by Kay Wilton
Technically the old heap was still in the family, even if it had been opened up to tourists. As a member of the family, with unlimited access to its dusty corridors and unkempt rooms that the tourists never saw, Jerry loved roaming the old mansion. Parts of it were like a museum, technically roped off, but that had never stopped him exploring. After all, he was family, not a paying visitor.
One of his favourite places was the old schoolroom up in the nursery. Most of it was supposed to be roped off, but he ducked around the ropes. One desk stood off by itself, with a dunce hat lying on it. In the guidebook it was called 'The punishment desk' supposedly because of its isolation, but recently Jerry had found another reason. He hadn't had cause to notice before a rainy day full of boredom had sent him exploring its nooks and crannies. There, concealed in a nook formed by the wall, was an old cane. Not a walking stick but a school cane, one that had once crashed down on countless bottoms in this very room. There was even a slight bend to it, indicating that it had seen frequent use in its day.
Knowing that it was there had caused Jerry to examine that isolated desk, looking for clues to the cane's use. There, under the far edge of the desk, were scratches. Scratches that were partly matched by ones on the desktop, ones that Jerry had assumed were merely long ago carvings from bored students. But lying across the desk with his bottom bent taut, ah, when he did that, Jerry's fingers matched up with the marks. Those weren't mere scratches, they were claw marks left by lads who had felt that cane crashing down on their bottoms!
Once he had made that connection, Jerry had bent over that desk countless times, moving his fingers over where those others had clawed, picturing himself living in those olden days where every schoolboy's bottom was at the mercy of his tutor, governess, school master, school mistress, or anyone else who had charge of the lad. That was a time when poor behaviour was answered with ruler, strap, and cane. After those first few times he had dared lay the cane on the desk next to him, leaving it there to be picked and swung at his target area. A few more times and he dared himself to lower his trousers, bending there with his underwear sticking out.
Picturing how taut his underwear was stretched, he had to wonder if any of those old time authority figures could resist the sight of his outlined buttocks. He wondered if any of them could walk past the sight of him bent there, even if they hadn't ordered him to assume that position, or if each and every one of them would pick up that cane and put it to good use. He thought most of them would, that they would assume that one of the others had instructed him to wait like that and decide to swing that cane to get things over with, to cane the lad without knowing (or caring) what he had done to earn his thrashing. He wondered how it would feel to be caned by someone who didn't know or care why the cane was swinging, only knowing that it must be swung.
Of course no lad in that distant past would ever dare to do what Jerry was doing; they all knew better than to invite a good thrashing. Probably because (unlike Jerry) they all knew what a good thrashing would feel like.
Further exploration had turned up the old punishment ledger, where actual punishments had been recorded up until the long ago year of 1949, when the household had switched from private education to Public Schools. Since it was a historical document, Jerry knew that he couldn't mark it up, but there was nothing special about the ledger itself. It was the kind seen in countless stationary shops. It was easy enough to buy a duplicate and copy over the last page of old entries, writing them with a ballpoint rather than one of the old fountain pens that they must have used on the original book. He skipped a few lines after the last recorded caning then added a new entry. He didn't bother with his age, name, or most of the things that the punishment ledger had recorded. He merely wrote:
Naughty Boy, deserves 6 of the Best.
The next time Jerry had played his private little game he placed that book on the desk beside him, leaving his sentence out for all to see, for any to pick up that cane and swing it. Of course he hid it when he left, but it gave him a guilty pleasure to know that it had been there while he posed for a thrashing. Any authority figure seeing that entry would certainly pick up the cane and deliver his sentence, except that all those who had caned had died out ages ago.
As the days went on, Jerry became more daring, but only when there weren't any tourists in the house. Today would be different. Today he would dare himself to the max while there was a tour going on, but only a tour of the grounds. None of the tourists should enter the house, and if someone did they would never find themselves all the way up here. Not without going through several roped off areas themselves and that just wouldn't be permitted. This would be almost like bending for the cane in public, but he was assured privacy.
Smug in his safety, Jerry paused to remove first his shoes and socks, then his trousers and underpants. Standing naked from the waist down he carefully folded his clothing before concealing them in one of the other desks furthest away from the punishment desk. It was a desk that he could never reach in time if someone entered or even if he heard someone in the next room. Not that something like that was possible, but Jerry played with that idea in his head... of someone finding his bare bottom offered ready and waiting for a caning with his sentence already recorded in that book.
