Sam stood outside the study door holding his bag of books and paper.
"In," the head ordered from the other side of the door.
Samuel opened the large door to the study. He was immediately hit by the antique must of leather bound books and wood panelling, and felt the temperature cool on his legs, barely clad as he was in the gym shorts and white T shirt. His plimsolls squeaked on the floorboards as he turned to close the door, aware that the head might be looking him up and down as he did so.
"Put your bag down, Hayward and approach the desk."
The head, Mr. James, was sitting on the far side of his leather topped desk. He was in his fifties, grey, with bushy eye brows. A broad man, his face was a little ravaged by time and deep thought, he smiled occasionally but it seemed more a grimace or a wince. He wore his black gown under a grey suit, his Oxford tie neatly knotted with a large Winston. He was reading a report in front of him.
Sam was fearful of the headmaster. He had never found Reginald James to be an attractive man, he knew him as an honest, fair and formidable disciplinarian. As Sam stood there, three or four feet from the desk and gazing at it's green leather surface, he remembered clearly the last time he had been summoned to this room, and how he had screamed in pain with his face pressed against that cold surface.
"I hear," Mr. James began slowly, looking up at the boy, "that you were ill behaved for Mr. Bowen this week, Hayward" He stared at the lad. "....that he had to spank you three times during your piano lesson. Hm?" He inquired, his bushy brows raising.
"Yes Sir." There was no other answer.
"Now, it sounds to me that you are still being lazy. And what happens to a lazy Boy, Hayward?"
"A lazy boy...." Samuel tried to remember the sentence that had been paddled into him the previous week, his gaze moved to the garden, visible through the window behind Mr. James.
"Quick! Or you'll recite it to the rhythm of the rod, boy!"
"A Lazy boy bends over...." he stumbled to remember, Mr. James waited, tapping his pen on the desk, "....with his pants round his ankles - er - and his bottom up high," he checked his memory again, "ready to receive," then with some pride he finished, "a severe beating from his Master?" He smiled with embarrassment.
"Right!" Mr. James did not smile, but his tone was vaguely jovial. "And what will happen to you, Boy?"
This time Samuel rattled it off, the smile still evident.
"Correct." He stood up, rounded the desk methodically and let the words sink in, watching the reality dawning on the boy's face. Samuel looked out of the window behind the desk and saw a man in the garden turning the soil in the flower beds. He was about 30, with dark hair, blue jeans, quite _s_e_x_y, Sam thought, and more pressingly he thought about how the man could see in the window, could see him wearing his skimpy gym kit and, oh God, might see him bent over the desk having his arse whipped?
"You see, Samuel, when you misbehave you are punished, isn't that right?" Mr. James spoke matter-of-factly as he walked behind Samuel. Samuel snapped back into the room,
"Yes, Sir, very much so, Sir."
"And the very idea of punishment is that it teaches you. Yes?"
"Yes Sir." The Master reappeared round the other side of Samuel.
"That is why they call it 'discipline', understood?"
"Yes Sir," good so far, but where was it all going? Samuel thought with some trepidation.
"Now, if you are punished for a misdemeanour, and yet you go on to repeat the behaviour, are you not asking for the same punishment again?"
He thought before answering, but there was only one answer. "Yes, Sir"
"And yet you are also saying that you can withstand the punishment?"
Again, after some thought the only possible answer fell forth. "Yes, Sir."
"And is that not why your second punishment is not be a repeat of the first - I won't waste my time, boy," he stared hard at Samuel, who returned a look of mild terror, "....and you certainly won't waste it for me - no, the punishment is considerably more severe for a second offence." Then, raising his voice, "You will learn to behave, boy! Understood?"
"Yes, Sir."
Still booming, "Or you will cry in pain as I thrash your naked bottom, Yes?"
"Yes, Sir," he confirmed vehemently.
And with that Mr. James returned to his chair, flapping his gown as he lowered himself into the seat. Samuel was now very concerned, unsure if he had or had not a confirmed caning on the agenda. And if so, when? The gardener was opening a bag of soil with a nifty little manoeuvre employing the edge of his spade.... thus saving him from bending down. Guess some guys don't like to compromise themselves so easily, thought Sam.
The head slipped the half rims back on and began to read a document, the boy's report for the month. There were a number of minor mistakes there, but Sam was fairly sure there was nothing too drastic. The Master read for a minute. Then he spoke without looking up.
"You were five minutes late, this morning," he said softly but with some disgust. Samuel's heart jumped. "Correct?" He inquired to the boy's face. Samuel had forgotten about that fact thinking that the Master hadn't noticed. He must have been told by the maid. Samuel dared not lie, he had lied before and had not done so since.
