Miss Ingrid Swenson smiled cruelly as she swish the long, whippy cane through the air and saw the young boy wince. She enjoyed watching the slender blond boy with the long, bare legs tremble with anxiety.
"You know you deserve a really severe caning for this, dont you, Lars?"
The eleven-year-old boy nodded, looking at his feet.
"Look at me and give me an audible reply, if you please," Miss Swenson snapped. "I consider this little nod lacking due respect. I guess a double dose may be in order."
"Oh, please, Miss," the boy whined audibly, "Im sorry. Yes, I deserve a caning."
"That is better, my boy, but I wonder why you omitted the really severe part. You dont think you deserve extra severity for lying?"
"Er - Y-yes, Miss," the boy sputtered. " I deserve extra severity."
"Ah, I knew you want to atone for your sins so I will administer your punishment on the bare bottom. Not that these little cotton shorts you are wearing would mitigate the pain, but I think you need to me taught some humility. Not much room for arrogance when a boy has to present his naked buttocks for a schoolboy caning, is there?"
"N-no, Miss." The boys face showed his concern. He could not keep his eyes off the cane Miss Swenson was toying with.
"Well, then, we better begin. I am going to give you two dozen and if you dont take them properly, I will add strokes. So be warned."
She kept here eyes on the squirming boy. She wanted to savour this moment and take in the boys discomfort to the fullest. She swished the cane again and the boy flinched visibly.
"Take your shorts down," finally came the usual command and again Miss Swenson watched eagerly as the boys small, delicate fingers busied themselves with the buttons. She watched as the waistband was opened, the fly unzipped and the skimpy shorts being pushed down those tanned legs until they fell to his ankles. No underwear prevented the bare bottom from becoming visible under the short shirt.
"Take the bench and kneel on it, knees apart," Miss Swenson said pleasantly, anticipating the shaming position. "Now bend over and place your hands on the floor."
The boy was used to the procedure and followed the instructions easily, automatically. He knew how indecently he was exposed and even before the first stroke was felt, he began to sweat.
Miss Swenson stepped close to the young miscreant and tapped the boys buttocks lightly with the tip of the cane. The small, bare bottom twitched as he felt the cane wandering down the open cleft. Please get on with it! he prayed. Let it be over quickly!
But Miss Swenson had other ideas. She tapped and caressed the bare cheeks for several more minutes before she took up her stance for the caning. She was an expert tennis player and the power in her right arm was considerable. When the weather was good, she played tennis outdoors; when the weather was bad, she caned indoors. Sometimes she did both on any day, regardless of the weather. She always kept busy.
Raising the cane high, she slashed it down forcefully across the boys bottom, just around the middle section. She disregarded the boys yelp; she was more interested in watching the weal change from white right after impact, to pink, red, crimson and gradually to a double track of purple welt. The bruising in between would come later. No need to wait for that.
Another good stroke, a millimeter below the first and this time the boys squeak became a squawk. It was actually quite funny to analise the odd sounds, groan, grunts, moans, shrieks and screams that tended to flow from a naughty boys mouth during discipline. Sometimes she recorded these noises on tape and played them back later for her own amusement.
A third vicious cut, the boys yell of pain, a another tram track a bit further down the bottoms plump slope. This one actually touched on the previous weals and the result was most satisfying. It looked like a deep double welt that almost instantly turned a deep purple where they adjoined. She was really getting quite good at this. After just the few months she had been handling this cane, already it seemed an extension of her hand and arm and she could lay it on with ever more accuracy.
Another firm lash, again close to the previous even lower on the bottom cheeks and young Lars let out a great howl.
"It hurts down there, doesnt it, boy?" Miss Swenson chuckled. "Just wait. Theyll soon come even lower. Those long thighs of yours are just waiting for it."
Two more hefty strokes and she was amused to see tears streaming down the boys cheeks as he turned to direct a pleading face towards her. She raised the cane a bit higher and let fly. This one now reached the crease between buttocks and thighs and Lars shrieked like a stuck pig.
Just then the door opened and Jack Nielsen entered his study.
"Oh, Im sorry to interrupt, Miss Swenson. "I see Lars has been naughty again. I have a few letters to write. I hope you dont mind if I do that while you continue your work. Dont spare the boy just because of me. You could give him a few more, if you like."
"I am just starting on his second dozen, Mr. Nielsen," Miss Swenson said as she brought the cane down across the boys upper thighs. The boy cried out piteously.
"My goodness, Lars," his father said irritably as he put down his pen. "Cant you even take a proper schoolboys swishing? You are now old enough for the senior cane and yet Miss Swenson is lenient enough with you to still be using the junior cane. The least you could do is take it properly and with some decorum."
"Oh, please, sir," the bending boy pleaded, his face red with shame, "please tell Miss Swenson to stop. It hurts so much and I promise not to lie to her again."
"Lying, boy? Is that what you are being punished for? In that case I would recommend Miss Swenson give you a third dozen with my compliments. How about it, Miss Swenson?"
Miss Swenson laughed. "Why not? The boy has only himself to blame. But he is not only being punished for lying. He needs the discipline so that he reports back to me when he has faulted at school. He kept this information from me even after I had asked what had happened at school for him to come home so late. He invented some ridiculous nonsense. Of course he didnt know the headmaster had already rung me about it."
During this friendly conversation, Miss Swenson had not been shy about thrashing the boy with heavy strokes. After she had administered two or three strokes across the boys thighs, she worked her way back up the buttocks again. There were now 18 thick welts covering the lower half and upper thighs of the boy and Miss Swensons following strokes now fell across already well-striped flesh. Try as he may, Lars was unable to prevent from screaming and he was quite hoarse by the time strokes numbers 32 through 36 had made themselves felt diagonally across all the previous welts.
"I see you produced a bit of blood," Mr. Nielsen noticed with obvious approval. "Will do the boy a great deal of good."
"Its just between the tram lines and where strokes crossed," Miss Swenson remarked without concern. "Tomorrow hell be right as rain again."
Lars doubted that as he now stood bare