When I arrived at the Newberg home early the next Monday, I was informed by Anna, the elderly housekeeper, that Eric had already left on some business in Belgium. I carried a package and my suitcase from the car, handed the suitcase to Anna and went to find young Jason.
We found him in the den, sprawled on the floor, in front of the television set. My eyes were drawn to the sloping curve of his small bottom, just barely covered by his brief shorts. I saw the welts on his thighs that were still visible from - I presumed - the caning he received during my last visit.
"Get up, Jason, when some one enters the room," I snapped. "Were are your manners?"
The startled little boy jumped up quickly and stood at attention. "Sorry, sir," he piped. "Good morning, sir."
I handed him the parcel I was carrying. "Here, take this to your room, unwrap it and lay the contents on your bed. Then go and sit at your desk and write a 250-word essay about your thoughts as you unwrapped the parcel and saw the contents. I will review it for handwriting, spelling, grammar and the contents itself. Do I need to tell you what I will do if you miss so much as a comma?"
The boys face fell and he stared at me with frightened eyes. "N-no, sir," he whispered, obviously remembering what I had witnessed when he first met me. He took the parcel and marched off to his room while Anna and I went to the room that had been prepared for me.
It was opposite the boys, a large, airy room, well appointed and looking most comfortable. It also had an adjoining bathroom. Excellent. I planned to stay here for as long as Eric would have me. And Jason would be under a discipline that would make his ears curl, I decided. Boys need firm discipline and Eric had shown me that I could employ my methods as I saw fit.
Anna had placed my suitcase by the bed and left the room. I unpacked and washed up, then went downstairs to get myself acquainted with Anna and her routine for the boy. I found this to my satisfaction as it reflected Erics description of Jasons diet, wardrobe and outdoor activities.
After about two hours I decided it was time to make my presence felt with my young charge. I went across the hall and entered the boys room. Jason was still hunched over his low desk, shifting his bottom as he scribbled into his notebook.
"Well, my boy," I said cheerily, "you should have finished by now. Put down the pencil and stand up. You also should have stood the moment I came in. This is now the second time you have failed to show the proper respect when an adult enters the room you are in. We will deal with that later, but for now I want to see what you have accomplished."
The boy jumped to his feet as I spoke and handed me the notebook, then remained standing, hands tightly against his bare thighs. I sat on his bed and started to read.
"I was given a package by my new tutor and told to unwrap it. I took it to me room and unwrapped it. Inside I found three canes and two straps, like the ones we have in the house. The canes are long. The straps are very thick. I am very scared the new tutor will beat me with them. I am always beaten when I dont do as told or when I make a mistake. My father uses the cane when I bring bad grades from school or when the school master caned me. I am very scared of the cane because it hurts me very much. I am told that the cane is good for me and that I am punished so that I will grow up to be a gentleman, well educated and will become successful."
"Is this all? I dont think this is more than about 150 words." Then I took a red pencil an underlined all spelling and grammar mistakes (There were so many, I decided to transcribe it properly rather than show all his mistakes). Jason stood by getting more nervous at each red mark. When I had finished, I took the boy between my knees and held him firmly by the hips, facing me.
"Now look, Jason," I said in my sternest voice, "this kind of work will not be tolerated in this house. First, when I say 250 words, I mean 250 words. I dont mind a few words more or less, but not half. The spelling and grammar we will review later while your shorts are lowered, but right now I want to discuss the contents of that essay."
As I looked into the boys handsome face, now drawn with anxiety and tears already forming in his big eyes, I put one hand on his bottom and gripped him hard.
"What you say is basically correct although you write it as if you are repeating a learned lesson by rote. There is no conviction. It doesnt sound as if you really believe that your punishments are meant for your own good and betterment. Nor does it sound as if you are convinced of the canes necessity when dealing with boys your age. Before long I will have persuaded you to not only accept your deserved thrashings but also to feel they are doing you good, that you really need them to improve yourself. Is that understood, boy?"
