"What do you need, Son, to keep you in order?" asked the boy's father after his son had just spoken abruptly to his mother.
"A good taste of the whip across my backside, Sir," replied the boy.
"And how often is that needed?"
"At least once a week if I've been in trouble, Sir. More if I've been extra disobedient."
"Why?"
"It's good for me. It keeps me in line."
"Then . . . ?"
"Then, it's time I had another dose, Sir."
"Right, get the misdemeanour list and let's go through it one by one to see how many are you due for."
"Yes, Sir."
"Well . . . First item?"
"I've just been rude to Mum, Sir."
"So . . . ?"
"Six, Sir."
"And . . . ?"
'Another four for being late home from school on Monday."
"Total, so far?"
"Ten, Sir."
"Is that all, then?"
"No, Sir. There's more."
"Well?"
"I got a detention at school last Friday afternoon."
"And that means?"
"Four more, Sir."
"So, what we are we up to now?"
"Fourteen, Sir."
"And how long since you were last whipped?"
"I can't quite remember. I think it was about nine or ten days ago, Sir."
"Right, and I wasn't reminded that it was over a week, was I?"
"No, Sir. I forgot."
"That's a lie, now isn't it?"
"Yes, Sir."
"Well, why didn't you report to me for your punishment?"
"I was afraid."
"So, you've just lied to me, haven't you?"
"Yes, Sir."
"And what I have you been told about lying, Son?"
"Lying will cost me four strokes with the whip."
"So, what is the total up to at the moment?"
"Eighteen, Sir."
"And what is the extra punishment for letting it go past the week?"
"The punishment is doubled, Sir."
"So, that means?"
"Thirty-six, Sir."
"Correct. Don't you realise it would have been much less if you hadn't let it drag on past the week, Son?"
The boy was already in tears and yet his punishment hadn't even begun. The mere thought of the whipping was sufficient in itself to bring on the tears.
"Yes, Sir. Next time I will remind you."
"Right. As it's such a large punishment, do you want it all at once or do you want it split into two . . . with the rest tomorrow morning?"
"I don't think I could take it all at once, Sir. I would prefer to have half of it tomorrow morning, please."
"I presume you realise that there will be an extra two strokes for splitting the punishment?"
"Yes, Sir."
"All right. Then what does that mean?"
"It means eighteen now, Sir, and twenty tomorrow."
"Then you'd better go and get the whip and get up to the study and prepare for your punishment, hadn't you? I'll be along shortly. In the meantime, you can think about what you are in for. Hopefully, that might also help your behaviour problem for the future."
The boy left for his father's study and on the way collected the whip from the bathroom. As a constant reminder, it hung behind the bathroom door, visible and ready for use whenever the boy erred. The sight and thought of the pain that would be inflicted was frequently enough in itself to keep him in order.
The whip itself was a thick piece of leather about a metre in length and seven to eight centimetres wide. The ends of the whip were split into four thin strips or thongs, so that when administered, each stroke had the effect of a number of separate lashes. Whenever he was "treated" to such punishment, the pain was excruciating. To flinch during punishment, instantly brought an additional whipping.
However, as far as the boy was concerned it was very beneficial and did him a lot of good. It certainly settled him down and kept him out of trouble for some considerable time, even if only for fear of another dose.
His dad was a strict disciplinarian and liberal doses of the whip across the bare buttocks were meted out at even the slightest provocation to ensure good discipline. He believed that if it were necessary to use it, then a solid thrashing was of far more lasting benefit than a mild punishment.
Fortunately for the boy, this did not occur too frequently as the mere thought of punishment ensured that he kept himself out of trouble as much as possible.
He entered the room, closed the door behind him and placed the whip across the back of the chair. He then stripped naked ready for his beating.
It was some time before his father arrived but when he did, the boy handed him the whip and immediately bent low over the desk in the centre of the room. He spread his feet and buttocks ready for the full force of what was to come and grabbed the other side of the desk firmly in order to steady himself.
Because he flinched twice during the eighteen strokes, he was awarded an extra four. He had more or less guessed he was in for extra, as it was very hard not to flinch occasionally as the whip lashed his naked buttocks.
"Right, you may get up, now. Tonight's punishment is completed."
The boy slowly stood, his buttocks visibly raw in various shades of red, blue and black as a result of his punishment.
"Thank you, Dad, for correcting me," he sobbed. "That was a good whipping. I thoroughly deserved it."
His dad reminded him that the rest of the punishment was due in the morning and handed the whip to his son to return it to the bathroom.
After hanging the whip back on the bathroom door, he went immediately to his own room to calm down. The young man had a restless night, yet knew it was entirely of his own making. He did not for one moment condemn his father for his thrashing. He knew it was to be expected as a result of his own misbehaviour.
