Caleb's School Trouble
It’s been a long time since I was frightened by walking into the office of a school. Heck, as a teacher, I had to go in there every day, even if it was only to check my mail box. On the other hand, being called to the office is much different from going there on your own business. In this case, while I knew I wasn’t the one in trouble, I still hadn’t been happy about this call.
The office was laid out fairly similarly to every other school office I’d ever entered. There was a counter with a secretary (receptionist - whatever they’re called today), which screened the actual offices and work area from anyone casually entering. Across from that was a seating area with room for several students. Off to the side was another, smaller seating area for adults - parents, salesmen, or visiting dignitaries, I would assume. You could tell the difference between the two because the adult seating area only had three chairs, but they were wooden and upholstered, and there was a small coffee table with magazines displayed. The student seating area was a row of plastic chairs which were cheap and durable, but far from comfortable.
It was to that area that my attention was drawn. It was about 2pm and the area was empty except for two boys. Neither of them were facing the door and both obvious had greater worries on their mind at the time. One of them, a boy I knew as Bryan Wright, was leaning forward, keeping his rear end off the chair by putting most of his weight on the lower part of his thighs. His head was down, not quite between his knees, but enough to hide his face. Bryan had medium brown hair and a fair complexion. He had a bit of an acne problem these days, but he wasn’t a bad looking kid. On the other hand, his complexion made it obvious whenever he was embarrassed. Considering the way he was trying to sit, I’m sure his face would have been a dead give-away to his emotions, and - knowing the principal here as I did, I wouldn’t be surprised to see that Bryan’s green eyes were bloodshot and damp.
It was the other boy at whom I was really looking, though. His face wasn’t down, but I still couldn’t see it, simply because he was looking away from me. Even without looking at him, I could describe him in detail. He was lean, but not skinny. He’d recently hit 6’ making him slightly taller than I was now, but he only weighed about 145 pounds. He had clear, medium blue eyes, wide-set in a face with round cheeks. His face was long enough that it looked cheerful, rather than fat. His nose was maybe a bit long, but it served to balance his face well. His sharp chin could have been a bit stronger, but it was still a nice face. His shoulder length hair fell forward towards his eyes, making a nice frame for it. The hair had been blond when he was younger, but it was slowly turning a light brown.
When I saw him, he had both hands on the edge of the chair, lifting his weight off the seat, so he could carefully shift without too much discomfort. It was my experience (observational, not direct) that the principal here was an expert at applying wood to misbehaving boys. Even through jeans he had excellent aim, and could leave a deep, aching red that would last for hours, without bruising. I was sure that had something to do with why both boys were paying so much attention to how they were sitting, instead of what was going on around them.
The boy I’d been watching usually had a beautiful smile, but he wasn’t using it right now. I would have expected that even without seeing his face, but knew it for sure, because he turned to look at me, eyes wide as a fox treed by hounds, when the secretary said, ‘Hello, Mr. Wells. Mr. Kirk is expecting you and said you should go straight in.’
At the sound of my name, both boys had jumped a bit, and then both winced as their obviously still burning bottoms came into rough contact with the chairs. The lighter headed boy’s expression went from a hunted fox to that look that seemed unique to boys in trouble; the look that said, ‘I know you’re probably mad at me, but I’m feeling really bad and stupid right now and really need to know you still love me.’ All he said was, "Hi, Dad."
"Hello, Caleb." I stepped over and made a subtle motion with my arms. One thing I remember from my childhood is that there is nothing worse than hugging a teen at the wrong time, especially in public. Right then, Caleb needed the reassurance worse than he needed what scraps were left of his dignity, and he stood and wrapped his arms around my chest. I held him for a moment before slightly pushing him away.
"Mr. Kirk’s waiting on me, Cal. I’ll talk to you at home."
He nodded his acceptance of it, and I went back to the office.
Even though I’d never attended the new high school, I’ve had enough boys here to know where the office is. I walked straight back to the principal’s office and tapped on the door before entering. The principal looked up, then stood and walked around to fold his arms around me neck, less desperately than Caleb had.
"How are you, Jack?"
"Doing good, Toby. Yourself?"
