret your cheekiness? Well, that calls for more than a little hand spanking. I think this little strap, which I am sure is meant for five- or six-year-olds, is not going to bother a big eight-year-old very much. Even on a bottom that has acquired such a nice variety of colours and shades." She raised the tawse.
And brought it down with such force the the boys buttocks shook with the great impact while young Martin howled out loud.
"No need to carry on so, boy," Matron scoffed. "I havent even started yet. You are going to get fifty with this harmless little belt." With that she raised the tawse high and smacked it sharply across the striped, deep red bottom.
"Oooh, aaah," Martin shrieked with the renewed pain. "Please, Matron, no! Please stop! It hurts! It hurts!"
The tawse fell again, with more force this time, across the boys upper thighs, provoking louder howls from the half-naked boy across her lap. She continued, slowly, methodically, to re-heat the striped little buttocks until the entire area, from mid-buttock to the top of both thighs, were turning a deep shade of red and purple.
About ten minutes later, she put the tawse aside and picked up the blubbering culprit. "Now, you little scamp, I will show you what cowardly boys get from Matron." She rose from the bed, still holding the boy, and placed him on the bed. "Kneel and bend over, head in your pillow." She watched as the sweating child placed himself on his knees, his bare, hot backside towards her, face down into the bed.
"Good. Now spread your knees as wide as they will go. Wider. Wider, I said." She bent and, grasping the boys thighs, spread them as far apart as she could manage. She retrieved the tawse, placed herself at the head of the bed and looked down at the gaping bottom cheeks.
She raised the tawse well over her shoulder, aimed and lashed the boy hard into the bottom cleft. The loud clap of leather against a particularly sensitive spot was drowned out by the miscreants bellow of pain. Matron, unmoved, repeated the lash into the same area, eliciting further cries of pain.
Pain, of course, was essential for an effective whipping, she knew, and was not deterred by the boys complaints and squeals. Matron counted 12 strokes across the anus before she put an end to the discipline.
"Now pull up your shorts and get back to class. And watch your step. If I hear that you misbehaved at lessons, I will send you right back to the director."
That same evening, with the boys in their beds, Matron Duresst patrolled the halls, listening at the door of each dormitory each of which held about 10 beds.
Her vigilance was rewarded when she heard whispering in one of the rooms. She waited for a moment, listening intently, her ear pressed to the thin door, then abruptly opened the door and turned n the light.
Two boys in adjoining beds, were sitting up and turned their startled faces towards the dark figure outlined against the dimly-lit hall.
"Martin Ferguson, Ronald Dempsey, you will report to the headmaster in the morning," she announced with grim satisfaction. "I will recommend eight this time. It has been too many times that I let you off with a simple six of the best. This cannot go on like this. Martin, com over here."
She brought out one of the chairs, sat on it and motioned the frightened Martin towards her lap. The boy, wearing the uniform night shirt that barely reached his knees, hesitantly approached the imposing figure. He watched as reach to the night table and withdrawing the dreaded tawse once more.
"It seems you boys just wont learn without constant reminders," she said, slapping the tawse lightly against Martins bare legs. "Lift your shirt and over you go. Ronald, you stand over here and watch closely; you will get the same when I am finished with this little scamp."
Martin lifted the hems of his night shirt and lowered himself over Matrons heavy thighs. He felt the scratchy wool of her skirt beneath his bare body but very quickly forgot that and was made to concentrate on the much deeper scratch of the tawse across his bottom. Matron gazed for a moment at the chubby buttocks of her victim. There were several purple and black lines left from his earlier headmaster caning and the entire area was still inflamed and sore looking from her own little spanking. But this boys bottom could take a lot more, she knew. Little boys are tough and a good, hard thrashing never did them any harm, no matter how discoloured their backsides might be. She raised the tawse.
Ronald watched in fascinated awe as his friends bottom shook at the impact of the thick leather, and his own bottom twitched in sympathy. As stroke followed hard on stroke, each one apparently harder than the one before, Ronalds knees felt weak and he was close to tears. His hands went to his bottom.
It went on for some time. Martins behind gradually grew darker and seemed to swell while the boy twisted and squirmed, crying out loud at each smack. Matron, her left arm firmly gripping the slender waist, whipped with deep enthusiasm, applying the instrument of punishment to the fleshy bottom and thighs until she had the boy roaring in agony. She smiled. This was what she enjoyed most, when the little boys finally gave up their conceit and assumed manliness and at last became their immature selves. This was the stage, she theorized, when a boy is most susceptible to her lesson, most eager to obey any and all orders, do whatever was asked of them just so the pain would stop. She brought the tawse down with great energy as the boy blubbered unashamedly.
It must have taken at least fifteen minutes before the punishment stopped. Matron was satisfied with the boys contrition and the bruised buttocks. She put the tawse aside and lifted the exhausted child from her lap.
"Stand over there," she said, indicated the place occupied by Ronald. "And you will take Martins place," she addressed the friend. The two boys exchanged placed and the entire scene was reenacted. Matrons right arm never tired.
Fifteen minutes later, the two boys were made stand against the wall, holding up their night shirts and exposing their well-punished behinds.
"You will stay there until I come back. You will not move or speak. If I hear a noise from this room, you will all be reported to the headmaster in the morning." With that she strode out of the room.
The dormitory was silent save for the occasional sob or groan from one of the owners of tingling, burning buttocks. It was over an hour later when Matron finally returned and allowed the culprits to return to their beds.
"Think of the caning you will get tomorrow," she gloated as she left the room. "I will request the headmaster to use the senior cane on both of you. Eight with that cane will do you a world of good. Sleep well." She laughed and closed the door, leaving two little boys trembling in their beds, nursing their wounds.