"Come here."
My uncle had brought me over to an acquaintance of his. He had told me that this man, a Mr. Henry Madison, had plans of hiring my uncle for a high position in Mr. Madisons company. An important, international conglomerate, he told me, although I did not understand the meaning.
He had dressed me in my shortest shorts - and all of the shorts I possessed very extremely brief with practically no legs - shirt and tie. It was winter and I was therefore allowed a jersey during our walk to the Madisons.
My uncle had warned me to behave, as if I were a small child. I am almost thirteen years of age and hate to wear the shorts, but I had no choice; I had no long trousers or jeans.
When we entered Mr. Madisons living room, he was already seated on large, luxurious leather sofa. He looked me up and down. "Come here," he said coldly.
When I hesitated, my uncle gave me a slight push to encourage me. I went and stood in front of him. Mr. Madison stared at my middle, at the tightly cinched shorts, my bare legs.
"I see you dress the boy properly," he said to my uncle with a smile
"Of course," my uncle replied. "I dont believe in boys being dressed as tiny adults. He has to earn his long trousers. We will see how he behaves during the next year or two and then I will decide whether he is mature enough to be allowed long trousers."
"Come closer," Mr. Madison said to me. He hooked a finger into the waistband of my shorts and pulled my between his knees. As I stood there, awkward and uncomfortable, he extended his hands and proceeded to stroke my bare thighs all the way from where my shorts ended down to my knees and then back up again. "Turn around."
I turned and he inspected me from behind. His hands now went over the tight seat of my shorts, exploring my bottom and the cleft between the cheeks where the middle seam had dug in. He fingered the bare portion of my bottom that protruded from below the shorts. Then I felt his fingers sliding down my thighs once more.
"Nice, strong legs," he commented. "Come and sit next to me." His hand caught me by the shorts again and guided me down to the sofa next to him. My uncle took another chair and watched with interest.
"I presume you punish the boy when he misbehaves," he addressed my uncle while he rested his hand on my thigh. "I dont believe in spoiling young boys. Most of them need a firm hand and frequent corrections."
"Oh, Benjamin gets his fair share of beatings," my uncle said lightly, as if my thrashings were a joke, nothing to be taken too seriously. "A couple of times a week when he is at his best behaviour."
Mr. Madison laughed. "And at his worst?" he asked.
"Every day, sometimes several times a day. I dont spare the rod, Mr. Madison."
"Excellent. I see you share my conviction." His hand was stroking my bare thigh as he spoke. "I find it important to gauge your qualifications for the post I had in mind. I need to know about your character and line of thought, and the education your nephew receives at your hands is a valuable indication of both. Stand up!"
This last was addressed to me and was accompanied by a very hard slap on my thigh. I jumped with surprise and pain and quickly stood.
"Your uncle tells me you are flogged regularly. Is that true?"
"Yes, sir," I replied, ashamed and intimidated by his tone of voice.
"And it does you good, doesnt it?" he asked, his hand once more on my leg.
"I - er - yes, sir." What else could I say?
"You give it on the bare?" he asked my uncle, patting my bottom now.
"Of course. A whipping is supposed to hurt a great deal to make it effective and clothes only interfere with that, no matter how thin the cotton of his shorts might be."
"I think I noticed he has no underwear on. That is also good. No need for those." Another slap on my bottom as he said that. I was starting to sweat, standing there being handled yet talked about as if I werent there.
"I am going to ask you to demonstrate one of your more severe punishment," Mr. Madison continued. "You indicated that the boy has a thrashing due. Please proceed after we have had some coffee. Let us go into the other room where coffee is waiting. Benjamin, come along now. Dont stand there like a pillar of salt. You know you deserve a sound thrashing, dont you?"
"Yes, sir," I said and followed them into the breakfast room.
I knew I was in for it. Uncle had warned me before that I was due for punishment, but now I realised that he intended to impress Mr. Madison with his severity and my legs started to tremble. Mr. Madison, his hand on my knee, noticed my nervousness and chuckled.
"I believe this little boy knows what his bottom is going to suffer," he said. "He is shaking already."
"As well as he should," my uncle replied without concern. "He will not get off as lightly today as usual. No leniency this time, my boy, I can assure you. Mr. Madison wants to see you properly disciplined and I may ask him to do it personally if he likes. That way he can be certain that it will be done to his satisfaction. And we want Mr. Madison to be satisfied, don't we, Benjamin?"
