I was bent over a chair in the headmasters study. This was nothing new as it seemed that I was in here several times a week, similarly bent and disrobed, my naked backside being soundly caned.
This time, the third this week, I think, was different, however. When I had entered the study, it was not empty except for the headmaster as usual. This time I saw a man sitting comfortably in an easy chair by the window, facing the infamous caning chair.
The headmaster, ignoring my look and the visitor, simply said, also as usual, Take your shorts down and bend over.
Boys at the orphanage didnt have underwear so after hastily unbuttoning the skimpy little short we wore and pushing the tight garment down my legs until they feel to my ankles, I bent over presenting the view of my bare behind to the visitor.
Mr. Billings, the headmaster said as he tapped the fearful cane against my bottom, you will now witness a thorough caning. This boy is eleven years old and one of the most mischievous of the bunch. He merits a beating practically every other day and he needs particularly severe thrashings, as you will now see.
Excellent, the visitor, obviously named Billings, said with great relish in his voice. Small boys need a sound beating to behave properly. Three times a week I consider a minimum. He laughed. Lace into him, Headmaster. I will enjoy watching him squirm and scream. Music to my ears, you know.
The cane flashed and a searing pain cut across both my bottom cheeks. Despite long experience, this pain always caught me by surprise and I yelped. I managed to keep my hands on the chair seat, despite the strong temptation to feel my bottom and protect it from further injury. But to do so would have meant doubling the penalty and although I hadnt been told how many I was to get, it was usually between 8 and 12 strokes. The Headmaster caned very hard, however, and the cane had enough weight to really hurt very badly and I didnt dare expose my behind to a possible 2 dozen.
The cane landed once more, this time a bit lower. The caning usually started midway down my bottom and gradually worked down towards the thighs. Today was no different and by the time the sixth cut landed on the upper thighs, I was howling with pain.
Ah, now he is feeling it, the visitor exclaimed with an enthusiasm I couldnt share. Hit him harder, Headmaster, much harder. I want to hear him scream.
The Headmaster didnt reply, and it may have been my imagination, but I thought the next stroke, back up towards the middle, was considerably more painful.
Thats it, thats it, Mr. Billings exclaimed, clapping his hands. Give it to him good! Beat the rudeness out of this boy.
I think by that time I had received 8 or 9 strokes and the cane made its southward trip again. By the time I felt those awful lashes across the upper thighs once more, it must have been a full dozen. Surely he would stop now. But he didnt and when the caning continued unabated, my screams really shook the ceiling. However, the visitor seemed satisfied.
If I counted correctly, Billings said after another tremendous slasher across the underbum that had me roar in agony, "this was the 14th stroke. Just 4 more, Headmaster, but make them count. I want to see some purple and black welts and some good bruises on the fold above the thighs.
And I got 4 more that made me scream as loudly as I had never before - and I have screamed a lot in this study. Each caning that I had been given in the last 6 years had me howling, even at the beginning when I was given only 3 or 4 strokes. At last, the Headmaster put down the cane and turned to the visitor.
I hope you are satisfied, Mr. Billings, he said. You see the boy can absorb punishment relatively well for his age. You will not be disappointed. He has been in this orphanage since he was 4 and he is used to punishment. If you agree to take him home, you will be able to discipline the boy as much as you like.
Stand up, boy, I heard Mr. Billings snap at me. I struggled off the chair back and stood, bare from the waist down, facing the visitor. I still felt tears rolling down my cheeks and had started hiccuping between my sobs but I managed to keep my hands behind my neck as always required after a beating.
He looks good, the visitor said as he looked me up and down. Have him take off his singlet so I can see him properly.
You heard the gentleman, boy, the Headmaster admonished me sharply, and I removed the only garment that still covered me. I stood naked down to my ankles and waited. What did all this mean?
He looks like he has more Indian blood in him than Western, he said after a lengthy pause that had be squirming uneasily.
His father is from Ceylon, the mother I believe was born from European parents. I have never been able to trace the boys family.
Well, I like his straight, black hair, his big dark eyes and, above all, his nice coffee-coloured skin. His body is also slim as an Indian but with more muscle in the legs and buttocks than I expected. And these boys dont grow any body hair, even after puberty there is very little. But I will see to it that he is always clean and sweet smelling even when he is sweating after an extended whipping.
You will take him, then? the Headmaster seemed anxious to get rid of me. I wasnt so sure that I was the winner in this bargain. From the fire into - what? And to think that I had always dreamed of being adopted and getting out of this institution where they gave us little food, even fewer clothes and were generous only in the application of whippings.
Yes, I will come back tomorrow with the promised check and to sign the necessary papers. I will take the boy now to shop for some additional clothes. Well back back later in the afternoon, if this is convenient.
By all means, the Headmaster said with a wide smile. Hes all yours. Take him. Hes had his breakfast and you neednt bother with food until you get back.
All right, boy, Mr. Billings said curtly, get dressed and lets go. On the double!
I quickly pulled on my singlet and my thin shorts up and rushed after the man as he strode out the room, still struggling with the buttons on my shorts. He led me to his car, a large, fancy convertible sports car and a minute later I was sitting snugly next to him on soft leather seats that caressed my bare thighs.
Hey, what a great car, I said, carried away in my excitement. I had never sat in a car before, much less in a fancy automobile such as this. And the man drove fast and the wind blew through my hair. It was so exhilarating I almost forget the throbbing weals on my backside.
Silence, the man shouted at me. Little boys should be seen and not heard. Remember that. You will speak when spoken to and at no other time. Disobedience will earn you painful sessions with the cane. Do you understand, boy?
Yes, sir, I said, now more subdued, but still full of excitement. Maybe this life wouldn't be all bad if I could ride in a car like this once in a while.
