Dr. Henry Willard was the headmaster of a small, private boarding school that housed about 50 to 60 boys aged eight through 13 years. The schools finances were maintained by tuition and donations. Only few of the boys attending the school had parents; most were wards of the State. Therefore the school depended for its survival on the donations of wealthy patrons.
One of those patrons was a Richard Bronson who now sat comfortably in the headmasters large study. He was smoking his favourite cigar and sipping on the cup of tea that had been served him just a few moments by a blond little boy of 9 or ten wearing the school uniform of shorts, shirt, socks and shoes. Bronson had noticed with great amusement how the little fellow quaked and quivered as he carefully handled the small tray. He threw timorous glances at the headmaster and seemed in a hurry to leave.
"Well, Henry," he now said, his voice booming with good humour, "I hear you have a new boy. Cant wait to see him."
"Yes, he was brought in just a couple of weeks ago. I thought Id break him in before presenting him to you. I know how you dislike obstreperous youngsters," Dr. Willard said mildly. "I had Mr. Graham train him as to comportment under discipline."
"And has he learned?" Bronson inquired with a cruel little smile.
"He is starting to realise what he is in for and is gradually coming to the conclusion that obedience is his best, no, his only chance to get along with me. Im afraid that it was necessary to be quite strict with him. He was a little ruffian from the streets before they picked him up. No school wanted to accept him, so they pleaded with me to take him. I immediately thought of you, Richard."
"And I appreciate it," Bronson said. He brought out a long white envelope and handed it to the headmaster. "This is this months donation. I trust you will make it worth my while."
"Do you want to see the new boy? His name is Frank and he is eleven years old," Dr. Willard said.
"Certainly. Cant wait. I hope you havent whipped all his bad manners out of him yet. I want to have the chance of witnessing the training myself." Bronson gave an unpleasant guffaw.
"By no means," Dr. Willard replied. "He needs a daily session with the cane, but hes a long way from having learned our rules and regulations."
Dr. Willard picked up the received from the telephone on his large desk. "Marian, please ask Mr. Graham to bring young Frank to my study," he said and hung up.
The two men conversed easily for a few minutes until there was the expected knock on the door and a tall, dark-haired man strode in, pulling a small boy along by an ear. Bronson noted with approval how the man twisted and pinched the boys ear as he dragged him into the room. He also thought he saw the signs of a whipped child in the boys facial expression, not just the discomfort of a pinched ear.
"Ah, here is young Frank," Dr. Willard exclaimed. "Richard, I would like to introduce Mr. Tom Graham. Tom, this is our benefactor Mr. Richard Bronson."
The two men shook hands.
"Frank, come over here," Dr. Willards voice was suddenly cold and stern.
The child advanced timidly, although his lower lip protruded in a sign of his belligerence.
"Well, Richard, what do you think?" the headmaster said, taking the boy by the shoulders and turning him slowly like a mannequin in a shop window.
Bronson inspected the boy at his leisure. The boy was slender and dark skinned, large brown eyes and jet black hair. He might have been Italian or from Central or South America. He was probably of mixed parents but those parents had never been found. Bronsons eyes wandered over the childs immature face with a small nose, wide mouth and ears that were flaming red at this moment. The face seemed to be twitching with pain and his body quivered obviously from a very recent whipping. The long-sleeved grey shirt and brief grey flannel shorts fit snugly to his body. The white ankle socks contrasted nicely with the swarthy legs.
Viewed from the back, he was even more attractive in Bronsons eyes, The thin, close-fitting, shorts neatly displayed each bottom cheek, round and firm. The shorts ended where the thighs start and Bronson was delighted to see a couple of deep red stripes just below the hems. The thighs and calves were strong for a boy this age.
"Mr. Graham," Dr. Willard said rather theatrically, "please tell our benefactor the reason why this boy was brought here, interrupting a very important conversation."
"I am very sorry, Headmaster," Graham said with a suppressed smile, "but this boy is behaving abominably. I gave him a good whipping not so long ago, but he is stubborn and refuses to apologise for his behaviour. I thought it necessary to bring him to you for further discipline."
"And quite rightly so," the headmaster intoned gravely. "All boys must be taught to submit to discipline willingly and gratefully. Frank, you realise that I must punish you severely, dont you?"
All eyes were on the youngster. He seemed close to tears, but his voice was belligerent. "No, I dont! I didnt do nothing! I was beat already anyway. Its not fair!"
"You see what I have to contend with?" Graham asked.
"Yes, I do," Dr. Willard replied. "Lets see if we cant thrash some sense into this willful little boy. Mr. Graham, please lower the boys shorts to his ankles."
The boy tried to resist and Bronson stepped up to help. "Do you mind if I hold his legs while you unbutton him?" he asked, already grasping the boys bare thighs firmly.
