Authors note: This story is pure fiction. I do not support the use of corporal punishment on minors. Comments welcome.
When I was 17, I participated in a summer cultural exchange program my high school had set up with another school in England. For one month we lived with a family in England, and participated in their daily activities with them. My host family consisted of a single father and his two sons, Josh and Stewart -- 17 and 19 years old respectively -- who lived in a rural area of the country on a plot of land stretching several acres in each direction. Though I was nervous at first about fitting in, after a few days with them, I felt right at home.
On my first day there, my host father -- Mr. Rotham -- told me about the few simple household rules he had, one of them being no horsing around in the house. "Rough-housing is for outside," he said. Mr. Rotham was a friendly man who stood taller than either me or his two sons. Naturally handsome, his features were accentuated by years of hard physical labor working the small farm he kept on his land. His sons, Josh and Stewart, were also naturally handsome and had inherited their father's love for outdoor physical activities. Josh played soccer for his school team, and Stewart was even on a soccer scholarship for a nearby university.
About two weeks into my stay with the Rothams, the weather hit a rainy streak, and the three of us hadn't been able to do anything outside for a while, consequently driving us stir crazy. One morning, while Mr. Rotham was in town buying some more groceries, Josh, Stewart, and I were sitting around their living room being quite bored.
"We could kick the ball around a little," I suggested.
"Nah, dad would kill us," Stewart said.
"Rough-housing belongs outside," Josh said, doing an impersonation of his father.
"Well we wouldn't be playing a game or anything," I countered, "we'd just be passing the ball back and forth to each other. You know -- let off a little steam."
"Eh, don't know," Stewart said, "We don't really like getting dad pissed."
Josh, more outgoing and daring than his older brother, butted in.
"Oh c'mon, Stew," Josh said standing up and grabbing the ball, "dad won't be home for an hour or so. We can kick it around until then."
Stewart waffled a little more, but after some additional prodding from Josh and I, he soon caved in, and before long, we were all calmly passing the ball back and forth between one another -- at first.
"You know," Stewart said with a mischievous grin, "dad'd kill us if he saw us right now."
"Ah relax, Stew, we're barely kicking the ball. It hasn't even gotten air born. Yet..." Josh said with a smile.
Stewart chuckled.
"Remember that time we were playing soccer in the house and broke grandma's vase?" Stewart asked, kicking the ball to Josh again.
"Yeah," Josh said still smiling, "he caned us so hard, I couldn't sit for a week."
"What?" I said, missing the ball Josh had just passed to me.
"Yeah, we couldn't sit for a whole week," Stewart reiterated.
"Six of the best...pff...more like twenty-four of the best," Josh said.
"You...you guys get caned?" I asked with great intrigue.
Stewart went red.
"Well, yeah," he said, "I mean, not all the time, but every now and then we'll do something stupid, and dad'll break out the cane."
"Yeah, but we haven't gotten it in a about two years," Josh said confidently. "I think that's because he knows we've outgrown it. What -- didn't your pop ever warm up your little bottom?"
Stewart rolled his eyes and smiled.
I grinned.
"Well, yeah, but...I guess I was just surprised you actually had gotten the cane. I didn't think anyone still used it in England," I said.
"Well, our dad still does. Pretty old fashioned, really," Stewart said.
"Yeah, he even gave me a scar during a caning once, too. Want to see?" Josh asked with a hint of excitement.
"Now don't go making him out to be some beast," Stewart countered, stopping the ball wit his foot. "It was your own fault you got that scar, you ass."
Josh cracked an evil smile, "Yeah, I guess it was, wasn't it?"
"Dad tells us to stay put for our punishment," Stewart explained to me, "and if we stand up or grab our bums, we get an extra stroke. Well Einstein over there tried to run away in mid-stroke once -- pop missed, and caught Josh wrong with the cane. Cut his ass pretty bad. Pop felt terrible."
"Oh yeah, real terrible..." Josh said, ending with an imitation of his father caning an imaginary boy.
Stewart and I chuckled.
"So...how does your dad give it to you?" Stewart asked, kicking the ball over to me.
"Um...well, I haven't gotten it in a couple of years," I replied. "I think the last time I got it was when I was 13 or 14. But I've gotten it with the paddle as long as I can remember."
"What's the paddle like?" Josh asked.
"Well...uh...it hurts," I said.
Josh laughed.
"Really?" he said sarcastically.
