Young Basil was still standing in that same corner when the guests arrived. He was silently crying, his legs trembling. He was supposed to have been standing with his hands at neck rest, but as he stood in the dark room, alone, he had dared finger his sore bottom gingerly with his fingertips. He gasped when he touched one of the skinned parts.
He quickly put his hands back up when he heard footsteps outside the study. He hoped it was Miss Walker or Mr. Pryor to release him from the corner and give him his supper.
The lights came on and when Basil turned his head, he gasped. Five girls stood in the doorway, gaping at him. Susan was grinning.
"Joanie and Helen have met my naughty little brother," she said. But the rest wanted to make your acquaintance, Basil, so I brought them here. You don't mind, do you? You must be bored standing here all alone in the dark." She laughed and the other girls giggled.
They slowly entered the room and posiitoned themselves behind the half-naked boy who tried to hide at least his tear-stained face. He stood listening to the girls' exclamations of awe at the state of his backside. He felt fingertips timidly exploring the weals on his skin. Though mortified beyond words, he dared not argue or resist. He couldn't risk another whipping.
"All right, girls, that's enough," he heard Maureen Walker's voice. As the girls gradually marched out, Maureen addressed the boy,
"Basil, you may come into the living room for a small snack. Then it's off to bed with you. Mr. Pryor has generously agreed to take you for a couple of weeks so we will be planning for your departure maybe already next week. I hope that makes you happy."
"Yes, Miss," the boy mumbled as he followed Maureen out the study towards the living room.
"Please, Miss," Basil ventured, "my shorts?"
"What about them?"
"May I please have them and put them back on?"
"That's not necessary, Basil. You'll be going to bed right after supper."
"Then may I eat in the kitchen? The girls are in the living room. I can hear them."
"Basil, stop that nonsense immediately," Maureen snapped. "They've already seen you in the study, haven't they? What difference can this now make? Now stop arguing and get in there."
Red-faced and sweating with shame, the samll boy slinked into the large living room where the six girls were chatting busily. They all turned their hands as he entered and loud laughter ensued. Basil quickly ent to the nearest chair, sat and tried to cover himself as best he could with his shirt.
"Basil, tell us about your last whipping," Susan said loudly. "Miss Walker used only one birch rod on you. I was hoping she'd use the two I'd brought for you."
Basil glared at his sister and didn't answer.
"Basil, it's not polite to ignore some one's questions," Maureen Walker said as she brought in a small tray which she placed on table near Basil's chair. "Here, eat up and then to bed. But first please answer Susan's question."
Basil eyed his food, then took a deep breath and, with a quavering voice, stumbled through the events of the afternoon while the girls listened with fascination. More questions, painfully intimate, followed by stammered replies under Maureen's watchful eyes. This went on for several minutes until Maureen stood up and interrupted the girls' little games.
Basil, I've warned you before. You are to answer the questions in a loud, clear voice. Your replies are to be polite and complete, not mumbled, jumbled incoherent words. Please stand up and bring that chair over here."
Basil's face turned beet-red. "Oh, please, Miss, not here -"
"Basil, not another word!"
Slowly the boy rose and brought a straight-backed chair into the center of the room.
"Bend over the back, boy," Maureen ordered impatiently. "You should be doing this automatically, without being told. You better start learning, my boy."
"Miss Walker, do you want me to bring the tawse?" Susan offered helpfully, with a wink to her friends. "Or the cane?"
"I think we shall leave that decision to Mr. Pryor," Maureen said with a smile. I'll just get him. Basil, don't go away." Laughter followed as she left the room.
The girls sat in silent expectation, their eyes on the striped and bruised bottom of the bending boy who was already close to tears once more. When Jack made his appearance, he was wielding a wicked-looking cane. As he swished it menacingly through the air, there was a gasp from the guests. Some of them would be seeing for the first time how naughty boys were dealt with.
"Basil," Jack addressed the boy's bare backside, "I hear you are still a disobedient little boy in need for suitable correction. At this point I would have thought you'd be more careful in your behaviour, but obviously more lessons are called for. What you are now going to get is only a small fraction of what you can expect while at my school. We don't tolerate disobedience or misbehaviour and we punish these offenses with the highest degree of severity. Just a little warning for your own sake," Jack added. The n he raised the cane.