As we exchanged pleasantries, I wondered again if Toby had ever expected to end up here, in the same place - though a different building - where his father had been 20 years before. People joked with Cason - Toby’s son and my honorary nephew - that they were just going to save his dad’s door plate for when he took over. Cason said he wouldn’t ever do that, but it sounded much like what Toby had said to me back when we were in school together.
I sat down and Toby explained the situation to me. His version didn’t quite agree with what Cal later told me, but there’s an art to finding the truth in differing versions. It seems like the kids were eating lunch and some girl decided it would be cute to rub Caleb’s face with dressing. Cal wiped it off, then went after her with some cheese sauce. She made a big fuss about it, so Cal ended up wiping it on Bryan’s face. Bryan and Cal have known each other for years, but he’s never been a regular visitor at our house, so I think they weren’t close friends. Instead of taking it as play, Bryan got upset and shoved Cal. Now, up to that point, Cal was in the wrong. He shouldn’t have been playing around like that and he shouldn’t have involved someone else. However, Bryan escalated the matter by shoving. By the rules of the playground, if someone shoves you, that’s one point less than fighting, and they have to be the ones to back down. Of course, for whatever reason, Bryan wasn’t willing to admit that Caleb had just been playing and he’d over-reacted. Neither boy backed down and further shoving and a couple of punches resulted; and resulted in the boys being taken to the office.
Toby informed me that, since it was a first time offense for both of them, he hadn’t involved the police (who would have written both boys a ticket, resulting in community service for them and court costs for the parents). He also warned me that any repeat, at any time that they were in high school, and the police would have to be called. The school punishment was going to be six days in ISS (in-school suspension, which involved sitting in a small classroom doing homework, not being allowed to talk, and not even being allowed into the hall when other students were there. Those in ISS had a special lunch session, were escorted to the bathroom, and had to be delivered to and picked up from the door to the ISS room by a parent or guardian. It was not fun - not for the child, nor for the parent who had to do the extra delivery work. To start things off, each boy had received three swats, accounting for the care being taken by both boys in sitting. Toby did assure me that Cal had taken it well. He’d yelped and had watery eyes, but hadn’t cried. Confidentially, he admitted that Bryan had, which I’m sure Cal would have loved to know, but he wasn’t going to find out from me.
By the time I finished discussing things with Toby, it was already in sixth period, and he suggested I just take Cal home, since it would be pointless to start him in ISS today. On the way home, I listened to Caleb’s side of the story. I was actually rather proud of him, because he really wasn’t trying to place all the blame on the other boy or deny any of his own misbehavior.
When we arrived home, I put the car in the garage and sat back, trying to collect my thoughts. The effort was interrupted, though.
"Are you mad at me?"
"I’m not happy with you, Caleb. I am disappointed in your behavior. I love you, though. Don’t forget that."
"I love you too." A pause, while he sat there, collecting his own thoughts. "Am I going to get a spanking?"
That was easy. "I haven’t yet decided what I’m going to do with you, Cal. For right now, go to your room and get your pants off. I’ll be up in a minute to see how good a job Uncle Toby did."
He started to say something, then just nodded and got out of the car. I waited a minute, then went into the house myself.
About 20 minutes later, I’d decided how I wanted to approach things and was ready to step into his room. Caleb had taken off his school clothes and was laying, face down, on his bed, in just his boxers and a white, strap undershirt. The boxers, which were a plaid in different shades of blue, where down nearly to his knees, exposing his still very red bottom. I thougth he might have fallen asleep, but he turned to look when I tapped on the door and gave me a weak smile as I crossed over to him.
"Uncle Toby says you took your paddling pretty well," I ventured.
"He paddles pretty hard, but it’s not real long," he replied. It had obviously hurt a bit since his bloodshot eyes seemed to say he’d let himself have a little cry once he’d been in private. I sat on the bed beside him and ran my hand across his cheeks. Cal was playing basketball this year and was pretty good at it. He’d not put on a lot of weight yet, since his last growth spurt, but he’d started filling out a little and had a bit of a bottom; it was firm, nicely dimpled, and definitely not flat. Even though his lower legs were fairly hairy and he had some growing up his thighs and a bit of medium brown hair was evident in his crack, his cheeks were still hairless, as I discovered while running my hand softly against his still hot bottom.
