Bruckner moved his hand from the boys neck to his ear as they reached the study door.
Open the door, boy, Bruckner said, pulling painfully at the boys ear. Patrick obeyed and they all marched inside the large room. Susie closed the door and stood by the bookshelves, waiting, while her friend stood beside her. They whispered among themselves for a moment then were quiet. The spectacle was about to begin.
Patrick was the centre of attention, standing in the middle of the room, legs visibly trembling, the long expanse of bare thigh covered in goose bumps.
Marge, Bruckner said after a moments silent inspection, will you do the honours and take the boys shorts down?
Dad, I - Patrick started, his face getting hot, but was interrupted by the girls reply.
Sure, she said. Come on, Patrick, whats the big deal? Your little shorts will have to come off anyway, wont they? You yourself told me you always get it on the bare bottom. And Ive never had the opportunity of removing a boys shorts up to now. And yours are so very short and tight. She laughed gaily as she approached the red-faced boy.
She knelt in front of the boy, herfingers first sroking the boys thighs, then going to the boys shorts waistband. Slowly she unbuttoned, grasped the zip and millimeter by millimeter pulled it down. She giggled as the boys small genitals suddenly made their appearance when the flys opened. Patrick blushed furiously but he knew better than to cover himself.
Marge waited a few moments before grasping the hems of the shorts. She pulled at them but they stayed firmly in place until she tugged the back seam from between the boys bottom cheeks. When the shorts were around the boys ankles, he stepped out of them.
Pick them up, boy, Bruckner snapped, fold them and place the on the desk. While the boy did as he was told, Bruckner went to the cupboard to retrieve a heavy, two-tailed tawse. Now bend over the desk.
Patrick hesitated only for a second but then quickly walked up to the massive piece of furniture and assumed the familiar position.
Susie, Bruckner continued, stroking the thick leather like a favourite pet, go to the other side of the desk and hold his hands in place. Marge, you can stand over here so you can witness how rude boys are handled in this house.
The girls looked at each other and smiled. Then their eyes went to the bending boy, Susie from the head and Marge from the bottom. Silence was heavy in the room, filled with anxiety from one participant and excitement from the rest.
The tawse rose, waited like a snake ready to strike, and then flew with great speed towards the bared target. It connected with a loud report and Marge saw the boys bottom shake with the impact.
One, sir. Thank you, sir, came the high-pitched moan from the bending boy.
The tawse rose once more, held its position for a second or two, then whirred through the air, landing across the lower portions of the exposed buttocks.
Ooo - aahh - er - th-thank you, sir.
I didnt hear the count, boy. Lets repeat the stroke, Bruckner said calmly and applied it with great force.
Owwww!! T-two, sir. Thank you, sir, the boy stammered. His arms twitched but were held in place by his sister. Looking into the boys red, contorted face, she saw the first tears rolling down his cheeks.
Aaahh! Oooo - came the loud yell as another stroke lashed the boy across the same sport. Three, sir. Thank you, sir. It all came out in one gasp.
Marge stood close by, her eyes glued to the reddening buttocks. She was amazed, and strangely aroused, at the strength of each cut as it lashed across the small boys behind. The skin was slowly turning from a deep red into a light purple. She noticed how the father aimed carefully at the lower cheeks and upper thighs, hitting the same area over and over until the boy was howling. She was impressed by how the boy kept up the count despite the obvious pain he was suffering, but assumed that the boy had been through such experience many times before and was probably used to it by now. She knew he wouldnt want to add to his punishment further by making mistakes in his count again.
AAARRGH! came a loud roar as the 12th stroke was delivered with utmost accuracy between the gaping cheeks. Bruckner went to sit in his chair and threw the tawse on the desk. Lets have a short pause before we start on the second dozen, he said calmly.
Oh, Dad, please no more, the boy with the whipped backside whined. Im so sore already. Please dont give me any more!
Bruckner thought this request over for a while, then said cheerfully, Very well, my boy. I wont give you any more. At least not today.
Thank you, thank you, Dad. I promise Ill be polite in the future. Really I will, came Patricks earnest promise, a promise boys give so easily when their backsides smart, but then are as easily forgotten.