They both laughed when they heard my murmured assent. I wished Mr. Madison would remove his hand from my thigh. Now he was not only stroking it but also squeezing and massaging it all the way up to the groin.
I sat and watched the two men enjoying their coffee and toast, butter and mermelade, while I was sipping at my glass of milk, more out of nervousness than thirst.
Maybe an hour later, my thigh by now quite warm and sweaty, although the rest of my bare legs was frozen, Mr. Madison rose and declared breakfast at an end.
"Eric," he said to my uncle, "you will excuse me while I get my canes. I want you to agree to the one I select. I will gladly accept your offer to discipline your lazy little nephew but before I do, I want to watch you so I can gauge my own participation."
It did not take long before he returned holding a half-dozen canes of varied lengths and thickness. He laid them out on the table.
"I propose to use this fine rattan," he said, picking up a long, rather thick cane about 10 mms in diameter and about 3 feet long. "This is a fine specimen, not too heavy but designed to really sting and mark a naughty boy's backside. What do you think? You want to start with this one? Depending on what I see, I will then select one for my own use."
Uncle took the cane, weighed and bent it, and declared himself satisfied. "Yes, this will do quite nicely. I think I will start with the usual six of the best."
"Young man," Mr. Madison turned to me, finally removing his hand from my sweaty thigh, "this is your cue. I presume you normally take your shorts down for your whippings?"
"Yes, sir," I whispered, now quite frightened.
"Very well, then. Proceed. It is time we started."
My cold fingers were trembling when I tried to unbutton the waistband and it took me several tries before I managed to get the buttons of the flies through the button holes. My uncle and Mr. Madison stood and watched.
Soon Mr. Madison became impatient, however, slapped my hands away and pushed the shorts down my thighs. My face flamed when I realised that my shirt ended just below my navel and I was indecently exposed.
"Let's get him across the arm rest of the sofa," Mr. Madison suggested, disregarding my exposure, taking me by the ear and dragging me unceremoniously toward that piece of furniture. "It is just the right height for this boy and quite wide. He will be quite comfortable, for a while at least," he added with a grin.
Uncle Eric stood by, cane in hand as Mr. Madison pushed me over the arm rest, face in the leather cushions, feet off the floor. I felt my bare bottom high up in the air, very exposed and very vulnerable.
"Ah, now I can also see the welts across his buttocks," Mr. Madison said. "Of course the stripes on the upper thighs and sulcus were quite obvious below the hems of his shorts but these are even better. Why don't you start, Eric? The first six, and make them good."
Uncle stepped forward and lined up the cane. He tapped it a few times and my whole body tensed up. Tap, tap, tap it went for several moments until I had to relax my buttocks. Then the cane lashed down full force and hurt so badly, I let out a shrill squeal.
"Oooww! Please, Uncle, not so hard!" I cried out. "It hurts!"
Mr. Madison laughed. "So hard? My goodness, the boy is very naive to think he can impress us with this complaint. This was a little introduction, wasn't it, Eric? Surely you can hit harder than that. The welt is not even purple yet. Try again."
I lay there whimpering, feeling the first stripe burn into my flesh low down on the buttocks. Much too soon, and yet not soon enough, the second stroke branded my lower bottom with searing pain. Again I howled, louder this time, although I tried to stifle it by pushing my face deep into the cushions.
"That is much better," Mr. Madison said with approval and I felt his finger tracing the burning mark.
The next two strokes were given slightly higher up my protruding backside but they were just as painful. By now I had adjusted to the burn of the strokes and could control my outbursts much better.
"I think you are letting him off too lightly," I heard Mr. Madison say and I wished him dead. "You better make him feel it. Caressing his behind is not going to do him much good. He is supposed to be punished."
My uncle took this reprimand seriously and he really laid on the last two. I howled with the pain.
"Thats more like it," I heard Mr. Madison say. "Get up, boy."
I struggled off the sofa, my face a mess and my bottom in flames. I was shaking quite badly as I stood before the two men who inspected me closely with no sign of sympathy.
"There are a few pretty good welts," Mr. Madison said. "May I try and see if I can improve on those?"
My uncle laughed. "By all means."