His buttocks were so sore that he went straight to bed and lay naked on his stomach for the night. He could not bear to even have his pyjamas rub against him. Indeed, he did not sleep well at all, not only because of the pain from his beating, but the anticipation of yet another twenty strokes lay heavily on his mind.
Next morning, realising that his dad was already in the study, the boy, still naked and extremely sore, collected the whip and knocked gently on the study door.
"Enter!" commanded his dad, who was busy working at the desk.
"I've come for the rest of the punishment, Sir."
"Well, you'll just have to wait there a few minutes, Son. I'm in the middle of some work.
"Yes, Sir."
"While you're waiting, you can get the linseed oil out of the cupboard and lubricate the four end strips, please. We must keep the whip in peak condition, Son, if it's to do its proper job."
The boy shuddered, yet dare not complain. Apart from the fact that the whip ends would now be moistened, the mere fact that they were more flexible meant they would sting even more when they made contact with the skin.
"And just to make sure you do the job properly, you can do it here when I can supervise."
"Yes, Sir."
The boy fetched the bottle of oil and the lubricating cloth from the bathroom and returned to the study. After ensuring that the cloth was thoroughly moist, he passed each of the four leather thongs of the punishment end of the whip through the cloth.
"Do it again and return the bottle of oil, please."
"Yes, Sir."
The oil returned, the boy resumed his position at attention in his father's study and awaited further instructions.
Eventually, after what seemed like a lifetime, his father spoke.
"Well, I presume you realise why you're getting this extra whipping this morning . . . well ?"
"Because I didn't remind you I was due for punishment for over a week?"
"Correct. And I hope you'll remember in future."
"Yes, Sir."
"Right, well let me clear the desk and we'll get this over with."
The desk cleared, the boy's father looked up, hand outheld.
The young lad approached the desk and handed his father the whip. He bent down low over the desk, feet apart, in order to take the full force.
Despite the fact that the fourteen-year-old lad possessed a strong and well developed physique, he only lasted four strokes before breaking into tears. It was a hard whipping, even more so as his buttocks were so tender from the twenty-two lashes he had received just the night before. His father was determined that the boy was going to learn a good and lasting lesson in obedience.
The whip slowly and forcefully lashed across his bottom. Three times he flinched and after his twenty strokes he remained at the desk awaiting the additional blows, but his dad did not administer the due additional punishment.
"All right, son. You may get up, now."
"But you haven't given me the extra punishment for flinching yet, Sir. I'd rather get it over with now than put it off for another time. That'll cost me another two."
"Don't you think you've had enough for now, Son?"
"I'd still rather get it over with," he pleaded.
"All right, then. Six more coming up."
And they were hard, but the boy did not move a muscle.
"Now stand up, young man and listen to me. You well know that I am not prepared to allow punishments to be spread more than a week after they are due. When punishments are delayed you get restless and poorly behaved," his father told him.
"Yes, Sir, I know," said the boy with tears rolling down his cheek.
"If you had earlier told me that punishment was due, you would have been more in control and would not have spoken to your mother like you did. Do you realise that?"
"Yes, Sir."
"Also, you wouldn't have had to lie to me about the reason you forgot to tell me that you were due for punishment."
"Yes, Sir. I'm sorry but I was afraid."
"Yes, well look what you've finished up getting. Between last night and this morning, you've had forty-eight strokes. If you hadn't lied to me . . . if you hadn't been rude to your mother and the punishment hadn't been delayed, you were only due for eight strokes. Can you understand that?"
"Yes, Sir."
"Well, what does that teach you?"
"It teaches me to face up to my responsibilities and to tell you when punishment is due, Sir, and I will be far better off."
"Yes, well I hope you remember that, and that you are more obedient and well behaved in the future. I don't want to have to repeat such a big punishment for a long time."
"I can assure you I don't either. Dad, thank you for correcting me."
"Right. Now I want you to take the whip back to the bathroom and you can remain in your room for the rest of the morning while you write me a two thousand word essay about the consequences of disobedience. That should help impress the seriousness of the situation on you."
"Yes, Sir," said the boy.
He returned the whip to the bathroom where it would remain in sight and again serve as an ever constant reminder of the need for strict obedience and discipline.
The lad then returned to his room. He was far too sore to put any pants on. Indeed, he could not even sit at his desk whilst he wrote his punishment essay but remained standing.
He wrote an outstanding piece of work in which he reflected upon his disobedience and the need for chastisement should he again err. Indeed, he knew that if his essay was not completely approved by his father, then a further whipping would be administered and this he was not even prepared to contemplate.
Is it any wonder? He'd already had a chastisement he'd long remember!