I smiled and kicked the ball hard at him.
"What I meant was how does it feel?" he said.
"I don't know," I said, "I don't have anything to compare it to."
"Well how'd you get it?" Josh asked. "On your bare ass or over your trousers?"
"Bare," I said.
"How many licks?" he asked.
"Um...depends. For simple offenses I got about 20 swats. For more serious offenses I got about 40 or 50."
"_s_h_i_t_!" Stewart said.
"Man, if pop gave us 50 strokes, we wouldn't be able to sit for a year!"
"Well, the swats aren't as intense as the cane," I interjected, "I at least know that much. So don't think I'm some sort of tough guy or anything."
"Still..." Stewart said. "So do you bend over a chair or grab your knees?"
"Um...over the knee," I said a little embarrassed.
"What?" Josh asked. "Over his knees? Like a little boy?"
Stewart smiled.
"We haven't gotten it over our dad's lap since we were 6 and were getting the slipper," Stewart said smiling.
I kicked the ball hard at Stewart who laughed.
"So how many strokes do you guys get?" I asked.
"Six for minor offenses, and twelve for more serious ones, and eighteen for major ones" Josh said automatically.
"Ouch," I replied in awe.
"Yeah," Stewart said, kicking the ball.
"What position?" I asked. "Bent over a chair? Or--"
"Bent over a chair," Stewart nodded.
"Bare?"
"Yep," Josh said.
After that, our conversation fell into a bit of a lull. Consequently, our game got progressively more aggressive, and before we knew it, the soccer ball was flying around the room, barely missing lamps, mirrors, and other breakables. It wasn't long before...
CRASH!
Josh had tried to pass the ball to me, and I'd failed to intercept it. Unfortunately, a rather large and expensive looking mirror had taken the impact for me.
"Holy Hell," Stewart said under his breath, going white.
My mouth was agape. I felt awful.
"I'm so sorry," I said, though it sounded like a pitiful apology for such an expensive accident.
Josh went equally pale, and walked over to the shattered mirror.
"Dad's going to skin us," he said.
"I'm sorry, guys," I said again.
"This'll be worse than the time we broke grandma's vase," Stewart said.
"What? Why?" I said, confused.
"This was, er, a bit of an antique," Josh said, still pale.
"Been in the family for generations," Stewart said.
"Look, guys, I'll just explain what happened -- that I got you guys to play soccer in the house against your will. I'll explain that it was my fault, and it'll be ok," I said.
"Dad's pretty strict about his rules," Stewart said with a knowing glance at Josh.
Josh swallowed hard.
"Yeah, besides," he said, screwing up his confidence, "we knew the rules, and we broke them anyway. It's ok," he said, reassuring me, "it won't be too bad."
I thought back to our earlier conversation. Eighteen strokes for a major offense -- and this was pretty major.
"I can't let you guys get caned for this, I'll take the fall. I'll tell him I started kicking the ball around, and you guys tried to stop me, and before you could, I accidentally broke the mirror. He might get angry with me, but I doubt he'd cane me."
Stewart shook his head.
"No, we knew the rules, and we'll take what's coming."
"But --" I started to speak, but at that moment, Mr. Rotham walked back in the door, carrying several sacks of groceries. Mr. Rotham saw the mirror instantly and began to speak.
"What --" then his eyes fell on the soccer ball, and his expression grew stern. Without another word, he turned, walked into the kitchen, and put the groceries away. All three of us stood there in silence, waiting for him to return to the living room.
After a few minutes, he came out of the kitchen, and walked over to the three of us.
"Stewart, Josh, get to your room and wait for me. I'll be in shortly with the cane," Mr. Rotham said. Stewart and Josh lowered their heads, and walked out of the living room and out of sight.
Mr. Rotham looked at me.
"I don't know if the boys have told you about the kind of punishment I use around here," he said.
I nodded my head.
"I'm sorry you have to be witness to this -- I was hoping my boys would stay out of trouble while you were here," Mr. Rotham commented. He looked back at the soccer ball. "I assume you were playing, too?"
"Yes, Mr. Rotham, and I'm --"
"Look, boy, I told you the rules when you got here, and I'm very disappointed that you ignored them. If you were my own son I'd cane you along with Josh and Stewart, but as you're not my boy, I wouldn't feel right about it. Please clean up the mirror while I attend to my sons," he said and turned to walk away.