"Y-yes, sir," he stammered, shifting his bottom trying to ease my grip.
"I doubt it, but for the moment Ill let it pass. Now let us proceed to the spelling errors. Take your shorts down and bend over the edge of the bed, putting a pillow under you lower belly while I count the mistakes."
There were 15 mistakes, I told the boy as he unbuttoned the waistband of his shorts, unzipped them and pushed them down. Then he laid himself carefully in the required position. "How many strokes do you deserve for such a number, Jason?"
There was silence in the room. I walked over and picked up one of the canes from the bed where the boy had placed them.
"I asked you a question," I said, and gave the child a hard lash across the upper thighs, "and when I ask a boy a question, (Crack!) I expect an immediate (Crack!) and polite answer." (Crack!)
"Oh, ah, - er - six, sir?" the boy squeaked out while his chubby little behind twitched and shook.
"You mean for each mistake?" I asked.
"No, no, sir. For all," the bending boy gasped.
"Lets say, what would your father give you?"
"I - er - dont know, sir. Eight?"
"You take me for an idiot, boy?" I said, giving the exposed buttocks another severe stroke. "Hed give you 2 dozen if he were in a good mood," I said. "But since we still have to go over the grammar, and have to deal with the poor contents, Ill be lenient with you on this first day. You will get just one dozen. Of course they will be sharp, so you remember each word for when I test you on them again tomorrow."
I knew that Eric had trained the boy sufficiently to absorb severe punishment, and I had to make sure that my strokes were no less severe than his or the boy would immediately lose respect for me. The few cuts I had already given the child, did not seem to have upset him unduly, so he was used to at least that much. I decided to increase the force of the next stroke to gauge the boys reaction.
I raised the cane well over my shoulder and brought it whistling down across the lower cheeks. A good meaty thwack was heard as the cane bit in and I listened to the boys response. Jason sucked in his breath and moaned a bit, so the next stroke was a bit harder. This time the boy squeaked and his bottom swayed. Good, he felt it this time. The third and fourth strokes were harder still and at last young Jason let out a short cry of pain.
The next four strokes were applied to the boys thighs and elicited undisguised cries of anguish. Good. I was slowly finding the range and the last four strokes were given full force. This time Jason screamed and broke into loud sobs.
"Get up," I said, replacing the cane on the bed, next to the rest of my implements. "Shorts up."
When the boy had obeyed, I sat on the chair and took the boy on my lap. He didnt like that, but I held him fast around the waist while I went of the poor grammar of his essay. It took almost an hour before I had explained all his mistakes and made certain he understood them. I pushed him of my lap. "Shorts down."
Tears were still flowing as he obeyed. "Over the bed," I ordered. "I will now give you a dozen so you remember the mistakes you made with the grammar. Bring me the tawse from the hook over your bed. I am sure you must have felt it quite frequently. Have you?"
"Yes, sir," the boy mumbled as he pushed down his shorts again and stumbled over to here the tawse hung. He handed it to me with a pitiful glance hoping to get off this further punishment, but I ignored it. He knelt on the bed, bent over the edge, hands on the floor. Once again his bottom pointed upwards, the cheeks well spread, but this time the weals across it were more pronounced and almost obliteration the old, fading one.
I liked the tawse. It was not too long, so easy to land it exactly where you want it, and the tails, each one inch wide, were thick and heavy. Young Jason would feel this. No need to hold back this time. With the tawse you can really hit as hard as you like. It inflames the skin and burns it gradually sinking deeper and deeper into the flesh until you feel as if the skin would be peeled off. But a single dozen would not do that. It would bruise, of course, but probably only after two or three dozen well laid on strokes.
So the boys thrashing with the tawse was soon over and Jason took them well. He cried, of course, but that was to be expected. But he maintained his position obediently and only the wagging of his backside denoted the pain he was feeling.
"Shorts up," I said.
