The headmaster surveyed the trembling eleven-year-old boy standing before him, eyes cast down, expecting the usual severe caning. He was never called into this study without being given 6 or 8 "of the best" across his bottom devoid of shorts and pants.
"Randall," the headmaster finally said, after having inspected the boys close-fitting shorts and long, bare thighs for a while, "it seems it is time for another thrashing. What is it, the second or third this week?"
The boy swallowed but did not look up. "The third, sir," he murmured.
"That gives us still a couple more days to see if this week we can manage four canings, isnt that right, boy?"
The boy was close to tears and did not reply.
"Isnt that right, boy?" the headmaster said again, louder this time, the menace in his voice unmistakable.
"Yes, sir," the boy whispered. His hands wandered backwards, a protective gesture that wasnt missed by the headmasters sharp eyes. The gesture amused the man; it showed that the boy was trying to protect his still well-wealed backside from further discipline.
"Mr. Graham tells me you were daydreaming again, shifting about on your seat instead of paying attention to you lessons. He also insisted I deal with you more severely than usual so you will remember to concentrate more on school work than on your stupid little boys games. So you understand you cant get away this time with the usual 6 or 8, dont you, boy?"
The boy nodded miserably.
"Dont you, boy?" the master repeated sharply.
"Yes, sir," the boy quickly squeaked.
"Excellent. We will try the senior cane today, seeing that the junior version apparently has little effect on you. We will make it 12 well-laid-on strokes. Drop your shorts, boy, and bend over."
Small trembling fingers flew to the waistband of his skimpy shorts but it took a few extra seconds before he managed the buttons. The headmaster meantime walked leisurely over to the cupboard where he selected the senior Malacca, one of the most feared canes. Even big thirteen and fourteen-year-old boys screamed when they were unlucky enough to get a taste of this cane.
Joseph Randall had managed to bare his bottom by this time and dutifully bent over the headmasters ample desk. His bottom quivered as he felt the cool air around his striped backside and he was very frightened of the pain he was soon to experience across that area.
The headmaster approached the small bending figure, his eyes on the round, firm buttocks still covered with thick, purple welts and bruising. He smiled. Like a typical boy his age, he was lean with no fat, but he had muscular little calves, long smooth thighs and a tight little bottom just right for the cane. And that little bottom was going to learn a lesson it would not soon forget. He stood behind the boy, flexing the awesome cane.
"You will stay in position until I tell you to get up, boy," the headmaster intoned, tapping the cane smartly against the proffered bottom. "If you move your hands or feet in any way, I will give you either additional strokes at my discretion, or start the entire procedure from the beginning. Be warned, I will not be as lenient with you today as at other times. That means I expect absolute obedience and that not even the slightest movement of your feet will go unpunished. Understood, boy?"
The half-naked youngster was weeping. "Yes, sir," he wailed.
He enjoyed letting the boy wait, watching the bare buttocks twitch and jerk. The bending boy, feeling the tip of the cane tracing his all-too-fresh welts, started to shiver and sweat at the same time. Tears were already flowing with the anxiety of what he had in store. When he sensed that the headmaster now had raised the cane, his whole body tensed, his buttocks clenched amusingly and his eyes closed tightly.
There was an ominous swoosh as the cane flashed through the air and struck the bare flesh with a meaty impact. The ensuing silence lasted perhaps half a second, then Josephs shrill screech of pain echoed through the room.
"Oooowww! Oh, oh, one, sir," the boy wailed. "Th-thank you, sir."
Another extended pause to let the boy experience to the fullest the rising burn in his flesh. Then that terrible swoosh again and another sharp impact on the lower half of the round cheeks.
"Aaaarrrgh! Eeeee! Please, sir! Two, sir. Thank you, sir," the boy cried out frantically gripping the desks edge to keep from jumping up.
The headmaster waited, watching the sweating little body writhe with the well-deserved pain. Yes, this is what boys needed - and frequently. The Malacca was proving most effective. The bumps along its length, like the vertebrae of the backbone, left dark marks across the boys bottom.
Number three landed low d own, causing the boy to raise his bottom and banging his body back down onto the desks hard surface. Another howl of pain, then the tortured little voice, "Three, sir. Thank you, sir" through tight lips could be heard in the otherwise silent room.
It took the headmaster another three crisp strokes before he succeeded. This time the boy could not help but throw up a foot in despair as the pain burned into his behind close to the thighs. The headmaster smiled to himself.
