My name is William and I am 12 years old. My sister Sarah is 10 and she is a great nuisance. She wont let me play with my friends unless she is allowed to join. Sometimes we let her, but then complain because we play too rough. Of course we do gang up on her and I like to punch her harder than necessary. Teach her to leave us alone. But she is persistent and very annoying and I sometimes punch her at home when no one is looking. This all worked famously and I could keep Sarah in line most of the time.
Then came that tutor, Mr. Lissauer. God, hes a strict one! Hes brought with him some awful canes and leather straps and paddles and I dont know what else. Suddenly everything has changed.
It all started when I kicked Sarah in the shins for trying to take a book away from me. It was her book, but I wanted to read it. She started bawling like a banshee and Mr. Lissauer came running. This was during the first week the tutor had arrived. We now have a tutor because Dad is always traveling and Mum died some years ago.
Anyway, Mr. Lissauer listened to Sarahs complaint which I naturally denied completely. For some reason, he believed my sister instead of me and he yelled at me.
Go into my study and wait for me, Billy, he practically snarled at me. Im going to teach you a lesson you should have been taught a long time ago.
He told me he was using my Dads old study for his use and for our schooling and that is where I went. I wasnt scared. I didnt know my tutor yet. Now I am terrified of him. So I went in, expecting a dressing down, a long lecture.
Billy, you behaved abominably towards your sister. I will not tolerate this disrespect and I will now teach you what you can expect if this is ever repeated. Bring that chair and place it in the centre of the room, Then take down your shorts. Are you wearing underpants?
I was pushing the heavy chair into the indicated position. Yes, sir, I said, very politely, because, although I didnt know what was going to happen, something told me it wouldnt just be a scolding.
Quite unnecessary, Mr. Lissauer said curtly. From now on you will wear them.
I was embarrassed to take my shorts and pants down but felt I better do as he said. I didnt want to annoy him more than he already was. When they were down and I stood naked from the waist down (my shirt just covered my belly button) I felt my face burning.
Go over to the cupboard, Mr. Lissauer now continued, and bring me the cane you will find leaning against the left side, towards the back."
The cane? Suddenly I felt a cold shiver going down inside me and I thought I needed to go to the loo.
Move, boy! Mr. Lissauer yelled at me. So I moved as quickly as the shorts around my ankles would allow. I opened the cupboard door and found the cane he referred to. There were other canes and objects in there, such as the straps and paddles I had seen him unpacking, but I didnt linger to look closely. I just grabbed the cane with a trembling hand and shuffled back to where the tutor was waiting impatiently.
Over the chair, boy, Mr. Lissauer barked. Face in the seat cushion, all the way in so I dont hear your bleating. Hands low down on the front legs, feet apart, knees straight. You move out of position and I wont be responsible for the welfare of your backside.
I obeyed and I felt my heart beating rapidly. I lowered my head into the leather cushion and grasped the chair legs.
Get those knees straight, the tutor snapped and I felt a stinging pain across my calves. Feet wider apart, boy. You will listen when I tell you something. Another lash across my legs.
You will get a dozen, Mr. Lissauer continued, tapping my bottom with the cane. Next time you misbehave towards your sister I will not hesitate and give you two dozen. Is that understood?
Yes, sir, I panted. trembling with nervousness.
I cant describe the pain I felt when that first stroke laced into my bottom. At first it just shook my body but a moment later I was on fire. A deep, searing flash of red-hot agony coursed through my whole body. I wailed and grabbed my injured parts, turning in shock towards my new tutor. He stood over me, tapping the cane on the palm of his hand as he watched me dispassionately.
It seems you just cant obey a simple order, doesnt it? he mocked. Well, you will learn, I can assure. You will get back into position this instant and you will be rewarded for your disobedience with 3 extra strokes. So we start again. Fifteen strokes and if you move again, we will add another 5. I suggest you heed my warning.
