I was busy with some paperwork when the telephone rang.
"Yes?"
"Oh, I am so glad I caught you in," the voice said. "I am Leticia Silverstone. I dont know if you remember me. Your late father tutored my nephew Ronald a few years back."
Ronald. Yes, I did remember. A chubby little boy of 8 or 9 whom I had seen slinking out of my fathers study, face red, tearstained and contorted by a grimace of intense pain as he made his way slowly towards the front door. He had held his bottom with both hands in the most amusing way. When he reached the door he had to let go of one of the cheeks to open the door and he did so with obvious reluctance. I guessed he was afraid his bottom would fall off if he didnt hold on to it tightly.
"Hello? Are you there?"
"What? Oh, yes, I am still here. Yes, of course I remember Ronald. How is he?" I wondered why she was calling me after all that time. My father had died suddenly about 3 years ago.
"He is the reason for my call," Leticia Silverstone said. "He just turned thirteen and he is getting the idea he no longer needs to obey rules and regulations. Unfortunately, I am suffering from a particularly nasty bout of arthritis and I am unable to discipline the boy properly."
This was getting interesting. "I am sorry to hear it," I said. "What can I do to help?"
"Do you still have your fathers canes?" Miss Silverstone inquired after a moments pause.
"My fathers study has been left untouched since his death," I replied. "We gave away all his clothes but most everything else is still here. I presume the canes are too."
"Oh, very good. I was wondering if you could do me a favour?"
"If I can," I said.
"I want to send Ronald over for a severe caning. Would you be able to administer one to the boy? I would be very grateful," Leticia Silverstone said.
"Of course, if you think he needs it. Send him by all means and I will try to comply with your request to the best of my ability."
"Excellent. It is all settled then. I will send the boy over in about 30 minutes." After a few more pleasantries, we hung up.
My excitement rose as I walked to Fathers study. I checked the waste paper basket where the canes were usually kept, but it was empty. For a dreadful moment I thought that perhaps someone else had thrown those canes away, but then I saw a new umbrella stand I had never seen before and in them - oh, thank you, God - were a half-dozen canes of varying lengths and diameters. I removed one and tested it. It was springy and fresh but I located some linseed oil and decided to wipe them down before Ronald made his appearance.
Yes, after I had seen Ronald emerge from the study that first time, I had made it a point to be around when a tutorial was in session. As far as I remembered, the boys lessons lasted from 7:00 in the morning until about 1:00 in the afternoon. As a rule, it was around 12:30 to 12:45 when I started to hear the loud cries emanating from the study. I then placed myself near the study door and awaited the boys exit from the room. Each time, at 1:00 or so, he appeared with the same contorted face, tears and snot in his red face, sometimes still struggling with the buttons of his brief shorts. When he saw me, his face turned puce with embarrassment and he ran, or tried to run, for the front door. The pain his his bottom made him limp pathetically, his fingers clamped to his burning backside.
I just finished oiling the canes when the door bell rang. I replaced the canes in the umbrella stand and went to open the door. What a surprise greeted me. Young Ronald, just turned thirteen, stood before me. There was no trace left of that chubby little boy from 3 years ago. Before me stood a tall, slender boy, blond and blue-eyed, very shy and red-faced, still wearing very brief grey flannel shorts, polo shirt and white ankle socks.
"Well, well, Ronald," I said. "Fancy seeing you again. Come on in."
"Hello. My aunt told me to give you this." The boy reached into a pocket and withdrew with some difficulty a small piece of paper from his tight little shorts. He handed it to me and I read:
"Please give bearer a dozen. If he doesnt comport himself properly, give him two. Or three. Use your best judgment. Thanks. L. S."
"You know what it says?" I asked the boy.
"Yes."
"Your aunt allowed you to read it, Ronald?"
"Er - yes." The boy was not a good liar.
"In that case, let me just check with your aunt and make sure this is true," I said, turning towards the telephone.