I felt awful -- my new friends were about to suffer for something I instigated. What's worse, I was getting off scot-free.
"Mr. Rotham!" I called out.
He turned around.
"Look, Mr. Rotham, I was the one who got Josh and Stewart to play in the house. They didn't want to, but I kept after them. If you want to punish someone, punish me."
Mr. Rotham shook his head.
"Sorry, son, I wouldn't feel right. Your father placed you in my care for a month, and I don't want to violate his trust by disciplining his son in a manner he probably wouldn't approve of."
"But, Sir --"
"The answer is no, boy," and he turned to walk away again.
I ran after him, and grabbed his arm. He turned around again.
"But, Sir, that's my point. My father placed me in your care for one month -- to live in your house and live by your rules. If I'm expected to live by your rules, then I have to live by your method of punishment as well -- to answer for disobedience in the same manner as anyone else who lives here."
Mr. Rotham looked at me, clearly thinking over what I had just said.
"Look, Mr. Rotham, if you won't punish me in Josh and Stewart's place, at least punish me along with them. I'm just as much responsible for what happened as they are."
Mr. Rotham was silent for a while, still thinking over what I had said.
"And if you're worried about my dad, don't be. My father was giving me a good dose of the paddle until just a few years ago. I'm no stranger to corporal punishment. I'm sure if I'd done something this stupid at home, he wouldn't hesitate to paddle me again. And I'm sure if you were to ask him, he'd insist that you punish me in whatever way you see fit."
Still there was silence. Mr. Rotham stared hard into my eyes. I waited nervously for his decision. Finally he broke eye contact, and placed his hands on his hips, still thinking about what I'd said. I swallowed hard. I'd always appreciated Mr. Rotham's musculature, but with the possibility of a caning on the horizon, I now had a new perspective on his impressive strength. Wearing a simple T-shirt and gray trousers, I was able to see every muscle in his arms and chest. I was beginning to realize exactly what I'd gotten myself into. Not that I was sorry I'd said what I had, but I was beginning to understand why Josh and Stewart had turned so pale when the mirror was broken. Mr. Rotham turned his back to me for a while -- it was a perfect V, drawing the eye from the powerful shoulders down towards the man's tight muscular ass, which filled out his trousers quite nicely. He turned back to face me.
"Go to Josh and Stewart's room and wait for me with them," he said firmly.
"Yes, Sir," I said, and walked down the hallway to the room the boys had been sharing since my arrival. The room I had been staying in was Josh's, who kindly gave it up so that I could have a room to myself. Luckily, the house the Rotham family lived in was an old spacious farm house with bedrooms big enough to comfortably fit two grown boys. I opened the door.
Both Josh and Stewart were in the process of undressing, and looked up in surprise -- clearly they expected the next person to walk through the door to be their father carrying a cane.
"What're you doing here?" Josh said quietly, removing his shirt.
"Your father told me to come in here and wait with you," I replied.
"But he's not going to cane you...is he?" Stewart asked in a hushed voice, unbuttoning his trousers.
I nodded and told them what had happened. Josh rolled his eyes.
"You git! You could've gotten off without a scratch, and you basically begged him for a caning!?"
"Yeah, I mean, I understand you felt bad, mate, but that was kind of stupid," Stewart agreed.
"Look," I said, "I was just as much responsible for that as you two. I know you think it's stupid, but I'm not one of those guys who lets other people take the fall alone. If I'm to blame for something, I own up to it. I wasn't about to let two of my friends get punished for something I should be punished for as well."
They were silent.
"Besides, Josh" I said, smiling, "now I can finally tell you what the paddle is like. I'll have the cane to compare it to."
Josh smiled and punched me in the arm while Stewart slapped my back.
"So..." I said, looking at their half-naked state.
"Dad likes us to just be in our pants -- er...underwear if you please -- when he comes in," Josh said, now removing his trousers.
"You might be wise to get undressed as well," Stewart said, removing his shirt.
Many times over the last two weeks, we three guys had been outside playing soccer in just a pair of athletic shorts. I'd always admired Josh and Stewart's bodies -- their legs were phenomenal and their chests and arms were amazing -- but I'd never seen them in just their underwear before. I have to admit, I was even more impressed after seeing them both in just a pair of tight white briefs. They'd both inherited their father's perfect firm ass, and had both been blessed with a very generous amount of manhood. Removing my own shirt and jeans, I stood in just a pair of white jockeys, awaiting Mr. Rotham's entrance. We waited in silence. I could tell both boys were nervous about being caned for the first time in two years, but I was by far more nervous than them. I had no idea what to expect from the cane. I glanced at Josh and Stewart several times as the minutes passed; once or twice, I could have sworn they were staring at my own package.