"Very kind of you, sir," Graham replied, holding one of the boys arms while unbuttoning the small shorts with the other. Franks face flushed with the effort to resist and the shame of being disrobed in public.
"Leave me alone!" he cried, twisting and turning in his restraints. Bronson gripped the boys legs tighter, finding pleasure in the firm, cool flesh of the boys thighs.
"We will soon teach this boy how to behave during punishment," Dr. Willard said to Bronson. "Most of our boys become quite docile after three months, six at the most. This one may take a bit longer, but in the end he will submit. This I can promise you."
"I just hope he is going to get a really sound thrashing for this behaviour," Bronson said, looking expectantly at the headmaster.
"Dont worry, Richard. Youll get your moneys worth."
By that time, Bronson had released the boys legs so that Graham could lower the shorts. No underwear was in sight, the shirt was short, and a pair of naked little buttocks were soon on display. Bronson whistled.
"Well, those stripes are certainly good and deep," he said, extending a large hand to finger the raised welts. The famous "tram tracks" with their accompanying bruises were crowded across the lower buttocks. "Are these your weals, Mr. Graham? I must congratulate you. You did an excellent job on this boys bottom. Im surprised he still puts up that much resistance."
The now half-naked boy was held firmly by Graham and Willard. He was still squirming and twisting about, his face brick-red, but he was soon bent over a suitable chair. Graham held him down but the boys feet kept kicking.
Dr. Willard motioned to the cane lying ready on his desk. "Want to give it a try?" he asked Bronson. "I believe you have enough experience with naughty little boys like this one to know how to punish his impudence."
"Certainly," Bronson replied quickly, taking the long, whippy cane. As was expected from him, he dutifully swished the cane through the air producing a loud swishing sound that sent shivers through a small bare bottom not far from that whirring rod. That same small bottom then felt a light tapping and stroking and goose pimples soon covered the area.
"How many strokes should I give him?" Bronson wondered, tapping the boys behind. "He really behaved quite badly, but his backside is already well punished."
"Dont let a few stripes interfere with your mission," Dr. Willard chuckled. "We take every misdemeanour, every fault, every breach of manners as a separate case. One should not impose upon the other. Just pretend the boy has a clean slate and a clear behind. As you can see, his skin is tawny and therefore tougher than a lighter-skinned bottom. I would suggest you give the child 8 strokes to begin with and lets see how well he takes them."
And to Frank he added, "And you boy, you will behave during infliction of punishment or you will get additional strokes of considerably more severity. I suggest you calm down and take your medicine. Take my word, you wouldnt like it if I gave you additional strokes."
The boy seemed to quieten, his feet now planted firmly on the carpet. His bare buttocks quivered. Graham kept a firm pressure on the boys shoulders.
There wa a moments silence in the room. The cane still tapped and stroked. Then the cane rose high, came to a stop at the highest point and fell hard and sharp squarely across the childs lower buttocks. It was a vicious stroke, delivered full force, the cane burying itself into the flesh.
Another brief silence and then a loud shriek as the boy absorbed the full effect of a well-placed cane.
The three men watched the boys reaction impassively. Bronson waited until the boy had fully tasted the burning pain, then raise the cane high once more. As before, the cane was held high, immobile, for a moment, then swished down across the well-wealed cheeks. Another anguished cry as the boy felt his bottom go up in flames. He struggled with the man holding him but had no chance of moving out of position. His burning buttocks were kept in position for the next stroke.
It wasnt long in coming. It fell, with all the mans strength, across a previous welt and the boy howled. There was no pity. The caning proceeded unrelenting until the last stroke had lashed the boys swelling backside.
They waited another ten minutes before allowing the boy to straighten up. He stood, face wet with tears, his hands holding his throbbing behind, glaring at the men who seemed to enjoy his distress. But some of his rudeness had been thrashed out of him. He didnt dare protest. He just stood there, dealing with the unbelievable pain in his buttocks.
"Are you going to behave from now on, boy?" Dr. Willard asked the weeping child.
"Can I have my shorts back?" Frank managed to ask between gasps.
"You dont seem to understand, my boy," Bronson interspersed. "You are not answering the headmasters question and you are being impertinent again. If we want you to dress, we will tell you. You dont ask. Is that understood?"
"Yes, sir," came the mumbled reply.
"I think you should give him 4 extra strokes, Henry," Willard said, handing him the cane.
"An excellent idea," Mr. Graham agreed. "Four extra hard, I might add."
The headmaster took the cane and smiled at the trembling boy. "Bend over again, boy. We will now deal with the extra strokes. And keep in mind that you will get additional cuts every time you talk without permission or dont answer when asked a question. Over!"
With a small moan, the boy at last obeyed the order and Graham held him in place as before. The 4 additional strokes were given with such force that a bit of blood could be seen along one or two of the weals, like long scratches from a fingernail. No one paid attention to the boys roars and pleas.