Dr. Fergusons eyes were on the brown-skinned buttocks of the twelve-year-old boy who knelt on the leather sofa, face in the cushions, his bottom pointing at the ceiling of the study. It was a very sturdy little set of buttocks, slightly lighter than the rest of the boys body, the nice, warm bronze colour he enjoyed. He didnt know, or care, where the boy, or his parents, came from, probably around Cambodia, Laos or Vietnam. He was certainly not Chinese, Japanese or Korean. His eyes were large and round, with long dark lashes, and a full-lipped mouth in a sensitive, round face. His straight, black hair was cropped short emphasizing his protruding, if not large, ears.
Yes, certainly an attractive child, Ferguson thought fingering the long, whippy cane he had just retrieved from the stand. It would certainly be a pleasant few minutes caning this chubby, sturdy little backside until the young culprit howled for mercy. Of course, Dr. Ferguson never showed any mercy when thrashing one of his favourite pupil. This boy, named Thamal, or something similar (the Doctor had trouble remembering foreign names but never forgot a nice boyish bottom, regardless of origin) had not studied his spelling properly. Out of the assigned fifty words he was told to memorise, he had made 21 mistakes and now was to be punished.
Dr. Ferguson always punished his boys with sound thrashings with a good cane. The girls in his school got off lightly for most offences but boys were kept under strictest discipline day and night.
The Doctor watched as the brown body began to wriggle with impatience. Boys always wanted to get a whipping over and done with as soon as possible and that is why the good Doctor always took as much time as possible before and during the punishment. In the case of this boy Thamal, he would flog very hard because he knew that cane marks across brown skin do not show off as starkly as across white and this knowledge spurred him on to more ferocious beatings. of these small boys.
"I know you were not born in this country," Dr. Ferguson now said mildly, tapping the cane against the enticing target, "and so I will be lenient. You were lazy when studying those few words and made many mistakes. Twenty-one to be exact. Under normal circumstance, I would have administered two strokes for each mistake, but since English is not your primary language, and I realise that these foreign words are difficult for you, I will only give you two dozen strokes, but they will be very hard. I hope you will be duly grateful. Are you grateful for my leniency, boy?"
The boy, dressed in white, short-sleeved shirt and skimpy, light-blue shorts , now resting around his ankles to meet the white ankle socks, squirmed when he heard his sentence. But he had been at this school long enough not to antagonise this schoolmaster any further. "Yes, sir," he said in his native countrys accent.
Dr. Ferguson smiled when he saw the spread buttocks twitch as the boy said those words. Yes, they had good reason to twitch. They were going to suffer for their owners idleness.
The cane kept stroking those little bottom cheeks as the Doctor continued. "I will spell each word out for you and after you feel the stroke and give the count, you will repeat the spelling slowly, clearly and politely. If you make a mistake, the stroke will be repeated until you get it right. So I advise you to keep concentrating on the words rather than your backside. I want your full attention and that extra stroke will come for any lack of proper count, proper spelling or proper position. You are not to move your knees nor raise your head. I dont want to see so much as a twitch of your toes, my boy. Nor do I want to hear a lot of noise. Is that understood?"
"Yes, sir," came the muffled reply from the young criminal. The boy was close to tears and the punishment had not even begun.
"Good. I know you took your caning a few days ago quite well and needed only three or four extra strokes, but I expect you to do better today. Self-control, my boy. Self-control is necessary both at studies and punishments, and I insist on it."
The cane tapped, stroked, rubbed the elevated bottom. The nervous, anxious boy prayed for this initial sermon to be over soon. The whipping would be hard enough to take, but this interminable waiting was torture. He squirmed on the leather sofa.
The cane lashed down. "Stop wriggling, boy," the Doctor ordered. "I will not warn you again."
"Am I to count?" came the whispered question from the prostrate child.
Dr. Ferguson snickered. "Count? I havent started yet, if that is what you think. No, no, my boy, you wont get off as easily as that." The cane resumed its stroking the gaping cheeks. "I always make sure that my boys are properly prepared before I start a caning. I want them to feel very sorry for their negligence, their lack of application, their idleness. I want them to be aware of the naked, vulnerable state of that portion of their anatomy which is, and always has been, the ideal part to punish boys."
The Doctor studied the fading weals that still criss-crossed those brown naked cheeks. Amazing how quickly thick, purple welts faded on this skin. All the more reason to use the cane with extra vigour, he thought, tapping and stroking the trembling flesh.
"Now I dont really consider two dozen strokes with a cane, even if applied full force, excessive for a boy your age. And when the lazy bottom has a thick, dark skin like yours, it certainly believe 24 solid cuts will be very salutary indeed. This is, of course, dependent on your comportment during the whipping. If you make too many mistakes or cant control yourself as prescribed, there will be many more strokes added to the two dozen. But then I am sure you are going to be an obedient, compliant, self-controlled little brat, arent you?"
Silence. The cane lashed across the boys buttocks. "Answer me,? the Doctor snapped.
"Yes, sir," came the obligatory reply.
"Yes, when a boy feels the beneficial impact of the cane, he suddenly knows how to behave and politely answer questions that are directed at him."
