Adam accepted my rules the first day he moved into my house as a lodger. They were clearly spelled out to him. He knew what they were. He knew the consequences if he broke them.
I’ve had lads staying with me for about ten years. They all accepted the rules. It was my way or the highway. They were not forced to stay with me. I was happy to have them in my house. But they could not be allowed to take it over.
The rules were straightforward. There was a night time curfew. Meals were at set times and had to be taken. This was a home, not a hotel. Adam was to address me as Mr Castlefield and my wife as Mrs Castlefield. He was to be polite to us at all times. He was allocated a large room with his own wash basin. He could use the bathroom at set times and there was a separate lavatory that (of course) he could use as necessary. Ours was a large detached house, there were many rooms and some were private and he was not allowed into these. There was to be no cigarettes or other tobacco brought into the house and definitely no alcohol. Guests were permitted with the express permission of myself or Mrs Castlefield but they were not to enter his bedroom. It was compulsory that he attend our church with us on Sunday mornings. He was welcome at other times as well, but this was not mandatory.
I explained the rules to Adam when he arrived and I also made sure that he understood the consequences if he broke them. Adam is nineteen years old and a trainee with a High Street bank. He is in Brocklehurst on a nine month course at the local technical college. My wife and I take many of the trainees of the bank and we have a good relationship with Mr Spencer who is in effect Adam’s boss. Mr Spencer likes us to make monthly reports to him about Adam’s behaviour. This is unofficial, but Adam knows we do this. Mr Spencer believes that a successful junior banker should not only be academically gifted and hold a number of professional qualifications, he should also be of sound moral character.
Mr Spencer and I are at one on this and that was why I did not hesitate to draw up my list of rules. I also made it clear in writing that Adam could be subjected to corporal punishment at my discretion should he break the rules. He signed an undertaking to this effect and Mr Spencer was informed.
It was a little over five weeks ago that Adam joined my little family. I would say he is mostly a good boy, but like youngsters his age he needs to be reminded constantly that he is not yet an adult. He can be very mature at times and I commend him for this. But, also he can be wilfully disobedient. I believe he tries to test how far he can go and break the boundaries of acceptability. I have seen it before with other of my charges. Such behaviour is wrong and unacceptable. Adam is fully aware of the consequences when he is disobedient.
I tell you all this by way of background because today I punished him for the first time since he arrived. There have been a number of breaches of the rules. Twice now he has broken curfew and rolled home at eleven o’clock at night. This is entirely unacceptable. He is here to work, he needs his rest at night so he can perform at his best in the classroom during the day. He has also shown signs of poor attitude. I cannot pin this down completely so it is hard to describe, but he can be surly and uncommunicative at times. I have spoken to him about his behaviour and asked for an improvement. None has been forthcoming. I also warned him explicitly of the penalty if his unacceptable behaviour continued. He cannot complain about my action.
I am pleased that when I visited his bedroom this morning he made no attempts to deny his guilt. I reminded him of the conversations we had shared over the past few days. I listed his many faults, he did not disagree when I told him he had been warned about the consequences.
Adam was still in bed when I arrived. He was startled when I loomed over his prone body but quickly regained his composure. I ordered him from his bed. Now it was my turn to be startled. I had assumed he wore pyjamas at night as all of my previous tenants did so. Not Adam, he apparently slept in his underwear. Cautiously, he stood before me dressed only in a pair of tight white trunks. They fitted very snugly and it was clear from where I stood his sizeable manhood was constrained by the smooth cotton.
He stood contritely, head bowed, hands held behind his back. I once more listed his misdeeds and they were many. Adam blushed profusely, clearly ashamed by his misdeeds, but he remained silent. “Do you have anything to say to me Adam?” I asked. I am a fair man. “Sorry, Mr Castlefield,” he said softly. I waited a little impatiently for him to say more and when it was clear he had said all he intended, I vented, “Pah! Is that the best you can do?” His face flushed some more but he remained silent.
