Anthony was really a most annoying boy. I was hired as his tutor last week and already the child is getting on my nerves. Apparently his parents think the same thing because they are staying abroad as much as possible, leaving the boys education to me and the housekeeper, Mattie Black.
When I had been hired, I made my methods very clear and both parents, Carl and Edith Landers, were in agreement with whatever I said. It seemed to me that they had tried other tutors in the past but had had little success; they had either dismissed them or the tutors had resigned. Well, I would not resign, I would deal with the little bugger in no uncertain terms.
The first thing I did was to purchase a new wardrobe for Anthony. I took his long trousers, underwear, pajamas, dress shirts and ties and packed them into a large suitcase. Then I took the boy, wearing the only clothes he had left, to my friendly tailors and had the boy fit for some trim, well-tailored shorts that would emphasize, rather than hide, the most essential parts of the boys body but leave as much as possible bare and exposed to the elements. From there we continued to a department store and bought sport Polo shirts, ankle socks and shoes. The latter were trainers for outdoors, dress shoes for formal occasions and slippers for indoors.
Ten-year-old Anthony was quite excited at buying new clothes although he was put off by the shorts. Just wait until you try them on, I thought with some amusement, picturing his consternation at how he would look in them. I intended to make this garment a source for utter shame and humiliation from friends and strangers alike. I wanted people to laugh at him, ridicule him until he was put in his proper place. The child seemed to think that the world revolved around his well-being, that all people should bend to his desires. He threw tantrums whenever he did not immediately receive what he demanded. Since his parents had little patience but much wealth, they decided that it was easier just to give in to his whims. And that was how he had been brought up until I joined the household.
The first thing I did upon moving in with the Landerss was to show the boy my instruments of instruction. Anthony, dressed much too smartly in his well-pressed long trousers, long-sleeved shirt with French cuffs and cufflinks, and tie, stood open-mouthed and wide-eyed as each item was displayed. I produced a number of tawses, some with two, some with three tails, some thin, some thick, most very thick. Then followed my cane collection and young Anthony started to feel some unease as he shifted by my side. The canes were also of varying lengths and diameters, from pencil thin to little finger thick, most between 30 and 36 inches in length.
"Why are you bringing these here?" the boy asked with alarm.
"Because I think that you will greatly benefit from their liberal use in the months and years to come." I chuckled when I saw his reaction.
"You are going to beat me with these?" he asked, no longer quite so sure of himself.
"Yes, of course," I replied easily. "And on a daily basis." I smiled at the boy. "And across your bare bottom, I might add."
"But - but -" the boy stammered, "my parents would never agree, I mean they cant -"
I laughed. "Oh, yes, they agreed and yes, they can," I told the boy with some satisfaction. "I told them that if I were to accept the position as your tutor, they would have to sign a contract giving me full authority over you, including as many thrashings as I deemed necessary to whip some sense into that stubborn head of yours."
That silenced him while my words sank in. But I also realised that he did not fully understand the full implications. Well, he would soon find out.
I will not go into detail about the fuss the boy made when he was shown his new shorts. The shirts and socks he accepted magnanimously, but first he objected strongly to not being allowed underwear. Then, when he had tried on one of the pair of shorts I had collected from the tailor, he began to scream and stamp his feet.
"No, no, no!" he shouted. "I look - uh, so - stupid. Like a baby. I cant - I wont -"
He closed his mouth in astonishment when he felt his face slapped hard, first across his left cheek, then across the right. I added two more just for good measure and saw tears gathering in his eyes. The slaps had stung.
"You are to do as I say," I announced firmly. "And when I tell you what to wear, you will wear it without discussion. Is that understood?"
He stared at me, pouting, and said nothing.
"Is that understood?" I repeated, my voice threatening. Anthony turned and ran out of the room, still in his small, tight, most abbreviated new shorts. I let him be for the moment; the longer he ran about in these shorts, the sooner he would submit to them. Of course he now had nothing else to wear.
About an hour later I went up to the boys room. "Anthony, you really dont like your new shorts?" I asked, feigning sympathy with the brat.
"No, I dont," came the prompt reply. It was obvious Anthony thought he had won his battle and would now be allowed to wear something he considered more suitable.
"Yes, I understand," I said. "You may take them off."
He started to unbutton before he realised he had nothing to exchange them with. "I need my trousers," he demanded.
"Yes, of course you do," I said placidly, "but we will need to measure you to make sure they are not too short, dont we?" I smiled.
The boy looked understandably puzzled, but in his childish naiveté, he took off his shorts and waited expectantly.
"Wait here," I said. "I will have to get my measuring wand."