"You know you’re in trouble don’t you? Not just at school, but here, too."
"I know," he said, rolling onto his side to look back at me. As he rolled, I let my hand fall away, but he grabbed it. "Don’t stop, please."
I scooted over a bit so I could reach behind him. I’m not going to force myself onto the kids, but I certainly don’t mind the contact when they want it.
"I want you to understand something, Cal; if Bryan had walked up and shoved you, and the two of you got into a fight, I wouldn’t have a problem with it. I wouldn’t argue with what the school chose to do, but I wouldn’t be punishing you at home. Do you understand?"
He nodded.
"Do you understand why?"
He nodded again, then hesitated and shook his head no. I had to smile. At least he was honest about it.
"If he’d just shoved you, then you would have been protecting yourself. But that’s not what happened." He started to reply, but I stopped him. "I know you felt like you were just playing, but he wasn’t playing with you and it seems like he didn’t want to play."
"But I thought me and him were friends."
"You may be, but that doesn’t mean he has to be in the mood to play every time you want to. Don’t you remember getting in trouble for bugging Cory and Tommy when they didn’t feel like playing with you? And didn't the twins get spanked once for doing the same thing to you?"
Caleb blushed a bit and nodded.
"It’s the same thing. I know you were just playing, and I’m not going to say you were wrong. I AM going to say that, when he shoved you, you should have backed off. I know," I said, interrupting him again, "you didn’t want to look like a wuss, or whatever they call it now, but you were wrong. He shouldn’t have shoved you, but the right thing to do would have been to back off, apologize for rubbing the cheese sauce on him, but tell him to keep his hands off you, too. Then, if it went any further, it would have been his fault. Instead, you started it, he escalated it, but you kept going. That means you were both wrong. And, while I don’t know what his parents are going to do, you’re going to pay for it."
"Now," I continued, "your brothers won’t be home for about an hour. I want you to use that time to sit at your desk," he maoned theatrically, rolled back onto his belly, and pointedly rubbed his red rear at that announcement, "Sorry, but who’s fault is it that you got paddled?"
"Mine," he admitted in the voice of a teenager who’s been put upon by the unfairness of his parents and reality taking sides against him.
"Then sit at the desk and I want you to make a list of suggested punishments for your behavior today. The one thing I can tell you is that I won’t be spanking you today, whatever else we decide on. Okay?"
He looked back on me and nodded, then added, "Thanks."
I leaned forward, took his shoulder, and gently rolled him back to looking at me.
"I want you to be thinking of some things while you do it, Cal. First, at school, you’re being punished for your fighting. I want you to think about your behavior before the fight, and if you were obeying the rules. Second, keep in mind that the school could have called the police and then we would have a had to deal with a ticket and all that goes with it - court date, court fees, and probably community service for you. Keep those things in mind while you make your list. And don’t worry too much. I think I already know what I’m going to do, but I want you to think about it for a while. Okay?"
He nodded, pushed himself off the bed, and pulled his boxers back into place before turning to face me. Caleb’s never been shy, but he does try to be modest. "I’ll try to do a real job on it anyway, okay?"
"That’s all I can ask, Cal."
For all that he’s already taller than me, and was nearly 15, Caleb’s still a boy and still needs lot’s of love, affection, and reassurance - especially when he's in trouble. Before turning to leave, I pulled him to my chest and held him tight for a minute. When I let him go, I grabbed an ear and pulled his head down a bit to place a kiss lightly on his forehead.
"Love you, kiddo."
He smiled. "Love you too, Dad."
A little over an hour later, not long after the other boys had arrived home, Cal came wondering into the kitchen. The rest of us were sitting around the table - the boys having their after school snack and telling me about their day. The office had delivered a note to Bobby for me, so he and Charlie would know where their little brother was, so they had some idea what had happened, even if they hadn’t heard details through the grapevine. You could tell they probably had heard by the commiserating looks they gave him.