Securely separated from his clothing, Jerry moved the cane so it leant against the desk, placed the book beside it, rolled up his shirt, and took his position over the punishment desk. Laying there as he imagined countless other lads had done over the years, putting his fingernails in their claw marks, wondering how hard they had been caned for them to claw into the desk. His own nails weren't even scratching against the wood, much less making clawing marks in it.
Keeping his bottom taut took effort. Jerry was thinking about calling an end to the game when his world changed forever.
"Well, well, well, I can see why this room wasn't part of the grounds tour."
Jerry's heart almost stopped when he heard the woman's voice behind him. Lost in his thoughts he hadn't heard her moving through the nursery! He raised his head, wondering if he should dash to his clothes or out of the room. But there was only one exit and she sounded as if she was standing in the doorway.
"No, don't get up," the woman firmly admonished him. "Right now I don't know who you are and you have no idea who I am. Should you rise we shall see each other's faces and things could get awkward. Stay facedown and we shall remain cloaked in glorious anonymity."
Jerry thought for a moment and lowered his head.
"Um, this isn't part of any tour," Jerry said in a weak voice.
The woman scoffed in ironic disbelief.
"Honestly, you didn't need to tell me that. I know that this is not part of a tour. What tour would ever include a tableau such as this one?"
The voice was drawing ever closer to where Jerry was bent over the desk. Jerry pictured how the woman must be approaching him.
"I just, um..." Jerry couldn't find the words.
"Allow me to guess," the woman said in a sly voice as she walked ever closer. "You are the sort of lad who, when he sees a room like this one, wonders what it would be like to live in those long ago days, wonders what it would have been like to be ordered to assume that position for a jolly good thrashing, wonders how it would feel to have that cane crashing down hard on your bottom. Even though the cane is perfectly effective when applied to the seat of one's trousers you prefer to imagine it crashing down your bared bottom."
"Um I guess," Jerry said in a deflated voice.
"My, you've even constructed a punishment ledger and sentenced yourself to six of the best," the woman observed. "How thoughtful of you. But a mere six?"
Jerry heard her open her purse then there was the scratching sound of writing.
"Have you ever noticed how easily a 6 can be transformed to an 8?" The woman asked as she lifted her pen from the book. "Surely you didn't think a boy would ever drop his trousers for a mere 6? Of course not. I know, for I have given much thought to that sort of thing. For you see, as you are one who sees a room such as this one and wonders how it would feel to be caned, whenever I see a room such as this I always wonder what it would be like to cane a lad such as yourself."
"Um you don't have to..." Jerry began.
"No, but I do so want to," the lady replied, picking up the cane. "Be honest, when could either of us ever get this chance again? You waiting like that to be caned and me wandering in, eager to cane you? What are the odds that two such as us would meet, with you with your trousers down waiting to be caned? Why, it has to be Fate that has brought us together. Fate wants us both to play our roles. Who are we to battle against Fate herself?"
Jerry winced as she swung the cane through the air. It sounded as she knew how to swing a cane. The swishing sound promised pain for whoever's seat it landed on. His bottom cheeks clenched, all a tingle, tingling in dread anticipation.
"I believe I shall give you the sentence you had laid out for yourself, as modified by my pen, but first you have to say that I may do just that," the lady said. "Come on, we both know that if you weren't curious about the feel of the cane you wouldn't be laying there. Say the words and I shall begin your first and likely last ever caning."
It was the words "last ever" that decided him. Jerry knew that the woman was right, that he would never be in this position again. He was never going to see whoever this was again, never have his bottom offered for a caning to one who would cane him without ever even knowing his name.
"I'm sorry Miss," Jerry said. "Please don't cane me. Don't give me the six strokes that I have so richly earned. Please don't cane me mercilessly on my bare arse the way I richly deserve to be caned. Please don't keep caning me no matter what I say while you're thrashing me. Please don't make me take every stroke the punishment book now says I must take. Please?"
The woman laughed softly at the wishful, hopeful tone of that last word.
"Not quite the words that I had expected to hear, but I shall take that as permission. Brace yourself lad."
Jerry braced himself, willing himself to withstand the pain.
Swish... Crack!
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