They were all now looking at the bent boy, legs and buttocks wide open and exposed. Charles, all too aware of the spectacle he must presented, cried quietly with shame and humiliation. His face was read and burning and he was sweating up to his ears. He was praying for the caning to begin and get out of this horrible position that left him not even a hint of modesty.
Uncle Brad tapped the boys nearest buttock with the end of the cane.
"Charles, you have heard your aunt. Now tell us why you have to be thrashed so very soundly," he intoned, savouring the boys acute humiliation.
"I disobeyed," he finally brought out after a long hesitation, all during which the cane kept tapping his lower left buttock.
"Yes, and?" his uncle insisted.
"Er - I - er - dawdled?" It was more a question than a statement.
"Didnt you get enough slaps across the thighs, boy," his aunt asked. "Would you have gotten them if you had obeyed and walked quickly? Now do you remember if you dawdled or not?"
"Yes, Aunt Maude," Charles admitted at last. "I dawdled."
"And what does one do with small boys who disobey their aunts?" Uncle Brad asked, tapping the boys buttock.
"They - er - they are- caned," Charles said in a small voice.
"Ruth, Sally, did you hear what the boy said just now?" Uncle Brad asked.
"No," they said in unison, giggling.
"Charles, repeat your answer, but this time so everyone can hear you," his uncle said, tapping his cane.
"Boys who disobey are caned," Charles said in a louder voice.
"Excellent," his uncle aid. "We shall do just that. Now, Ruth, you witnessed this boys punishment last night, didnt you?"
"Yes, I did," the girl replied, remembering the sound swishing the boy had been given. "I can still see the stripes and bruises on his behind. It was a very thorough punishment."
"Yes, it was," Aunt Maude agreed, "but this one is going to be even more thorough. Brad, I dont want you to spare him this time. Each stroke should truly hurt him, so give him time between strokes so he can learn fully from each. I suggest you concentrate on the lower buttocks where he sits and the upper thighs where people can see that he has been a very naughty little boy."
Uncle Brad kept up the tapping of the boys left buttock and Charles was getting frantic with nervousness. Why didnt he begin? All this talk while he displayed himself like this? If only he would die, he thought, just to get away from here.
"Very well, I think its time to begin. Charles, I want to warn you, as I have many times before, that you are not to move your knees. You are to keep your head well down and your hands towards the bottom of the chair. If you move, you will get extra strokes and, as your aunt suggested, the extra strokes will also be extra hard. So behave yourself and control your cries. While we dont mind a whimper or a gasp, or as many tears as you care to shed, you will not scream and howl as you did last night. That is unseemly behaviour for a boy under discipline. Self-control is part of a boys discipline so extra strokes will also be awarded for unnecessary noise."
"You will count the strokes as usual," his aunt added primly. "One, sir, thank you, sir, promptly after each stroke. If you hesitate, extra strokes will be added each time. If you disobey these simple instructions, we may well be here the rest of the day, and you wouldnt want the girls to be deprived of going to their party, do you?"
"No, Aunt Maude," the bent boy whimpered, for lack of anything else to say. He didnt know whether an answer was required but did not dare fail to reply to a question. This was considered impolite and punishable with the cane.
He felt the cane lifted from his left buttock and knew the whipping was about to start. The pause that now ensued was specifically aimed at increasing the boys tension. Waiting for the hot sting to land on his naked behind was almost as bad as the pain itself. But wait he did, and wait and wait. His spread bottom started to squirm as his nervousness increased by the second. The room was silent, all eyes on the boys bared backside.
CRACK! The cane suddenly whistled through the air and landed with a meaty thwack across the lower buttocks. It was so hard, Charles was almost in shock which helped him prevent a loud scream. But he saw flashes before his eyes and the breath was literally beaten out of him. He just remembered taking a quick breath to stammer out the required "One, sir. Thank you, sir" in a tremulous little voice.
"You waited with the count," Aunt Maude said. "And didnt count loud enough for all to hear clearly. Next time, I want to hear the count immediately after it has landed. Brad, that strokes doesnt count."
After that announcement, another long pause. Charles was already breathing hard as the first, uncounted, stroke blazed across his cheeks.
Waiting... Waiting... Waiting...
CRACK! Another terrific cut that echoed through the room.
"Golly, what a cut!" Ruth exclaimed as she watched the crimson line on the boys lower bottom slowly rise and darken.