As the wide-eyed girls watched, he brought the cane down full force across the lower buttocks, with complete disregard to the bruises and welts across it. The boy gasped in pain, then waited for the next stroke. The gasp turned to a groan which, two or three strokes later turned into a loud cry. Three cuts after that, the cries truned to shrieks and howls. After a dozen strokes, the boy started pleading and the shame in front of the girls made him weep even harder.
Eighteen strokes and the boy lay across the chairback like a slaughtered calf except for his loud blubbering. He no longer listened to the girls comments on his punishment, his striped buttocks, his howls of pain. His mind was solely concentrated on the pain in his buttocks which is the obvious goal to be aimed at when punishing a boy.
After two dozen of very hard strokes with that very effective cane, Jack decided that the boy had enough. He put down the cane, picked up a glass and slowly drained it, his eyes on the boy.
"If you are still hungry," Jack said to the still sobbing child, "you may eat now, but you will stay in position."
Basil didn't feel hungry so he stayed bent over the chair without his supper for the next 30 minutes. Then he was sent to bed. They all watched with amusement as he struggled off the chair into a standing position, his flaming, swollen buttocks a great spectacle for the guests.
"Say good night to your guests," Maureen said sternly.
"Good night," Basil said sullenly and turned to leave.
"Now Basil, say that again and do it properly. Mr. Pryor still has his cane close at hand. So you better be very careful."
Basil, his eyes red and cheeks wet with tears, turned to the girls and politely, clearly, bid them a good night. Then he stood and looked anxiously at Miss Walker for approval.
"Once more, please," Maureen was implacable. "Tell them how much you enjoyed their company, how you hope they enjoy their pyjama party and that they will soon return."
Basil, tears flowing again, had to repeat this little speech three times before Miss Walker was satisfied. Only then was he allowed to go to his room.
"Susan," Maureen Walker instructed the 14-year-old girl, "I am going to be busy making plans for my holiday. Please take Basil out to the lake, supervise his run and swim and report back to me. I want Basil to increase his running speed and the number of laps around the lake. Let's say ten laps in no more than 45 minutes. Calisthenics should be done with pauses between exercises and last another 60 minutes. You may take my stopwatch and note on a sheet of paper how he is doing." And to Basil, who stood by listening with dread, she added, "You will behave and do as Susan says. She will report back to me any disobedience or insolence so be very polite and obedient."
"Yes, Miss," the boy said, but inwardly he was furious. The frustration of having to obey his sister was hard to bear.
Susan made her young brother work very hard and, no matter how hard the boy tried, she always wanted more. Faster running, longer swims, ignoring the exhaustion on his face and dutifully reporting all infractions to Miss Walker.
As a consequence, late afternoons were now devoted to reports from Susan.
"Miss Walker, Basil was short ten seconds per lap. His swim was also short by at least ten minutes. The calisthenics were done half-heartedly."
Maureen Walker turned to Basil, who stood shivering and dripping on the doorway. "Well, boy? What's your excuse this time?"
"I tried, Miss. I just couldn't do any better."
"You call that an excuse? Take the towel and get dry. Then go upstairs and take off your clothes, take a bath, then get dressed and come to my study. We will see if we can't make you try a little harder. A boy your age can do a lot better, I'm sure and I'm blaming your inherent laziness for the failure to perform as ordered."
With few variations, this conversation took place each day and the continuation was also very similar, day after day. Basil reported to the study where Maureen Walker was waiting, not infrequently with Susan present. Basil would enter, freshly bathed and dressed in shirt, shorts, ankle socks and slipper. As instructed, he stood at attention, palms pressed firmly against his bare thighs and said, "Pleae, Miss, I have come for my punishemt for laziness during exercises."
And Maureen would order his shorts down, take up the thick tawse and give young Basil, draped across the chair back, his well-deserved thrashing. The house echoed with the shrill cries of pain as stroke after stroke lashed across still well-marked naked buttocks. When it was finally over, the weeping boy went to his corner while Maureen made a note in the little book Susan kept for reported misdeeds. She was looking forward to her father's extra pocket money for her help in keeping the boy in line.
The evenings Jack visited, the boy's bottom came to even more grief. The cane across the inflamed skin was excrutiating when Jack punished the boy for poor lessons.