We stopped in the center of town where most of the shops were crowded closely together. There was no parking space on the street so Mr. Billings drove into an underground garage.
Get out and come along, he ordered after an attendant had provided him with the necessary ticket. He had been very polite and obviously knew Mr. Billings as a regular customer.
Again I trotted after him as he quickly left the garage and went to a clothing store. Again he was greeted like an old friend.
Come in, come in, Mr. Billings, the owner said, bowing and wringing his hands in a hand-washing motion. What can I do for you today?
I need some clothes for the boy, Mr. Billings replied, pointing a thumb in my direction. Nothing fancy. Just need sport shirts, shorts, socks and sandals or espadrilles. Make it simple.
The manager disappeared and soon returned with a young attendant carrying a number of cartons of varying sizes. He put them on the counter and opened the first. These are thin cotton shirts, short sleeve with collar and front pocket. We have them in white, light blue and yellow with blue trim. Lets see if this size fits the boy.
Well, what are you waiting for? Mr. Billings scolded. Take off that singlet and try on the shirt. Get on with it!
I obeyed and tried on the first. It felt snug but very soft. It reached just below the waist.
Thats good, Mr. Billings said. Let me have one in each colour and two in white. Now lets look at the shorts. I want those brief and tight.
The attendant picked up two boxes and put them aside. These are too long, he explained as he opened a third box. He brought out a pair of boys shorts with minimal inseam. They were also white and made of thin cotton.
Try them on, boy, Mr. Billings snapped impatiently. Do I have to tell you every time? Better not be stupid or youll pay with your backside.
I felt my face grow hot and quickly dropped my shorts, stepped out of them, folded them and put them on the counter, trying not to think about how exposed I was here in front of the three men. Fortunately there seemed to be no other customers in the store. I took the new shorts from the attendant and put them on. They felt very comfortable with a pleated front and reached about 6 or 7 inches above the knee. With my new shirt I now felt dressed like a prince after all those years in orphanage uniform grey.
Too large, Mr. Billings said. Take them off. To the manager he added, Let me see some shorter in the leg, no pleats and much tighter. No belt loops, either. And he will need braces.
The manager nodded, spoke briefly to the attendant who rushed away. I stood awkwardly, naked from the waist down again, waiting for the mans return. He came at last, carrying more boxes and I was told to try on another pair of shorts. These I could barely get over my hips and when they were up, they fit tight against the fork of my legs, gripped my bottom, each cheek separately, with the middle seam pressing closely against my hole. The legs were practically non-existent.
Push your shirt inside, Mr. Billings said sharply. Now lets have the braces.
Finally I stood, wearing a snug white shirt and white shorts braced up so tightly I could hardly breathe. The shorts were so very thin and held me so tightly, my little bulge in front was most conspicuous. I felt very exposed.
Good, Ill take six of the shorts in this size and six more in the next size. Hell need those in about 3 years when he has outgrown the smaller ones. He laughed.
Espadrilles and ankle socks were packed up and we left, with me carrying the packages holding my new possessions. Now to get the other essentials.
He walked quickly down the street, around corners and into a store in the third floor of a small white building. There were no signs and no window displays.
He rang the door bell and when the door opened, we entered. Then the door was closed again behind us. There were several customers, parents with children of different ages. Boys between 8 and 12 I would have guessed.
Ah, so nice to see you again, Mr. Billings, a tall man in a dark suit approached us from the back of the store. Good to see you again. Come this way. He looked down at me for a moment and then led the way.
As I looked around me, walking awkwardly in my new tight clothes - I thought everyone was looking or commenting on them - and saw to my dismay that this was a store selling all sorts of punishment instruments. Canes, which of course I recognised immediately as being made of rattan, leather straps, small whips with several tails made of different materials and all sorts of other items were displayed on walls and shelves.
I presume you are shopping for the boy? the man said, glancing in my direction.
Yes. I will need several canes about a centimeter in diameter, between 30 and 36 inches long. You know which kind I prefer. Then I want some tawses, two- and three-tailed, light, medium, heavy and extra heavy in the three lengths I have always bought. This time Id like the black ones.
The man left us to gather the requested articles while I stood trembling. I watched as other parents showed canes or straps to their very nervous-looking sons and I could understand how they felt. The boys were pale and looked so anxious to please their parents that it was pitiful. I knew this would never convince their parents not to use these instruments on them once they were bought.
I was carrying more parcels as we left the store. Birch rods will have to be obtained based on necessity a day or two prior to use, he explained to me. They wont stay fresh enough longer, so we cant get them now. But you will get a taste of the birch soon, my boy never fear. I understand you have never felt one before but we will remedy this, wont we?
Yes, sir, I mumbled for anything better to say. I wasnt too anxious to make the birchs acquaintance.
Well, its time to get you back to the orphanage. Once there, you will change back into their uniform. The new clothes are only for later. I have asked the Headmaster to sell me a few of the orphanage shorts which you will wear for playtime. They are a bit threadbare, but good enough for your games.
When will I - I started but was silenced by a hard slap across my cheek.
What did I tell you about speaking? (slap) About not speaking? (slap) Eh? (slap) Eh? (slap)."
I started to cry. I had wanted to know when I would be going with him.
You will not ask questions, boy, is that understood? Anything you are to know will be told you in good time. Anything else is not your business and you hold your tongue. Is that clear now?
Y-yes, sir, I whimpered, rubbing my burning cheek.
I will pick you up tomorrow, he continued as if guessing what I had wanted to ask. You will wear the singlet and shorts you are wearing now. Once I get you home, you will be bathed and dressed in your new clothes. Then we will make the rounds and introduce you to my circle of friends. And if you dont behave, act politely and answer their questions properly, you will be thrashed soundly regardless how sore your behind may be just then. Clear?
Yes, sir, I said again. What else was there to say?