Suddenly, Mr. Rotham walked in holding two canes, both of equal length, but one was definitely much thicker than the other. He laid the canes down on one of the beds, and looked at me.
"Alright, son," he said staring into my eyes, "I just spoke with your father on the phone. I called him to tell him about the situation we have here, and he agreed that while you live in my house, you'll obey my rules, and be punished for breaking those rules as I see fit. He told me to think of you like my own son while you were here and to treat you accordingly. He also wanted me to tell you that you are to think of me as your father for the next two weeks, and to obey and respect me like you would him."
I looked at Mr. Rotham and nodded.
"Yes, Sir."
I liked thinking of Mr. Rotham as my father. He was a good man, very much like my own father. In fact, thinking of one another in this way seemed to clear up my relationship with Mr. Rotham significantly. Instead of being treated like a pampered guest, I would be one of the family -- a son to be guided and disciplined like any other. I looked at Mr. Rotham in this new light -- a strict but fair man who I could trust and obey, knowing he had only my best interest at heart.
"Therefore, son," Mr. Rotham said with a hint of a smile, "I will be caning you along with your host brothers."
Josh, Stewart, and I looked at one another. Brothers. Until then I'd considered them just good friends, but in this short time we had become very much like brothers. I could tell they were thinking the same thing, and Josh even smiled a little.
Still looking at me, Mr. Rotham spoke on.
"I see that Josh and Stewart instructed you to strip down to your underwear," he said.
"Yes, Sir," I replied.
"Have they told you how the punishment is carried out, then?" he asked.
"Er...no, Sir," I said, feeling like I should've asked the two about the caning during our wait.
"It's alright. In our house, I cane the oldest boy first, as he should know better than the others, and is responsible for seeing that they obey the rules while I'm not around. Stewart will take the brunt of the punishment. He will receive 18 strokes with the thicker cane."
Stewart nodded with a strong, "Yes, Sir." He looked determined.
"Even though Josh and you," Mr. Rotham said looking at me, "are the same age, Josh will be caned second, since he has lived here longer, and most definitely should know better. He will receive 12 with the thicker cane."
Josh nodded with a strong, "Yes, Sir." He looked as determined and brave as Stewart. I began to shiver a little in anticipation.
"And you will go last, son," Mr. Rotham said, looking at me again. "You knew the rules when you arrived, but you broke them anyway. Since this is your first caning, I am using a thinner cane on you -- the one I used on Josh and Stewart when they were boys. It'll sting, but it won't be as bad as the thicker cane. For your punishment, you will receive 6 of the best with this cane."
I nodded with a strong, "Yes, Sir," just like my host brothers. I tried to screw up my courage like them, too.
"Stewart, take the chair from your desk and bring it here in the center of the room," Mr. Rotham said.
Stewart did as he was told, and brought the chair to the center of the room, standing next to it at semi-attention.
"You two boys go stand in the corners until it is your turn," Mr. Rotham said, picking up the thicker cane.
Josh and I walked to the far corners of the room and stood facing the wall. I was reminded of the corner time my own father used on me when I was much younger, though he had stopped, as I got older.
I waited, barely breathing, for Stewart's punishment to begin.
"Bend over," Mr. Rotham's voice commanded.
Then came the sound of Stewart's underwear being lowered.
"Count aloud," Mr. Rotham commanded again.
A few seconds later, the first stroke landed.
CRACK!
"One, Sir," Stewart counted without a trace of discomfort.
CRACK! The next stroke came after a long pause.
"Two, Sir," Stewart counted again confidently.
CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! Slowly and methodically the strokes continued.
"Ten, Sir," Stewart counted, still not letting on to any pain he might be feeling.
I was nervous -- either Mr. Rotham's canings weren't as bad as I imagined, or Stewart had learned to truly take his caning like a man, not moving or crying.
CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!
There was silence. Stewart hadn't counted the fifteenth stroke yet. Suddenly, I heard a very quiet sob. So Stewart was crying after all.
"Stewart, you have three seconds to count that one or we start over," Mr. Rotham said.
Without a second more, Stewart counted the fifteenth stroke, and the punishment proceeded.