I had already decided on my course of action. All that was left for me to do was confirm this to Adam. “Adam,” I said, “You are to be caned.” I don’t suppose this came as a surprise to him, but I let the news sink in before I added, “Stand there, until I return,” then I left the bedroom. I wasn’t away for long. I went to the cupboard under the stairs where I have a collection of curve-handled rattans, each hanging from a separate hook screwed to the wall. They were of various lengths and thicknesses and most would not have been out of place in a headmaster’s study thirty or forty years ago. The one I intended to punish Adam with was not a school cane. It was a Malay cane. It was no longer or thicker than the “senior” school rattan, but it was denser and I knew from my previous experience wielding it across the backsides of older teenagers it would be a mightily effective weapon. Gently, I took it from its hook and held it in my hand. People who handle a punishment cane for the first time often express surprise at how light it is. They do not realise that a cane, unlike a strap or an American wooden paddle for instance, is not a slapping tool. It doesn’t smack the boy’s backside, it whips into it leaving behind a thin (and often deep) welt that can throb for many hours.
I reacquainted myself with my Malay cane by flexing it between my hands. It was a little over thirty inches long and as thick as a pencil. Even so it flexed into a perfect arc with ease. It was dark yellow (almost brown) in colour and had notches spaced along it every six or seven inches. I swiped it through the air and it made a tremendous whooshing sound as it went. The noise attracted Mrs Castlefield from her kitchen. “Yes,” I replied to her unspoken question, “I am obliged to deal with Adam.” Her lips tightened but she said nothing. I could see she was in total agreement with my course of action. She returned to her kitchen and I tucked the cane under my arm and trudged slowly up the stairs.
I found Adam as I had left him, with eyes cast down and hands clasped behind his back. He didn’t raise his head when I re-entered the room but I noticed his eyes swivelled towards me. I slipped the cane into my hand and held it just under the curved handle. I wobbled the cane in the general direction of a small, low backed armchair. The bedroom was quite spacious and contained many items of high quality furniture. “Take hold of that chair and turn it so that the back faces the other way,” I said and pointed the cane so Adam was in no doubt about my instructions.
I was pleased to see that without demurring he shuffled three or four paces across the room. The chair was light in weight and he quickly had it in position. He still could not look directly at me and hovered by the chair uncertain what to do next. I had never beaten Adam and I had no idea if he had been caned elsewhere before but he must have realised my intention. “Stand behind the chair,”’ I ordered curtly. I think it is best to get on with the job in hand. “Closer boy, closer,” I complained when he moved forward but stopped a full yard away. He took a couple of pigeon steps. Now, he was in position. I took a moment to appraise the teenager who stood submissively waiting for my next instruction. I had not seen him in anyway but fully clothed before and had not noticed he had a muscular physique. His chest was broad, his stomach ripped and his legs powerful. I imagine he must visit the gymnasium often. He stood about my height but dressed in only his underwear he seemed considerably shorter. I couldn’t see his face but I knew he had brown eyes with black lashes. His hair was thick and curly and he was overdue a visit to the barber.
I flexed the cane once more between my hands and gave the final command. “Bend over that chair.” I noticed a muscle in Adam’s back twitch. Was this a sign of his apprehension? If it was he overcame it admirably because he took deep breath, rubbed the palms of his hands together and dived over the back of the chair. He reached forward and gripped the front edge of the seat cushion and he parted his legs so that the overall effect was that his head was low and his bottom high. I have already said his trunks were tight fitting and now stretched as he was over the back of the low armchair the cotton clung tightly to his meaty bottom. Each buttock cheek was lifted and separated and I had a perfect view of the ravine that ran between them.