He grabbed a banana off the counter and carefully climbed onto a stool, joining the conversation. After a few minutes, the other boys began to drift off for chores, homework, or just play if they were lucky, finally leaving Cal and I alone.
"Here’s the list, Dad."
I took the paper he handed to me and glanced at it. It really looked like he’d done a lot of work on it. There were a lot of ideas where you could tell he was trying to find the fine line between not enough and too much. For instance, while he’d marked it out pretty heavily, I could still manage to make out ‘spankings at bedtime until I’m out of ISS.’ At the bottom of the page, neatly boxed off from his work notes, he had a short list of his ‘real’ suggestions. After reading through those, I handed it back to him.
"Those are pretty good, Cal. Like I said, I already had a pretty good idea of what I was going to do. What I really wanted was for you to have to think about your behavior and get an idea of what I had to go through when you misbehaved. Understand?"
He nodded.
"Good." I glanced around to make sure we were private, then went on.
"I’m going to be harsh with you, Cal, and I want you to understand why. I think you understand now why what you did was wrong, and why it wasn’t self-defense, don’t you?" I paused for him to nod. "I also want you to understand that there’s a very fine line between a ticket for disturbing the peace and being arrested and charged with assault. Bransom doesn’t seem to bad about it yet, but from what I understand, cops in places like Dallas or Houston can actually get away with charging BOTH people in a fight with assault. That’s a class-B misdemeanor and it means you’d have to post bond or wait in jail for a hearing, and it means you could be sentenced to up to six months in jail or $1,000 fine, or something like that. Do you understand why I think this is very serious?"
He’d been looking pretty relaxed, but he was starting to look really tense and nervous as he answered, "Yes, sir."
"I don’t want to scare you and I’m not going to beat you or ground you forever or anything like that, but I do want you to understand that I’m going to be hard on you, because you have to start thinking about things before you do them. Okay?"
"Okay," he said, sheepishly and plainly worried now.
"And do you know that I’m not punishing you just to be mean or because I’m mad at you?"
"I know, Dad. You punish me because I have to accept the consequences of my actions and ‘cause you want me to really know how I’m supposed to behave." He paused for a moment, then went on. "I mean, I already KNOW how to behave…"
"But knowing it and doing it aren’t always the same thing, are they?"
"Nope."
"Mostly, though, remember that I love you, okay?"
"Okay. Can you please tell me now, before I have a heart attack?"
I smiled at him. "It’s not going to be that bad. You can relax a bit."
I watched him take a deep breath, then went on.
"I decided what to do based on two things, Caleb. Like I said before, I ignored the fight, because you’re being punished for that at school. Can you remember what I am going to punish you for?"
He considered it for a brief moment before responding. "Because I wasn’t acting right at school, and because I could have got a ticket for fighting."
"Right. I had to make a phone call to be sure, but if you’d gotten a ticket, it would probably have earned you about 40 hours in community service and we would have had to pay $80 in court costs. Okay?" He nodded. "Even though you didn’t get the ticket, I’m going to hold you to that." His eyes went wide. "I’m going to hold your entire allowance for two weeks, and you’ll get half of it for four weeks after that. At the end, you’ll pick a charity and we’ll donate the money. Okay so far?"
He didn’t look happy, but he nodded.
"As for community service, it’s mostly going to be ‘family service’. For the next month, you’ll do your chores every day, then one of your brother’s chores also. I’ll make a list of whose chores you’ll do each day. You’ll do everyone’s twice, which isn’t quite thirty, so you’ll still owe me a few extra chores. Then, to finish it off, next Saturday - not the day after tomorrow, but the week after that - you’ll do a full, eight-hour service someplace. If you don’t want to do something for the Huff Foundation, I’d recommend helping out at the animal shelter."
He’d grown less happy be the sentence, but still wasn’t complaining. I wasn’t going exactly along with what he’d suggested, but wasn’t too far off, either.
"Oh, and I’ll give you a list of some of the extra chores, but it would be a real good idea for you to come up with some on your own. Just to encourage you, until you’ve finished the extra chores, you’re going to be on an early curfew - in your room and quiet by 9pm on school nights, 11pm on weekends."