I sat and again took the weeping boy between my legs.
"Ten more for the poor handwriting," I said and I showed him what his handwriting should look like. I had him repeat a sentence over and over until I was staisfied. (The sentence read: "If I dont write clearly and neatly, my bare bottom must be punished again and again until it is satisfactory to my tutor.")
After those ten had been adminsitered, I had him pull up his shorts and stand before me again.
"Now I want to deal with the fact that twice in one morning you neglected to stand when I entered the room. Has your father not trained to to treat adult with respect, boy?"
"Yes, sir," the boy said and hung his head. I could see that he wanted to hold and soothe his burning bottom but didnt dare.
"Well, this is a very serious offense for which you cant expect to get off as lightly as for the mistakes in your lessons. You knew very well what was expected of you and yet you deliberately disobeyed, challenging my authority. This I cannot allow in a boy your age."
"Please, sir," the boy whined, squirming between my knees, "I forgot. I didnt remember to stand when you came in. It is automatic with my father."
"Dont worry," I said, moving my hands from his hips towards his bottom. "I will make sure that it will also become automatic with me. And very quickly. First you will get further 8 strokes with the senior cane, then into the corner for one hour, at the end of which I will give you 24 with the heaviest tawse I can find. In case your father doesnt have anything suitable, I have brought a special tawse, extra-heavy, for obstreperous boys of 15 or so. The leather can teach boys of all ages, no matter how obstinate they may be."
Jasons bottom, although hot and tender, was round and well able to take further whippings. I had him bend over the back of a chair for the caning and each of the 8 strokes was a real bruiser. I had found the senior cane leaning against the wall in one of the corners in the boys room, a sure sign that it had been used not so long ago. And now it was put to good use again. Jason screamed after each solid whack across his backside or thighs but I went on undeterred until the end.
I took the blubbering boy by the ear and dragged him into the corner, his shorts still around his ankles. "Hands at neck rest," I told him, "and no moving. Ill be back in an hour to give you the tawse."
And so it was that about an hour later a very sorry little boy was once more bent over, this time in the den across the leather sofa, to absorb the two dozen stingers with the extra-thick tawse I had brought with me. This instrument will certainly teach even older boys a good lesson and the 11-year-old roared and howled after each crack of the leather against his bottom and thighs.
I had worked up quite a sweat by the time I had finished, but the results on the boys behind and legs were spectacular. Deep read welts, sore and raised on the flesh, covered the entire surface of both cheeks and about two inches of the thighs. The fold between buttock and thigh was a solid bruise on which the boy will have to sit for the next few hours for our lessons. And the hard, wooden chair would not make it any easier for him. Tears continued to run down his cheeks as he tried to read his text book .
That first day was then finished off with a light supper, a bath and then to bed. As I dried him after the bath I noticed how his bottom had swollen and how the bruises contrasted sharply with the otherwise tanned body. It was really a beautiful sight, one I intended to retain and renew periodically over the term of my tutelage.
It was to be a very painful period for the boy or the next three years. Yes, this was the period that Eric had retained my services. He admired the way Jason had improved in all subjects at school and in his behaviour at home. Orders were obeyed instantly and willingly, lessons were studied and learned both at home and at school. It is true that the boy needed constant reminders and that the canings had to become more severe as time went on, but, judging for the essays I had him write every so often, he realised the good these punishments were doing him and no longer resented the frequency with which they were administered.
The boys bottom was never completely free of marks. Stripes from the cane or bruises from the tawse were always present and fully displayed on his thighs since was never allowed to wear shorts of any length other than just below his buttocks. I took some days off when Eric was at home, making certain that the boy was never without proper supervision.
Nowadays, not many boys have the same advantages as Jason had, and it shows in their upbringing, their manners and the crimes they commit. As I said from the beginning, boys must be brought up properly under a rigid system of discipline and Jason certainly had that. And he will be grateful for it in the years ahead.