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Justin's Unexpected Discipline Part 2 by Steveboy20
JUSTIN’S UNEXPECTED DISCIPLINE Part 2 by Steveboy20
Justin’s uncle flexed the cane in the air a couple of times, making a whipping sound that caused the 15 year old to flinch. Never in his life had he had to bear such humiliation. He grasped the chair seat firmly in anticipation of the first stroke of the cane.
He hadn’t long to wait.
With a snap that made the walls ring, the cane connected with its tender, firm young target. Even before the pain registered, Justin felt like he had been moved across the floor several inches. Snot came out of his nose. And the came the pain. His mouth flew open soundlessly as he struggled to know whether to breathe in or out or whether to breathe at all even if he was capable of it, which, at the moment, he was not.
He forcibly exhaled with an “AHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!” and then was relegated to sharp, short breaths and the gravity of the situation sunk in along with the cane.
“Not very much of a picnic, now, is it young man?” his uncle said.
“N-n-n-n-no si…” Justin managed just as the second stroke came from nowhere to strike above the first mark on Justin’s rear end.
If it was possible, Justin felt the second stroke was worse than the first one. Now in a panic, his mind went into overdrive, his breathing stopped entirely as he gritted his teeth and tried to will the pain to stop.
The sting went on and on and the third stroke came crashing down upon it. This time, his uncle delivered it below the first stroke. Justin now had three evenly spaced welts the distance between each could have been calibrated with a micrometer. They were perfect and growing more angry looking by the second.
Justin did his best to keep quiet and sniff back the snot. The fourth stroke landed between the first and second marks, precisely. His legs started to shake. Number five was placed neatly between one and three. Justin thought he would tear the seat off the chair in an effort not to let go.
His uncle paused now. “That, as I am sure you are aware, was five. If it’s any comfort to you, many boys have been in this position in this room. Some of whom have gotten more than you are getting now. Are you ready for the final stroke?
Justin nodded his head and snorted “Y-y-y-essss ssssirrrr.”
His uncle aligned the cane on the spot where Justin’s buttocks joined his thigh. The fold was known to disciplinarians to be an exceptionally sensitive tender place on boys. A sweet spot, some called it. It had the dual benefit of providing excruciating pain and also, depending on the cut of the boy’s shorts, a visible sign to others. He pulled back and let fly with a snap of the wrist. The cane found its mark handily and the pain released tears.
Justin started blubbering despite his efforts to hold back like a big boy. He was reduced not only to the look of a 13 year old by virtue of his uniform, his haircut, and his smooth body, but now in his emotional state of crying, he was decidedly no longer a mid-teenager.
“Stand up and face me,” his uncle said as he replaced the cane in the corner. “Now, I trust that lesson has been felt and understood to the deepest level.”
Justin nodded as he sniffed and groped his behind, feeling the swelling grill marks.
“Good. I am glad to hear it,” said his uncle. “My lessons are usually well understood by pupils here at the school and don’t often need to be repeated, although occasional reminders are sometimes required.”
He regarded Justin momentarily. “You may get dressed.” He watched carefully as Justin did so.
“I believe that I want to be quite certain that we have come to an understanding here today. While your short back and sides haircut has made a world of difference in your appearance, I think that we will now return to the barbershop for a shorter haircut. I want to be sure that no one mistakes you for anything other than the boy that you are.”
Justin said nothing as he completed tucking in and zipping up. His uncle picked up his car keys and moved to the door without bothering to see if Justin was following or not. He knew that he was.
As they walked toward the car, a group of three boys, all clad in shorts, passed by behind them and Justin could hear snickers behind him. Reflexively he reached behind to pull down the shorts legs to cover over that last mark but the damage was done in more ways than one. With a glance back from his uncle, the boys quickly averted their eyes forward and quickened their pace.
The leather seat was cold and of some relief to Justin’s welted bottom as they drove off the grounds. Several other boys eyeballed him and he was sure that they could see his puffy red eyes and somehow knew what had happened.
The barber’s reaction was hardly that of surprise. “Not short enough after all, Clive?” he said.
“Let’s go one more round on this one, please, Pete,” his uncle said.
“Certainly, hop right on up here,” the barber said as he slapped the back of the chair. Justin did it quickly in hopes of sitting down before the barber could see the back of his legs. He struggled to get comfortable as the barber caped him up. “Settle down now, lad. You’re in good hands.” As Justin turned to sit, he noticed another teenager sitting, apparently waiting for his dad to be done in one of the other chairs. The boy was smirking at him.
Justin felt quite the opposite as the barber spoke to his uncle. “How much shorter then?”
“Make the top nearly as short as the back and sides, with just a fringe or bumper in front,” his uncle said.
Justin scowled to himself. A little boy’s haircut, it sounded like.
“Very handsome cut on a boy his age,” the barber replied. “We’ll leave maybe an inch in front so he has something to stick up to look nice.”
“Not too long in front, Pete,” his uncle cautioned.
“Maybe ¾ of an inch then,” he nodded and snapped the clippers to life. Justin felt then going up where they had left off before, and over the crown. More hair fell in clumps as the barber turned his short back and sides cut into a crew cut on top, blending it into the sides nicely. He brought the clippers to the front of they boy’s head and pushed them back, just behind the front hair. In short order he was running them back and forth along the top to catch any stray hairs. He took comb and clippers to the front to make a nice perfectly even bumper about ¾ of an inch long, just as he said. A few passes with comb and scissors to be sure the blend was done right, and Justin was finished with the second haircut of his day.
The barber turned him around and Justin’s puffy eyes widened. Staring back this time was a boy who bore no resemblance to an older teenager. This was a boy with a boy’s clean-cut haircut. If it was designed to have an affect on his attitude about himself, it was working. He had gone from being a hip 15-year-old American youth, to a sniveling little boy in the space of one day, a few thousand miles, and six mighty strokes to the bottom.
“There you are,” the barber said. “Very smart, very sharp. Easy to take care of.” He handed Justin what looked like a large caliber chapstick. Justin looked puzzled. The barber took it back from him. “You use it to stick the front up so it always looks neat. Buzz with a bumper, we call this cut. Like a very short ivy league.” He applied the butch wax to the front of Justin’s bumper and the blond hair stood at attention. He handed it back to the boy. “There you go.”
His uncle thanked and tipped the barber and they left to return to school. As Justin passed the waiting boy, he heard the boy chuckle and say under his breath, “feel the sting!” Justin turned quickly around and saw the boy looking at his bottom and then quickly snapping his eyes up to meet Justin’s. He smiled wide with his teeth together at Justin.