"Dad…!"
"Zip it, mister." I waited to be sure he wasn’t going to argue further before I went on. That sounded a little unfair, but since I already had a list of chores in mind, he should be able to finish the extras in a week or so, and I wouldn’t hold the curfew for doing his brother’s chores. I just wasn’t going to tell him that right away.
"That leaves your behavior at school. I’ve already been on the phone with James - Bryan’s dad - and he agrees with me that you’re both responsible for this. Either one of you could have stopped and decided to behave at several points, and you wouldn’t be in trouble now. He and I did discuss how you two are going to be punished. No," I said as soon as his mouth opened, "how he’s going to be punished is none of your business. What is your business is that you two owe each other an apology. He and I agreed to meet before walking you two into ISS tomorrow. Since you started the mess with him, you’re going to apologize to him first. And, since I’m going to be standing right there, you’d better think about what you’re going to say, because I expect it to be good."
He nodded. Apologizing wasn’t as bad as it could be.
"But, as a friend of mine says, ‘that’s the consequence, not the punishment’" Now his face fell as the worst was confirmed. "You’ll be doing solitary Saturday and you’ll be getting a whipping."
His eyes teared up. I could see his mouth working as his mind tried to come up with some way he could protest. Finally it closed (his mouth, I mean - I assume his mind was still open) and he looked away. I took his chin in my hand and turned it back to me.
"I told you I was going to be harsh, Cal; but, do you really think I’m being unfair to you?"
It looked like he was seriously thinking about it. Let’s face it; whether he thought I was or not, he wanted some way to make things easier on himself - or on his butt, anyway. I guess he couldn’t and he finally said, "No. I guess that’s pretty fair." Then, with the resilience of youth (or maybe the fatalism of one who’d already heard the worst) said, "At least you’re not grounding me for a month!"
"Or spanking you every night for a week," I added.
He jumped, then grabbed for the paper he’d sat on the table. "I thought I crossed that out!" he yelped.
"You did, but not quite good enough. I’m used to reading my own handwriting, Cal. Your scratch out’s not too bad, compared to that."
He smiled at the lame joke. I sat with him for a few minutes and we made small talk, while I let him get his head around the entire idea and ask a few questions about the details. He finally seemed to either settle down or just consign himself to it. Either way, he didn’t seem to ill at ease or upset when he went to his room.
He wasn’t too worried Thursday afternoon, but as bedtime Friday drew closer, his nerves started to wear on him. He was obviously tense and retired to his bedroom before 10 o’clock. At just before 11, I went up there. And he was already asleep, or at least faking it well. He didn’t know it, but, in my own way, I was as nervous about the next day as he was.
My alarm went off at 6:15 the next morning. I really don’t get to sleep in very often, even on Saturdays, but I do hate being woke by that thing. I pulled on a t-shirt and went to Caleb’s room, with one stop on the way. It took a minute to shake him awake and another minute to get past his complaints and objections. He finally came awake enough to remember what was happening and came out of bed. He slept in just boxers and stood there for a minute, stretching. He’d already sat his things out. Solitary was done in the guest rooms, so I didn’t have to worry about them playing too much. I’d gone over what he could take with him, and we double checked it before going. They’d gathered the work he’d missed while in the office on Thursday and all his assignments for the week he’d be in ISS. He had a stack of that with him, along with extra paper. I was also letting him take an entertaining educational book (Eats Shoots and Leaves - an excellent book on punctuation if you've not read it). Besides those things, he had a clean set of underwear and his toothbrush. That was it for the day.
I escorted him to the guest room that I’d selected. He stopped in the doorway when he saw the bed. Well, it probably wasn’t the bed. It was the pile of pillows on the end of the bed and the tawse laying next to them. When he finally stepped into the room, he was pointedly ignoring them.
"I’m going to give you until 7 to get woke up. Grab a shower, brush your teeth, and be ready."
"Umm… Dad?"
"I remember. No clock. You’ve got about 25 minutes. Just don’t waste time, and you’ll be fine. Since I‘m about to go do the same thing, it should work out."