"I was Sir. My train was late, Sir." Which was true, though he could have run a little faster to the schoolhouse. Mr. James looked up, but did not bark,
"If your train is unreliable, what should you do, Lad?"
Samuel thought, "Get another train, Sir?"
He continued to speak with a silky smooth and menacing tone, "Knowing this information, why then, did you catch a train so close to the deadline for arrival at school?"
The words, 'I don't know' had been ruled out at an early stage. His second visit had eradicated the words by way of a the slipper across his bare behind. Extremely painful, and expertly administered so as to make him howl. The words, right now, seemed for a moment to be the only answer. Then, as he worked to find the truth, he realised that five minutes simply had not been that important to him. He also realised what a mistake that was.
"I've never had any trouble with that train before, Sir."
Mr. James sighed, "How late was your train, Samuel?"
"Ten minutes, Sir".
"Right. So the train is ten minutes late, and you are five minutes late. So, you are saying that you normally allow a leeway of just five minutes to get here on time, yes?
Sam thought a moment, and presumably slouched a little. "Stand up straight, laddy!" He continued to think, readjusting himself quickly. "I am confident in my mathematics, lad, and if you like I will beat the sum into you? Would you like that, Samuel?"
"No, Sir," that was an easy one.
"So, if you are delayed by ten minutes, yet you arrive five minutes late, what time could you have been expected to arrive had you not been delayed at all? Hm?"
Samuel thought again, bobbing a little on his feet. "Five minutes early, Sir."
"Well done, Hayward, we'll make a mathematician of you yet. So you allow just five minutes leeway to make sure you get here on time. Do you see now, boy?"
"Yes, Sir."
"And are you becoming clearer on how unacceptable that is?"
"Yes, Sir."
"You will become clearer, yet," he tailed off, making a mark on the paper. Sam felt very humiliated, his erection was not hidden by his shorts, and with the gardener showing all the signs of being a very competent and able man, he was feeling somewhat boyish and puerile.
"It is the little things, Samuel," the head looked up, "....that will set you apart. It is the detail, the attention to all areas of your presentation, that will make you. He removed the glasses, "I mean, you are a good boy, sometimes," he gave that strained smile-come-grimace, compassion just about squeezing through frown of hard thought. "You make efforts to think about your actions, to behave yourself, but you too often lose concentration, become distracted, unfocused. Had you focused on the importance of today, you would most certainly have caught an earlier train, for you would have known there was nothing more important than your appointment here. The need for one hundred percent effort at all times cannot be stressed enough, Samuel. Do you understand?"
"Yes, Sir."
"And I will stress it to you, Samuel, time and again if necessary. You know what it is to be properly thrashed, boy, and I know how you wish to avoid it. But you will try harder in all areas of your work, I will make sure of it. Understood?"
"Yes. Sir."
"Now, tell me what will set you apart from the rest, young man."
"My attention to detail, Sir."
"Good boy. And how much effort will you be putting into your work from now on?"
"One hundred percent, Sir."
"Good. I expect so." The head donned his glasses and marked the paper. "Now," he spun the page around, "fill in your name here, and date it there." Samuel approached the desk to comply. He signed to agree to the policy. He then stepped back from the desk and the head continued to read a while.
As he stood there waiting there was the feint sound, a whip and thud, like that of a cane, from another room in the house. A few seconds later he heard it again, Mr. James must have heard it too, but neither acknowledged it. It continued for a while, and, shortly after it appeared to have ended, Mr. James let down the piece of paper and placed his spectacles on the desk top.
"I have some work to do now, Hayward, another silly boy is in need of instruction in another room. You are going to write me 20 sentences on why one hundred percent obedience is so very important, and what will happen if you do not show it. Understood?"
"Yes, Sir."
"Right," he said briskly, standing up, "get your things and sit at your desk over there," he pointed to a small desk and bench in the corner of his study. "You have fifteen minutes and I will be back. And, Samuel, what will you watchword be?"
"Neatness, Sir," he remembered from a previous lesson.
"Good! Now busy yourself, boy, you'd better be finished by the time I return."
Samuel collected his bag and took his place at the little desk and listened to the door close behind him. Mr. James could be heard striding up the corridor and away. The wood of the bench was cold on his legs, he pulled the shorts down to cover a little more of his buttocks, he noticed the gardener looking in at him, he lowered his head to remove an a4 pad from his hold-all. Now he had to fill his head with thoughts of giving 100 percent obedience and the consequences of not complying.