In the quaint town of Oakridge, near Johannesburg, South Africa there stood an old and prestigious school known as Oakridge Academy. In the Apartheid era it had a large reputation and was long renowned for its success at aping the elite public schools of The Mother Country and its strict adherence to tradition and discipline.
The housemaster Mr Rakusin was known throughout the school for his stern demeanour and his unwavering commitment to maintaining order and discipline. With a steely gaze that could send shivers down anyone’s spine, he cleared his throat and began to speak. ‘Bend over that desk, Fortuin,’ he commanded and because the boy knew his place in the scheme of things he did so without question, leaning over the polished desk, his palms pressed flat against its surface. He could feel the cold, unforgiving wood beneath his hands and the weight of impending punishment hanging over him.
Fortuin was a tall and sturdy young man of eighteen with a mop of unruly brown hair and was known for his knack for mischief. He had been in this situation before and once again he had pushed his luck too far.
‘Fortuin,’ Mr Rakusin intoned, his voice echoing around the study, ‘you have tested the limits of my patience one time too many.’
Fortuin, his face flushed with embarrassment, nodded solemnly, knowing he was at the mercy of the housemaster’s judgment.
He watched closely as the older man strode across the carpet to a cupboard at the far end of the study. Here, the housemaster kept his vast collection of canes. He had one or more for every conceivable occasion and every conceivable type of boy. Fortuin was a senior boy and soon to leave the school for the last time. A senior boy, perhaps, but not immune to the rules of the school and the punishment for breaking them.
Fortuin had been caught in the nearby suburb. The suburb with its lower-class inhabitants was out of bounds to the boys of the prestigious Oakridge Academy. That was of no account to the senior boys and they were frequent visitors, attracted by the availability of young broads who were willing to throw themselves at their clean-cut betters. Among themselves, the boys referred to the young women as ‘bicycles’ because they were always available to ride. None of them were considered ‘girlfriends,’ but they were as Fortuin often said to his friends, ‘good to practice on.’
So it was that the boys regularly got their oats. But that could come at a price. They took their bums in their hands every time they ventured into the suburbs; for if they were caught, they would be reported to Mr Rakusin and senior boys or not that would mean a thrashing. Many times they went undetected, but oftentimes, like on this occasion, they were discovered.
Mr Rakusin had selected his weapon of choice, ‘Ten strokes,’ he declared, his voice carrying the weight of authority.
Fortuin had been caned many times before, Oakridge was that kind of school, but even with experience he could not help but feel nervous anticipation, knowing that he was about to receive a punishment that would be both painful and embarrassing. There was always a sense of shame and humiliation in a caning. He was, after all eighteen years old and as his escapades in the suburbs demonstrated, he was a young man and no longer a child.
He could not stop his heart racing as he awaited the impending punishment. The sound of the housemaster and the swish of the cane as he tested it in the air heightened his anxiety and despite his best efforts he could not stop the knot forming in his stomach. He stood with his buttocks clenching as they jutted out behind him. Other muscles also tensed in anticipation of the pain to come.
The cane was made of a polished and dark wood, giving it a glossy appearance. Its handle was curved for a comfortable grip, and the shaft was straight and rigid. It was about three feet in length. Mr Rakusin almost caressed the cane such was his familiarity with it. He had used this and others in his collection many times.
The housemaster approached the boy. Despite the hot climate the boys of Oakridge wore traditional English school uniforms, with heavy woollen blazers and grey long trousers with a white long-sleeve shirt and knotted necktie. The heat and the tension in the room was becoming unbearable for Fortuin.
Mr Rakusin was dressed as an ideal English ‘public’ schoolmaster with an academic gown draped over a dark suit. He was pushing fifty but still had much of the athletic build from his younger rugby-playing days. He stood at six feet tall and towered over his hapless victim. He approached the boy, tucked his cane under his arm and with his free hands moved the end of Fortuin’s blazer away from the seat of his trousers. He noticed with satisfaction the buttocks switching in anticipation of the thrashing to come.
Satisfied that the eighteen-year-old was suitably positioned, Mr Rakusin slipped the cane from his arm into his hand and proceeded to ‘saw’ its shaft along the centre of the boy’s bottom. He was getting his aim. He tapped the cane on the fleshiest part of Fortuin’s cheeks, before raising it. The cane swished through the air, and Fortuin clenched his teeth in anticipation of the inevitable pain. The sharp crack of the cane as it struck its target echoed through the room, and Fortuin grinded his teeth, determined to bear the punishment with fortitude. Pain seared through his buttocks and up and down his legs. Not for the first time in his life, Fortuin experienced a sense of powerlessness, knowing he was entirely at the mercy of the housemaster and there was nothing he could do to stop the punishment now it had begun.
The humiliation of being eighteen and caned in such a submissive manner by an older man intensified as each stroke landed and he bit his lip and tried to hold back tears. He was determined not to let himself down in front of the wretched housemaster.
A cane was thin and whippy and delivered a focused impact, causing a sharp stinging sensation when it struck the seat of Fortuin’s stretched trousers. Fortuin tensed and his buttocks clenched; this was a natural reaction as his body tried to defend itself against the onslaught.
Stroke after stroke lashed into his backside. The pain radiated from the point of impact outward, spreading across the buttocks, diminishing as it moved further away. But the agony grew with each successive stroke, making it increasingly harder for Fortuin to maintain his composure. The initial sharp stinging pain becoming a deep, burning ache. Fortuin knew from bitter experience a housemaster’s caning was an awesome event and the pain would linger and be a constant reminder of the punishment for hours or even days to come. He would have to postpone future visits to the suburbs: how could he explain to the wenches the red stripes across his bum.
After what seemed like an eternity, Mr Rakusin finally lowered the cane and nodded in approval. ‘You may stand, Fortuin.’ The boy straightened up slowly, his backside throbbing like mad. He dared not look at the housemaster, but he could sense the stern satisfaction in Mr Rakusin’s gaze.
Mr Rakusin’s placed the cane on his desk and spoke, his voice softened just slightly, ‘Fortuin, remember that the choices you make have consequences, both good and bad. I hope this serves as a lesson to you. Discipline is the bedrock of our institution, and it applies to every student, no matter how old they may be. Use this experience to reflect on your actions and strive to become a better person,’ he said rather pompously.
‘Now leave the room,’ he added and watched with deep satisfaction at a job well done as Fortuin hobbled towards the door.
Picture credit: Generated by Artificial Intelligence (A.I.)
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