The thermometer hovered just around the thirty-two degree mark, The lawns still had frost at six oclock in the morning as Roger Templeton marched his charge towards the outdoors swimming pool. Peter, aged eleven, stumbled along, shivering with the cool weather, his lips almost blue. He was adequately attired in a pair of flimsy, aero-tex shorts that closely hugged his round bottom and almost covered his buttocks when standing straight, leaving just an inch or so of bare flesh showing underneath. It was his only garment. Just now the boys firm legs were mottled red and blue and the goose pimples were very noticeable.
Templeton smiled as he watched the boys awkward gait. Last nights tremendous thrashing obviously still caused him pain to walk (and probably even more to sit). The bruises showing bemeath the shorts hems also spoke louder than words - although not louder than the boys screams last night that had rung through the empty house.
Templeton was hired by Peters uncle as his tutor and guardian since the uncle was travelling a great deal and didnt want to bother with stupid, misbehaving little brats. He had given Templeton full authority over the boy, signed all the necessary papers and had left the boy in Templetons charge for an indefinite period.
"Six laps, Peter," Templeton said and taking out his stopwatch he added, "in ten minutes. In you go!"
The shivering boy looked at the waters cold, glassy surface. Not a ripple although the icy breeze was picking up, just a smooth, pale blue surface that looked frozen. Taking a deep breath, the boy jumped in. He disappeared under the water and resurfaced with a loud gasp. His blond hair was plastered to his head as he looked up at his tutor. Then he started to swim furiously. Ten minutes was not enough he knew, but the faster he swam, the fewer strokes of the cane he would get afterwards. It had been thus every morning and he knew by now what to expect. Not that he was any less afraid, it was just not as unexpected as it had been that first time.
Templeton watched, his hands in the pockets of his heavy overcoat, only occasionally checking his stopwatch. He shook his head and then replaced it again. The boy was frantically flapping his arms, his legs jerked and he forgot his style in his efforts to swim faster. It was a mistake he was soon to rue.
When Peter had finally completed the six laps and stood dripping and shivering at the edge of the pool, Templeton glanced one last time at his stopwatch and then put it away.
"Thirteen minutes and twenty-two seconds," he said, accusingly. "That is worse than you did last week when I had to give you a sound caning. Come over here."
Templeton led the boy towards a small changing cabin. "Bring me the cane and leave your shorts inside."
The water still running off his sun-tanned skin in small rivulets, the boy removed his shorts and went into the cabin. He returned naked holding the cane.
"Kneel on this stool, knees wide apart, hands on the floor," Templeton continued. "Perhaps a little session with the cane may encourage you to do better tomorrow morning. I have little patience with lazy little stragglers like you. I will teach you to work a little harder. Twelve strokes."
For a moment the tutor just stood looking down at the small naked figure. The small, round buttocks were bruised and striped around the lower portions and Templeton decided to work on that same area today. Give the boy something to think about.
He raised the cane and whipped it full force across the exposed bottom. A shrill cry of pain ensued a second or two after impact. The second stroke caught the boy around the underside of the left buttock, the cane tip digging deep into the inner thigh. Another shriek and the young boy wriggled his backside as if trying to shake the burning sting off. The third caught him on the other side and young Peters tears began to flow in earnest.
Templeton changed position and lashed the boy vertically down each buttock, three strokes each and Peter began to blubber like a five-year-old. Once, small fingers flew to an injured spot and Templeton gave him two extra-hard cuts as a reward for disobedience.
The last three strokes, well aimed, whipped sharply down the cleft of his buttocks onto the small sensitive anus. It caused the boy to roar in agony. Satisfied, Templeton returned the cane to the cabin and allowed the weeping boy to rise.
"Stop crying," he said sharply, "and come along. You will help the gardener until it is time for your bath and breakfast." He took the boy by the ear and propelled him along towards the fields behind the house.
Alfonso, the Cuban gardener, was already at work. He looked up as Templeten appeared, dragging a sobbing Peter along. "Buenos dias, senor," he said with a friendly smile. "Hace mucho frio, no?"
"Yes, nice and fresh," Templeton replied. "This little rascal is here to help you with some heavy gardening. If he disobeys, or you are not satisfied with his work, give him a good spanking. "Hes just been caned, so your hand will be suffficient. Or maybe a thin switch might also be good."
"Ah, desnudito, eh?" Alfonso grinned at he red-eyed boy who was now holding his swollen behind. "Yes, you will work hard or get some good, hard nalgadas, no?" He raised a huge hand and made a movement that Peter could not possibly misinterpret. He looked at the muscular gardener with fearful respect.
"Well, Ill leave you now. Send him back to the house around nine to nine-thirty."
"Si, senor."
Alfonso was as good as his word. Peter was put to work and he soon had warmed up sufficiently to stop shivering. His skin was gradually drying and he started to feel much better except for his throbbing behind. But after an hour, Peter felt exhausted and Alfonso noticed him slowing down considerably.
He stood up. "Creo que lo que necesitas son unos azotes en el trasero," he said with relish. Peter did not think that he needed any more cuts across his tender bottom and tried to work faster, but Alfonso took him by the scruff of his neck and bent him over, holding him around the waist with his left arm while his right arm went to work on the red and blue little backside.
He had the boy wailing again after about ten minutes or so of hard spanking. He let the boy down and went to a nearby tree. It was winter and the twigs were not supple. They would break at the first stroke. He looked about and saw a bundle of logs held together with a narrow strap. He decided that this was what he needed.
Holding the strap, he took hold of the boy once more and continued his little spanking until Peter thought his botttom was being flayed. He tried to fight, but the gardener was much too strong and had little trouble keeping him in position while he whipped and whipped to his hearts content.
When he was finally tired, he stopped and put the boy back to work. "You will now work faster, yes?" he said.
"Yes, yes," Peter grumbled, nursing his newly blazing "trasero." Alfonso chuckled.