I swallowed hard, making a note to myself not to stop the count. I had no idea the punishment could start over again.
CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!
"Eighteen, Sir," Stewart said through a few quiet sobs.
I heard Stewart's underwear painfully being pulled back up, then Mr. Rotham spoke.
"You may stand. Stewart, go take Josh's place in the corner."
I heard Stewart walk over to Josh's corner and take his place. I could heard Stewart's sobs better now, and tried to steal a quick glance to see how he was doing. Through his white briefs, I could see many distinct red welts. A few of the strokes had even landed on the very top of Stewart's legs, so that even his briefs couldn't hide the edges of those welts.
Behind me, I heard Mr. Rotham tell Josh to bend over. After hearing Josh's underwear being lowered, the punishment began.
CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!
"Three, Sir," Josh said with a crack in his voice.
CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!
"Six, Sir," Josh counted with a very audible sob. Apparently Josh hadn't yet gotten as good at hiding his pain as Stewart. Not that I'd be any better...
CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!
"Ni--" Josh stopped. He was crying very hard now, and had trouble getting out the ninth count.
"Josh, you have three seconds to count that last stroke or we begin again," Mr. Rotham said firmly.
"Nine, SIR!" Josh said with a start.
CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!
"AH!!" Josh choked out. "Twelve, Sir."
Again I heard the sound of underwear being painfully pulled up, and then Mr. Rotham spoke.
"You may stand."
I swallowed. I was next. I felt Josh appear at my side, crying hard, and I moved aside to let him take my place in the corner. Turning around, I saw Mr. Rotham laying the thicker cane down, and exchanging it for the thinner one.
I walked over to the chair and stood beside it as tall as I could. I looked at Mr. Rotham, who looked into my eyes for a few seconds. I felt vulnerable, standing there in just a pair of tight white briefs. It had been a long time since I'd gotten my ass tanned. I supposed I was probably overdue for another licking anyway, I thought to myself. I looked at Mr. Rotham, my surrogate father for the next two weeks, and nodded. I was ready for what I had coming.
"Alright, son," Mr. Rotham said with a nod, "Bend over the chair and grab the sides of the seat."
I nervously bent over the chair, which was a perfect waist-high fit. Grabbing the sides of the seat, I waited for further instruction. Suddenly, I felt Mr. Rotham slide his thumbs in the waistband of my briefs and pull them down to my knees. My heart jumped -- partly out of anxiety and partly out of excitement. A hot, tall, ripped man had just pulled down my briefs and was now standing behind me, waiting to give me a taste of the cane. I felt an excitement about the punishment I hadn't ever felt before.
"Son, I want you to count each stroke as you get it just like your host brothers did, do you understand?"
"Yes, Sir," I said firmly.
"Remember, if you lose count or wait too long to count a stroke, we begin again."
"Yes, Sir," I said again.
I felt the cane tap my ass -- Mr. Rotham was getting in position. Suddenly, I felt it pull away and then...
CRACK! My mouth shot open. It was a pain more intense than my father had ever delivered with the paddle. I was stunned so much, I forgot to count.
"Son, you have three seconds to count, otherwise we begin again."
"ONE, SIR!" I counted a little too loudly.
CRACK! The next stroke came just as slowly and methodically as with Stewart and Josh.
"Two, Sir," I said immediately. I clenched my fists at the pain streaking through my ass.
CRACK! I jumped slightly at the next stroke, almost swearing aloud.
"Three, Sir," I said with a crack in my voice.
CRACK! I let go of the sides of the seat, and almost stood up, but caught myself in time.
"Four, Sir," I said, grabbing hold of the seat more firmly to keep myself in position.
CRACK! I couldn't help swearing this time.
"_f_u_c_k_!" I yelled.
"Son," Mr. Rotham raised his voice, "I told you when you got here that swearing was not allowed in my house."
"Yes, Sir, I'm sorry," I said, my eyes watering up from the pain.
"You will receive an extra stroke for breaking that rule."
"Yes, Sir," I said, cursing myself in my head.
"And seeing as you forgot to count that last stroke, we will begin again."
I lowered my head. My eyes were already filled with tears. I knew that another seven strokes would render me a bawling little boy. I screwed up my courage and lifted my head.
"I understand, Sir," I said.
CRACK! I clenched my fists again.
"One, Sir."
CRACK! Tears rolled down my face from the pain.
"Two, Sir," my voice cracked again.