I moved my own position slightly so that I could try to see Adam’s face. This was impossible as he kept it close to the sponge-filled cushion. His neck had turned red but I knew this was quite typical when a boy was in this upside down position as blood rushed towards his head. Adam’s buttocks were round and firm and stretched in this way unusually large. Submissively, he presented a perfect target to me. This was to be Adam’s first beating from me and fair man that I am I intended it to exemplary but not brutal. By that I mean he should know that he had been caned but there was no need for him to be bloodied. Six of the very best strokes with this dense Malay cane would leave him in no doubt that his future behaviour must improve.
I took up position to Adam’s left and placed the cane across the very centre and meatiest part of his buttocks. I “sawed” the cane as I found my aim and was delighted to see Adam’s bottom tense considerably. It was tightening up in anticipation of the onslaught that was about to follow, the two cheeks pulled tightly together trying to reduce their size so the cane would not have so much to whip down upon. Most boys do this, I assume it is a natural reaction from the buttocks. I tapped the cane across his bum maybe three times before I removed it and raised it high before with just the slightest twist of my body I brought it back down at terrific speed. It made a very agreeable (to me) crack as it hit and then sank into Adam’s bottom.
The nineteen-year-old squealed. There is no other word to describe it. It was a combination of air hissing through his clenched lips and a cry of pain. His bottom wobbled from side to side, his head rose from the cushion and his legs stamped up and down. A line appeared across the cotton of Adam’s underwear where the cane had struck and although I couldn’t see it I knew a significant welt was throbbing across his rear end.
I get on with it when I beat a boy. I see no point in cussing him between swipes or making reference to his misdeeds or demands for better behaviour in future. I count up to twenty in my head, make sure that he is steady in position and then swipe again. I put all my beef into each stroke, I couldn’t strike any harder if I were beating a carpet. Number two landed exactly where I intended, just below the first. Now he had a burning stripe across the width of his bum and it glowed white hot. Adam did the squealing and the stomping again but after a few seconds he resumed his position as quietly as possible and waited for the next stroke. I have no idea if this was Adam’s first-ever beating, but I would say he appeared to be taking it like a trooper. The next cut dug deep into the under-cheek, near where the buttocks and thighs connect. Adam let out and almighty yell and his back arched as he sprung to his feet, both hands clutching his scorched backside. I grabbed hold of his shoulder and manhandled him back over the chair placing my hand in the small of his back to keep him there. His flesh was clammy, sweat poured down his spine, although the room itself was quite cool. Adam gripped the seat cushion until his knuckles turned white.
I counted to twenty in my head then there was a brief but awesome whoosh of air preceded the wooden crack that appeared to echo round the room as Adam jerked his head up in response to the cutting pain that spread quickly across his bottom like wildfire. He breathed out noisily, drew air in and breathed it noisily out again. “Ouch!” he cried, sucking air into his lungs so sharply he must have felt his flesh tight against his cheek bones.
Another strokes rained down in parallel with the others, which worked their way up to the top of his buttocks which ultimately shook, twisted, swayed and clenched in a frantic attempt to swamp the unbelievable legacy of pain left by the cane. Adam’s chest heaved as he gasped in great gulps of breath. His thighs rubbed together as he wrestled with the demons which were chewing up his bottom.
I played the cane over the entire surface of Adam’s buttocks before raising it one last time and slicing a devastatingly accurate, forceful stroke just above his thighs. A startled yelp flew out of the boy’s mouth and bounced off the wall. His legs buckled as he fought against the savage line of pain which was charging into him. His hands dug into the cushion and his eyes watered as another cry burst from his throat.
It was over. “Stand,” I growled, determined that Adam should be fully aware of my displeasure. I knew pain was shooting from his thrashed buttocks up and down his legs as he prised himself away from the back of the chair and stood unsteadily and struggled to regain his balance with his hands hovering around, but not daring to touch, his inflamed cheeks. He staggered away and stood unsure what he was expected to do next.
With six swipes expertly delivered, I tucked the cane under my armpit, walked across the room and left. When I arrived downstairs at the breakfast room I noticed that Mrs Castlefield had thoughtfully left a soft cushion on one of the hard dining chairs.
Picture credit: Unknown
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