"Two! Th-thank you, sir," Charles quickly yelped, still shaken by the hard stroke that made his little bottom quiver.
"Dont stutter, boy," Aunt Maude admonished the postrate boy. "Next time youll get a few extra, do you hear?"
"Y-yes, Aunt Maude."
"You stammered on purpose this time, I think." Aunt Maude said, clearly annoyed. "Brad, give him an extra, but harder."
Waiting... Waiting... Waiting...
CRACK! Right into the sulcus and Charles, in hot anguish, s whimpered softly.
"One, sir. Thank you, sir," he said bravely. Was he ever going to get beyond number one? he thought.
"Thats better," Aunt Maude said. A sigh of relief from the naked child.
As the caning continued, slowly, with long pauses, the boy felt his buttocks being sliced like a side of ham. The heavy cane landed again and again across the lower buttocks and upper thighs until blue bruising appeared across those areas.
CRACK! Another one, right there. Charles mewled piteously and the girls giggled.
"Hes really feeling it this time," Sally enthused. "Look, his bottom is swelling up nicely. Tomorrow it will be a sight. I have to ask Elizabeth to come and have a look at his bottom tomorrow." She laughed and Ruth joined her.
"Now, girls," Aunt Maude said mildly, with a smile, "this is a boys discipline, not a game." Charles felt acutely mortified and ground his teeth.
"Six, sir. Thank you, sir," he said.
Waiting... Waiting... Waiting...
The boy across the chair was wriggling his feet. The posture he had to maintain was starting to give him cramps. But he didnt dare lift a knee or raise his head.
CRACK! the pain was agonising and the boy keened as his buttocks sprouted a new thick, purple line. The pain was dreadful nut it had the advantage that he forgot the circumstances. Once the initial wave of searing fire had abated a bit, his consciousness returned to his posture, his exposed and opened bottom and the girls who mocked him with whispered comments and loud guffaws. Never in his life had he felt so shamed, so small and helpless.
CRACK! again and again with ever lengthening intervals that drove the boy mad.
"Nine, sir, thank you, sir," came the now almost automatic response. He was beyond pain. It seemed his entire body was engulfed in flames.
"I dont think the boy felt that last stroke," Aunt Maude opined. "Better give him another one, but much more severe this time, Brad."
This time the boy howled out loud as the cane bit deeply into the lower buttocks with amazing force. "Nine, sir. Thank you, sir," Charles cried.
"That stroke will be repeated," Uncle Brad said.
CRACK! "Ow - oh, Nine, sir. Thank you sir."
"Look at his backside," Sally murmured to her friend, loud enough for Charles to hear. "All striped and purple. And look at his little hole. It appears that the tip of the cane found this spot quite regularly." They giggled again, as poor Charles squirmed with humiliation.
The last 3 strokes were sheer torture. Once he cried out and he got another cut for his efforts. Once he kicked his leg out in a spasm of blazing pain and he received 3 extra for disobedience, having moved his knee off the arm rest. By the time the "dozen" strokes had been duly applied, the boy, still bent and open, just lay there, panting and exhausted.
"Well, my boy," Uncle Brad said, wiping the sweat off his forehead, "did you learn your lesson this time?"
"Yes, sir," Charles whispered, barely able to speak. He could hardly believe that his punishment was finally over. Every time he answered a question, he feared another stroke was coming for having committed a mistake.
"What a swishing," Ruth said as she and Sally slowly approached the well-punished young boy. "Just look at those weals low down."
"Yes, and across the thighs. His friends will have a field day when they see him tomorrow in school. His little shorts will not hide anything. I bet when he bends over , even his lower buttocks will be on display."
When will they allow me to get up? the boy asked himself. He couldnt t take much more of having these girls look at his widely spread bottom cheeks from close up.
He was to remain bent like that for the next 30 minutes nd the girls kept him company for that entire period. When Uncle Brad finally allowed him to straighten up and go over to his punishment corner, the boy could hardly move. Slowly, painfully, he crawled off the chair, stood hunch-backed for a moment and then shuffled like an old man, with stiff legs, towards his corner.
"Hands on your head," Uncle Brad said sternly. "You will remain there for one hour. Sally will come and get you when the hour is over."
Charles, wealed and bruised, naked as the day he was born, stood and shivered. The throbbing pain and blazing heat in his buttocks and thighs seemed to get worse as he stood staring at the blank wall. There was nothing else to think about except the shame he had endured and the pain in his well-punished backside.