I returned a few minutes later to see young Anthony sitting bare-bottomed on his bed, his shorts on his lap protecting his modesty.
"Stand up," I said curtly and the boy jumped to his feet. Something in my voice must have warned him not to object. But he still held his shorts protectively in front of him.
I produced the long cane from behind my back and showed it to him. "Put your shorts on that chair then come back here and bend over. I am going to measure you properly to be certain your long trousers will fit as they are supposed to.
Anthony stared, his eyes alternating between me and the cane. "But - you said - I was to get my trousers back," he whined.
"I said, put the sorts on that chair," I shouted at him now. "You will learn to obey my orders. NOW!"
Most reluctantly he now proceeded towards the chair by the far wall and dumped the shorts on the seat.
"Fold them neatly," I thundered at him. "You will take excellent care of your new clothes or you will be thrashed most soundly, do you hear?" The way I was yelling at him he should have had no trouble hearing me. He picked up the garment and folded it, then replaced them on the chair.
"Now come back here," I snapped, "and bend over. Your bottom towards the window so I can see what I am doing."
Anthony started to plead but when he saw the expression on my face, decided to bend, presenting a firm, smooth little bottom, as yet unmarked. This I intended to remedy right away. I raised the cane.
"Because this is the first time," I intoned as I took aim, "but only the first of many, many more to come, I will let you off with a single dozen. But I will not be as lenient in the future. So keep that in mind when you are thinking of being obstinate or disobedient again."
I lashed the cane hard across both buttocks, as low as possible. The effect on the boy was electric. He shot up, his face turned to me in startled agony, his small hands clutching his bottom. The he opened his mouth and howled.
I watched him for a moment, then simply said, "This means 2 extra strokes. You will remain bent until the punishment is over and it will be over only when I say it is. Get back in position this instant."
The boy was weeping but obeyed. When he let go of his behind, a nice, deep red line was already visible. But after I gave him the second stroke, he did not behave any better. "Another 2 extra," I said with satisfaction. "So now we will give you 14 strokes more. I suggest you stay down for the rest or we will never finish this little chore." I laughed but the boy didnt seem to appreciate my little witticism.
But my warning had its desired effect. Although he practically screamed the house down and swayed back and forth, his bottom plunging in and out most comically, he did not reach back and kept reasonably well bent.
When it was over, and I allowed Anthony to stand, his face was streaming with tears, eyes red, nose running, his mouth contorted in a grimace of pain, he was a well-punished boy. I decided to keep him that way.
"Now you may get back into your shorts," I said gruffly, replacing the cane in the cupboard, "and if you complain again, you will get another dozen."
I watched as he stumbled towards the chair where he had placed his new trousers, pick them up and slowly don them. He had some trouble pulling them over his well-wealed backside and the they seamed to fit even more snugly than before; perhaps his round little bottom had become a little rounder as a result of the attention I had given it.
Anthony, his bottom now once more in the grips of his shorts, stood awkwardly, his shoulders still shaking with sobs, his hands on his behind. He looked down at his feet.
"We will now proceed with todays lessons," I said as if nothing untoward had happened - which of course it hadnt. "You will apply yourself and concentrate on what I say. You will answer test questions and you will write an essay of 500 pages about how your first caning has improved your behaviour and the reasons for which you should always be thoroughly thrashed when needed. I want correct grammar, perfect spelling and legible handwriting. Any mistakes will be severely punished. Now tell me, boy, arent you glad I caned you?"
The boy twitched and shuffled about, but no words came.
"I want an answer, boy," I said more sharply. "Are you glad that the cane taught you a lesson?"
"Yes, sir," the boy murmured.
"And you want to be caned again each time you misbehave, dont you?"
"Y-yes, sir."
"And you really like wearing your shorts now, dont you?"
"Yes, sir."
"No more long trousers, eh?"
"No, sir."
"And what should I do if you complain again?"
A short pause, then, "C-cane me, sir," came the trembling reply.
"You see how easy it is? Just a few strokes of the cane and already you are a much better-behaved little boy. Just wait, Anthony, you will see how much better you will behave each day from now on. A cane does that for a boy. Parents and educators from early times have realised that boys need the cane to help them grow up properly. Since time began boys have been whipped for even the smallest infractions and this method has worked wonders. You will see. In a few months I will have you as pliable as an old pair of gloves."
I marched the boy back upstairs into his room and sat him forcibly on his hard chair. "Now write that essay," I said, "and remember the rules I gave you. I will be back in 3 hours and have a look at what you have accomplished. I hope for your bottoms sake that it will be a perfect masterpiece."
I left the boy hunched over his notebook, shifting uncomfortably on his chair.