It was at that moment that I realised Sarah was standing in the doorway, watching with a smug grin on her face. I turned my eyes on Mr. Lissauer. Please, sir, tell her to get out.
Hold your tongue, boy, and push up your bottom higher. I want your sister to witness how your disrespect is punished. Now, not another word out of you. We will start.
Well, I must confess I didnt take that first caning very well. I writhed and wriggled, squirmed and kicked my legs, but I forced myself to stay down. I realised it was the only way to get through this terrible whipping. Each stroke drew flashes of red light in front of my eyes and the cutting cane seemed to slice into the lower parts of my bottom and upper thighs again and again until I thought blood must soon run down my thighs.
He let me lie there for maybe ten more minutes after the last stroke before he finally allowed me to stand. Then it was into the corner, shorts and pants still down, and hands behind my neck. My bottom felt swollen and was throbbing in rhythm with my heartbeat. I was quite exhausted and my knees felt weak. And so I stood for an hour or maybe more. I lost the sense of time. All I could feel was the shame of my sister having witnessed my punishment and my wealed behind.
After that terrible caning, everything went downhill. Sarah had found a way to torment me. She made me do her chores, help with her homework, of course always let her play with me and my friends, or she would threaten to tell Mr. Lissauer how I had shown disrespect, or had punched her, or whatever she happened to think up. The result was that my friend avoided me because they didnt like my sister and I stayed home more and more.
Rarely a day would go by without the tutor giving me a severe caning. Sometimes it was lack of attention during lessons, sometimes my homework, but usually it was Sarahs complaining of me. During those occasions she would observe my whipping with undisguised enthusiasm.
And then it happened. It was an early afternoon and I was studying in the large living room when Mr. Lissauer marched in and walked directly up to me. As he towered over me, I shrank back, expecting the worst. As usual, it was the worst.
Sarah tells me you refused to do the chores last night. You know very well I dont want to hear that such chores are for girls. From now on, my boy, they will be your chores, and yours alone. Understand? Now take your shorts down. I think a session with the cane may help you remember. I said take your shorts down!
I knew it was useless arguing and reluctantly undid my braces and pushed my shorts to my ankles. Underpants had been outlawed so now I was naked from the waist down.
We will proceed. Over that chair, boy. Place it so your bottom points right at the ceiling lamp. I want everyone to see.
As I pushed the chair in place and positioned myself, I only wondered briefly about what he had said. I was too terrified of the caning to come. I had had a good beating last night before going to bed and I still thought I could feel the burning stripes all down my backside.
I was in position, bent low over the back of the chair, my bare bottom high up and the cheeks gaping because I had to spread my feet wide. The cane swished through the air and the first stroke landed with force into the crease between buttock and thigh. I cried out.
Then the doorbell rang.
Mr. Lissauer, I heard Sarahs voice, I have two friends here. Is it all right to bring them in?
I must have made a noise, because my tutor snapped, Be quiet, boy. Then to Sarah, Why yes, of course. Have them come right in.
I started to sweat and prayed to disappear before those friends could see me in my present predicament.
I heard the girls take off their coats and enter the living room. There was a moments silence, then they all started to giggle.
Judy, Betty, this is Mr. Lissauer. Mr. Lissauer, this is Judy Winter and Betty Robinson.
Glad to meet you, girls, Mr. Lissauer said, tapping the cane against my exposed buttocks.
And this is my older brother, Silly Billy, Sarah said in the voice of a museum curator. He is being punished for not doing his chores. He has to do the dishes, among other things, every evening after supper. Last night he refused.
Does he always get it on the bare bottom? a girls voice asked.
Oh, yes, Judy, Sarah replied with self-importance. Mr. Lissauer says boys should always be punished with their shorts down. Otherwise they dont feel it enough.
But look, another voice, presumably Betty, called out. His bottom is marked with dark stripes all the way down the thighs. Is this from today?
