"Go ahead and unwrap it, Basil," Pryor said, handing him the package.
With trembling fingers Basil strated to untie the string, then tore away the brown paper. It was an oblong object now wrapped in mounds of tissue paper. When he finally extracted the object, he gave a little gasp. He was holding a gleaming, wooden handle, almost black, from which dangled five thick leather thongs with a small, tight knot at the end of each. H held it up, looking questioning up at Pryor.
"That's the martinet your mother promised you," he grinned. "How do you like it?"
Basil was struck mute. He just held this object, the purpose of which was to cause a child deep pain, as if it were a venemous snake. Pryor took it from him and shook out the tails. "Better take your shorts down and off," he said to the frightened boy. "The martinet has to be applied on the bare buttocks, of course, but also between the legs. Your parents told Miss Walker that I should give you a minimum of three dozen strokes with this. But seeing that you have behaved quite abominably and in general been a very indifferent pupil, I shall give you five dozen. I'll take you across the arm chair. Bring it over here. Bend over the back, face in the seat and hold on to the arm rests. If you let go or if you raise your face from the seat, a dozen will be added each time. So I advise you to keep quite still."
The armchair had a low back with the result that Basil's hips were in just the right position to keep his backside up and out. On instructions barked by Pryor, he spread his legs wide. Pryor once again positioned himself by the boy's head from where he look down on the gaping little bottom cheeks. Those cheeks were already wealed and bruised but Pryor considered that an asset to the coming whipping.
Pryor took a good grip on the handle, raised the whip and lashed down towards the spread buttocks. He aimed carefully and the boy's howl told him he had struck accurately. The knotted tails spread well, some biting into the anus, others between the legs into the perineum, still others into the inner cheeks. As the boy howled out his pain, Pryor calmly, deliberately, applied the first dozen right between the buttocks and legs. Six little half-naked boys stood and silently watched the process. None was immune to similar treatment and they all knew it. The boy lay, agonising, over the chair back, and waited for the Director to continue. His bottom was smarting with a deep, consuming fire.
Pryor let him wait. The strain and anxiety aided in the effectiveness of the punishment, but eventually Pryor proceeded with the second dozen. For this, he stood on the boy's left side, whipping the martinet squarely across both buttocks and upper thighs, concentrating the hardest strokes in the area in between where buttocks meet thighs. That would help the boy remember the strokes better when he tried to sit down. The thongs cut and the knots bit as they curled around the right buttock and into the flank. Basil writhed on the chair, keeping his face buried in the leather cushion to drown out his roars.
After another suitable pause, during which no sound could be heard in the study except the soft whimpering of the bent boy who now displayed a backside striped with purple weals up and down the smooth, round little cheeks. At last the third dozen was applied, this time from the boy's right side so that the tips of the whip bit sharply into the boy's left cheek and flank.
Pryor turned to the six waiting boys who looked ready to drop. Their faces were pale and shaken and some had started twitching in the eyes or around the mouth. Pryor recognised these tics as sign of extreme stress and anxiety. He smiled with satisfaction. "You may report to matron who will send you to bed after your bath." With a last glance at Basil's whipped behind, they turned and trooped out. Pryor was left alone with Basil.
"Two dozen more and we will switch to the cane," Pryor said calmly. The boy's head snapped up and his red, swollen eyes turned to the Director.
"Oh, please, sir," he whined annoyingly, "I can't take any more. It hurts so much! Please, sir!" His voice rose an octave in his attempt to persuade the Director to reconsider.
"Well, you may be right. Your bottom looks as if might hurt. I whipped you yesterday and I think Mr. Graham gave you a little session with the cane this morning. Hmm." He stood there deeply in thought while Basil held his breath. Would Pryor let him off after the 24 additional strokes with the martinet? "Does your bottom really hurt very much, Basil?"
"Oh, yes, sir. It hurts a lot! Please, I've learned my lesson. I'll try very hard in the future." Basil was pleading with renewed tears.
"All right, my boy," Pryor said and Basil gave a sigh of relief. "I can now see how effective corporal punishment is for small boys your age. It teaches a boy good behaviour, doesn't it?"
"Yes, sir," Basil agreed vehemently. "Oh, yes."
"Good. In that case we'll make it 2 dozen with the cane." Pryor had to chuckle at the boy's distressed and crestfallen expression. He enjoyed these moments of a boy's deep disappointment.
The next five or six minutes were taken up with the martinet. Pryor disregarded the boy's howls and pleas and whipped the boy thoroughly, leaving every inch between waist and knees covered with thick, purple stripes and little black pips where the knots had bitten.
Leaving the child sprawled cross the chair, Pryor left the room for a cigarette. "Don't move, boy. I'll be back in a few seconds."
After the study door had closed, Basil gingerly felt back and fingered the welts along his throbbing thighs and buttocks. He didn't dare rise from the chair and kept listening anxiously for Pryor's return. But he hadn't counted on the thick carpeting and when the door suddenly opened, he wasn't fast enough with his hands.
"I thought you had learned obedience," Pryor said, savouring the moment. "You said that pain had taught you how to behave. Obviously it wasn't enough. I'm just glad I wasn't foolish enough to believe those empty promises of yours. And I'm quite disappointed in you, lying to me to get off a few strokes of the cane. Now you will have to get 2 dozen more with the heavy tawse. And you have only yourself to blame. Now take your hands away from your behind and hold on to the front of the chair. We will finish with the martinet. It's getting late and I haven't had a chance to do my own work."
Pryor decided to apply the tawse first, in order to light a deeper fire in the boy's buttocks before applying the cane. He handled the tawse with full force, ignoring the boy's wails and screams, concentrating solely on his aim and the strength of each stroke. The buttocks had swollen up considerably and the tawse made the bulging flesh bounce and quiver. It was an interesting sight.
And then, at last, came the third, and final, instalment. He used a heavy cane with good density but still very flexible. Basil thought he would die across that chair. He was hoping his bottom would be numb by now, but the long pauses between each instrument assured that the boy would feel each stroke with its full impact.
Pryor caned the boy with gusto. Heavy slashers that bit deeply into the swollen flesh. He concentrated on the lower bottom and upper thighs where he knew it hurt the child most. Yes, this boy was going to learn even if he had to be thrashed every hour on the hour. There was nothing to worry about when a boy had a sturdy little backside like this one.
Basil was hoarse and he had trouble getting off the chair when Pryor finally gave permission. Then he stood on wobbly legs, trembling from head to foot, the picture of misery. His face was swollen as well as his behind and his eyes were red, the lids puffy. He had bitten his lips and Pryor could see a little d0rp of blood on the lower lip.
Pryor picked up the little shorts from the chair and handed them to Basil. "Put them on, brace them tightly, and go to see matron for your bath. Then off to bed. And not a word out of any of you or you'll feel the cane again, no matter how tender that backside of yours might be. "
He watched with great amusement as the trembling youngster gingerly stepped into his shorts and drew them up slowly. The boy groaned as the tight cloth gripped his swollen buttocks. He closed the waistband and buttoned the flys. Then he tightened the braces until Pryor was satisfied with the drum tight bottom.
When the boy had stumbled out, Pryor sat back in his chair behind the desk and thought about Basil for a while. The boy was lazy, disobedient and ill-mannered but Pryor knew how to change this. Gradually, as the discipline is tightened, even this stupid little boy would learn eventually. When his tutor returned, he would have to advise her about the boy's progress, or lack thereof. He would also contact the boy's parents and reluctantly report on Basil's poor behaviour and stubbornness. He would make sure the boy would not get away with even the slightest misdemeanour without being soundly whipped for it. He smiled, picked up his paper and began to work.