The Doctor saw with great satisfaction that the young boy appeared to be crying, although his face was buried in the cushion. Crying to him was a sign of capitulation; no more resistance or rebellion, but resignation. Young Thamal was by now resigned to have his sturdy little bottom soundly thrashed. It was time to start. Dr. Ferguson positioned himself and raised the cane. "Excruciating," he said, lashing the cane low across the boys bottom.
Thamal was, indeed silently weeping but when he felt the sudden sting deep into his buttocks, his whole body jumped with surprise and he let out a shriek.
Doctor Ferguson shook his head, furrowed his brows but smiled.
"I see you want to be obstinate, child, but I will change your mind. I will repeat the word and the stroke and you had better answer properly. But first I will give you the penalty stroke."
He put extra muscle into that one and Thamal just barely managed to keep his scream down to a groan.
"Excruciating," the Doctor said and quickly applied the cane across the lower buttocks, almost touching the welt left by the first stroke.
"E-x-c-u-t-i-t- er - i - t- i - n- g," the boy stammered unhappily. "One, sir. Thank you, sir." The last, well-rehearsed phrase from many previous exercises, came quickly.
Crack! The cane flashed and another weal appeared adjoining the earlier ones.
"You are not trying, boy," Dr. Ferguson told his wriggling victim. "Lets try again."
The cane lashed down, now close to the thighs.
"E-x-c-r-u-t-i-n-g. Two, sir? Thank you sir," the boy formed it like a question.
"I dont think so, my boy. Im not letting you off. Before we proceed to number two you will first have to spell the word correctly and properly, without those stupid shrieks and groans. Control yourself, boy, and do it properly."
The cane cracked down with a loud thwack into the fleshy bottom cheeks. The boys body writhed and he choked on a shriek.
"I suggest you pull yourself together, Thamal," the Doctor said coldly. "It seems we will be here for a long time." He chuckled. "I have time."
Once more the boy tried to spell the long word but again failed.
"Very well, my boy," the schoolmaster said at last. "I will tell you what I will do, and I hope you will duly appreciate my good will and leniency. I will give you a dozen. All you have to do is count and say the thank yous. But no howls and screams. A low groan is all I will accept. When you have had the dozen, you will review all the 50 words on the list. You will have two hours. After that you will return here and we will work on those words again. If you get them right, I will stop at twelve. We will repeat the exercise two hours later when you will get the second dozen of the original punishment. Clear so far?"
"Y-yes, sir," the boy said rather shakily.
"You will not get more than the original two dozen today. If you fault during the second installment, we will continue tomorrow. But you will have to go through the full 50 words even if it takes all week, and I dont care what your bottom will look like afterwards. I doubt that your fat little bottom will fit into the shorts of yours when I am finished with you." The doctor laughed as he imagined the boy trying to pull up is normally skin-tight shorts over a bottom swollen to twice its original size." He raised the cane.
"And now for the dozen, starting with "One, sir. Thank you, sir." The cane whipped into the lower buttocks.
"One, sir. Thank you, sir," the boy brought out with enormous effort even while his slender young body bucked and writhed with the hot pain that suffused his backside.
The cane came down high up across the thighs this time and Thamal squealed in agony.
"Aah! "T-two, sir. Th-thank you, sir," he rasped in desperation.
"No, no, boy. That is not good enough. We will repeat this one," the doctor said with relish. He gave the boy an especially forceful cut across the thighs.
"Two, sir. Thank you, sir." A proper count this time.
"You see how pain makes a boy obey?" Another firm slasher across the bottom.
As the caning proceeded slowly and systematically, the boy gradually absorbed the pain of each stroke and managed to count correctly most of the time. In addition to the first extra strokes he had been given, he just merited two more through the rest. Sixteen strokes in all before he was sent to his classroom to study the spelling list. He had two hours after which he returned to the study and the entire process repeated itself.
As it turned out, he would have to repeat it again the next day. Those 50 words were just too difficult to absorb so quickly. So he had to absorb cane strokes across his bottom instead. Dr. Ferguson showed neither mercy nor sympathy for the slow-witted youngster. He relished each stroke he administered and drank in the sight of the cane buried in the flesh of those firm buttocks.
When it was finally over, it had taken two dozen strokes over a period of two weeks. The Doctor had had no choice but to give the boy a few days interval between sessions; he did not want to cut the boys behind too deeply. He wanted the boy in his study, presenting a swollen but unharmed backside, he did not want him in the infirmary.
After that last session, he replaced the well-used cane and ordered the boy to stand.
"Pull up your shorts," he said, his eyes glued to that garment presently around the boys ankles. He watched with a little smile as the boy painfully bent, the wealed skin stretching painfully tight, and pulled the shorts back across his bottom. Yes, as the Doctor had imagined, the boy gave a small moan as his buttocks were squeezed into the tight little garment. When it was in place and properly braced up, he had the boy stand to attention before him.
The man enjoyed the sight. The white shirt against brown arms, the light-blue shorts contrasting nicely against the gleaming, smooth, coffee-coloured thighs. Strong thighs and calves, then the white ankle socks. Definitely a sight for sore eyes. He was looking forward to the next time. But he would have to wait a week or two before Thamals small bottom could be caned again.