Marge, how would you like to give Patrick the second dozen? he asked, turning to the girl who was still eyeing the boys wealed backside. After all, it was you, and Susie, the boy was impolite to. You should have the additional privilege of administering the deserved punishment, dont you think?
Me? Marge asked, pleasantly surprised. Until that moment she hadnt even realised that that was exactly what she had wanted to do from the moment the first stroke had lashed the boys bottom.
Ive never done this before, she said, hesitatingly. Im not sure I can do it properly.
Susie can teach you, Bruckner smiled. She knows how to do it properly, doesnt she, Patrick?
The prone boy turned up his head to look at his sister who grinned down at him. Yes, sir, he finally said, she knows.
Ill tell you what, Bruckner said. Susie, you show your friend how to wield a tawse to the greatest effect, say 3 or 4 strokes before Marge starts on the dozen. What do you think?
The girls looked at each other and nodded. A good idea, Susie said, ignoring the pleading look on her brothers face. Ill show you, Marge.
Susie picked up the tawse from the desk and placed Marge at a strategic position for observation. In the meantime Bruckner took Susies previous place on the other side of the desk to grasp the boys wrists firmly.
Without further hesitation, Susie brought up the tawse and whipped it down at such an angle that the tips curled around the boys left cheek into the cleft. Patrick shrieked as he felt the sting on that particularly sensitive spot.
This is one of the strokes you can apply from each side, under the cheek inside the thighs and between the bottom cheeks. She walked over to the boys right and demonstrated. An anguished moan came from the boys throat.
Now the next one, Susie instructed her friend, is delivered upwards between the legs so it strikes high up, also catching the cleft and perhaps even some very sensitive little thing in his front. She giggled and brought the tawse up into the described area. You can also achieve good results if you stand at the boys head and strike forward in such a way that the tails curl into the cleft and the tips into the fork. Excuse me, Daddy, so I can demonstrate.
She exchanged places with her father and demonstrated with extra vigour. The result was extraordinary; it seemed she had found all the right places. Patrick roared, throwing up his head, his entire body curving in agony.
You see, Marge, how effective these strokes can be? Of course you can give a few straight across both buttocks, but keep them low and near the thighs. Thats where Patrick has to sit and help him remember. Here, take the tawse. Its your turn to give him his second dozen.
Marge took the leather strap with considerable awe. She handled it for a moment, appraising its heft and length, and then stood back to take aim. She lifted the tawse and brought it down. It landed with a loud smack across the boys right thigh, leaving a burning red weal.
Not bad, Marge, Bruckner said with a laugh. He was at the boys head holding his wrists once more, and couldnt see exactly where the stroke had landed. But try a bit harder.
And try to get your aim near his bottom if you want to strike the thighs, Susie recommended. As close to the bottom as possible. Try again.
The next try was more accurate and considerably more forceful, as Patrick would have been quite willing to agree. He yelped. The next cut fell squarely across his discoloured buttocks.
Why isnt Patrick counting and thanking? Susie asked.
I dont know, Bruckner shrugged. I guess he wants to get more than just another dozen, eh, Patrick?
Oh, no! I didnt know I had to - the boy sniffed. Please, I got 6 already.
Well, then, start counting, Susie said and nodded to Marge. Start with number one.
And so it went, smack after smack in all the areas Susie had demonstrated while Patrick frantically counted, One, Miss. Thank you, Miss, to the girls amusement.
When the last of the dozen had been delivered, Marge was sweating and she dropped into a nearby chair, caressing the warm leather she still held.
That was some exercise, she exclaimed with a laugh. She looked at the prostrate boy who lay there, weeping and moaning, holding his flaming behind now that his father had released his wrists and allowed him to soothe his bottom.
Into the corner, boy, came Bruckners stern voice. Hands on your head. Youve had enough time to hold your bottom.
The three watched as the half-naked child dutifully trudged into the familiar corner, pressed his nose against the wall and clasped his hands above his head. His red and purple buttocks were a drastic contrast even with the well-tanned lower back and legs.