"Oh, I mean - no, she didnt actually give me permission, but she did not put it in an envelope so I thought -"
"But I assume she folded the paper the way it is now. To me this means that she did not wan to you to read it. That means that you disobeyed her and that you lied to me. Both offences for which I intend to punish you." This was turning out much better than I had anticipated. The boy now looked quite frightened.
"Well, we might as well get on with it. Come with me into the study. I assume you still remember where it is?"
Ronalds face turned beet-red again. "Yes, I remember it," he muttered and led the way. I followed, admiring the way the thin flannel covered the two round cheeks of the boys bottom. Covering but not hiding that small, round, pert little behind. The middle seam entered the cleft deeply and slightly separated the cheeks. The hems ended just below the buttocks.
Upon entering the study, Ronalds eyes immediately found the umbrella stand and its contents. He plucked nervously at the seat of his shorts. I closed the study door behind me and made myself comfortable behind my desk. I let the boy stand so I could observe him at me leisure.
"I remember seeing you come out of here with a sore backside," I said with a chuckle. "All during summer vacation. Remember?"
"Yes."
"Did my father cane you often?" I asked teasingly.
"Yes."
"How often?"
"Well - er -" the boy searched for words, "actually we had lessons every day for 6 hours, but the last half hour was always dedicated to tests on what I had learned," he finally managed.
"Or rather, what you didnt learn." I smiled at the embarrassed boy. "And stop fiddling with your shorts. Its very bad manners."
Ronalds face reddened further and he withdrew his fingers from between his buttocks.
"Your father always ended up the sessions with a caning," Ronald said in a sullen, small-boy voice.
"On the bare bottom?"
"Yes."
"Probably all well deserved," I said. "And you get it at school as well?" I asked.
"Yes."
"When were you caned last?" I asked.
The boy licked his lips and stared at the carpet. I stepped closed and chucked up his chin. "Look at me when I speak to you," I said, now more sharply.
"Sorry," the boy mumbled and as he raised his eyes to mine I could see tears gathering. Delightful. "Yesterday."
"Also with shorts down?" I inquired further as I ambled towards the umbrella stand.
"Yes. It was by the headmaster."
"I see. And the headmaster always canes on the bare?"
"I believe so. He always makes me take my shorts down," Ronald admitted.
"Well, then," I said, selected a darker Malacca cane I found which looked splendidly flexible and pungent with pain. "Then I suggest we proceed as if you were in the headmasters study, shall we? Take those shorts down."
Ronald stared for a moment at the cane in my hand and licked his lips again. He blinked some tears away and then turned as he unbuttoned his tight shorts and pushed them down to his ankles. I saw a pair of round, firm boyish buttocks sporting some nice, if slightly fading, cane marks.
"Now position yourself the same way you did for my father," I said and stood watching as the boy pushed a heavy chair into position. It was leather covered with broad arm rests and a low, wide back. The boy stumbled with his shorts around his ankles and then bend over the back of the chair, head in the seat. "Take off the shorts. You will assume a different position for me."
The boy looked up and waited anxiously.
"Come around the other side of this chair and kneel on the arm rests. Your left knee on one, your right knee on the other. Get on with it!" I added with more force when the boy hesitated. He realised quickly what this posture would do to him.
Then he reluctantly climbed on the chair and placed his knees on the armrests. Or at least tried. The chair was so broad that he didnt quite reach and he almost slipped off with one knee.
"Come, come, now," I said. I approached him and holding one knee with one hand, spread his legs forcefully until the other knee was on the second arm rest.
"Owww, owww, this hurts," the boy protested.
"You had better maintain this position or you will be sorry," I said. "Now bend right over, head down. More, more. No, dont lift your knees off the arm rests."
When he was finally in position, his bottom was pointing towards the ceiling and the cheeks gaped widely. "Not a very comfortable position, eh?" I asked. "I can see everything this way. Teach you some humility. Teach you that boys should obey orders and not give themselves airs. Now let us start on the dozen your aunt wants me to give you, but first let me make clear what my rules for caning are."