He was less than enthusiastic about the idea, but I heard the shower start running before I was down the hall. Twenty minutes later, I was back. My hair was still damp from my shower, but I was now wearing a pullover and a loose pair of slacks. On the other hand, while Caleb’s hair was also still damp, he was stark naked.
Caleb had the lean, firm build you’d expect of a basketball player. His pubic hair was a darker shade than on his head and was starting to spread. It was already starting to grow down onto his balls, but wasn’t reaching up to his stomach yet. He was well hung. Like many teen boys, he was half hard, even knowing he was about to be punished. I know he was longer than me, since he was only half hard, and already longer than me. He was a very good looking boy, but not as good looking to me as he was going to be soon.
He was holding the tawse in his hands, examining it. I’d bought the tawse on eBay and had used it on an adult playmate, but not on one of the kids. I’d loved using the small leather paddle on Noah, but would never manufacture a reason to use something like that on one of the boys. On the other hand, Caleb had given me the perfect reason. It was a two-tailed tawse, about two feet long, about fifteen inches of which was the tails. Caleb had never been strapped before (as far as I knew), and I could tell he was very nervous and pretty upset, but he was trying hard to be brave.
His eyes were very nervous and maybe a little damp, but he wasn’t quite crying. He stood, giving me a nice view of himself. I gestured to the end of the bed, and he dragged his feet back to it.
The bed was a double and the pillows were still where I’d put them, which was towards the right side (as you were facing it). The bed had a head and footboard and the pillows were there both to protect his waist from the slight raise of the footboard as well as to elevate his bottom. He laid across them, but I had him stand again.
"I want your legs spread so they’re on either side of the pillow, and when you bend down, lift the boys so they’re not dangling. Try it now."
He did, following my instructions and was in perfect position. I picked up the tawse and ran it’s length through my hand.
"We’ve already had the full discussion on this, Caleb Robert. You understand why you’re being punished and I don’t think we need to have another lecture, do you?"
While I was saying this, he squirmed on the pillows so he could look back at me.
"Yes, sir," he answered, "I understand and I don’t… I don’t know how to say it without being…"
"Insolent?"
He nodded. "Yeah, but…"
"You mean you don’t need a lecture."
"Right."
I placed the tawse across his butt and he flinched hard.
"You know the rules. Grab the pillow if you need to, but keep your hands out of the way. Stay in position until I tell you I’m finished. You ready?"
I waited while he grabbed the pillow and wrapped his arms around it hard. I lifted the tawse, made sure I had a firm grip, carefully lined it up, then swung. Like I said, I’d played with it before but the sound was still very satisfying. So was his yell. He was used to a wooden paddle or maybe a brush and the leather smacking across his butt was a real surprise to him. His back arched bringing his head up as he cried out at the first swat. I let him recover and lower himself back into place.
Caleb was just a bit bigger than me, meaning his bottom was also a bit bigger than mine, though he was a fair amount less wide than mine. The first blow fell at the top of his bottom, right at the top of his crack. It wasn’t hard to tell exactly where it had landed, because it left a mark - white at first, then seriously red as the blood rushed back. I let the next blow fall just below that, slightly overlapping the first. It wasn’t any softer than the first, but he knew a little of what to expect and took it better. His body still went stiff, but didn’t come up from the pillow. I didn’t hear him yell, but he wasn’t totally silent either. He’d just stifled his cry in the pillow he was hugging. The third blow fell below the first two, then two more came down, leaving his entire butt a deep red and leaving him sobbing hard into his pillow. I reached down and spread his legs a bit further. The next swat came down into the inside of his left leg. He couldn’t stifle a scream this time, and that was when the dam broke.
When the tawse snapped down onto the outside of his right thigh, he screamed again and began to really cry. He was still crying hard when I moved to his right side and repeated the same swats to the other side of his legs. I don’t know what he was expecting, but when the tawse came back on the top, right about the same place as it had for the first swat he went from crying to bawling. I almost stopped. I knew he knew why he was being punished, and I think he already regretted it, but I also felt that he really needed something to concentrate his thoughts for the day.