I was listening to this exchange and felt my face go up in flames. I was so embarrassed by this situation, I wanted to disappear. Please, God, just make me wake up in my room, I prayed. But it was not to be.
Sara replied with that all-knowing tone of voice which Mr. Lissauer appeared to find amusing because I heard him chuckle. He was still stroking my bottom with the cane tip.
Those stripes are from yesterday, Sarah said. Silly Billy punched or kicked me so he was caned. He gets caned almost every day.
There was an impressed silence as they all stared at my bare backside. I shifted uneasily and felt a hard stroke of the cane lash against my thighs. Stop wriggling, Mr. Lissauer said. I heard the girls giggle.
Is the caning over? Judy asked after a while.
No, no, Mr. Lissauer said easily. Weve just begun, havent we, William?
Yes, sir, I mumbled, mortified.
Well, lets show these girls what a boy gets for disobedience, hitting his sister and failing to do his chores. Sarah, how many strokes do you think this young man deserves?
Sarah appeared to think this over. After a minutes silence, she said, tentatively, A dozen?
Judy and Betty audibly drew in their breath. That many? one of them asked in awe.
Oh, yes, Sarah said. Boys are tough and they must always be whipped very soundly. Isnt that right, Mr. Lissauer?
That is correct, Sarah, Mr. Lissauer said with a chuckle. As a matter of fact, because he committed three separate, serious offences, we should make it fifteen. What do you think?
Oh, yes, Sarah said, clapping her hands together. Give him fifteen really hard ones.
I was so ashamed at all this, I hardly realised it when the first lash bit into my bottom. But when it fell, I soon forgot my audience and cried out in pain.
I didnt hear the count, I dimly heard Mr. Lissauers voice. Nor the thank-you. We will start again.
I was bellowing my count and thank-yous as by bottom was thrashed, slowly, methodically. After number seven, the pain became too much and I grabbed my burning cheeks and half raised my upper body.
You will get three extra for this, Mr. Lissauer said.
Silly Billy isnt allowed to move, explained Sarah to he friends. If he does, he always gets extra strokes. But Billy is too stupid to remember. He always gets up at least once and has to take those additional strokes.
Those stripes low down are already purple, Betty pointed out. And he still has eleven strokes to go.
Forgetting my pride and the presence of Sarahs friends, I roared lustily under each new cut as Mr. Lissauer caned my lower buttocks and upper thighs with fearful strength and no mercy whatsoever.
Wow! I heard one of the girls exclaim. Look at his bottom. I think its swelling up. And those bruises down there. He must be in terrible pain.
Yes, he probably is, Sarah said lightly as another hard cut bit into my wealed flesh. But that is the purpose for a boys punishment, isnt it, Mr. Lissauer?
Yes, Sarah. Without severe pain, a boy cant learn, my tutor confirmed, landing another scorcher, now a bit higher up.
Do you get it too? Betty asked.
Me? No, no, Sarah replied with a little laugh. Girls dont get whipped. That honour is reserved exclusively for boys.
Mr. Lissauer whipped the cane into my lower bottom again and said, Yes, Betty, Boys are more immature and wilder. They are lazy and dirty creatures who can only be controlled with extreme severity. Girls are easier to manage and they are usually more civilised and well behaved. When necessary, they are punished with detention, writing lines or denial of television time. That is sufficient. Boy, on the other hand, must always be caned.
As the last cut bit into my behind, I screamed with pain thinking how unfair it all was. If it were up to me, Id beat Sarah to a pulp.
Get up boy, I heard Mr. Lissauer snap, as he smacked my thigh with the cane. Now go and stand in the corner, hands behind your neck. And dont you dare move, if you dont want another taste of the cane.
There I stood while the girls commented on the punishment they had witnessed and the stripes and bruises on my backside. I stood, sobbing, wishing to die. Then, at last, Sarah took her friends up to her room to play, the tutor retired to his study, and I was left alone with my throbbing bottom.