The naked portion of the kneeling boy was squirming and I gave it some sound slaps. "Stay still. The first and most important rule is to remain completely silent. I dont want to hear a murmur, a moan or groan, and certainly no loud screams or howls. Nor do I want to hear pleas for mercy, to stop before your dose is completed or to hit you less hard. The second rule, also most important, is that you are not to move, try to interfere with the cane or cover your bottom. Is that understood?"
"Yes," came the mumbled reply.
" And you will count each stroke properly. If any of these rules are disobeyed at any time before I allow you off the chair, I will begin from the beginning. Remember that." With that I raised the cane and stroked the boy lightly across the naked bottom. He shivered at the cold touch. Well, the cane, nor the bottom, would stay cold much longer.
Aiming carefully, I whipped the cane full force across the lower cheeks. It landed with a satisfactory "thwack" on the bare flesh and young Ronald squealed.
"One," he said.
"No, my boy," I said calmly, "this is number one," and I swished the cane again sharply across the boys small, round bottom.
"One," came a trembling voice.
"Better, but I want to hear the count more clearly. I will let it pass this time, but the next time it will be number one again."
I lashed the cane across the boys bottom, low down, near the thighs. I wanted this cut to hurt but Ronald managed his "Two" without crying out.
He held out until number seven (8) when he screeched with pain as the cane landed across the top of his thighs.
"Ronald," I said coldly, "you are being disobedient. Now we will have to start again." I smiled as I watched the buttocks twitch.
Making a real effort, the boy took ten strokes (18) in silence but really howled on the next one which I had once more directed at his tender upper thighs.
"We have all day," I said, "if you insist on obstinacy. "We start again. You will take the full dozen properly."
The boy was now openly sobbing. "Oh, please -" he started but my cane interrupted his whining.
"One," the boy said.
Concentrating on the lower portions of the widely-spread buttocks and the upper thighs, I managed to make the boy cry out again after only 4 strokes (22).
And we started again. This time he reached back with one hand after the second cut (24) and the caning was begun from the beginning.
But this time the boy decided to obey and he took his dozen in silence.
"This was your dozen with the cane," I said to the trembling boy on the chair. I replaced the cane in the umbrella stand, then opened one of fathers desk drawers.
"Now for a dozen with this little tawse," I said pleasantly and the boy burst into tears.
It was thick strap with two one-inch tails made of tough leather. I had come across it while cleaning one day and admired its potential for punishment. It was about 3 feet long and 2 inches wide with a comfortable grip.
"Just twelve, Ronald," I said. "And in silence. You may shed tears, of course, but only after I have finished."
I stood by the boys head looking down at the spread buttocks. After a moment of teasing, I brought the tawse down vertically on his left cheek. The tails curled nicely into the underbum and young Ronald squeaked. The next one fell squarely with the tips on the exposed anus and this time I got a very loud reaction. Then followed the right cheek.
And so it went until the boy had absorbed at least two dozen before he took them in obedient silence. I replaced the tawse in the desk drawer and surveyed the boys backside. It was a deep, glowing red, turning purple, with some purple and black tram lines underneath. It had already begun to swell up. A most satisfying result.
"You may get up," I said, and cry to your hearts content."
The boy struggled off the chair and breathed a sigh of relief when he could close his legs again.
"Into that corner, boy," I said. "Hands behind you head. You will have one hour to think about your punishment."
As the boy stood, I went to the desk and wrote a short message to Leticia Silverstone.
"Dear L. S. I hope you will find the results of my efforts satisfactory. If not, you may send him back any time. I think he has learned his lesson. Regards. M. H."
When the hour was up, I handed Ronald the note. "Give this to your aunt. And dont read it even though it is not in an envelope. Run along now."
The boy was only too happy to leave. He would have run out the door if his bottom had not hurt too much. As it was, he stalked stiff legged as fast as he could manage.
The next morning a received another telephone call from Leticia.
"I just wanted to congratulate you. I inspected Ronalds bottom on his return and I must say you did a splendid job on him. He was very subdued the rest of the day. Would you be available to continue his tutorials during the summer vacation? As did your father? It did the boy so much good."
"I am pretty sure I can manage that," I said and we made the necessary arrangements.