"Three extra strokes, my boy," he said kindly but with inward relish, stroking the whipped buttocks with the cane.
"Oh, please, sir," young Joseph pleaded miserably, turning a tear-stained face towards his disciplinarian. "It hurts so. I couldnt help moving. Please no more, sir."
"I will help you to help it," the headmaster said coldly, aiming carefully. The cane landed three times, with long pauses between each, across the boys upper thighs, eliciting new howls of anguish. Yes, the boy was learning.
"Now let us continue with number seven," the headmaster said dispassionately, aiming the cane and brining it down full force across the lower buttocks.
The boy was beside himself with the searing pain and screamed out, "Seven, sir. Thank you, sir."
Numbers eight, nine and ten followed with the expected results: deep weals across the lower bottom and loud cries from the culprit. The headmaster nodded with satisfaction.
Two more strokes and the unfortunate boy faulted again. One small hand crept towards his underbum where the cane had just bitten and drawn a thick, slightly bleeding welt. It was just too much.
Again the headmaster smiled. "Three extra," he said with undisguised amusement.
The last three strokes were exemplary. Sheer force of will kept the boy rigid across the desk, reminding himself again and again not to move. His bottom felt thick and swollen, diffused with glowing, throbbing pain. When told to get up, he could feel the swollen flesh of the buttocks against his upper thighs. He limped towards the corner where he was told to remain for the rest of the hour.
At last, the boy was told to write a note to Mr. Graham, under the headmasters supervision, acknowledging receipt of the prescribed dozen with the senior cane, plus six extra strokes for disobedience. The boy was instructed to request Mr. Graham to inspect the boys bottom and relay to the headmaster his comments. Then Joseph was allowed to pull his shorts back up and sent back to class.
Mr. Graham smiled as he saw the boy return to the class room. Shuffling awkwardly towards him, his small face still drawn with pain and wet with tears, eyes red and swollen, exactly what a well-whipped schoolboy should look like. He took the note and told the boy to get back to his seat. The careful way in which the boy lowered his mistreated bottom onto the hard bench amused him every time he witnessed this.
As it turned out, the miserable boy had to return to the headmasters study with a reply from Mr. Graham. It read: "Headmaster, Randall has been a very disobedient boy these last days. I have inspected the results of his punishment and, while it was obviously severe, I feel the boy deserves a great deal more. I have come to the conclusion that only the utmost severity will suffice with boys like this and I would appreciate your administering a further six or eight strokes immediately, before the effects of the earlier caning wears off. The cumulative pain should be most salutary and will assist me in doing my duty as a teacher. Thank you, Robert Graham."
Poor Joseph had to read the note out loud to the headmaster and despite his cries of protest, and pleas of mercy, he was required to bare his backside yet again and take his position across the desk.
"Eight strokes," the headmaster said nonchalantly, flexing the Malacca.
The strokes were vicious and the boy disobeyed again by closing his thighs at a particularly sharp stroke across the thighs. Three extra strokes were his reward.
The three were applied with understandable extra severity. "Eight and three is how much?" the headmaster inquired of the wildly sobbing boy, stroking the inflamed skin with the cane.
"Eleven, sir," the boy stammered through his pain.
"A strange number for a schoolboys caning, dont yo think, boy?"
"Er - y-yes, sir," the boy whispered, eyes wide with anguish.
"Good. Let us just give you one more and make it an even dozen, shall we?"
Silence except for the noise of the blubbering boy.
"Shall we?" the headmaster repeated angrily.
"Y-yes, sir," the boy finally conceded.
"Well, then, ask for it."
"Please, sir, give me another stroke."
"To make it an even dozen, as deserved," the headmaster prompted.
"To make it an even dozen," the boy echoed.
And the last stroke was applied with the full strength of the mans arm and shoulder, wringing one last roar of pain from the young culprit.
Mr. Graham watched the boy shuffle back into his classroom. The brief, tight shorts clung to the swollen buttocks in an amusing way nd the boy held on to them as if afraid they might fall off. Yes, a well-whipped schoolboy indeed.
"Sit down and get to work, Randall," the teacher instructed. "And if you shift about instead of concentrating on your lessons, you will be right back in the headmasters study. Keep that in mind before you want to disobey again."
The school bench was awfully hard and the pain in the boys bottom raged unremittingly throughout the long lessons. But the boy refrained from shifting and moving his bottom, regardless of the hot glow in his lower regions. The cane, as applied this day, had worked as intended. There now sat a subdued, obedient little boy working hard at his lessons.