As the tawse worked back down his bottom, falling from his right side this time, it changed red to scarlet, and he was begging and pleading through for me to stop. I couldn’t barely understand even half of what he was saying, but I didn’t have to. I’m sure it was the same thing he’d said during spankings, that his brothers had said when they were in trouble, that my brothers had said in their turn, and that I’d cried while suffering the consequences of my own bad choices. Heck, it was probably the same thing my dad and step-dads had said in their turn.
By the time I went back to his legs, he couldn’t even make words anymore. I brought the tawse down in the same pattern, but just a bit lower, nearly doubling the size of the red marks already there. His cries were broken up by coughing by the time the last smacks caught his legs. I gave him a minute to indulge in the crying. When the smacks had stopped landing, I could see his body start to un-tense.
After a minute for him to relax and calm down a bit, I reached between his legs and spread them apart again, also dragging my fingers up to that little area just behind the scrotum to make sure the boys hadn’t reappeared during his squirming and bucking. When he felt me spread his legs, it occurred to him what I must be planning.
"No, Daddy. Please! I learned, I learned." If I thought he was cried out, I’d been wrong. It certainly didn’t help when he felt the tawse lay against his bottom again, lining up for the next stroke. This time, I stood to his right side facing his feet, and laid the tawse so it was running down his crack, with the tips of the tails lying between his legs, nearly touching the pillows. When I was sure I had the tawse in just the right spot, I lifted the tails with my left hand, then cocked my arm and brought it down once, then twice running down the left cheek, twice running down the right cheek, then one, two, three more times down the crack.
As the tawse came down again and again, his crying quickly went back over the edge to bawling and he was nearly screaming as each blow crashed against his red, quivering bottom. He was so sore this time that he kept kicking, squirming, and thrashing even after I’d finished. I knew he was worn out and knew he’d be feeling that most of the day - which is what I’d wanted.
I tossed the tawse over on a chair and sat down on the bed beside him, then reached over and began to rub his back, while he slowly regained his composure. When he finally had his crying under control enough that I was sure he’d understand what I was saying.
"Don’t forget that I don’t want you sleeping the day away, Cal. This is punishment, not nap time. Okay?"
His voice was still broken and wet with sobs as he told me he understood.
"Good. Then ignore it for a bit. I’ll bring your breakfast in at 8 and I don’t mind having to wake you. You’ll feel better if you go wash your face and get something to drink. You want me to help you up?"
He managed to turn towards me a bit and held his hand out to me. I grabbed it and slowly pulled him up, letting him shift slowly to keep the wait off his aching backside. When he was on his feet, the first thing I noticed was that he was moving like an arthritic old man. The second thing I noticed was that he was now considerably less happy than he had been before the whipping started, since his once big penis was now shriveled and trying to hide. Didn’t stop his balls from dangling low, though. At least they’d stayed protected.
I helped him into the bathroom, and watched him hobble over to the toilet. As he started to pee, I left him to himself.
Solitary is hard, but it’s better than grounding. Like I already said, solitary is done in one of the guest rooms. The boy’s only allowed to read books that I’ve approved for the time, or to do school work. I can’t stop a boy from napping and I won’t punish him for it, but I do wake them any time I catch them at it. They don’t even leave the room to eat; I bring their meals. The fact that he was doing it on an incredibly sore bottom didn’t help any. Still, after a short nap and breakfast, he seemed to be doing okay. By the end of the day, he was one happy boy while I escorted him back to his bedroom. We even shared a long hug as he let me tuck him into bed and kiss him good night for the first time in a while.
Oh, and if you care, he completed his family service and his ISS with no problems and has been on his best behavior since then. The only bad part for him, after solitary, was when he got back to his room and a leather spanker was hanging by the door. He knew the rules - if you can go a year without getting a spanking (before you turn 16), then the paddle comes down from your room. If you do earn another spanking in that time, then a paddle goes back up and stays there until you can go six months without one. Oh, and when your paddle comes down, it’s because you’ve been pretty mature for a long time, so you tend to get non-corporal alternatives. When the paddle does go back on the wall, it’s a whole lot easier to get the next one. I’m sure that has a bit to do with why Cal’s been so good lately.
Return to Story List
Return to Table of Contents