The woman winked at me. “But this one’s too severe for a first caning, I think. Perhaps in a few years, when you grow into a young man you’ll be ready for a man’s caning.” I nearly wept with relief as she replaced the senior and took down the tiny junior cane, bending and swishing it through the air. “Not bad,” she murmured thoughtfully. “Stings, I’m sure.” She winked at me again, as though her thoughts and my thoughts coincided. “But you’re much too big a boy for a whipping with this one. This one’s for little girls. No, I think the medium cane will do perfectly.” Dread overcame me as she put the junior back and took down the middle one, fully as long as the senior cane, but much thinner and lighter.
A Trip to the Head26
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