CRACK! I sobbed at the pain.
"Three, Sir."
CRACK! I lowered my head again in agony.
"Four, Sir."
CRACK! I sobbed uncontrollably.
"Five, Sir." Not even my own father had elicited this much crying from me during his famous paddlings.
CRACK! My legs shook a little at the last stroke.
"Six, Sir."
CRACK!! Mr. Rotham delivered the last stroke twice as hard as any of the others. I fought temptation and held my place.
"Seven, Sir." I stayed there, bent over, crying hard.
After a few seconds, I felt Mr. Rotham grab the waistband of my briefs and lift them back up over my welts and into place. I shivered at the pain of having fabric next to my skin again.
"You may stand."
I stood, turning to look at Mr. Rotham. He smiled proudly at me, and placed a hand on my shoulder.
"Impressive for your first caning!" he said beaming. "I'm proud of you, son."
Despite my tears, I smiled widely.
"Thank you, Sir."
Mr. Rotham beamed, then gave me a firm hug and a sharp slap on the ass.
"I hope you've all learned your lesson," he said, becoming serious and releasing me from the hug.
"Yes, Sir," we all replied, Stewart and Josh still facing the corner.
"Stewart, Josh -- you two can step away from the corner now. You three boys stay in here for another two hours as part of your punishment," Mr. Rotham said, gathering up the other cane. "I want minimal talking, you hear me?"
"Yes, Sir," we all replied again.
Mr. Rotham left, closing the door behind him. Stewart and Josh, who had recovered from their own canings, came over to me in amazement.
"Wow," Josh whispered, "you took a lot for your first time!"
"Twelve in all," Stewart whispered.
Wiping the few remaining tears from my eyes, I looked at them.
"Well, it's the least I deserved for getting you two in trouble."
"Eh, don't worry about it," Josh said, "When we I was 10, Stewart convinced me that dad wouldn't mind if we went out back to the tool shed and played with matches."
"Yeah, and we burned the thing to the ground," Stewart added.
"That's when dad introduced us to the thick cane," Josh continued.
"So you see? Getting in trouble together is something that happens to brothers all time," Stewart said with a grin.
"Yeah, it's a part of life," Josh said.
"Just as long as you can take whatever punishment you have coming afterwards," Stewart said.
"And boy can you take it!" Josh said in awe.
The three of us stood there in our briefs for the next two hours exchanging detailed stories of the worst punishments we ever got from our fathers. Being an only child, this was the closest I'd ever felt to two other guys. In the course of one afternoon, we'd gone from close friends to even closer brothers, bound together by a caning from our father.
At dinner that night (which Stewart -- still in more pain than any of us -- ate standing up), Mr. Rotham told me he had an offer for me.
"I spoke to your father after your punishment, and gave him a summary of what happened. He said he felt awful for all the trouble you'd caused, and wouldn't mind if I sent you home immediately."
Stewart, Josh, and I stopped eating.
"However," Mr. Rotham said, "I told him things like this were bound to happen now and then -- even to my own sons -- and in truth, we were enjoying your company quite a lot. In fact, I told him, I wouldn't mind at all if you spent the rest of your summer vacation here."
I swallowed my food.
"And what did he say?" I asked eagerly.
"He said it was up to you -- and Stewart and Josh, of course."
I looked at my two host brothers for an answer.
"Are you kidding?" Josh said, "We'd love it!"
"Of course we would," Stewart agreed happily.
"I'd love to stay, if you'll have me, Sir," I said to Mr. Rotham.
Mr. Rotham smiled, and continued eating.
"I'll call your father after dinner and tell him the good news."
Stewart and Josh gave a cheer.
"Of course," Mr. Rotham said, "you'd still be under the same rules and subject to the same punishment as you are right now. You'd have to respect and obey me like you would your own father."
"Yes, Sir," I smiled. "I mean, Yes, Father."
Mr. Rotham grinned, and continued eating.
"Wouldn't be surprised if he got us into a spot or two of trouble again before he left," Josh said mischievously.
Stewart stared at his plate, suppressing a grin.
"I wouldn't be surprised if he did. Just as long as he can take whatever caning you three have coming, right son?" Mr. Rotham said, looking at me and grinning.
"Yes, Sir," I said happily.
I looked at Stewart, who was still staring at his plate, trying to hide a growing bulge in the front of his pants.
I smiled. It was turning out to be a very interesting summer.